Chains of Fire (23 page)

While he was talking, Charisma slipped out the back window.

The truck might look like crap, but it was an extended-cab, which they desperately needed, and Billy kept the works under the hood in primo shape.

Charisma slammed the gearshift into reverse and peeled out, eyes glued to the rearview mirror. Bullets from the store were rocking the truck, so she kept it in reverse, cranked the wheel, and smashed into the building right below the window.

The firing stopped.

She figured either she’d gotten the guy, or he was still running backward through the store. She hoped he’d stained his underwear.

Putting the truck in first, she pushed the accelerator to the floor and plowed right through the picket fence to the front porch.

The door opened.

John stepped out first.

The bullets flew at him. He flung up his hands and they flew back with equal force.

Before the yells from across the street had died, Aleksandr had opened the truck’s back door, and everyone was inside.

Aleksandr climbed across the back of the seat to sit by the other front door, his rifle pointed out the open window. He was, literally, riding shotgun.

Jacqueline kicked the seat behind Charisma. “We’re in; let’s go!”

Charisma let off the clutch, hit the accelerator, and took out the front lawn and the rest of the fence before the wheels hit the road.

From the backseat, Billy groused, “If I don’t die, the little woman is going to kill me.”

“Let’s make sure the first doesn’t happen before we worry about the second,” John said.

As they flew past the Holyrood city sign, Charisma asked, “Everyone got their seat belts on?”

The satisfying sound of clicks answered her.

Charisma blasted down the grade and around the first few curves, driving the way she’d learned in Oregon and Alaska and a few of the other places her mother had dragged her through. It took a few minutes before the Chosen realized she knew what she was doing, and she could almost hear their collective sigh of relief.

Then, in a conversational tone, John said, “So finish your story, Billy.”

“About how I found you?” Billy seemed cheerfully unconcerned when all four tires left the ground. “It was this way. After the Gypsy Travel Agency was gone, there was no sign of the Chosen Ones, so I started thinking about where they could be. Finally decided to ask Irving Shea, sent an e-mail, and got young Aleksandr Wilder’s response.” He sounded more serious when he said, “Glad I was to hear you still existed, what with the Others getting so bold. Even down here, I’ve seen that they have hired help and are getting reckless, looking for . . . Say, what do they want?”

“We don’t know,” Jacqueline said. “I had a prophecy a few months ago, but we don’t quite understand it.”

Billy chuckled. “Good to know prophecies are the same as they used to be. I remember one time when our seer—her name was Zusane—”

Jacqueline sucked in her breath.

Billy stopped. “You knew Zusane?”

“She was my mother.”

Billy sounded charmed. “You’re little Jacqueline Vargha? I remember you. Saw you when you were about three, your hair as yellow and fluffy as a dandelion. My, oh, my, you grew up as pretty as your mama.”

“No, sir, I didn’t. No one will ever be as pretty as Zusane.” Jacqueline’s voice choked a little. “But thank you for the compliment.”

Before Jacqueline, Zusane had been the psychic for the Chosen Ones, a woman of beauty, style, grace, and outgoing sexuality that had netted her five husbands. Or was it six? Charisma couldn’t remember.

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss.” Billy’s Southern courtesy was sincere and warm. “She was a lovely woman in every way.”

“It’s not really a loss,” Jacqueline said. “She visits every once in a while.”

A pause. “She always broke the rules,” Billy said admiringly.

“That’s for sure.” Jacqueline’s voice was full of wry acceptance.

Death had improved the contentious relationship between mother and daughter, but as in life, Zusane was never around when needed.

“Why don’t you tell Billy about your prophecy, Jacqueline? We so seldom have access to someone from before the Gypsy Travel Agency went up in the explosion. . . . I am wondering why you weren’t in the building, though.” John allowed his inquiry to hang in the air.

“You mean you’re wondering if I was tossed out on my a—Pardon me, ladies.” Billy excused himself with old-fashioned courtesy. “If I was tossed out on my heinie. No, I left on my own. Most of us who are still alive left on our own. We didn’t approve of the cra—Pardon me, ladies. We didn’t approve of the stunts the agency was pulling. Finding archeological sites, stealing the artifacts and selling them. Using mind tricks to pressure old people into leaving their fortunes to the company. Making money when they should have been doing no more than supporting the Chosen Ones in their endeavors.”

“Okay,” Aleksandr said.

“Okay,” John said.

“Okay,” Jacqueline said.

Billy must have been taken aback, because it was a few minutes before he asked, “Is that okay with you, Charisma?”

“I have no problem with it at all. We already figured out the Gypsy Travel Agency had a few moral issues that needed fixing.” She whipped around a hairpin turn, back wheels skidding perilously close to the edge of a twenty-foot drop.

Aleksandr hissed.

“Shut up, Aleksandr,” she said. “Billy, from what we can tell, the Gypsy Travel Agency was quite the profitable operation, and while we never got the whole story, what with us not being involved and everything, we’re doing what we can to put things right.”

“You’re living with Irving Shea,” Billy said neutrally.

“He’s doing what he can to make reparations,” John said.

“Right.” Now Billy’s scorn clearly sounded in his voice. “Irving Shea was the mover and the shaker of the Gypsy Travel Agency.”

“He blames himself for what happened,” John answered. “He sacrificed his health in the hopes of helping us find out what we need to know. I assume you know the power of deliberate self-sacrifice?”

“Yes. I do. Did it work?”

Jacqueline twisted around. “My prophecy occurred in his hospital room.”

“Tell me,” Billy said.

“‘The world is changing. The rules are changing. The gifted are changing.’”
Jacqueline’s voice became deeper, dreamy, as if she were no longer in the car.
“ ‘Some will develop gifts who are not gifted now. The Gypsy Travel Agency is sacrificed to one man’s ambition and his unwillingness to trust in the ultimate triumph of good. Now the Chosen Ones pay the price. Yet the sacrifice he offers might save them. . . . In that, the fledgling Chosen can find hope. Before their seven years are over, each of the seven must find a true love. They will know they have succeeded with the blossoming of their badges and their talents. And some must find that which is lost forever. For rising on the ashes of the Gypsy Travel Agency is a new power in a new building. Unless this hope takes wing, this power and this building will grow to reach the stars, and cast its shadow over the whole earth, and evil will rule.’”

The silence in the interior was profound.

Then Jacqueline shrieked, “Are you crazy, Charisma? You’re headed right toward that truck!”

“Yep.” They were headed down a steep grade that took a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn and went back up the next steep grade. Facing them on a bypass was a half-ton Chevy truck with two ugly-ass guys pointing weapons out the windows.

The Others
really
wanted Billy for something, and if they took out the Chosen, that was fine, too.

“You’ve got a brush guard on the front of this vehicle, Billy?” Charisma asked.

“Yep.”

“Reinforced?”

“Chrome reinforced. Hate to lose that chrome.”

“Sucks to be you.” She accelerated right at the enemy. “Better duck, everyone; they’re loaded for bear.”

Aleksandr got off a shot, then pulled himself into the fetal position.

The shotgun blasts hit the windshield, spraying glass and shot all over the truck.

Charisma was pretty sure she was hit, but not badly, and as she slammed into their truck, her blood was pounding with pure pleasure.

Thank heavens this vehicle was built pre-air bags or she would have been blinded. As it was, the seat belt caught her and slammed her ass against the seat so hard she saw stars.

But as her ears cleared, she heard Aleksandr yelling, “Back up! Back up! Back up! Back up!”

She could do that without seeing well. And she did, reversing back onto the road, taking the corner, and heading up the grade.

The truck was rattling a little louder now—apparently parts had been loosened by the collision—but from the backseat, she heard Billy say, “No wonder you let this little gal drive! She could be runnin’ moonshine. She’s a pistol!”

“Why, yes, I am,” she said. “You okay, Billy?”

“Doing good, sister.”

Charisma glanced in the rearview mirror at Jacqueline.

Jacqueline shook her head slightly.

He wasn’t doing as well as he claimed.

“Now—that’s quite the prophecy.” Billy picked up the conversation as if nothing had ever happened. “The gifted are changing, huh? New people will become gifted? I get all that, and I’m glad to hear it. It sounds as if Irving’s sacrifice is working for you. But the rest of it . . . I haven’t got a clue. Do you?”

John said, “We know that when we find our true loves and face what we most fear, we get enhanced powers and enhanced marks.”

Jacqueline must have shown him the marks on her palms, the marks that looked like eyes, for Billy said, “Those look exactly like I imagined the first female seer would have in her hands.”

“Yes, I got my powers because of Caleb, and I hope . . .” Her voice quavered.

“Those men will hold off the attackers, and if the attackers do overwhelm them, Aaron will hide Caleb in plain sight,” John said firmly.

“I know. I just . . . I worry,” Jacqueline said.

They all worried about one another all the time. In some ways it was the worst part of the job.

Or . . . no. The worst part of the job was losing their friends. Losing Samuel and Isabelle.

But they could still be found. Charisma was determined about that.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she announced, “Bad news. That crash didn’t disable them. They’re after us again.”

“That can’t be good.” But Billy didn’t sound too concerned.

“They do look a little worse for wear.” Charisma smiled savagely. “Those half-ton pickups simply don’t hold up to a little crunch from a three-quarter-ton like this baby.”

“Keep up the good work, little girl,” Billy said. “You all seem to have a pretty good grip on this prophecy. Tell me what the other part of it means
.”

“We don’t know.” John opened the sliding back window and put the eye of the rifle out. “That’s the enigmatic part.”

“Wouldn’t be a prophecy if there wasn’t a mystery.” Billy sounded almost pleased.

“So you’ve got no guidance to give us?” Jacqueline sounded as if she’d scootched down.

“You seem to be doing all right on your own. Plus you’ve got good folks like me playing hardball in the backfield for you. You’ll probably make it through. If you don’t—well, face it, it’ll be the apocalypse and the world will be overrun by the wicked. So you’d better get it right!”

Charisma looked into the rearview mirror into Billy’s twinkling eyes. “You got a trailer hitch on the back of this thing?”

“Sure do.”

“Good-size one?”

“Sticks out eight inches.”

“Right around this next corner, brace for impact.” Charisma took a ninety-degree turn, slammed on the brakes, and waited.

The pursuers raced around the corner and rammed them hard enough to crumple Billy’s truck bed—and drive the trailer hitch deep into their radiator.