Jason released her hands and took a step back. “Please, Leesha. Just . . . Like I said, I’m kind of in a hurry. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I promise.” He got in the car, putting the backpack on the floor at his feet.
“Right,” she said, and stood, chewing her lip, watching as he drove away.
What was that all about? he wondered, as he navigated the tree-lined streets around the square. She’d seemed almost angry with him.
In the time it took to reach the interstate, he’d lost himself in the pleasure of driving the BMW. Interstate 71 sliced southwest, parting flat farm fields on either side. He cranked up the radio. There wasn’t much traffic, so he cranked the speed up, too, reasoning he could always talk his way out of a ticket.
He knew he was taking stupid chances, with the invasion of Raven’s Ghyll, and with Leesha, and with driving too fast, but somehow he couldn’t help himself.
When he reached Columbus, he circled around, exited onto Route 23, then again onto another state route, heading southeast into the hills. He watched his mirrors intermittently, but could see no sign he was being followed. He passed through tiny towns: Glen Furnace, Floradale, Salt Creek. He planned to head straight down to Maddie’s. These country roads would be easier to navigate by daylight.
His phone went off several times. Leesha calling. No message. He shut it off.
By the time he reached Coal Grove, it had clouded over and begun to sleet, a relentless needle-fine, bone-chilling rain that froze on contact. The cloud ceiling dropped until it nearly met the ground.
He drove east, out of town, Seph’s directions beside him on the seat, his backpack on the floor on the passenger side. The landscape looked like it’d taken a beating and never quite recovered.
He had no idea how it would go at Maddie’s. He knew from experience that Madison Moss couldn’t be bullied. But maybe she’d be glad to see him, wanting news of Seph. And he could check out her reaction when he delivered it.
The road rapidly deteriorated from pavement to oiled gravel. It twisted and turned, but mostly it climbed. A thick, second-growth forest crowded in on either side, greening up for spring, punctuated now and then by a rural mailbox fronting a house trailer or a run-down farm. He passed a sign that said ROPER COAL: COALTON COUNTY WORKS, pointing down a more substantial side road. And, later, a prosperous-looking horse farm with brick gateway pillars and a sign, in a rope-like script, BRY-SON ARABIANS.
Somewhere along here was the turnoff to Booker Mountain. “Not well marked,” Seph’s directions said. By now, it was raining harder.
After traveling a mile farther, he began to realize he must have missed the turnoff. He did a quick U-turn and drove back the way he’d come. Jason leaned forward, peering through the rain-smeared windshield.
He rounded a curve and found the way blocked by a huge tree that lay at an angle across the road. He slammed on the brakes, skidding sideways in the wet gravel. The BMW came to a stop with its passenger door inches from the tree.
Jason rested his head on the wheel, his heart thumping in his chest. A tree on the slope above must have lost hold in the saturated earth. It must’ve just happened, since the way had been clear moments before.
Shoving the driver’s side door open, he climbed out into the rain on rubbery legs. If he wanted to go forward, he’d have to get the tree off the road. Wizardry was good for making people do what you wanted or for moving the more fluid ethers like water, air, and flame. He wasn’t sure he knew a charm for moving giant trees.
Jason yanked the backpack from under the seat. Maybe there was something there that would help. Kneeling on the soggy ground, he sorted through the magical pieces he’d taken from the church. He had a dagger that would inflict a mortal wound (on a man, not a tree), talismans of protection that he was unsure how to use, an amulet that gave strength to the weary (maybe he could lift the tree off the road), and a scrying stone that blazed up oddly between his hands. Like a warning.
There was something else, something unfamiliar, a small, flat metal object. He held it up to the light. There was a faint marking on it, like a stylized etching of a spider. How did that get there?
He looked up just as the car exploded into flames.
He rolled backward to keep from being engulfed. Propping up on his elbows, he stared in disbelief. The car was a blazing inferno, hissing and spitting in the pouring rain.
Oh, God, he thought. Linda’s going to kill me. His next thought was, I’m out of here.
As he struggled to his feet, something struck him full in the chest, just beneath the collarbone, hard enough to spin him half around. He clutched at his shirtfront, but could find no wound or missile, only an awful spreading cold and numbness.
“Damn!” someone said behind him. “I hope that didn’t hit too close to the heart. The idea is to immobilize you. Not kill you.”
Jason swung around to face the speaker. It couldn’t be.
The blond, almost translucent hair, the pale blue eyes and colorless lips. The lopsided, arrogant smile he hadn’t seen since the ill-fated conference at Second Sister.
“Barber!”
The smile grew wider. “For a minute, I didn’t think you remembered me. But, hey, the friendships we make at school are the ones that last.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I followed you. Of course I didn’t know you’d lead me to the crap hole of the universe.” Barber flipped his hand, indicating their general surroundings.
“What did you shoot me with?”
“It’s a wizard graffe. A virtual dagger with an effect very much like spider venom. Renders the victim immobile, but leaves the mind clear and able to perceive pain. Great for interrogations.”
“What do you want?”
“To ask you some questions. But first we’ll go someplace quiet where we won’t be interrupted.”
The paralysis was spreading. Jason’s limbs were growing heavy. It was getting difficult to push air through his lungs. “Questions about what?” he mumbled. Even his lips and tongue weren’t obeying his commands.
“Questions about what you’re doing down here. About what you stole from Raven’s Ghyll and hid in the church. About the Dragonheart. We can start with what’s in your backpack.” Barber extended his hand. “Hand it over.”
Backpack. Jason’s body might be sluggish, but his mind was clear. Barber knew Jason had left town. He knew about the church. He knew there was something in his backpack.
Leesha.
A cold anger seized Jason. “You want this?” he shouted hoarsely. As he raised the backpack, he thrust his hand inside, closing it around the amulet. Gives strength to the bearer. He muttered a charm calling forth its power and felt welcome strength flood back into his body. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he reached up with the other hand and gripped the dyrne sefa that hung around his neck. Speaking the familiar unnoticeable charm he’d learned from his mother, he thrust himself sideways.
He landed rolling in the sodden leaves, but was immediately up and running, slipping and sliding down the hill, the backpack slamming against his shoulder. Barber was a powerful wizard, outclassing Jason on his best day. Unnoticeable or not, it wouldn’t be healthy to stay around.
Barber was totally pissed. He sent flames roaring down the hillside in Jason’s wake, then charged downhill after him, shouting and swearing. “Idiot! Where the hell do you think you’re going? Give yourself up, or you’re going to lie on your back in the mud until you’re ripped apart and eaten alive by wild animals.”
It was hard to understand with all the profanity mixed in, but it was something like that.
Jason staggered on. He had no intention of submitting to an interrogation of Warren Barber’s devising. Being ripped apart by wild animals seemed appealing in comparison. Besides, he’d been played for a fool, and he would not, could not let them win.
Still, it was more than twenty miles back to town, and he had no idea how long the effects of the amulet would las
t. He knew Madison’s house must be somewhere nearby, but he didn’t want to lead Barber to her.
Realistically, he was dead.
At the bottom of the hill, Jason turned left and followed a wide creek through a ravine. Then he began climbing again. He climbed for a long time, following the stream, scrambling over rocks, splashing in and out of the water. Finally he left the creek and cut over a shoulder of the mountain. By then, he was stumbling, losing strength despite his tight grip on the amulet. He tried speaking the charm again, but this time there was no apparent effect.
He was completely disoriented. He had no idea which way it was to town, which way Madison’s house might be. His only goal was to keep away from Barber.
That was easier said than done. Barber seemed to have an uncanny ability to stay with him. When Jason reached high ground and looked back, Barber was coming. Not following Jason’s trail, exactly, but moving in the right direction, just the same. Sometimes cutting straight across ravines and streambeds. It was almost as if Jason were sending off some kind of homing signal.
Idiot.
He shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and half-sat, half-fell to the ground. Digging through the pocket, he retrieved the mysterious spider stone.
It must be a lodestone, placed there on purpose, probably by Leesha outside the church. All Barber had needed to do was follow the stone to track Jason to Coalton County and through the woods in the rain.
Shivering, teeth chattering, resisting the urge to lie down where he was and sink into oblivion, Jason gripped the low branches of a tree, dragged himself to his feet, and looked around.
He’d been following a high ridge. On one side of the ridge the ground fell away into deep forest shrouding a series of smaller hills. On the other he could see the tracing of a road that followed the creek bed. Behind him, he could hear Barber crashing violently through the brush.
Drawing his arm back, Jason threw the stone as far as he could out into the valley. Then he descended the ridge on the opposite side, heading for the road. Hopefully, Barber would follow the stone.
There remained the problem of the graffe. Jason couldn’t go much further.
He could try to attract the attention of someone in a passing car. A car probably came by every day or two.
As if that would even do any good. They wouldn’t have a clue. All they could do was watch him die.
He worked his way down the ridge in a kind of stumbling trot. His legs were no longer working reliably. The rain had slowed to a sprinkle, but rivulets of muddy water still flowed down the slope, making the footing treacherous.
His breathing was growing labored again. He was conscious of a creeping cold, an inability to control his movements. He blinked away a double image of the hillside. Finally, he overshot a small overhang, tumbled twenty feet, and ended with his feet in the ditch and his head and shoulders on the berm of the road.
He hurt. Barber was right—his ability to perceive pain was functioning just fine. He’d slammed his elbow when he landed, and wondered if his arm was broken. But he lacked the strength to turn his head to check for certain.
He had no idea how long he lay there before he heard a rumble and felt a faint vibration beneath him. Thunder, he thought. Then he realized it must be a car coming.
Idiot. He was unnoticeable. No one would see him lying by the side of the road, not even when his unnoticeable sun-bleached bones mingled with the scattered remnants of roadkill skeletons. He gripped the sefa and disabled the unnoticeable charm with his last bit of strength. Then he lay on his back, staring up at the sky, unable even to blink against the relentless drizzle. He had to really focus to remember to breathe.
He heard the wet, sucking sound of tires as the car approached. Was he far enough off the road? Would the car run him over? Was he close enough to be seen?
He felt the air stir as the car neared, felt the freezing spray as it swept by. Bitter disappointment. He heard a squeal of brakes and caught a whiff of hot rubber. Wild elation. A car door slammed, then footsteps crunched on gravel, and then a voice.
“Hey, you okay? What happened? Someone run you over and drive off?” And then, moments later, “Jason?”
It was Madison Moss.
Seconds later, her worried face appeared in his field of vision. It was bronzed a bit—she’d been out in the sun—and her voluminous hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt—different from her bohemian mode of dress in Trinity.
No, he thought dazedly. This girl is not hanging with the bad guys. I don’t believe it.
“It is you! What are you doing here? What happened? Is Seph with you?” It was a cascade of questions, erupting too fast for his failing mind to follow.
“Madison,” he tried to say, but his lips wouldn’t form the syllables. He was struggling for breath, suffocating. Spots swam before his eyes. Barber hadn’t meant to kill him, or at least not until after he’d tortured the truth out of him. He must’ve messed up.
Kneeling next to him, Madison touched his chest lightly where the graffe went in. “What the ...? It looks ...it looks like your chest is on fire.” Then she clapped her mouth shut, eyes wide, seeming to realize that he might not find that reassuring. Madison had the ability to spot magic in others— even Barber’s deadly graffe, apparently.
“Don’t worry, now. Let’s just see.” She pulled aside his jacket and lifted his sweatshirt to examine the wound.
“Gick,” he managed. And, then, “Gick!” again, louder. Meaning, We’ve got to get the hell out of here!
She ran her cold hands up his chest until she found the wound and pushed her fingertips into it. He nearly screamed from the pain of it, but then he felt a kind of sucking, a reverse pressure, and immediately the hot burn over his heart eased. And again she pressed her hands against his skin, scrunching up her face as if it was as hard on her as on him. His body lost some of its creeping cold rigidity and he could swallow his saliva again. She was drawing the magical venom away.
Madison pulled her hands back, wiping them vigorously on the weeds at the roadside, shuddering. “Yuck. This is bad nasty, whatever it is. I’m going to have a devil of a time getting rid of this. At least it’s not ... Who did this? Where did you come from?” She didn’t really seem to expect an answer.
Madison stood, hands on hips, and looked up the slope. She seemed very tall and angular from Jason’s position on the ground. “I thought maybe you dropped out of the sky, but looks like you rolled down from up there.”
He managed to croak, “Madison. Warren Barber’s here.
We’ve got to go before he sees us.” By now, Barber might have discovered his ruse and be heading back over the ridge in time to see what was happening at the side of the road.
“Warren Barber!” Madison had met Warren Barber before—at Second Sister—when she’d put him flat on his back in the inn garden.
At least she didn’t ask a million questions. “Hang on, I’m going to put you in the truck. Nothing’s broken, is it?”
Dumbly, he shook his head. His arm was killing him, but broken bones were small change against what Barber would do if he came over that hill.
Madison disappeared from his field of view. The truck door slammed, and she was back with a paint-spattered canvas tarp. Sliding her hands under his arms, she tugged him onto it. Then, gripping the edge of the canvas, she dragged him along the berm to her ancient red pickup. The tailgate was down, but the opening seemed a mile away. Jason couldn’t fathom how she was going to get him up into the bed. She propped him against the truck. Then she climbed into the truckbed, leaned down, wrapped her arms around his chest, and hauled him backward into the bed. He landed flat on top of her, but she wriggled out from underneath him.
“Sorry,” she muttered. She hurriedly arranged his extremities to her liking, then tossed the tarp over him, covering him completely. “Sorry,” she said again.
The truck jounced on its failing springs as she jumped down from the bed, then climbe
d up into the cab. The door slammed and the engine came to life. Rain pattered on the canvas over his head. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t know where Warren Barber was, and he didn’t know if he’d survive the day.
Chapter Fifteen
Along Came a Spider
Jason didn’t remember much about the next several days. He felt dry and hot one minute, and cold and sweaty the next. He wrestled with dreams like he hadn’t had since the ones Gregory Leicester had inflicted on him at the Havens.
He dreamed he was back in the woods and Warren Barber spun out cords from his wrists like Spiderman, wrapping him into a giant cocoon. He injected poison into him with giant fangs and left him hanging helpless in his web, saying, “I’ll be back, and then you’ll talk.”
He dreamed of Leesha and Barber, laughing together at Jason’s stupidity and the deft way she’d played him. Jason had never been a magical powerhouse, but he’d always considered himself street-smart, at least. Right. Everyone had warned him about Leesha, and he’d ignored them. His only hope was that no one would ever find out what an idiot he’d been.
He burned with fever, embarrassment, and hot anger.
He’d wake, startled by the sound of his own voice reverberating in his ears, and he wondered what he’d said, how much he had revealed.
Madison was there, a lot of the time. She didn’t suck out any more poison. Instead, she forced liquids and cups of soup into him.
He gripped her hands, in a rare moment of lucidity. “Maddie. Don’t tell anyone about this. Not Seph. Not anybody. Please.”
“You are crazy, you know that?” She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, feeling for fever. “He needs to know what happened. I’m going to go to town and call him soon as I can leave you on your own.”
He struggled to sit up, flailing wildly under the quilt. “You call him, I’m out of here. Right now.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You gonna hitchhike, or what? Now lay down before I club you for a fool. You need somebody who knows about magic to treat you.”