01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (37 page)

“I don’t need to pay you,” the
guy said, not even bothering to look at Elroy.

“You said you wanted her if she
had magic. She calms animals. So pay up.” Elroy’s alcoholic
belligerence seemed stupid when this guy was so big and so
nasty.

The guy got an ugly little
smile. “My boss wants her, even if her power is a shitty one. She’s
got the gene.” Now he turned to Elroy. “But you don’t have a power.
So she must’ve got it through her mother.” He grabbed Elroy with
his free hand and hauled him over to the front door of the shack,
which still stood open. “So we ain’t got no use for you.”

He shoved Elroy out. Elroy’s
drink fell to the porch floor, shattered glass tinkling as he
stumbled out onto the sandy desolation of a yard. He was trying to
get up, sputtering about a deal being a deal. The big man held out
his hand like a traffic cop telling you to stop. Just as Elroy
managed to get upright, the guy’s hand began to... to glow. It cast
a ruddy light over the station wagon and the old rust heap of a
pickup out farther in the yard. Maggie had never seen anything like
it. Elroy backed up. The air filled with a palpable tension.

Then Elroy burst into flame. Not
a piece at a time, but all at once like a torch filled with
gasoline igniting. He screamed and ran a little way, waving his
arms, no longer human but just flame. The flaming torch fell to its
knees and the screaming turned into little sounds and then stopped
as the torch fell over. The only thing left was this little black
heap, flame flickering over it. The flames turned blue and finally
flickered out, leaving the heap smoking.

Maggie’s fast little gasps
didn’t seem to get any air into her lungs. Somewhere out behind the
house a horse shrieked in fear at the smell of charred meat.

“Now that’s a power,” the guy
said. She looked up at the pride in his eyes and couldn’t think.
All she could see was Elroy, turned into a living flame. All she
could hear were the small sounds he made at the end. Elroy might
have been despicable, but he was still a human being. And, whether
she ever wanted to admit it or not, he was her father.

The guy smiled at her.
“Firestarter,” he said and looked back out over his handiwork. At
last he sighed in satisfaction and, her wrist still clasped in the
hand that hadn’t killed Elroy, dragged her back into the house.

Maggie’s brain started working
again. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “So, I’m next on the
barbie?” She hoped she managed cool and collected.

“No love lost between you two,
was there?”

“Not much, no.”

“Your only choice is to join us
and try to prove that your stupid-ass power can be useful, or....”
He trailed off ominously.

“Yeah, I get it. Maggie O’Brian,
Post Toastie.” Not much of a choice. She was out in the middle of
nowhere with a guy who could start fires with his
hand
.
“Think I’ll pick useful.”

The guy’s grin deepened. “Funny,
they all say that.” To her horror, he drew her in against his body.
He hadn’t changed his clothes in a couple of days. “We got some
time now though, for you to show just how useful you’d like to be.”
His dipped his head.

Don’t struggle,
she told
herself fiercely.
You’re a survivor. This is about
surviving.

The feel of his wet lips on hers
made her want to gag.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Tris could feel Maggie again in
his head, in the throb of the engine between his legs. His sense of
her had been growing for the last few minutes, from a whisper in
his brain to something more primal in his gut. It wound through
him, mixing with the smell of gas and blood. That feeling meant she
was alive. He wasn’t too late yet.

Tris blinked and the desert
night popped into focus. He might have been losing it. He had
definitely spaced out. He felt light-headed, distant from himself.
The sagebrush wasn’t flashing by anymore. Everything moved in slow
motion. The whole scene felt like a dream.

He shook his head to clear it.
No. No dream. The Ducati was slowing....

The engine sputtered.

Damn. He couldn’t have bike
problems now. Not when Maggie needed him. The Ducati coasted to the
shoulder of the road. What could it be? He swung his leg over the
bike and staggered off it. Dizziness drenched him as he kicked out
the stand. He hadn’t realized he’d lost that much blood. In the
light from the Ducati’s headlamp, he cast his eyes over the
bike.

Stupid. Stupid idiot! A clear
bullet hole near the bottom of the gas tank. That was why he’d been
smelling gasoline.

He was fucking out of gas.

The horror of it, the irony, the
guilt swept over him. If he’d realized.... If he’d stopped and
plugged the hole with a torn-off piece of shirt, he might have made
it to Austin. He could have been of some use to Maggie.

Now.... Now he was fulfilling
his destiny. Day late. Dollar short. He had people to disappoint
and missions on which to fail.

His head snapped to the side. He
felt the blow that hit Maggie just as if he’d been hit himself. She
needed him
now.
And he was out in the middle of nowhere with
no way to power his bike, no way to get to her. And a hole in his
leg that probably made him useless anyway.

“No!” he yelled, holding his
head. He stumbled off the road, sputtering curses and kicking at
the sand. She deserved someone better. He should have sent Kemble
to save her when he realized she was in danger. Kemble wouldn’t
have fucked up Maggie’s chances.

Tris sank to his knees in the
sand and bellowed into the night: no words, just some primal roar
of rage and pain. He felt the veins pop up in his neck and his
nails cut into his fisted palms.

He fell forward, his scream
draining away into a sob. His bleeding palms hit the sand. Tears
plopped onto the backs of his hands as he hung his head, gasping
for breath.
Big, bad Tris Tremaine. Six-four of useless, sobbing
wreck right when the woman you love needs you.

Yeah. He loved Maggie. Had loved
her probably since he laid eyes on her in the diner.

His palms began to burn. Heat
warmed his knees through his jeans. Even his toes through his boots
felt the heat. Energy surged up from his bare palms into his veins.
He could feel them bulge in his forearms.

“What the hell?”

He jerked his palms off the
desert floor. His knees were really burning now. The feeling of an
electric surge up the arteries in his thighs was unmistakable. He
pushed up to his feet, ignoring the searing pain from the hole in
his thigh. No lightning in the sky to create this effect. Not even
any clouds. Just the stark desert stars, cold and uncaring. Shit.
He could feel the heat through the soles of his boots. He scrambled
back to the road.

Didn’t help. Even through the
asphalt he could feel energy surging up through him, like he was a
conduit or something. He looked around. Nothing. Not even any power
poles that might have a line down. A surge rocked him and he almost
lost his balance. He put a hand out to his useless bike to steady
himself.

The motor roared to life.

Tris jumped back. The engine was
loud against the desert quiet. The bike settled into an eager
growl. Tris looked around. That tank had been dry. He’d have sworn
it. And you’d have to turn the ignition anyway....

His feet weren’t burning anymore
but they were still warm. He took a cautious step forward and
rapped his knuckles on the gas tank. It thudded hollowly.

Christ. Could it be?
He
was panting, but not from fatigue. He felt great. Better than he’d
ever felt in his life. He was panting because he didn’t want to
admit what was happening here.

And it didn’t matter whether he
admitted it or not. What mattered was that the cycle was running.
He was going after Maggie. He pulled off his leather jacket and
tossed it into the desert. He ripped his shirt from his body,
buttons popping, and tore off a strip and then another, tied them
together, and bound up his thigh. Whatever blood he had left, he
had to conserve.

He put what was left of his
shirt back on. Then he straddled the bike, seized the handlebar
grips, and picked up his feet. The power flowed up from the earth
through the bike, cycled through his veins and back down into the
engine.

He didn’t need gasoline. He
could power the engine directly.

His mother had been right after
all. He grinned and gunned the engine. The tires shrieked against
the asphalt as the bike leapt forward.

Now, if Maggie could only hold
out ’til he got there.

Maggie flopped down on the bed
where the Firestarter pushed her.

“No need to get rough,” she
said. “I made my choice.” He loomed between her and the door. Could
she do this? Her stomach felt like she was going to heave.
Get a
grip. Women do this every day. You’ll live.

The guy was unbuckling his belt,
unzipping. “What if I like it rough?” She could see his erect penis
in the open vee of his jeans.

No way. Just no way she was
going to let this happen.

Like there was a choice here.
Unless she liked extra crispy.

She had to do
something.
Okay. What if a guy was really, really calm? Could he get it up
then? He grabbed a fistful of her shirt. The snaps popped open as
he ripped it away. She closed her eyes and felt for the calm.

“Rough it is,” she said, in her
horse-calming voice. “Whatever you want.”

He blinked, towering above her
as he straightened.

“We got all night here.” Her
voice ramped up the calm another notch. She reached up and touched
him. The calm seemed to burst out of her like a fountain, drenching
the Firestarter. His eyelids drooped. “What’s your name?” she
asked.

“Prentice.” The guy’s voice was
a whisper. He got a little, sappy smile on his face.

“Well, Prentice, why don’t you
go sit down where you can relax? I’ll get us something to drink.”
She sat up cautiously.

“Yeah,” Prentice said. “That’s
good.” He wandered over to the sagging couch in the living room,
his pants still gaping.

Now what to do? If she bolted
for the front door, would the calm last? Did it need her to
continue feeding the fountain? Her horses didn’t revert to wild.
Bolt for the door it is.

She peered out into the living
room. Prentice was lounging on the couch, head all but lolling.
Maybe she shouldn’t bolt. Just walk quietly to the door. She
started across the room.

“Hey, where you going?”

Maggie stopped, not looking back
at him. “Just out to the horses. I’ll be right back.”

“Can’t ... can’t do that.” She
heard the couch creak. Getting up? Sitting forward? “Old woman
wants you.” Uh-oh. Note of fear in the voice. Fear does not equal
calm.

She sprinted for the door,
jerked it open. She was out into the night, but Prentice’s heavy
boots thudded behind her. She pounded past the derelict truck
toward Tris’s pickup and the fancy truck the Firestarter must have
come in. She tripped over a darker pile in the night.
Elroy.
The smoking bones of what had been his hand caught the moonlight.
She gasped as she righted herself and struggled toward the truck.
She could do it. She was maybe ten feet from the door handle when
the truck exploded into flame.

She shrieked and staggered back,
then looked around wildly. Out in back, horses screamed in fear.
Elroy’s station wagon? Even as she thought that, it too burst into
flame and the Firestarter’s own truck immediately afterwards. A
meaty hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around to face one
very angry Firestarter. In the light of the flames from the
engulfed vehicles, he looked demonic. He backhanded her so hard she
lost her footing and fell.

“Good trick, that calm stuff.
You may be useful after all,” Prentice grunted. He was breathing
hard. But using his power had brought the erection back. He jerked
her to her feet then gripped the back of her neck in one hand and
marched her back to the house.

“Now where were we?”

*****

Tris felt Maggie’s fear. He
could practically hear her scream. The bike was going more than a
hundred. He could see the lights of Austin. Eight miles to her
place on that little road. Couldn’t do a hundred there.

He had no idea what he’d be
facing at the shack. The Cloaker was many miles from here. But
whoever was at Elroy’s would have some magic power. Just like Tris
himself did. It had all been true all along. And Maggie was the one
who raised his magic. The feeling he’d felt growing over the last
week wasn’t just love. The realization struck him like the bullet
had. He knew he loved her. But the “one true love”? The one he
didn’t think he’d ever have? She was his destiny.

He felt the blow that hit her.
It rocked him, shocked him. Panic rose. He’d better hope he had
enough strength left to take out whoever was hurting her. He felt
for the gun at his waist.

Maybe he
could
do a hundred on
the road out to Elroy’s.

*****

Maggie screeched and clawed at
Prentice. She could feel Tris like a pressure in her chest. He
wasn’t far away. She might have resented that connection earlier,
but she was sure glad to feel it now. She could have cried except
there was no time. She had to last until Tris could get here.
Though what he’d do against a guy who could make things burst into
flame, she had no idea. Maybe she was drawing Tris to his death.
But it wasn’t like she could break the connection. Prentice slapped
her until her head rang. He was pulling down her jeans, shoving her
knees wide with his thighs. She blinked. What was he saying?
Something about getting his due for all that waiting in the pass
into California. She flashed on the pickup burning by the side of
the road with two bodies in it. The pickup had looked like her
truck. Those people had died because he thought they were her and
Tris.