09 - Return Of The Witch (16 page)

The
driver of the rig had returned and drawn a gun on me. I held my hands in surrender and smiled. “Hey there. Nice day we’re having, ain’t it?”

“Get down
`fore I shoot you where you stand.”

“All right, I hear you
. I’m getting down. But just for the record, technically I’m sitting, not standing.”

“You think you can hijack my truck, do ya?”

“Hijack? No! I wasn’t trying to hijack your truck.” I pointed back at the Escalade. “I was trying to protect it from that terrorist.”

“Terrorist? Ha! You’re the only terrorist I see.” He directed me toward the sidewalk
at the point of his gun. “I called the police, missy. We’ll just let them sort this whole mess out.”

We were o
nly three steps from the truck when I heard the squeal of rubber on pavement. The Escalade was in motion. The truck driver was still going on about how clever I thought I was, and how clever he was for foiling my plans, when I knocked him to the ground with just inches to spare between him and the Escalade’s polished chrome battering ram.

The
SUV overshot the parking lot and ran up onto the sidewalk, smashing into a line of garbage cans and sending them hurling across the miniature green lawns.

“See!” I
yelled at the truck driver. “I told you he was a terrorist.”

I reached down and picked up his gun
, a 9MM semi-auto Taurus PT 92. It felt good in my hand, and I felt good about delivering some righteous karma to the driver of that Escalade.

I
started walking toward the car, my arms out straight, my aim leveled and tight. I popped off several rounds, taking out his back window and drilling a couple of holes into the tailgate.

He kicked the car into reverse and gunned it. Still, I kept walking, firing in rapid succession until the last second when I had to leap side
ways to avoid getting run over.

He
rocketed past me, hit the brake and skidded to a stop. I picked myself off the pavement and took aim at him again, supporting my right hand with my left, my knees slightly bent. He revved his engine. I smiled and nodded. “That’s right, come to momma.”

I counted ten
rounds on the first volley of shots I fired. A Taurus PT 92 holds seventeen. The gun still felt heavy. I felt lucky. I pointed at the windshield and gestured come hither with my finger.

The driver
obliged.

Smoke rolled in thick columns from his back tires
when he punched the gas. I squeezed off a round, punching a hole in the windshield just below the visor. He kept coming. I squeezed off another and another, drilling two new holes below and to the right of the first. Still, he plowed on.

I crouched lower, raised my right shoulder and squinted into the sun.

POW-POW-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.

Okay, so sometimes
a Taurus PT 92 only carries fifteen rounds. As Ursula would say, `tis a shame, too, because I was sure those last three were dead on.

I threw the gun at the windshield and jumped aside just as the Escalade screamed pas
t me. He fishtailed to a stop, swinging the back end of the vehicle completely around so that the car was again facing me.

“Shit!” I yelled. “This
cat’s got nine lives.”

I started backing up, slowly at first, but then very quickly. The Escalade wasted no time.
The driver floored it, smoking the tires again and choking the bystanders in a cloud of burnt rubber and tarmac.

I ran
for the only cover I could find, under the fuel truck. I knew the driver of the Escalade was ruthless, heartless and determined, but I didn’t imagine he was stupid.

Goes to show you what I kn
ew.

I
slid under the truck as if stealing home plate, barely getting my head below the tank before the chrome battering ram slammed into the side, wedging itself on the delivery pipes below.

I couldn’t believe my luck, first that the fuel truck
hadn’t exploded, and second that the front of the Escalade had gotten stuck on the pipes and was unable to free itself.

The driver dropped the car into reverse and gunned it, but the wheels only sp
un. The battering ram that had been his weapon was now his Achilles heel.

My heart pound
ed, my breath fell short, yet I couldn’t help laughing. I could smell fuel oil leaking from the truck and all I could think of was how could I ignite it?

One
zip ball would do it, I thought. I could back away and let one rip. He wouldn’t have a chance. That would show him. Unfortunately, it would show a dozen or two other stupid bastards that had gathered in close to the truck for a better look.

I was still flat on my ass
, leaning on my elbows when I heard Ursula’s voice.

“Run!”
she cried, calling to me from between two of the apartment buildings. I have to tell you, it seemed like a damn fine idea. I was about to call back to tell her that she should run, too, when I saw that she had made other plans.

“Yeah! Do it!” I yelled.

Ursula broke the glass panel on a fire hose box and rolled out twenty feet of hose across the parking lot. Paige Turner, the fragile old witch I thought incapable of stepping into her own shadow, appeared out of thin air, reached up with her gnarly hands and cranked open the valve.

The
sudden surge of water gave life to the hose, turning it from a flat ribbon into a squirming snake impossible to tame. I slid out from under the truck and ran to Ursula. Together, we trained the jet stream of water through the busted back window of the Escalade.

The
truck quickly filled with water and began to overflow. I realized then I’d detected no movement from the driver behind the wheel. I imagined we either forced him out of the car or drowned him where he sat. Frankly, I hoped for the latter, but that’s just me.

When we turned the water off and approached the
vehicle to investigate, we learned that the driver had indeed escaped.

With
the call of distant sirens announcing the cavalry’s imminent arrival, we knew we’d better melt back into the crowd. Things were still incredibly hectic. People were running about, some screaming that the fuel truck might explode. Others, convinced that the Escalade had terrorists onboard, began pelting the car with stones and anything else they could find.

Paige Turner
hurried back to her apartment amid all the commotion and waved us in behind her. Once inside, she quickly shut the door and ushered us into the parlor.

“
That was awesome. Did you see that?” I asked. My hands were trembling. My breath was short. I was aware that I was grinning like a fool, yet couldn’t explain why.

“
Apparently you have an enemy, Lilith Adams,” said Paige.

“I see that.
That’s the third time that guy tried to kill me. Who is he?”

“
`Tis your nemesis.”

“The I.R.S.?”

Ursula laughed.

Paige didn’t. “Will y
ou not take this seriously now? What more proof do you need that the wrath of the prophecy is upon thee?”

“That
’s part of the prophecy? I don’t think so.”

“Of course! Have
you paid no attention at all to what I have said?”

“I have,” said Ursula. “Be thee warned thy
Guardians of Four, lest her cunning ways shalt reap what essences thou doth squander. Alas, ye art blind to thy wicked deeds, for evil be thy name.”

Paige Turner straightened her crooked back and pointed at Ursula. “Do you hear this child? Ar
t thou listening? She understands.”

“No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t. She’s just really good at memorizing shit.”

“Well then, Lilith of New Castle, I shall spell it out for thee. Four witches are gone. Another witch has killed them and reaped the essence they did squander.”

“I get that,” I said. “I know how the story goes
. These guardians possess the essences of the prime essentials, yadda-yadda. Someone kills them, takes their powers. Yet there’s only so much the law of contagion can support. You know I remember another case where—”

“THIS
,” said Paige Turner, “is not about the law of contagion.”

“It’s not? Well then
please explain to me how one reaps something as intangible as magick from another without employing the law of contagion?”

The old women
looked at me queerly. “You have no idea, do you?”

“
No idea about what?”

“
Vapor resonance.”

A
wave of stone cold shock washed over me then. “Vapor resonance? You mean that shit is for real?”

“It is.”

“I thought it was just theory.”

“Oh, no. It
is quite real.”

“
If that’s true, then it’s the darkest of dark magick. There’s not a witch on earth that would try it, least of all on another witch.”

Paige nodded
, but her silence spoke volumes.

Ursula
echoed, “For evil be thy name.”

I looked behind me before plopping my butt down on the sofa, stunned. “
You know I never believed that was even possible. The Grimoire barely touches on it.”

“The Grimoire is a book of good,” said Paige Turner. “Not one word of evil does it spread.”

I looked up at Ursula. “Did you understand what this was about?”

She shook her head.
“Like thee, I thought it only make believe.”

“Wow
.” I stood again, suddenly feeling too agitated to sit. “If what you say is true, then this witch now possesses the powers of all four prime essentials.”

“
Aye,” said Paige, wagging her crooked little finger at me. “And acquiring the fifth, the quintessential, will fulfill the prophecy.”

“But I told you I don’t have it.”

“You might have it and not know. `Tis a simple thing, the quintessential. It’s powers lay in wait.”

Ursula said, “She hath seen things one could not see in dreams alone.”

“Ursula!”

“Is this true?” Paige asked. “Do
th thou know things ye should not?”

“All right, look. Maybe I’ve done
some bilocating or astral projecting lately, or whatever you want to call it, but that doesn’t mean I’m some super witch or anything. I don’t—”

A loud knock on the door pushed my words back.

“Uh-oh,” said Ursula.

“Uh-oh, what?”

A voice outside hollered, “Ursula!”

She bit her nails and uttered, “
`Tis My Dominic. Please tell him I am not here.”

“URSULA! I know you’re in there. I see my car
smashed up against a tree out here in the parking lot!”

“Yeah, Urs
, I don’t think he’ll fall for that. You might want to see if there’s a back door.”

“
This Dominic. Be he thy husband?” Paige asked.

“Aye, and a
policeman, too.”

“We do not
need the police here.”

Again, Dominic. “Ursula!”

“You need to let him in,” I said. “He has a gun.”

Paige T
urner waved her hand and the door opened. “Enter. We are in the parlor.”

Dominic
rushed in, ran straight over to Ursula and wrapped her in embrace. “Are you all right?” He cupped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length for inspection. “You hurt? Anything broken?”

“She’s fine,” I said. “We’re both fine.
Thanks for asking.”

Carlos, who had strolled in behind Dominic, appeared less concerned. I
caught him looking around Paige’s apartment as if it were an open museum. He seemed especially interested in the witch’s circle up on the ceiling. “Nice,” he said, bobbing his head like a dashboard chihuahua. He looked at me. I nodded back.

“I know. Right.
The old girl’s got game.”

Dominic, apparently satisfied that Ursula was
unhurt, turned his charm on me. “Lilith, what did you do to my car?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s a mangled wreck!”

I put my hands up to calm the situation.
“Please. Both of you sit down. I’ll explain everything.”

Carlos hiked his thumb up over his shoulder. “Wait. Let me
get Brittany. She’s just outside.”

“
Why’s Brittany here?”

Dominic said, “We’ll explain that in a
minute. First you tell us what’s going on.”

“I will. Go
ahead. Get her in here. It’s just as well she hears this, too. It involves all of us.”

Carlos
left and returned with Brittany a minute later. When Dominic asked her what was going on outside, she shook her head and said, “The cops are getting a hundred different versions of what happened out there. Two things are clear, though. The Escalade’s been reported stolen from a Salem car lot and the driver of the vehicle is long gone.”