Witch on a Roll

by Evelyn Snow

  Something about his tone worried me. “I do. Is that why you’re mad at your dad?”

  “We’re not talking about my dad.”

  “Oh-kay.” That was a switch. I’d always been the moody one with secrets, lost memories, and a head full of stuff I refused to talk about. What was I missing?

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad we talked.”

  “We didn’t … talk.”

  Ignoring me, he stood the mirror upright on his flat palm and gave it a push. It spun in a circle, reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the high windows like a disco ball. “Like it?”

  “Nice trick.”

  When the mirror’s spin slowed, he caught it with his free hand. “Think you can make it work to record the scene?”

  “I like the idea of using it to scan,” I began, thinking through the problem. “The mirror won’t hold all the data. I’d have to bounce everything from the mirror into a storage device. That, of course, should be a Twilight Grimoire, which we’ve already established is unavailable.”

  “Use your book.”

  “What book?”

  “The one you used as a dummy in the exam.”

  It was still in my backpack. “Okay, theoretically, I can bounce the scan from the mirror into the book. Here’s the problem—it won’t stick. A Twilight Grimoire is designed to hold an almost limitless quantity of information. A book is a book. Whatever I bounce into it will pass on through.”

  “Not if you spelled it,” he suggested.

  “Obviously, but the spell wouldn’t last very long. Paper and cardboard and leather won’t ground much magic. It would only be a matter of time before it started leaking.” Or malfunctioning like Marley.

  “It would only need to last until you turned everything over to the MBI.”

  “Which brings us back to guessing when the bridge will open again.” I sighed. “If it opens soon, I risk getting in trouble for overstepping my non-existent authority and not waiting for help to arrive. Cassandra will be all over that one. I might as well make things easier for everyone involved and personally deliver my head to her on a silver platter.”

  “I’ve got one of those, too” Holden said, pointing. “I think it’s on the shelf over there, third one down on the left.”

  “Not. Funny. Then I could get in trouble for anything that goes wrong while I’m MacGyvering the collection and clean-up.”

  “Actually, it’s worse,” Holden mused. “If the bridge doesn’t open soon and you wait for proper authorization, you risk letting the dark magic fall into the wrong hands. That would be all on you, which is worse than anything Cassandra could dream up.”

  Talk about a lose-lose situation.

  All of my dreams about being an MBI agent were going out the window in less than twenty-four hours. The way things were looking, I’d be banned from Serenity Point and sitting in class at the community college before Labor Day. My flagging mood began to plummet.

  Holden must have noticed because he said, “Hopefully, the bridge will reopen before the spells fail and everything will work out.”

  “And if it doesn’t? Those goons who attacked us might have been right. If there was a breakout from one of the dungeons, they wouldn’t reopen the bridge until the escapee was caught. That could take days. Weeks, maybe.”

  “In that case,” he said slowly, “we’d be forced to take emergency measures.”

  “What kind of measures?”

  “You said it yourself—you can’t let anything happen to the dark magic—that’s like a prime directive. If the bridge doesn’t reopen and/or the containment spells begin to fail, we’ll have to take action. We won’t have a choice.”

  I didn’t like where he was going with this. “You mean we sell the dark magic?”

  “Basically.”

  “Was I hallucinating, or did you not just go to great lengths to insist you weren’t dealing in the dark market? Or is there something you need to tell me?”

  “I’m not! I’m a hundred percent legit.” He swore under his breath. “All I’m asking is that you consider the consequences and have a backup plan if things go sideways. What would be worse?”

  “Dungeons are worse,” I said flatly. “Maybe you don’t remember because five years ago you were in one—what? An entire day?”

  “Three days and two nights,” he said stiffly.

  “After your dad took you home, I was the guest of Sheriff Crowe’s dungeon for three months. By the time I got out, the rat family and I were on a first name basis. They named one of their babies after me. If we get caught selling magic on the dark market, we’ll wish for a cell as nice as that one.”

  Holden brushed off the warning. “Because letting scavs get their hands on the magic would be better? If there’s as much at the site as you say, it’s only a matter of time before they come sniffing around. They could be on their way already. One guy from ODiN can’t stop them. Heck, ODiN wouldn’t know what to do with the magic if we gave it to them.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m counting on the local cops to keep them at bay until we get there.”

  “Selling the magic doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Evie. We’d only do it as a last resort, and then we’d make sure it went to someone who’d use it for good instead of evil.”

  “That’s not our call to make.”

  “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than—”

  “No,” I ordered, shaking my head.

  This impasse had taken up too much time. He was right about one thing, though. Plunging ahead without a Plan B wasn’t a mistake I wanted to make again.

  “Okay,” I said at length. “I will consider finding an alternative means of securing the dark magic when and if the bridge doesn’t re-open by the time the spells start to fail—but—only if they fail.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Propping my hands on my hips, I surveyed the barn. While Holden had been trying to tempt me down the path of committing magical felonies, I’d found the solution to the containment problem.

  It was right in front of us.

  Chapter 18

  “It’s perfect.”

  “What’s perfect?” Holden sank onto a stool and tucked a foot behind one rung. “Selling the magic ourselves? A minute ago, you were totally against the idea.”

  “Still am. Not going to budge on that unless we’re up against a worst-case scenario.”

  “That’s a relief. If you had, I would have to wonder about your mental health. Tell me what’s perfect.”

  “We don’t have a Twilight Grimoire and a spelled book is only a temporary solution. To store the actual magic, we’ll need something bigger than a book or a stack of books. It should be something we can depend on no matter how long the bridge stays closed. Best of all, it’s right here.”

  “Is this a riddle?” he asked warily. “You know I hate riddles.”

  “Not really. I wanted to see if you could figure it out. It’s right in front of us.”

  “Big and metal, okay.” Holden scanned his surroundings, then kicked at an old military trunk sitting on the floor. “Something like this?”

  “That’s way too small.”

  He stood and wandered through an area filled with old dressers, nightstands, and more boxes. “Any of these larger pieces of furniture might work. We’d have to load them on the truck, though. It might take several to hold all the magic. Does it matter if they’re made from different kinds of wood?”

  “Considering the way elder branches worked out with Marley, I’d rather avoid wood.”

  Holden pursed his lips. “Behind the barn there’s a fuel tank salvaged from an old school bus. We’d need help to get it in the truck because it’s heavy.” He propped his hands on his hips. “I don’t know where else to look.”

  “You gave up too easy.” I pointed to a vintage Ford parked at the far end of the barn. “What about that?”

  The car had been a fixture in the space for as long as I could remember. It was dark red with large
fenders curving over white-wall tires. A wide chrome grill dominated the front end along with round, stacked headlights. I didn’t know much about cars, new or old, but it looked like it was in prime condition.

  “My grandfather’s car?” Holden asked, incredulous.

  “Does it run?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will it make it over to Mulberry Street?”

  “Easily.”

  While I wound my way around stacks of boxes and junk, Holden trailed behind, clearly unenthusiastic about my utterly perfect brainstorm.

  The lengths of silver chain wrapped around the body of the vehicle were a puzzle. The chains looped through the door handles, wound around the front to the other side, and then through the passenger side door handle. Along the other side, they continued back and around the rear to meet again at a chunky padlock on the driver’s door.

  Side by side, we stared.

  Finally, I said, “That’s a peculiar security system you’ve got there. Are you worried someone will break into the barn and steal it? Because all a thief would need is a bolt cutter.”

  “It’s not that. It’s drivable with the chains in place, but it’s a bad option. We should find something else.” He pointed to a tall metal filing cabinet. “I could dig up a few more of those.”

  “No. The car’s perfect. Why are you so against it?”

  After a beat, he said, “With the car, instead of solving problems, we’ll only be adding to them.”

  “The tires look good. You must have washed it recently because there’s not a lick of dust anywhere.” He wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his reluctance, which only made me press harder. “Does it need a tune-up or is it missing a part? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Mechanically, it’s sound. I took it to Rolling Thunder not too long ago and had Tony check it out. That flathead V8 runs sweet.”

  “Then it’s perfect. We won’t have to take the bus or drive a huge truck. We can park on the street and not draw attention—”

  “Because no one will notice a chained car,” he drawled.

  Undeterred, I continued. “It’s big enough to hold every bit of magic and then some. Plus, the body’s made from old-time steel, so it will contain the magic as long as we need with no worries about leaks. Perfect.”

  “This is a bad idea.”

  “We need to get those chains off.” I climbed over a box and grabbed one. A tingle zinged through my skin.

  “No! Don’t touch them!” Holden shouted, yanking me away from the car so fast I stumbled backward into him, knocking him off balance. We hit the ground hard. The back of my head smacked Holden on the chin.

  I rolled off him and scrambled to my feet. “What was that about?” He was still on the ground, looking as if the fall had knocked the wind out of him.

  “Ow.” He rubbed his chin.

  After he was standing, he said, “Don’t touch the chains. They’re there for a reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “The … demon.”

  “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

  “Did you hear me say demon?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then we’re on the same page.”

  We were so not on the same page.

  Crossing my arms, I asked, “Does that mean we can’t use the car to store magic because there’s a demon inside? You have one chained up in there?”

  Holden circled a finger. “Try the other way around.”

  “The chains keep a demon out?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What’s a demon want with a vintage hot rod?”

  “Sarrath—that’s the demon’s name—claims the car belongs to him,” Holden said with a shrug.

  “Does it?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “Not as far as I know. There’s room for debate, though. My grandfather never bothered to have the title transferred.”

  “Because demons are allergic to the DMV?”

  “Because all I have to go on is what my dad has told me.”

  “Are you afraid this Sarrath will steal the car?” I asked.

  “I’m not afraid that will happen. That’s exactly what Sarrath will do the minute the chains come off.”

  The car was too perfect, and I wasn’t willing to give up on it. “What’s the story?”

  “My grandfather won the car in a poker game.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “This was before my time. According to my dad, Sarrath accused my grandfather of cheating and said he’d stolen the car. My grandfather insisted he’d won fair and square. Things got ugly. One thing led to another. Neither of them would give in.

  “It turned into a long-standing feud where Sarrath kept trying to take the car back while my grandfather devoted his life to defending his claim. Over time, Sarrath became more and more inventive with his schemes. For his part, my grandfather taunted Sarrath every chance he got.

  “When my dad was a kid, he said my grandfather used to park the car out front as bait. Sarrath would make one of his patented sneak attacks only to find my grandfather sitting on the front porch with his rifle. He’d send Sarrath packing with a hide full of silver bullets and call it target practice.”

  “Aren’t silver bullets for vampires?”

  “Silver bullets kill vampires,” Holden said. “They only wound a demon, give him a nasty rash, and make him mad. Nobody likes an angry demon.”

  “Why didn’t your grandfather kill the demon and be done with it?”

  Holden rolled his eyes. “Because it would spoil the game. After twenty years or more that’s what it had become. Growing up, my dad said watching them was better than going to a drive-in movie.”

  “Which explains so much,” I said, rubbing the back of my head.

  “After my grandfather passed, my dad said it wasn’t the same. While he wasn’t interested in the game, my dad also didn’t want to give up the car. My grandfather had threatened to come back and haunt him if he let Sarrath win. The enchanted chains were my dad’s solution. They keep Sarrath away, Grandpa gets to rest in peace, and no one has to stand guard night and day.”

  “I take it the chains have worked?”

  “Definitely.”

  “How do you get in and out without removing the chains and opening a door?”

  “Easy,” Holden said. “I leave a window down and climb in and out that way.”

  “Can’t the demon get in that way, too?”

  “No. I don’t know the exact reason. My dad said it had something to do with the enchantment on the chains and the size of the opening. There was no point in keeping the car if we couldn’t drive it.”

  “And it’s mechanically sound,” I confirmed.

  “If you insist on using it, we can drive to Mulberry Street. You’re right that the car’s big enough and sturdy enough to contain all that magic, but …”

  I met his worried gaze. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Because of Sarrath—we have to leave the chains on—but leaving them on means we can’t load the magic.”

  “Why can’t we use the open windows?”

  “Because of the enchantment on the chains. They’ll allow a person through, but not anything else. They’ll have to come off. We might as well send Sarrath an engraved invitation.”

  “No, that’s good. It means once we have the magic inside, it won’t leak through the windows. As for Sarrath, he might not show up.”

  “Wishful thinking.”

  “So, we work fast,” I said, feeling hope and confidence growing. “The explosion blasted most of the house into the next tomorrow. That means the collection process won’t take a long time. There’s a lot of dark magic, but it’s concentrated. Any extra magical clean-up, we’ll leave for later. Bonus points because using the car for storage keeps both of us out of hot water with the MBI or ODiN. No one can accuse us of committing or facilitating a magical felony. I don’t have to worry about spells failing. It’s a win-win.” I grinned. “Compared to
all that, what’s one OCD demon?”

  Holden groaned. “I really hate it when you go all glass-half-full. It upsets the natural order.”

  “When was the last time you saw Sarrath?”

  “It’s been several years,” he admitted.

  “If it’s been that long, who’s to say he’ll even notice when the chains come off? Maybe he’s forgotten about the whole thing.”

  “A demon forgetting?” He snorted. “You’ve never met one.”

  “And you have?”

  “Demons never forgive and never forget. They’re persistent. It’s been a while since he’s come around, so he’s overdue. If he shows up and finds his car packed full of dark magic…” Holden shook his head and blew out a long breath. “It’ll be like Demon Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter all wrapped into one.”

  “Demon Christmas? Is that a thing?” If it was, I didn’t want to know. “The car is still our best option. Sure, using it means we’re taking a slight risk—”

  “Not slight,” Holden interjected. “Sarrath will show up. It’s only a matter of when.”

  “Fine. Sniffers and scavs will show up, too. It’s only a matter of when. If we don’t use the car, we run the same risk. It’s one or the other—a demon or scavs. I don’t have a clue how to figure the odds, but my money would be on the scavs showing up first.”

  “Or we get lucky and both show up at the same time. That’ll be fun,” he said sarcastically.

  I shot him my sunniest smile. “All we have to do is work fast and make sure none of those things happen.”

  “I should have stayed in bed.”

  Chapter 19

  “Took you long enough.”

  The dead wizard hovered over the wreckage and fire debris at the end of his invisible tether. He looked like a peeved hall monitor fresh out of detention slips. “Did you have to go back to witch school?”

  “I’m sorry.” I lifted the trunk of the car. “Am I keeping you from something important?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are.” His scowl deepened. “My problem is I can’t remember.”

  “Bummer.”

  It was getting dark. We’d waited to leave Holden’s house until we were sure police and fire officials had cleared the scene. I’d convinced myself not to worry about the site remaining unprotected until we got there. More than likely, Dylan Maddox was lurking nearby, hoping for a convenient arrest. Even then, we drove slower than geezers on holiday.