I was reaching for the car door when someone walked right into us.
It was a fairly solid hit, my shoulder went back and I almost lost my balance. “Well, excuse you!” I said, shocked. The other person—a woman—tossed a glare over her shoulder and kept on walking.
“How rude,” I muttered, and loaded Willow in my car. I buckled her into the booster seat and shut the passenger door.
The snow was really coming down, I realized. Frowning up at the sky, I swallowed a sick sense of anxiety at driving in the stuff and picked my way around the car and eased behind the wheel.
“Stay calm,” I told myself, and switched on the wipers. There was only an inch or two on the ground, but it was sticking to the streets, and I’d never actually driven in snow before. I was more nervous than I cared to admit, and my fingers itched to draw a protective pentagram over the steering wheel. Stop that! Silently, I scolded myself. You’re a professional, ‘normal’ woman, remember? Mundanes don’t resort to the dark arts to drive in a snow storm!
Blowing out a long breath, I cautiously backed out of the parking space. “It’s a five minute drive to the cottage,” I said, for the comfort of hearing a voice. “Girl, you’ve got this.”
I eased the car down the street and was horrified that everyone else was blazing right along without a care in the world. The driver behind me honked impatiently at my slow speed, and I gulped and stepped on the gas a tad harder. The windshield began to fog up and I turned the airflow on the defroster to high. But somehow, it only made it worse.
I wiped the interior of windshield clear with my gloved hand, and suddenly there was a black dog standing right in the middle of the snowy street. “Shit!” I stomped on the brakes, and my car slid out from under me. I gasped, hanging on to the steering wheel for dear life, and my car swung sharply sideways, crashing into another oncoming car.
The impact was all on the driver’s side. I felt the force of the other car’s front bumper push my door inward and smack against my left arm. My head bounced off the driver’s side window, and the noise was incredibly loud. Willow’s startled cry at the sound made it worse.
Then it was suddenly over. “Are you alright, baby?” I asked, turning to reach for her. I couldn’t go very far. I tried to undo my seatbelt, but found myself trapped. “Are you okay?” I ran my hand over her leg. “Baby can you move your hands and arms?”
There was a ruckus outside the car. “Mama what happened?” Willow craned her neck to see what was happening, and it relieved my fear. If she was moving freely, she was probably fine.
“The car slipped in the snow,” I said. “We hit another car.”
“We did?” Willow tried to look.
There was a man standing outside my car door calling for me to open it. The windows were so fogged up that I couldn’t see him. I lifted my left arm to try, and immediately regretted it. Pain radiated up my arm and had me wheezing. I clenched my teeth against a litany of cuss words my daughter shouldn’t hear.
“Mama?” Willow’s voice trembled.
I tried to open the door with my other arm but it was stuck. “I can’t open the door!” I explained.
“I called 911!” His voice carried clearly. “Are either of you hurt?”
“My daughter seems to be fine,” I said.
“Can you unlock the passenger door?” He wanted to know. “Put the car in park, turn it off, see if the locks pop open.”
I did still have my foot stomped down on the brakes. I quickly shifted the car into park, switched off the engine and the locks popped.
The passenger door was pulled open. “Magnolia?”
I blinked at the handsome, bearded man as he leaned down to look in the car. He seemed familiar. “Yes?” My voice sounded strange to my own ears.
“It’s Wyatt Hastings. Do you remember me?”
“Hastings?”
“Duncan’s friend,” he said.
“Oh, the odd man who writes the gruesome mysteries.” I tried to focus on him and shook my head to clear it. I grabbed my temple with my good hand and moaned. “Son of a bitch.”
“Hey.” He leaned further into the car.
“Did I hit your car?” I asked.
“No, not my car,” Wyatt said. “I heard the collision from inside my house and came out to see if everyone was okay.”
“Is the other driver alright?” I wanted to know, and trailed off as something trickled into my eyes.
“He’s fine.” Wyatt climbed across the passenger seat. “Magnolia, you’re not okay. Your head is bleeding.”
Automatically, I wiped at my forehead. It was sticky, and when I looked down at my fingers they were bloody. “Next time I’ll draw the damned pentagram…” I muttered.
“What did you say?” Mr. Hasting asked.
I caught myself and tried to focus. “Is the other driver okay…” I frowned at him as Willow started to cry. “I asked that already, didn’t I?”
“Magnolia.” His voice was firm. “Look at me. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“My arm,” I said as spots appeared before my eyes. “Please, Mr. Hastings, check on my daughter,” I told him, and then everything went dark.
When I opened my eyes again, I found a paramedic in my face. “There you are.” His voice was cheerful. I was still in the front seat of my car but now my driver’s door was open. Snow continued to fall.
“Where’s my daughter?” I asked, lurching forward, and the pain that blasted through my arm had me cringing. “Shit!” My stomach roiled at the pain.
“She’s fine. Officer Bishop is keeping her company while we check you out.” He eased me back.
My stomach lurched. “I beg your pardon,” I managed to say. “But I think I’m going to throw up.”
At least I didn’t vomit on the
