I climbed in the front seat beside her and looked into the rear-view mirror to see Twyla send her dlézi back to the spirit world. She grabbed our backpacks from the trunk and tossed them on the back seat. Minutes later we were cruising down a snow-covered back road and I spotted a sign saying that we were five kilometres from the town of Bassano. By my calculation, Ewanchuk had driven more than an hour and a half east of the city to kill us and dispose of our bodies.
“Pull over at that service station,” said Twyla after about ten minutes of icy silence. “I don’t like sitting in the back seat of a police cruiser. We’ll call my grandfather.”
“Fine,” said Ewanchuk as she signaled right and drove up the paved ramp to an old Shell station that looked like it had been in business since the discovery of petroleum. We hopped out of the car and I finally released Constable Ewanchuk from my binding.
“Thanks for the ride, officer,” I said as I climbed out of the passenger side. “If you make it back to your blood coven in time, tell Adriel that Julie Richardson and Twyla Asskicking Standingready send their warmest regards.”
“Bitch,” she spat as I closed the door. I reached over and opened the rear door and Twyla hopped out. She tossed me my backpack and the cruiser sped off, kicking up a plume of snow in its wake.
“You’re a quick thinker,” I said, patting Twyla on the shoulder. “I’ve never learned how to place a geas on someone, before.”
“I’ll show you sometime,” she replied as she watched the cruiser disappear up the highway. “Too bad we can’t find Willard.”
“I know,” I said, sounding slightly deflated. “I need to call my mother and fill her in on what’s happened. Want to go inside the gas station where it’s warm?”
She nodded. “Sounds better than freezing our asses off. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 20
I called my mother to let her know what had happened and calmed her down. Not an easy task when you’ve got a lump on the back of your head the size of a goose egg and you’re standing inside an old gas station with a pair of elderly grease monkeys looking on. I broke the news that Adriel had Willard and that I had a ride home with Twyla’s grandfather.
And surprisingly, she didn’t protest. Instead, she just instructed me to get back as quickly as possible, so Twyla and I sat down at a small table covered with fishing magazines and waited. After about forty minutes of listening to old country music and sipping on piping hot coffee (or possibly boiled paint stripper, it tasted awful), an old Ford half-ton truck pulled up in front of the gas station. Behind the wheel was an old man wearing a green toque. He climbed out of the truck and hobbled over to the doors and walked inside.
“Twyla, you owe me for the gas, yeah?” he said with a thin smile on his face. He stuck out a leathery, arthritic hand in front of me. “George Standingready is my name. What kind of trouble has my granddaughter gotten you into, young lady?”
I shook his hand and got a massive jolt of supernatural power that was unlike anything that I’d felt before. Normally someone’s magical signature tingles when I brush up against them, but what I felt when I took George Standingready’s hand wasn’t a tingle at all; it was more like a full-blown electrical field. “I’m Julie Richardson,” I said as he released his grip. “And I think I’m starting to understand that I have a ton of stuff to learn about native magic.”
“You’d be right on that, eh?” he said with a grunt. He motioned for us to follow, so we stepped out into the cold again and headed over to his pickup truck. Twyla climbed in the passenger side first and shifted her weight to the middle of the sheepskin-covered seat. I climbed in after her and slipped on my seatbelt as George Standingready slowly maneuvered himself behind the steering wheel. The interior of the truck smelled like stale cigarettes and I glanced at the dashboard to see an ashtray that was full to overflowing with cigarette butts.
“Your people would call it spirit harnessing or something, eh?” he said as he turned the key. The engine roared to life and he slipped it into reverse. “We have another name for it, but it doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s all about energy – it takes energy to make what you call magic work. It’s just like how you need gasoline to make this old truck turn its wheels.”
“Grandfather, have you seen anything in your visions that can help us find where the person who killed that boy might be hiding?” asked Twyla.
He shook his head as the truck clunked into high gear and roared down the highway. “I don’t know, I haven’t had a vision today and I sure as hell won’t be looking for one until I get back to the city. So, you found yourselves in the trunk of the cop car, eh? Assholes used to do that to our people all the time back in the day. They’d toss you in the back seat or even in the trunk and drop you off in the middle of nowhere – it didn’t matter if it was minus twenty like today or a heat wave in August.”
I looked out the window at the farmland blowing by as we sped up the highway. “The cop is a member of a blood coven, sir,” I said as I massaged the bump on my head. “I’m sorry that you and Twyla have been dragged into something that should only be involving witches. It’s our fight, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Twyla, so thank you.”
Twyla snorted and gave me a sharp nudge in the ribs. “You didn’t drag us into your fight. Our people have a stake in this, too.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
The truck shuddered for a moment and then backfired as George Standingready stamped down on the gas pedal to pass a slow moving vehicle. “Everything that lives in this world has a spirit of some kind,” the old man said as he turned up the heat so we could shake off the cold. “It’s a delicate balance and there are times when people like us have to step in to maintain that balance. Folks who shape the spirits into something other than what the creator intended do so at their own peril, because they always wind up on the losing side. This world likes to be at peace with its purpose, but sometimes it needs people like us to set things right. I don’t know who this Adriel might be, but she’ll be set right, you can be sure of that.”
I turned my head to look at this strange old man who seemed so absolutely certain of himself. His large, leathery hands gripped the steering wheel and his penetrating eyes gazed out on the road ahead from beneath a pair of bushy gray eyebrows. Sprigs of gray and white stubble adorned his unshaven face, covering up a series of deep crevice-like wrinkles that ran down his cheekbones.
He looked like he’d clocked a lot of miles and I was about to ask how old he was, but I stopped myself, deciding that it would be disrespectful to ask anything of someone who looked at magic as something to be revered. The way he spoke of how our world was bound together by actual spirits was a completely different take on magic; a world where people with the gift had an obligation to protect those spirits and maintain the delicate balance of living energy that surrounds us. For George Standingready and his granddaughter Twyla, their role was a sacred one; to protect and preserve the natural order of things. And from what I’d seen from Twyla’s abilities, anyone who messed with the natural order of things would pay dearly for it.
In the distance I could see the Calgary skyline, its skyscrapers standing like giant sentries overlooking mile upon mile of rolling, snow-covered farmland. Somewhere out there was a black mage named Adriel and a terrified boy named Willard Schubert. A boy that was a living vessel with so much pent-up anger and rage that he literally pulsed with malicious energy. I didn’t have a clue how to find him. Being the powerful mage that she was, Adriel would most certainly have concocted a spell that would shroud his whereabouts from even the most skilled practitioner.
George Standingready signaled right and the truck turned down a ramp leading to a dirt road. “Where are we heading?” I asked.
“Shortcut,” he replied. “I don’t want to get stuck in gridlock on 16th Avenue. This road connects up with Blackfoot Trail and it’s a quicker way back to the south side of town. Oh, and we’re being followed by a police car.”
A tre
mor of panic shot through me as I turned my head around sharply and looked through the rear-view mirror. The blue and white cruiser was gaining on us; its tires kicking up a massive spray of snow in its wake. I slipped my amulet back into my Shadowcull’s band and reached out with my Sight. A sharp, vibrating field of magic encased the cruiser that was now no more than a hundred meters behind us and I gulped as I recognized the magical signature: it was Constable Ewanchuk.
“That’s the cop who took us,” I said. “She’s coming after us.”
George Standingready stomped on the gas pedal and the truck snapped into a higher gear. “Yep, and there ain’t no way in the world this old pig of a truck is going to outrun her. She’s going to try and force us off the road.”
I’d never slung magic from a moving vehicle before, but I wasn’t about to waste a moment considering whether I could do it, either. I slid open the rear window and twisted my body around so that I was perched on my knees.
“What the hell are you doing?” Twyla shouted, her voice nearly shrill.
I gritted my teeth together as I pushed my shoulders through the window opening. “Your grandfather just told me what I had to do. This old truck won’t outrun a police cruiser, and I don’t feel like dying today in a car wreck outside of town. Mr Standingready, keep this truck moving and for crying out loud, don’t hit any major bumps or you’ll throw me from the box.”
“Shit,” he said angrily. “You hold onto something when you get back there, girl. This road ain’t exactly paved.”
I groaned as I tried to wedge myself through the narrow opening. The cruiser was gaining on us and my face was getting pelted by pellets of ice and sand the half-ton truck’s rear tires were kicking up.
“Damn!” I barked as my winter coat got hung up on the window latch. “Twyla, give me a push now!”
I felt Twyla’s arms wrapping around my thighs. The truck rattled along hitting washboard ruts in the road and the entire vehicle shook violently. I felt Twyla leaning into me so I grabbed onto either side of the rear window and pushed with all my strength. My legs slipped through the window and I tumbled onto the floor of the box with a final groan, rolling hard until my head smashed into the tailgate. I looked up to see Twyla’s worried face peering through the opening. She was just about to try and squeeze into the box herself when I saw her grandfather grab a big handful of Twyla’s hood. He pulled her firmly back into the cab and he pointed to the bench seat, ordering her to stay put.
At this point, everything went from scary to downright terrifying. There was a spare tire chained to a rail inside the box, so I pushed it back toward the cab with my feet and then I scrambled in between the tire and the tailgate. There aren’t any seatbelts in the box of a half-ton truck and if George Standingready hit a big enough bump, I’d wind up thrown from the vehicle. I needed stability – as much stability as I could find – because what I had to do next required every ounce of concentration that I could muster.
And Constable Ewanchuk wasn’t going to have any of it.
I saw her arm poking out the driver’s side window and in her hand was her sidearm. Without even thinking, I drew from my spirit and raised a dome of magic. Ice-cold wind battered the side of my face as I concentrated. I saw a series of flashes coming from the muzzle of the gun and in less time than it takes to blink, three bullets slammed into the dome. My Shadowcull’s band burned against my skin as I pushed my spirit further just in time to contain the impact of another three rounds.
“Son of a…” I growled. It might be one thing to use a magical shield to protect against the lash of an enemy’s spell, but it’s another thing entirely to contain all the super-concentrated kinetic energy of bullets flying faster than the speed of sound when you’re driving at sixty miles an hour. Ewanchuk would eventually break through my protective field and my heart sank at the realization that one of those bullets could easily tear off the top of my head.
We hit a bump and I was tossed into the air, but I had a hand on the frozen rim of the spare tire and I landed hard on my tailbone. Another three flashes from the muzzle of the gun caught my eye and I struggled furiously to maintain my magical shield. Only this time, two bullets slammed into the shield. The truck swerved sharply to the right and I spun around to see George Standingready holding his left shoulder with his right hand. Twyla grabbed hold of the steering wheel and screamed at her grandfather.
“Take your foot off the gas, Grampa!”
He leaned over to his left and I saw a smear of bright red blood on the windshield. The truck slowed as Twyla struggled to keep the vehicle in a straight line.
And that’s when Constable Ewanchuk’s police cruiser slammed into the rear of the pickup. We pitched down a sharp shoulder and the truck ploughed into a thick snowdrift, sending me flying out of the back of the box.
As I flew through the air, I caught sight of where I was going to land – a barbed wire cattle fence.
Perfect.
CHAPTER 21
I don’t remember actually landing in the barbed wire fence. I remember watching in horror as the police cruiser’s grill smashed into the truck’s tailgate. I remember the vehicle swerving sharply to the right and then hitting a massive bump that jettisoned me from the box. After that, everything went blurry. I opened my eyes and tried to stand but I was waist deep in snow and my jeans and my winter coat were snagged in the rusty half-inch barbs of frozen wire. I felt the sharp sting on the side of my face and a thin trickle of blood rolled into the corner of my mouth.
Constable Ewanchuk climbed out of her police cruiser, her gun at the ready. She glared at me with a look of stone-cold hatred in her eyes as she adopted a firing stance and aimed her weapon, so I raised my magic and bellowed, “Hexus!”
She fired her gun only to have the weapon explode in her hand in a flash of yellow light. Things seemed to move into slow motion at this point: another flash of light, a small puff of black smoke and finally blood and flesh splattering in all directions. Ewanchuk shrieked in a voice that was more animal than human as she looked down in horror at what was left of her right hand; a bloody, pulpy stump of flesh and ligaments. Two fingers dangled from a flap of skin and blood seeped through the fingers of her other hand as she covered the wound in an attempt to stem the flow. My hex had worked brilliantly causing the gun to blow up in her hand – she wouldn’t be shooting anyone today.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t other ways to take me down. I was still stuck in a barbed wire cattle fence and any struggling on my part would only entangle my body worse than it already was. So, I shut my eyes and concentrated. I blocked out the pain of the rusty barbs digging into my flesh and then I whispered a word of magic. A fine current of supernatural energy ran over my body as I grated my teeth together and increased my focus. In seconds I could feel the wire beginning to give way enough to free my snagged up legs and torso. I slipped out of my winter coat; my magic blowing the zipper open. I glanced down at my jeans and saw they were torn open in multiple places. The snow was stained with my blood. I staggered through the waist-high drift and glared fierily at Ewanchuk.
“You bitch!” she roared as she clutched the bloody stump at the end of her right arm “You blew my hand off. But that doesn’t mean I can’t lay a death curse on your sorry ass!”
I gazed at the wreck that was George Standingready’s pickup truck. It lay on its side and there was smoke coming from the engine. Ewanchuk stood between me and the burning vehicle and a surge of panic twisted my stomach into a tight ball. Twyla and her grandfather were still inside. I was just about to lash out with a flurry of spells to protect myself from whatever Ewanchuk was going to throw at me when a powerful wave of magic poured out from the cab of the truck. An explosion of supernatural force shook the ground and the passenger door blew off the crumpled vehicle and shot twenty feet in the air. Seconds later a pair of hands emerged clutching the floor of the truck: two leathery, gnarled hands that had seen a lifetime of hard living. Two hands blazing with magical energy. It w
as George Standingready. As he pulled himself out of the smashed vehicle, I saw a battered and bruised Twyla, her arms wrapped tightly around the old man’s strong neck. He cleared the vehicle and deposited his granddaughter a safe distance away, and then he turned his attention to Ewanchuk.
Blood coven magic didn’t have anything on what I saw George Standingready do next. He reached into one of the pockets of his parka and then in a quick, swift motion, he pulled out his own beaded pouch, only this one was slightly larger than Twyla’s. George Standingready’s eyes narrowed menacingly. He squeezed the pouch tightly in his right hand and cried out in his native language.
And Ewanchuk literally dropped dead right before my very eyes.
But the old man wasn’t done yet. He cried out once more as he tore the blood mage’s spirit right out of her body and then lashed it with a binding that crackled with magical energy, a ribbon of power looping around and around the translucent image of Constable Ewanchuk hovering inches above her corpse. George Standingready squeezed his fetish again and the ribbon tightened like a noose on the neck of a man being hanged.
The spirit screamed at the display of the old man’s power. It gazed down at its body with a look of horror in its vaporous eyes and then it shrieked. A mournful, tormented wail rang out and echoed down the empty country road as it struggled against the binding.
“My granddaughter told me that your master placed a geas under pain of death should you reveal her whereabouts,” Standingready snarled. “Yet I killed you where you stood with a single word and I have the power to bring you back. Your keeper holds no longer holds any power over you now that you’re dead, but I do. So, where is she hiding and where did she take the boy?”
“I don’t know!” the spirit wailed.
George Standingready gave his fetish another tiny squeeze and Ewanchuk’s ghost shrieked in pain once more.
Student Bodies Page 15
