The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

We all sat staring at the dashboard until I broke the silence.

“Come on, seriously!” I exclaimed.

I can’t die in this car. I’d never live it down.

Santa pumped the gas a few times and said, “Come on old girl,” before trying the key again. This time, there was only clicking.

“Fly me to Bermuda!” the old man exclaimed. “You know how hard it is to find replacement parts for this thing?”

“That’s what you’re worried about at this particular moment?” Jordan asked.

The cat went bounding past us, stopping in the middle of the lot to pace back and forth while sniffing the air and scanning the area.

The old man pulled the cigarette lighter out of the dash, stuck his finger in the socket and said, “Fulgor.” Nothing happened.

He sighed and began to rub his feet back and forth on the carpeted floorboard. He tried again, and this time sparks flew out of the socket and the engine roared to life. The little hula dancer girl stuck to the dash began to sway to the rumble of the engine. The cat’s head jerked in our direction.

“Hang on,” the old man yelled as he slammed the car into reverse.

Tires squealed once as he backed out and then again as we spun in a violent half-circle and came to a stop facing the woman, now dressed in jeans, heels and a red blouse.

She seriously had time for a wardrobe change?

She grinned, and arcs of electricity began to play at the tips of her fingers.

“Showoff,” the old man said as he gunned the engine.

“Ah, I see why we’re running,” Jordan said. “She’s like the LeBron of wizards and you’re, what, like the coach?” Santa turned his head and glared towards the backseat. “Oh, or the mascot, maybe.”

“Jordan,” I said, “this might be a good time to shut up.”

“I stand by the analogy,” Jordan answered.

Santa shook his head, adjusted his glasses, and slammed the gearshift lever up and to the left. The tires squealed again, and the car leapt forward.

Strands of electric current leapt from the woman’s fingertips, crawling along the ground and dancing over the hoods of the parked cars between us and her.

Santa grinned like a madman as he jerked the wheel hard to the left and the car swerved. My lap belt was of course worthless, and I was throttled back and forth on the slick vinal seats. In the midst of all the swerving and flopping around, a flash of light blinded me, and when my vision cleared, I saw a smoking hole where the passenger side mirror had been. The hula girl jiggled and the speedometer needle passed forty as we closed in on the woman.

“She’s gonna move, right?” Jordan asked.

“Most likely,” the man answered glumly.

She stopped fiddling around with the lightning in her hands and her eyes went wide when she realized how close we were. She leap high into the air, and as she cleared the ground, the woman began to shrink and darken, and by the time we passed under her, she’d transformed into a large, black crow. I leaned forward in my seat and craned my neck to get a better view as she flapped her wings and disappeared into the afternoon sun.

I rolled down the window with the silly little crank to see if the bird-lady was following us. I couldn’t find her in the sun’s glare.

What if she flies in through the open window and pecks my eyes out?

I quickly rolled the window back up. My shoulder was worn out by the time I was done.

“Hang on,” the old man said.

The spedometer needle was on 50 when hit the speed bump, and my head almost bounced off the roof. I heard a thud from the backseat, followed by a loud ow. Being short does have some benefits. We swerved into traffic as cars swerved and hornes blared. A middle-aged guy in a sedan gave us the finger as we sped past.

The old man hooted and slapped the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand. “I don’t think I’ve had a thrill like that since the time that pike-king tried to eat us in your uncle Ector’s moat,” the old man said.

“You’re Merin the Magician?” Jordan asked.

A wide smile spread on the old man’s lips. “So, you do remember.”

“I remember reading The Once and Future King in Sophomore English Lit,” he replied.

I looked back and forth between their faces a few beats before asking, “Should that name mean something to me?”

“You read the book too, Kenz,” Jordan answered.

“Did I?” I asked. “Hmmm…”

He sighed. “Do you remember the Disney cartoon about the little English boy that gets turned into a bunch of animals by his wizard friend?” I squinted. “His brother was a knight.” I shrugged. “Come on Kenz. I watched it with you and your dad when we were little. Well, you’re still little, so maybe not the best description.” I glared, he smiled. “At the end the kid draws the sword from the anvil and becomes the King of England.”

“That sounds familiar,” I admitted. “Though that doesn’t seem like a good way to choose a ruler.”

“Especially if it’s you,” Jordan added. “I don’t see you being able to pull a sword out of a bowl of Jell-O.”

I glared.

“Arthur was chosen by God to rule Great Brittan,” Merlin said, as he blew through a second red light in a row. The camera system meant to automatically catch red-light runners once again failed to go off.

“Does God participate in all elections, or just English ones?” Jordan asked.

“Was Hitler a mistake,” I asked, “or was that just one of those divine choices that us mere mortals just can’t understand?”

Merlin pulled onto the freeway and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine roared, and we were going eighty in a matter of seconds.

“Do you have a sword ready for Kenz to pull from a bowl of Jell-O, or are you going to just rig an election?” Jordan asked.

“Okay Tucker Carlson,” I quipped.

“That’s the most horrible thing you’ve ever said to me,” Jordan said, wiping a faux tear from his eye.

“Yours is such a cynical generation,” Merlin answered. “Fine, it wasn’t God, it was me. I rigged it so only Arthur could draw the sword.”

“It’s cynical to not believe an obvious lie?” Jordan asked.

“Am I the Queen of England?” I asked.

“No, that’s ridiculous,” Merlin snorted.

“Oh, that’s ridiculous?” Jordan added. “Not werelions or throwing lightning bolts? Good to know.”

Merlin face went so red I thought he might blow a blood vessel.

“While we’re exploring the subject,” I said, “who is Belvidere?”

Merlin blew past a cop, who didn’t even look over at us.

Sir Bedivere,” Merlin said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in Jordan’s direction “is your best friend and most loyal knight.”

“Wasn’t Sir Lancelot Arthur’s best friend?” Jordan asked.

“Sir Lancelot was Arthur’s best knight, not his best friend,” Merlin answered. “There was a significant age difference between the two of you... and then there was the fact that Lancelot was having an affair with your wife Guinevere for well over a decade.”

“So, this is a cool story,” I said, “and I really appreciate you rescuing us from the tiger lady-”

“Lion,” Jordan added.

“-but,” I continued, “I really think you’ve got the wrong... uh, guy.”

“Duo,” Jordan amended.

“Every minute I spend with the two of you, I wish that more and more,” Merlin answered. “Unfortunately, the stars don’t lie.

“Oh, that was my exit,” I said, as we passed the Blue Oaks offramp.

“We can’t go back to your house,” he paused before adding, “Kenz is it?” He said my name like the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. I narrowed my eyes and nodded. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Artie?” I shook my head no. “Arthuretta?”

If I give him THE LOOK, he’ll probably crash this stupid car and I’ll bump my head on the dash because all I have to protect myself from equal and opposite reactions is this worthless lap belt.

I gave him a regular glare, and it still made him wince. Full wattage would have melted his beard.

“Your home is the first place those blasted witches will look for us,” Merlin continued.

“Was that witches plural?” Jordan asked.

“Wolves live in packs,” Merlin said, “and witches in covens.”

“What exactly is the plan here?” I asked. “Because if you think the plan is that we’re going to hit the road with you in this rolling museum piece and have adventures or whatever, you are going to be sorely disappointed.”

“Did you miss the part where Thiton showed up at your school and tried to kill you?” Merlin said. “Do you think it’s a massive stretch that they would try your home next?”

I didn’t have a snappy comeback to that one. I worried about my cat, my clothes, and my dad, in that order.

“I need to at least call my dad,” I said, reaching for the backpack that I quickly realized was in Mr. Campbell’s office in the back of the library.

“You can call Aedan when we get to the safe house,” Merlin replied. “He’ll understand.”

“Right, like he’ll believe that witches are after me,” I added.

“You’d be surprised,” Merlin answered.

It took a moment for something he had said to finally dawn on me. “How did you know my dad’s name?” I asked.

“I’ve known him longer than you have,” he answered.

Dad knew about all of this and didn’t tell me?

Before I could ask a dozen follow-up questions, Jordan leaned forward and stuck his head between ours and asked, “What about my mom? Do you know her?”

“I didn’t even know you existed until this evening, Bedivere,” Merlin replied. “You haven’t been in the previous cycles.”

“Yeah Bedivere,” I added. “Try and keep up.”

Jordan side-eyed me and continued, “Then that means that we can safely swing by my apartment,” Jordan added.

Merlin stroked his beard. “I suppose it is rapidly approaching dinner time.”

It’s not even four…

Merlin looked back at Jordan through the rear-view mirror with a hopeful look in his eyes. “Is your mother, by chance, a good cook?”

“Take the next exit,” Jordan said with a wicked smile.

Merlin’s grin broadened, assuming Jordan’s statement was confirmation of Mrs. Lin’s culinary skills. Jordan and I shared a conspiratorial look. His mom was a lot of things – sweet, caring, thoughtful – but she was not a good cook.