01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (38 page)

Then all she could see was that
erection, and how big it was.

*****

Tris let the bike slide out from
under him in a shower of sand. Maggie’s distress wound down his
spine. It was all he could do not to run up onto the porch and
break in the door. But he had to be smarter than that. Three
vehicles were still ablaze in the yard, though the flames were
dying down. He recognized the hulk at the side of the house as the
truck he’d bought in Fallon. The one in the driveway might have
been Elroy’s station wagon. The other one must belong to whoever
was hitting Maggie.

There was a heap of charcoal in
the middle of the yard that still had shards of bones in it.

Not Maggie!
he told
himself as his insides quivered.
She’s inside. You can feel
her.

And at least one someone with
some unknown magic power would be with her. Looked like that power
might have to do with starting fires. Okay. He couldn’t just burst
in there shooting or he and Maggie might both end up like whoever
that pile of charcoal had been.

Had they heard his bike? No one
appeared at the windows. The door remained shut. Good. He could use
some surprise on his side. And a major diversion.

He looked around and saw the
rusting hulk of the ’40s truck sitting up on its blocks, no tires,
no windows, over next to the always nearly empty propane tank.
Inside, he felt Maggie’s fear and her struggle. He cursed the limp
that slowed him as he hobbled to the truck.

You’re no good to her if you
get burnt to a crisp,
he told himself.
You need a
distraction. So let’s see what this new power thing can do.
He
stood next to the truck. He could feel the engine, its rust, the
ancient sludge of oil in its metal veins. He wouldn’t think about
how impossible this was.
Gotta get outta bed one more time,
Grandpa.

His boots began to warm. Maggie
screamed. Tris felt his belly clench, but he held himself still.
His blood heated. The veins stood out on his forearms below his
rolled sleeves. He put both palms on the hood of the battered
truck.

The flow of energy through his
body was like fire.
Burn me. I need all the power I can get.
Better he burn from inside than by the hand of whoever or whatever
was in the shack with Maggie.
Comin’ darlin’. Fast as I can.
He shut out the whimper he heard in his mind. He hoped she could
feel him out here the way he felt her.

The old truck’s engine turned
over once, sputtered, and died. Tris wanted to scream. Instead he
concentrated on being the perfect conduit of the energy that poured
through him.
I know you got shitty oil, old man, but you gotta
do it anyway.
As if the truck could hear him.
Go out in a
blaze of glory rather than rusting to death.
It was an unfair
proposition. But Maggie was running out of time. His only chance
was to do the unexpected and get the guy while he was focused
elsewhere.
More power!
His back arched as it shot through
him. The night evaporated, replaced by an aurora borealis of energy
and pain. He might have been yelling. Somebody was.

Tris felt the motor roar to life
under his hands, clanking and grinding. The old truck rocked on its
blocks, tire-less wheels spinning. Tris went round behind it and
put his shoulder against the bumper. It took him two shoves before
the blocks tipped and the truck landed in the yard, its rims
churning up sand. One distraction, coming up.

“Make me a hole,” Tris yelled.
He pointed to the left side with the kitchen.

The ancient rusted truck ground
across the yard, right over the pile of charcoal and bones toward
the kitchen, Tris scrambling in its wake. He could feel Maggie in
the back bedroom. If the truck took out the kitchen, she’d escape
injury.
More injury,
he corrected. Anger welled up. This guy
better
have some magic. Tris needed a fight, bad.

The truck crashed through the
thin walls of the shack like they were made of balsa, shards poking
every which way. Distraction accomplished. Tris slid in through the
front door.

Inside, the smoke and dust
billowed. Tris smelled the rotten egg aroma of leaking propane. Not
good around a guy who could start fires. The truck revved its
engine and backed out over the porch. Tris pulled his gun. He
better be damned sure he didn’t shoot Maggie.

“Tris!” Maggie coughed. “Watch
out.”

He couldn’t see anything. Then a
shadow loomed from his right. Too big for Maggie.

“Bring it on, asshole,” Tris
snarled. “What you got?”

“Firestarter,” Maggie gasped in
warning. Tris caught sight of her sagging against the bedroom
doorway from the corner of his eye.

“What she said,” the guy ahead
of him chuckled. As he emerged from the dust he stuck out his hand.
It began to glow. Tris raised his gun. He couldn’t miss at this
range, but the thing flared into blistering heat. He dropped it,
cursing, his hand blistering.

The guy started to laugh. Tris
did the only thing he could. He charged him, low, under the
reddening hand. His shoulder hit the guy’s midsection. The
Firestarter rocked back. Flame sprayed like an orange rainbow
across the dining room wall, igniting the drapes and the
tablecloth. Tris followed the guy down, punching into his gut.
Those blows should have brought the guy to a halt. But no. Tris
realized how weak he’d gotten. The best he could do was pin the guy
down. The flame in the Firestarter’s hand went out as they
scrabbled for advantage.

He has to concentrate to make
fire,
Tris thought.
Like the Cloaker.
Better keep him
busy. With the way the fire was spreading, there wasn’t much
time.

“Maggie,” he yelled. “Go now.”
No response. Tris landed a couple of punches, but he was fading
almost before the fight began. “You hear me?” he shouted over the
flapping crackle of the flames. “Get out of the house now.” The guy
landed a real haymaker. Tris stumbled back, shaking his head and
breathing hard. The guy’s hand jerked up, glowing.

Uh-oh.
Tris dived, just
as he heard a yell.

“Get off me, you bitch. Ow!”

Fire danced up the bedroom wall.
Tris came up swinging and caught the guy on the chin as the
Firestarter threw a clawing, mostly naked Maggie onto the couch.
Smoke was now everywhere. Still, Tris could see Maggie’s bruised
face.

“Damn you,” he growled. If he
was going to get this done, it better get done soon. He mustered
what strength he had and landed a right into the guy’s gut and
followed with a left uppercut. He meant to aim for the jaw but he
caught the guy’s temple instead. The Firestarter staggered, just as
Maggie hit him with a lamp.

Tris seized the opportunity to
reach around the huge man and grab Maggie’s hand. Let the fire take
care of this guy. He had to get Maggie out
now.
He pulled
her toward the hole the truck had made. The whole place was
practically engulfed in flames. Through the smoke he saw the fire
shoot a finger of flame across the kitchen floor toward the stove.
Not that way. The Firestarter was rolling to his knees between them
and the front door.

The Firestarter recovered enough
to lunge for them. Tris kicked him in the groin and dragged Maggie
into his own body. Picking up the rickety end table by one leg, he
swung it through the window beside the couch.

“Now!” he yelled over shattering
glass. He dove through the jagged hole, covering Maggie’s body as
much as he could. They crashed onto the porch. His leg gave way and
he went down. But Maggie was a fighter. She staggered up and pulled
at him. They stumbled off the porch and across the yard, past the
now silent, rusted pickup. Not far enough....

The house exploded behind them,
sending both of them skidding into the sandy dirt. The world went
oddly silent as Tris threw himself over Maggie. A fireball roared
into the sky. Shards of wood and embers like angry orange insects
showered the yard.

When the worst was over, Tris
sat up and helped Maggie to sit. The yard was lit by the burning
house in a hellish glare. “You okay?” He knew he was shouting, but
his voice sounded far away. He examined her frantically, unable to
wait for a dazed response.

She looked awful up close. The
bastard had beaten her, and from the state of her clothes, probably
worse. Fury almost choked him. Fury at the Firestarter for what
he’d done, at Elroy for failing her, at himself for ditto.
Why
hadn’t he realized sooner that she’d be in danger? She
was bare from the waist up and she clutched the rags of her jeans
over her belly. They’d been cut with a knife and he could see cuts
on her body as well, maybe from the glass, maybe from the knife. He
slapped an ember off her jeans.

“I’m okay.” He saw her mouth say
it more than heard the words. She brushed something off his
shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

The broken glass. “Doesn’t
matter.” He slipped out of his tattered shirt and slid it around
her shoulders, then gathered her into his chest. He’d failed to
keep her from harm, and that hurt worse than his leg, worse than
his blistered hand or the cuts on his body. But she was safe now.
That was all that mattered. They turned and looked at the only home
she’d ever had being consumed by fire flapping in a rage against
the night.

A figure staggered out of the
flames, burning. Maggie screamed.

“He’s a dead man.” Tris held her
head to his chest. “He can’t hurt you now.”

The flames engulfing the
Firestarter flickered out, leaving his skin untouched. He bellowed
a laugh. “You think fire can kill a Firestarter?” He picked up a
rusted axle from the yard and started for them. “Fire
belongs
to me. It burns what I say it burns.” He lifted his
other hand, already beginning to glow.

“Run, Maggie,” Tris yelled.

“I’m not leaving you,” she
screamed back as she pulled away and looked around for a weapon. It
was going to take some weapon to kill this guy.

Tris blinked. He had the very
one. Maybe.

No time to reach the old truck.
This time he’d have to send the energy. Could you do that? God, he
hoped so. He put his palms to the earth. They heated instantly as
power flowed through them looking for an outlet. He clenched his
muscles. Nothing. The Firestarter’s hand was bright red now. He
must be tired, or they’d already be toast. Tris clenched his mind
and pushed the power rising from the earth out toward the truck,
groaning with the effort.

The derelict’s engine roared.
Its wheel rims spewed sandy earth. The Firestarter jerked around
toward the noise, transforming a Palo Verde tree into an imitation
of the burning bush. Each push of power twisted Tris’s body with
pain. Definitely harder than touching the machine to power it. His
legs gave out and he fell to his knees. Still he pushed power
out.

The old truck leaped toward the
Firestarter. The guy managed one step backward before the truck hit
him head-on, making him jerk like a shaken doll. Tris could imagine
the sound of snapping bones. The guy clawed at the rusted hood, but
the truck just kept going until the guy was sandwiched up against
the propane tank.

Tris hung his head. Just a
little bit more. This guy had to be dead dead, dead as dead could
be. Tris’s groan turned into a yell as he squeezed power toward the
truck. Blood burbled from the Firestarter’s mouth. The truck’s
motor revved, crushing him against the tank.

Tris gasped as the power faded,
slipping down through his body and into the earth. The truck
settled back onto its axles as the motor died.

The Firestarter slumped to the
ground. He
had
to be dead after that. Better make sure. Tris
pushed to his feet, feeling like an old man, and limped slowly to
where the Firestarter lay. There was still a light in his eyes. His
breath gurgled and blood bubbles welled at the corners of his
mouth. His chest was concave. The guy was drowning in his own
blood.

“Are there more of you?” Tris
asked. The Firestarter’s mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Tris
knelt beside him. “Tell me,” he shouted, shaking the guy by his
collar. “Where? How many?” The light in the guy’s eyes died. Blood
quit bubbling from his mouth. “How many?” Tris asked again, his
voice cracking. At this point he was only talking to himself.

Maggie came up beside him. “What
was that?”

“What?” He felt shell-shocked.
She still sounded far away.

“That truck hasn’t run since
about 1960. You want to tell me what that was?”

“Not overmuch.” He still didn’t
know what to think about it himself. “Did he...?”

She swallowed, her eyes
flickering with haunted memories. She shook her head. “He was
having too much fun with the foreplay.”

Tris slammed his fist into the
sandy dirt. Too bad the guy was dead. He’d like to have made him
pay for the look in Maggie’s eyes. She put a hand on his
shoulder.

“Don’t. Not worth the
energy.”

He got to his feet, longing to
take her into his arms again, not sure she’d welcome that in her
fragile state. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

Frowning, about to say
something, her gaze brushed his leg. “You’re wounded.”

“Doesn’t matter. We gotta get
outta here.” There might be more of them.

“Can’t leave the horses.” His
hearing must be coming back. Her voice sounded tired.

“I’ll check to be sure they’re
okay. Then we go.” The heat from the flaming house warmed his back,
but his nipples puckered from the cool air on his chest.

She clutched his shirt across
her bare breasts and nodded her thanks. “I’m coming with you.” She
nudged under his arm. It felt so right to have her this close. He
never wanted her out of his sight again. In fact, he never wanted
to let her out of his arms.