Student Bodies (21 page)

“Please, come and sit down in the kitchen,” said Mom. “I'll get the first aid kit.”

We followed her down the hall; the three battered and bruised survivors of a car wreck and a shooting took a seat. Blood had soaked right through George Standingready's flannel shirt. My mother washed her hands and went to work. She cut off his sleeve to reveal a deep gouge in the old man's shoulder.

“There's no bullet hole,” she said sounding slightly relieved. “But we need to clean that wound. Julie, hand me the bottle of iodine and some gauze pads.”

I tore into the first aid kit and handed my mother a thick cotton pad along with a bottle of reddish-brown liquid.

“It don't hurt too much,” he said. “Could have been worse.”

“Insane cop lady could have blown your head off, Grandfather,” Twyla said. “The only thing that saved us was Julie when she climbed into the box of your truck. That was the gutsiest thing I've ever seen in my life.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that's me. Gutsy, or possibly stupid. I'm leaning toward stupid, actually.”

Mom glanced at me as she opened the bottle of iodine. I was mildly surprised when she didn't tear my head off at taking such a huge risk. “That scratch on your face is probably going to leave a scar unless we tend to it. I'll get to you as soon as I'm done with Mr Standingready.”

He patted at his breast pockets and cursed lightly. “Damn. I lost my pouch of tobacco and my papers. I don't suppose anyone around here smokes, huh?”

“This is going to hurt,” Mom said as she tipped the bottle over the bleeding mass. “And no, we don't smoke.”

“Rats,” he muttered. “Alright, get it over with.”

She poured a liberal amount of iodine on the wound and the old man flinched as it ran down his arm. Then she started to gently wipe away the residue with the pad. She replaced the stained pad with a fresh one and held it in place with her hand, gesturing to me. “There's a container of calendula paste and another one marked ‘sacred wort'. Open each one and hand them to me, would you?”

I did as she instructed and Mom took a thick handful of the paste and started smearing it into the wound. Then she scooped a large gob of the sacred wort and applied it to the new bandage that she placed atop the deep groove in his shoulder.

“Adhesive tape,” she said, sticking out her hand, so I peeled back about two inches of it and handed the roll to her. Mom started wrapping the tape around the dressing and under George Standingready's armpit. She used the entire roll, pulling it tighter and tighter to ensure there was continued pressure on the bandage.

And I had to admit to myself that she looked like the perfect medic.

“It's going to sting like hell when the time comes to take the tape off,” she said finally as she walked to the sink and washed her hands again. “It'll probably wind up pulling most of the hair out of your armpit, but my dressing will stop the bleeding and cleanse the wound. Keep it on for three days and then I'll need to check your shoulder again.”

He exhaled heavily and said, “Natural remedies are always the best. The pain has disappeared entirely.”

“I did plenty of first aid on Julie's father,” she replied. “More times than I care to remember.”

I poured a small amount of iodine on a clean piece of gauze and started to clean up the scratch on my face. It stung and when I wondered if Marcus would be completely horrified if I had a thin scar on my face I realized that I hadn't been in touch with him for hours. Mind you, I did have a pretty good excuse given that Twyla's backpack along with mine went up in smoke the moment George Standingready's truck exploded.

Two phones in three days destroyed. Not only was being a Shadowcull dangerous, it was also getting expensive.

“Mom, can I borrow your cell? Because my new phone wound up getting blown up along with my backpack when Mr Standingready's pickup truck went boom.”

“It's in my purse,” she said pointing to the coat rack in the hall. I padded out of the kitchen and returned seconds later, punching a text message in her keypad for Marcus.

JuliesMum: Hey it's Julie. I just wanted to tell you that I'm ok. How r u holding up?”

About a minute passed and Mom's phone buzzed in my hands.

HawkingFan: I'm OK – not feeling that great.

Not feeling well? Of course he wasn't. I'd just gone and ripped his heart out of his chest and then stomped all over it. Naturally, I felt a little bit sick to my stomach and it probably wasn't the smartest thing in the world for me to contact Marcus after telling him that he needed to steer clear of me, but I knew he'd be worried sick.

And I wanted to talk with him. As much as it was good to have another practitioner at my side, it still didn't feel right without Marcus. He was my Watson. He'd always been my Watson.

JuliesMum: Lots going on. Stay home until all this is over. Come up with an excuse for your Mom to believe.

HawkingFan: I don't need an excuse. I'm really sick. I can't figure it out because I never get sick.

JuliesMum: You know I miss you, right?

HawkingFan: I know. And I get why you need me to lay low.

JuliesMum: This is crazy dangerous. More dangerous than anything I've ever done.

HawkingFan: I understand that you want to protect me.

JuliesMum: Yeah, well I can barely even protect myself. Tonight is the dance. Tonight is when Adriel will move.

HawkingFan: And what happens if things go badly?

I didn't know how to reply to his question, because I had no intention of winding up dead, even though it was a big possibility. I never think about my getting killed; maybe it's because I'm fifteen. I'd never considered that other more powerful magical forces might want to end me and yet death has shaped my entire life. My father was murdered. My mother spent more than ten years being overprotective to the point of what I'm sure is some kind of weird-ass mental disorder. Travis Butler was killed and a demon tried to kill me. Then a whack job cop named Ewanchuk tried to blow my brains out. And through it all, I didn't once dwell on the possibility that I could be killed. I simply expected to survive in the same way that I expect to see a sunrise every morning. I expected that Marcus would survive. And on some level, I expected that my mother and her entire coven would survive what was coming and on a rational level, I knew that I shouldn't.

But I did.

I always do. Maybe that makes me naïve or flippant somehow. I didn't even waste a moment of thought on how my death at the hands of the black mage Adriel might affect Marcus or my mother. I don't think most people take time to consider the outcome of their own death; that is, of course, until you're staring death in the face.
Then
it all hits you like an eighteen wheeler driving forty miles an hour over the posted speed limit.

Damn it. Maybe I'm just crazy.

HawkingFan: Julie. Are you still there?

I exhaled heavily as I replied.

JuliesMum: Yes. I need to go now.

HawkingFan: Just be safe, OK? Just make it through the next day. I know you can do this.

JuliesMum: Thank you. Lay low, Marcus. We'll get through this somehow.

Another minute passed before I heard back from Marcus and what he texted made me want to bust out crying.

HawkingFan: You made me brave Julie. I love you enough to be brave for now. Always remember that OK?

JuliesMum: L

I put away Mom's cell phone and parked my butt on a stool next to the island. She placed a hand on the top of my head and pushed slightly to get a better look at the cut on my face.

“That looks like it smarts,” she said as she applied a thin layer of sacred wort. “The good news is that you don't need stitches, but you're going to have to wear a bandage on your face for the next couple of days.”

Under normal circumstances I'd have been mortified at the thought of wearing a huge bandage on my face, but she was right. The cut stretched from my right temple down to the corner of my jaw and she carefully applied small strips of white adhesive tape over the top of a thin gauze pad that she'd cut into three equal lengths, and dressed the wound the best that she could. My jeans were ruined and there were cuts on my legs, but they weren't anything traumatic, so I decided I'd clean those up after we'd planned our next move.

Mom put away the first aid kit and then sat down at the kitchen table across from George Standingready and Twyla. Betty the dog hobbled into the kitchen from the basement and gave my hand a sniff. Then she sat next to me and cocked her head to the left as she looked at the old man.

“Well, look at that. It's a talking dog,” he said turning to face her. “I haven't seen a spirit take a living host for years and years, but your kind don't really take a lot of interest in the human world like you used to.”

“I'm the girl's guardian,” Betty rumbled. “I take it that you could not find the boy at the heart of this conspiracy.”

I shook my head. “No. He's walking the streets and we've learned that his brain has been wiped or something. Adriel has left only one thing in his mind – just the memories of being the bullied kid. She's fueling his anger and I'll bet the contents of my wallet that he will come to her when the time is right.”

Mom gave me a curious look. “She had him and then she let him go? But why?”

“Because she knew that Willard would be supercharged with malice and that anyone with enough time and skill could eventually find him,” I said. “Better to send him out on the streets than to keep him nearby in case the coven or the local Shadowcull tracked him to a hiding place.”

“Alright,” Mom exhaled. “We still have the boy's backpack. If he's been using it for months there's bound to be a hair or skin or something we can use to forge a link.”

I shook my head. “The swatch of cloth you gave me didn't work and anyway, he'll be headed to the school. The dance is tonight, remember?”

She quickly glanced at the clock on the stove. “Damn. We have to get moving. I'll contact the coven and get my things. You need to grab your cloak; it'll fit you better now. I've taken it in.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I replied as I turned my attention to George Standingready and Twyla. “This isn't your fight and I completely understand if you want to go home.”

The old man grunted as Twyla got up from the chair and walked over to me. She pulled out her leather pouch and then she reached inside and pulled out a small red bead.

“Here,” she said, holding it over my hand. “Take it.”

I looked at the tiny bead that was not much bigger than the head of a pin. “A bead? Keep it Twyla, you might need every magic bead you can get your hands on if you're going to be hanging with me.”

She opened up my left hand and placed the small bead in the center of my palm. Then she placed both her hands over mine and pressed down firmly. Her magic tingled against my skin and suddenly my ears filled with the sound of a wind-swept prairie. I closed my eyes and instantly I found myself standing on a bald hill overlooking a river in the distance that looked like an unbound roll of blue ribbon. I could smell the scent of wet earth and the sun beamed down through a clear blue sky.

The river looked familiar somehow and I shielded my eyes from the sun as I gazed out westward to see the prairie land give way to rolling foothills covered with thick green grass and stand after stand of diamond willow. And then I saw the mountains; their sharp rocky peaks blanketed with snow. I gulped as it dawned on me that the very ground I was standing on was the highest point in what was now a city of a million people.

“This is the land before everything changed,” said Twyla as she walked up behind me. “There is no smog, no railway or airport, no skyscrapers and no white settlers. Only boundless grassland filled with the energy from the living spirit who created it all. This is not magic, Julie; this is who I am, who my grandfather is. Our spirit is as old as the land itself. Our people predate witches and black mages and blood covens. We were here from the very start and we're still here even now. Something terrible has come, it wants to destroy your people and once it's done, it will come for anyone that it sees as a threat. My grandfather and I have a stake in this. We aren't going anywhere.”

She didn't have to do this. Her grandfather didn't have to do this. I gazed out at the unspoiled land as the sound of singing filled my ears. Dozens of voices cried out in a language as old as the land itself and a drumbeat echoed through the valley below. I looked down to see Twyla Standingready's hands still covering mine.

A Shadowcull and a First Nations practitioner with a leather pouch full of magic beads. Old and new magic together; combining to defeat a dark force that threatened to destroy anyone or anything that got in its way.

Yeah. We could do this. We could find Willard and save everyone.

I looked up at Twyla; her chestnut eyes blinked a few times as the vision dissolved amid a shimmering film of magical light. We stood together now in my kitchen surrounded by the people we loved.

Hell, yeah. We could do this.

We could win.

 

CHAPTER 23

 

There wasn't time to eat supper. There wasn't much time to do anything more than throw on a fresh pair of jeans and a new sweatshirt before I donned my Shadowcull's cloak and headed out to the car. Somehow we had to squeeze four adult-sized people and a Great Dane into my mother's car and it occurred to me that if Adriel really wanted to eliminate any potential threat to her plans, all she would have to do is take out our car and there would be four fewer practitioners to worry about.

Mom's leather satchel dangled from one shoulder as she hit the keyless entry and unlocked the door. Inside was a simple bag of salt and a number of other spell ingredients that she'd thrown together when it became clear that all hell was about to break loose in a big way. She'd contacted the Blessed Maven and informed her that Willard Schubert was most definitely going to be at the school dance, and ground zero for whatever the hell Adriel had planned was probably the gymnasium.