“This ends now, children.” Unlike all the other ones we had seen, this one looked as if she was in her forties and getting older by the minute. Her hair was turning white as she walked in the van. She raised her wand at us.
Bartholomew, a lot quicker than I was, threw his club at her. She dodged it but was not prepared for Bartholomew tackling her. For an eleven-year-old boy, he was pretty strong. They were out the back door and rolling on the street.
“Bob, get to Union Station. The cops are there. Find Officer Smith and tell him we need backup. We’ll keep them off you.” There was no way in hell I was leaving Bartholomew alone.
“Isis, I won’t leave you guys.” Bob looked conflicted.
“Bob, drop them off and then come back for us. But you need to get those people to safety. Now.” Leaving the M16 with Bob, I jumped out of the van to the craziest scene of my life. Until recently I had never been in a fight. Now I was shooting at people and getting my butt kicked at least once before bedtime. If today was my day, I was going to make it count. I prayed Death would explain things to my godmother if this went bad.
Chapter 37
Two witches were blocking Bob’s path, and he opened fire. The witches jumped out of his way. Bob hit the gas. I saw him take State Line going at least fifty. I had no idea that van could move that fast. I was impressed; the old man was driving as if he had stolen that thing.
Two witches climbed on their bikes to chase Bob. I pulled out my 9mm Smith & Wesson Special and fired at the tires. The witches probably had shields, but I was betting their bikes didn’t. I blew up the tires on one bike and accidentally blew up the gas tank on the other. That bike went up in flames like a Fourth of July fireworks display. If people hadn’t known before that something was going on downtown, they did now. One witch was on the ground doing a poor imitation of the drop-and-roll drill. Her friend was trying to assist, but it looked as if she was making things worse.
By the time I reached Bartholomew, he had the witch in a headlock. Those lessons with Eric were really paying off. He was trying to cut her air supply and knock her out. She was way too big for him and was shaking around like a wild snake. I rushed to help and kicked her on the side. That slowed her down. Bartholomew managed to knock her out, but we were running out of time. The rest of her coven was back, and they looked as if they were ready for blood. Once they realized they had lost their hostage, Bartholomew and I were going to pay for it.
“Bart! Bart!”
He was too busy with the witch to pay attention to me.
“Bartholomew, we need to take cover. Now!” I had to pull him off the witch. “Let’s go, Bart; she is not moving.”
Bartholomew and I ran down Sixth Street toward the post office. The two witches who had been blocking Bob were nowhere to be seen. We passed the fountain, and it was in pieces and in flames. The thing looked as if it had gotten hit by a missile. All that was left was a large crater and burning bushes. Normally, I was the one responsible for huge disasters. I had had nothing to do with this one.
“Constantine, what happened to the fountain?” Bartholomew asked as we ran past it.
“Constantine, a.k.a. the Terminator, happened to it.” War had a horrible effect on Constantine. He was losing his mind and was proud about it.
“Why?” I was confused. What had that poor fountain done to Constantine?
“Once those witches came out, I decided we needed to stop them from going back in. So the fountain had to go.”
I was speechless. Constantine was serious.
“Constantine, why didn’t you just break the spell or something less drastic? You know that fountain was city property. Do we have to pay for that thing?” Honestly, my team really did not believe there was such a thing as overkill.
“Isis, how was I supposed to break the spell from here? Remember, all I have is a drone. Blowing up the fountain broke their circle. Mission accomplished, so bombs away. No fountain, no more portal. We have insurance. We’re covered.”
There was no hope for Constantine. I had a feeling we didn’t have State Farm. Massive city destruction was probably not covered.
As Constantine recounted his victorious campaign, Bartholomew and I took cover behind a truck parked in front of the Firestone Tire Center. I prayed the owner was nowhere nearby. At the rate we were going, this baby was probably going up in flames as well. Our truck was behind the post office. There was no place to hide. This stupid intersection had so much empty space, it reminded me of the Wild West. All we needed was tumbleweeds to roll by, and we would have the perfect setting for a shootout.
“Isis, I have one clip left.” Bartholomew had taken inventory of his ammunition. He had a gash on his cheek and blood running down his arms. I grabbed his arm, trying to discern the level of damage. “Don’t worry; it’s not mine. I might be bruised, but nothing is broken.”
“I’m glad. After everything we’ve
