Deception of the Magician (Waldgrave Book 2) (18 page)

“Oh! Sorry, we didn’t want to wake you…You looked tired.”

Lena smiled weakly. “It’s okay. Just wake me up next time, okay?”

Greg beamed. “Sure. Whatever you want. Onward to Crystal City, then.”

Griffin turned the ignition and they were off. Lena loosened her seatbelt and curled into a ball. The whole world was alien to her; she couldn’t even escape into her dreams anymore. They drove on in silence for an hour, the rain slapping the windows in huge, dense blobs. The wind and lightening had stopped, but Griffin was right—the roads were getting bad. There was flooding in places, and the van actually got stuck in the mud once. The caravan pulled over at several points to discuss the situation over their cell phones; there weren’t any other hotels closer, though, and it would have been just as hazardous to turn around. They kept going. Lena was almost ready to doze off again when the sedan in front of them stopped in the middle of the road. Lena sat up in her seat, looking at the red break lights from the van glistening on the rain glazed sedan directly in front of them. They were surrounded by scrub and trees on both sides, adding to the darkness of the night.

Greg cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat; he had been dozing, too. “Is the road closed?”

Griffin squinted in the darkness. “I don’t know…it’s a road block of some sort. We’re almost there…It’ll be ridiculous if they make us turn around.”

Greg pulled out his cell phone and started to dial. Lena undid her seatbelt and moved closer to Griffin so that she could see what was going on; true to form, he did his best not to let her touch him in any way. A figure in a baggy rain coat walked up to the driver’s side of the van and started talking with whoever was driving. Ava must have been asleep by that point, or she surely would have been letting Lena know what was going on in a rambling, sarcastic, drunken narrative.

“Get out of the car.”

“What?” Lena looked over at Griffin, who seemed transfixed on the figure standing next to the van. He had said it with such urgency, but had only used his regular speaking voice. More people in raincoats appeared out of the darkness.

“Get out of the car!”
 This time he had almost yelled. He undid his seatbelt and slammed into her, fumbling for the door handle on the passenger side.

“Griffin, what are you—“

The windshield exploded with a noise like a firecracker; a scream issued forth, and Lena wasn’t even sure if it had come from her or not. She caught a brief glimpse of a man pointing a gun at the driver of the sedan in front of them before Griffin crushed her flat against the seat. She heard Greg open the back passenger side door and milliseconds later Griffin was pushing her out of the car and onto the muddy ground outside. She slid several feet on a muddy patch, and then felt someone grab her arm and start pulling her away into the trees. Rain was in her eyes and the damp air was filled with sounds of shattering, yelling, and ear-splitting gunfire. Lena rubbed her face against her arm and looked, trying to make out the figure that was hauling her away. Though very muddy, the ground had a lot of what felt like rocks, gravel, and cactus thorns; she could feel the lacerations and bruises forming on her legs, but didn’t dare make a noise. They stopped very suddenly behind a clump of bushes.

“Get up! 
Get up now!
”

“Griffin?!”

He shushed her, and pulled her to her feet. There was screaming and more gun shots. Through the dark, Lena could see people moving through the trees. Griffin had her by the wrist, and he broke into a quick run, pulling Lena this way and that through the maze of darkness, looking over his shoulder and wiping the water out of his eyes.

Faster!

They ran together as fast as they could, with Griffin urging her for more and more speed. She tripped and caught her knee on a particularly sharp rock; it cut her deeply, and she screamed out in pain. Griffin didn’t wait for her to recover; he kept on dragging her until she regained her footing. After a while Lena could hear them over the steady pounding of rain—people trying to find them, chasing them. Yelling to one another and spreading out to net them if they doubled back. Griffin suddenly came to a complete halt. Lena turned and saw it; they were standing at the edge of rushing water. It might have been a small stream under normal conditions, but with all the rain, it had overrun its banks and was rushing at breakneck speed. Before Lena could even protest, Griffin had grabbed her arm and jumped in; she obligingly went with him.

They were surrounded by gushing, churning, muddy water; it was deeper and colder than she had expected for the area, and her knee stung horribly. She could feel every cut and abrasion she had received in the last few minutes prickling and stinging as the bitter water poured over her. She felt Griffin clinging to her arm with a death grip. She tried to tread water to stay afloat, but with the water moving so quickly and Griffin monopolizing one of her arms, she wasn’t having much success. She tried to flow with the water, kicking her legs to keep oriented upwards.

Soon, however, they hit a bend in the stream, and Lena went under. Water covered her head and her lungs started to burn from holding her breath for so long; she desperately fought Griffin for use of her other arm, shaking and twisting until he finally let go. She broke the surface and started looking around in the darkness, but she couldn’t see anything but water and trees rushing passed her as she bobbed along.

“Griffin!” She shrieked. There was no answer.

Her foot caught on something in the water and she went under again. At first, she thought it was Griffin, but as she reached down, searching for his hand, fear surged through her. Her sneaker was wedged between a couple of rocks; she couldn’t move either of them. She fought, trying to pull her shoe free, but realized it was a lost cause. She wiggled her foot free of the shoe and shot to the surface again.

“Griffin!”

She drifted along in the water for what felt like an eternity. Finally, she caught hold of some exposed tree roots near the bank and pulled herself out of the current and onto the muddy, gravelly ground. Shivering and afraid, she curled up next to the trunk of the tree. It was dark and she was having difficulty taking stock of where her injuries were; she could feel that her jeans had picked up a fair few cactus spines and pulled them out, wincing. There were a few small tears in the denim, but when her hand landed on her knee she knew she would need to find help at daybreak. There was a baseball-sized hole in the fabric just below her knee, and she didn’t dare touch the throbbing injury there. She huddled closer to the cold tree she was sheltering under; she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t cry. She had lost Griffin, and she didn’t dare try to call out to find him. The wind was blowing again, making sounds like people chasing her.

*****

CHAPTER 10

She stayed awake all night, and by morning, her muscles were frozen stiff and a splitting headache all but immobilized her. With the sun finally peeking through the clouds and seeping into the damp world, she knew she should make her move. She would have to, sooner or later. She didn’t have any money or her cell phone, because it was all back in her travel bag in the sedan, and she desperately needed to talk to Howard. Just thinking about him made her want to cry; when he found out about what had happened, if anyone else survived to tell, he would assume her dead. It was his worst fear—the reason he hadn’t wanted her to go in the first place.

A sound cut through the forest, ever so slightly louder than the sound of the rushing water in the overflowing stream; tires on pavement. There was a road nearby. Slipping in the mud, Lena tried to get onto her feet. Pained choked the scream in her throat as her leg gave out beneath her. Tears streaming from her eyes, she knew she had to get to the road; gritting her teeth and refusing to acknowledge the searing pain, she forced herself up and started to walk. At a slow pace, she moved directly away from the river. She only had one shoe and her legs hurt terribly from not moving all night; she was covered with slime and mud from her trip down the river.

Soon, she had to stop for a break, and got up the courage to inspect at her injury. She really was going to need medical attention—the injury was so deep and her environment so wet that it hadn’t even scabbed over yet. The rock had probably gashed her clear down to the bone, but the pus and mud coating the injury thankfully saved her from knowing for sure. The three-inch cut had left her with a rather thick piece of pale skin, like a fish gill, that was flapping over the injury as she walked, and she had to look away to keep from vomiting.

When she finally reached the side of the road, and found it empty, she wanted to sit down and cry, but with the state of her leg, she knew she wouldn’t be getting back up if she did; it was all finally sinking in. People could be dead. Greg, Griffin, and her mother could be dead—everyone could. And it was her fault for dragging them out and into the situation in the first place. Howard had told her not to. Griffin had told her not to. Master Daray, Devin, and several other people had said it was a bad idea, and now here she was, standing on the side of the road, wallowing in blood and filth. It was possible that her stupid, selfish idea had killed more than two dozen people.

A car was approaching from her left. She stuck out her thumb, tears making dendrite patterns in the caking mud on her face, and the car, a small, blue, beaten station wagon, pulled over. The passenger side window rolled down in several fitful jerks to reveal an older woman with deeply tanned skin and a round face. Her eyes were sad and concerned, and much at odds with the upbeat Mexican folk music that was pouring out the open window.

“Está bien?”

Lena stared at her; she had a full, grandmotherly expression, like a character in a fairytale. In any other situation, she might have found it amusing that her fairy godmother was an illegal Mexican immigrant, but on that particular day, the joke was lost on her. She leaned down and looked at the driver; a younger man, perhaps the woman’s son, looking at her curiously.

“English?” Lena asked, trying to stifle her tears.

The young man shook his head. “No.”

“I need help.” Lena spoke very slowly. “Help.”

“Sí.” The old woman gestured to the backseat, and Lena got in. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was grateful to the people who were willing to take her there. She was getting mud and river stench all over the backseat of their car, and still, they seemed nothing but concerned about her. After about five minutes, Lena looked out the window and realized the scenery was getting familiar; they were traveling on the same road she had the night before, going into Crystal City. Her heart began to race; surely the ambush wasn’t still there?

She watched out the windshield, but didn’t see anything. It was all so different in the daylight. The cars and van were gone, as were their passengers. There wasn’t any evidence at all of a shootout.

Eventually, they arrived at the edge of town. The car pulled over in front of a newer looking two-story church. The young man got out of the car and led Lena inside. He disappeared for a moment, leaving Lena just inside the door. Lena had seen many Catholic Churches over the course of her travels; her father had taken her to Notre Dame and the Vatican, as well as several other spectacular churches around Europe, but like many churches in the United States, this one didn’t have the same breathtaking appeal. It was a humble place of worship. It wasn’t a terribly big building on the inside; there were the usual depictions of Saints, Christ, and the Virgin on the walls. The green tile floor was clean and well kept, and though there were several chairs around, Lena didn’t sit. She was too dingy, and she didn’t want to mess anything up.

The young man appeared again with a priest, who gestured for Lena to follow him. She turned to the young man.

“Thank you…”

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. He smiled, nodded, and left.

Lena was led down a series of hallways; the priest, who was a middle aged man with sparse hair and gentle demeanor, never said a word. He took her to a room with a sink and a rigid-looking cot. It might have been a janitorial closet at some point, but it was enough. The priest gestured for Lena to sit and then disappeared for a moment. He returned with a woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, who was carrying a basket of towels and clothes. The priest left, and the woman closed the door behind him and set her basket down on the floor. She had green eyes and dark black hair, and was dressed very simply. The only jewelry she wore was a small cross pendent on a silver chain around her neck.

“My name is Dorotea. Welcome to our church.” She spoke with a very light Spanish accent.

Lena stood in the center of the room, still afraid of touching anything with her muddy body. “I’m Len…Abilene.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Abilene.” Dorotea smiled broadly, revealing straight, white teeth. “We have clean clothes for you, and towels so you can clean up. I’m a nurse, and I can help you with the cut on your leg, as long as it isn’t too bad. Are you in trouble?”

“No…I’m not in trouble.” Lena looked down, trying to straighten the mud-encrusted hem of her shirt. Her eyes snapped back up. “Is there a phone I can use?”

Dorotea looked her over critically. She gazed back at Lena, disbelief and kindness in her eyes. “I need to ask you if you were attacked? I can call the police for you, and the hospital if you need…”