No Quest For The Wicked

Page 83

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” he replied.
“That’s because you’ve lost touch with your own history!” the man shouted. This was better than asking questions to stall. He was on an even bigger rant now, sputtering with rage as he outlined, in great detail, the true history of the magical race and how that history was being covered up by today’s corrupt magical leaders. It was a boring lecture, but staying focused wasn’t a problem. The mad professor’s gun-toting buddies were enough to keep me awake and alert.
I thought I saw something approaching in the sky and hoped it was Sam—and about time. I forced myself not to look up as I squeezed Owen’s arm slightly to alert him, then nudged Granny on my other side. The moment the gargoyles dove, Granny struck her cane on the ground, and vines stretched out of the bushes to tangle around the gun-toting puritans. “Too bad this park doesn’t seem to have any poison ivy,” she muttered as she guided the plants with her cane.
“Quick, this way,” Rod said, tugging on Owen, who tugged on me. “I’ve got you veiled, and I’ve got a dummy illusion working for cover. That is, assuming you really want to get away.”
“Don’t tell me you believed that!” Owen said, sounding truly wounded.
“Just checking. Now, go!” We ran, Owen leaning heavily on me, while the gargoyles, Rod, and Granny engaged the puritans.
So far, none of them had fired their guns. I didn’t know if that meant they were less comfortable with the technology than they acted, or if they knew that shooting at magical people would be a waste of ammunition. There had to be a spell for blocking bullets. Unfortunately, Owen and I had no such protection. Immune to spells, yes, bullets, no.
The Eye allowed the puritans to track us in spite of Rod’s illusion. They didn’t know who had the brooch, but they knew where it was. One of them grabbed me. I shouted a warning and then put up a fight. With three older brothers, I knew a thing or two about scratching, clawing, hitting, and kicking. I kicked my captor in the shin with the hard heel of my shoe, then stomped on his instep while driving my head up under his chin. That left me with a headache, but the shout he gave and my sudden freedom made me suspect he hurt worse.
A quick glance showed Owen tussling with another puritan, but before I could get to him, someone else grabbed me. I was really getting tired of this, I thought as I lashed out with an elbow to my captor’s ribs, then twisted around to jab my knee into a sensitive portion of the male anatomy. “Hands off me!” I ordered.
I winced when a familiar voice said, “Sorry, Katie!”
“Rod! What is your problem?”
“You should give it to me,” he said urgently. “Then it would make me invulnerable so I could fight off these guys and save us all.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “It told you to tell me that, didn’t it?”
He grimaced and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Well, nice try, but I’m not falling for it.”
He cried out a warning and shoved me aside. At first, I thought it was another ruse, but then I heard the bang of a gunshot and something whizzed past my ear as he knocked me to the ground.
“They’re shooting!” I gasped. “They’re really shooting at us.”
“On the bright side, they’re not very good shots,” Rod said as he shielded me with his body. I started to shove him aside and get up, but I heard another gunshot and ducked again.
Then I felt something on my side and said, “Rod, do you want to keep that hand?”
“Huh? Yeah. Why?”
“Then get it away from my pocket.”
“Oh, sorry!”
We crawled to a nearby tree to take cover. I searched for Owen in the mob of puritans and gargoyles. As if reading my mind, Rod said, “I’ll go get him.”
I was worried. Maybe the second gunshot hadn’t been aimed at me, and maybe it had hit its target. Owen didn’t have magic, was hurt, and wasn’t his usual agile self. I couldn’t see him, but he was shorter than most of the puritans, so I prayed that he was simply hidden among the fighters.
Granny’s voice rose over the din of the scuffle, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying. And then I realized that she wasn’t speaking English. I didn’t know she spoke any other language, and this wasn’t one I recognized. It sounded wild and ancient.
Soon, a soft glow appeared in the nearby hedges. The creatures Granny called the wee ones had returned, but they’d come at her command this time. I knew she’d claimed to commune with these kinds of creatures back home, but I hadn’t realized she spoke their language. They swarmed up the legs of the puritans, hampering their movements and making them easy prey for the gargoyles attacking from above.