Bran Hambric: The Farfield Curse (35 page)

She screamed and fell. In that second, he saw the glass striking the floor softly at first, and then in a sudden storm, breaking like raindrops into tiny fragments…but he held the magic.

His hands were shaking, but he could see Astara, lying with her back to the floor, completely still. Her eyes were open. Above her, directly where his outstretched hand was pointing, was a shimmering sheet of air, so thin that Bran could barely see it save for the glass shards bouncing off. The glass continued to fall, and Bran held the magic, and Astara didn’t move, strips of torn tape still stuck to her wrist. He felt a piece of glass bounce from the floor and scrape across his skin. He winced, but didn’t move. He saw the glass embedding itself into the roof of the van, striking into the concrete floor.

And then, it was finished.

The only sound in the room was that of the rushing sheet over Astara. Bran held the magic a second longer, and then let it go, the sound of it disappearing and leaving them all in silence.

And scattered across the floor, like millions and millions of tiny diamonds, were shards of glass, glimmering in the light from the open ceiling. Bran couldn’t move. He looked up. Across the room, separated from him by the glass, were the men.

They all looked back, aghast: some of them fearful, some of them disbelieving. Astara rose to her feet slowly, surrounded on all sides by glass, like a river trapping her on an island.

Everyone was silent.

Bran glanced to his shoulder, where the glass had struck him and a thin line of blood was gathering down his arm. He wiped it away, and looked back to the men.

"I asked you," he said, "what sort of tricks do you have in mind?"

"Enough from you!" Marcus muttered under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he raised his pistol and shot at Bran in rage. Bran didn’t even have time to notice the bullet before the magic made him move, the powers already around it.

He raised his hand and swept it to the side as if brushing something out of his face, slinging the bullet into the left headlight of the closest black van. The light shattered, and Bran glanced to the van quickly. His gaze penetrated the front window, to the back of the van: glowing there were the eyes of a creature he had hoped never to see again. It was Shambles, staring back out at him—trembling, it seemed, with fear, though strangely held there and not moving.

"Put that away!" Joris hissed, striking Marcus’s arm, before turning to Bran. "There is no point in fighting any longer."

Bran didn’t move.

"You’re outnumbered five to one," Joris said, sweeping his hands around from across the river of glass. They were at a stalemate, neither daring to make a move. Joris stared at Bran, and Bran stared back, his gaze not wavering. Finally, Joris looked away.

"Well, if it must come down to this," Joris said, "we still have one card higher than you, and that is this girl here."

Joris waved his hand, and Craig and Joris raised their pistols. But instead of fear, there was anger in Astara’s eyes.

"You can’t kill me," she said, and their heads turned to her.

"What did you say?" Joris asked her. She tore the last shred of tape off her wrist, tossing it aside and sliding her black wristband down.

"You can’t kill me," she said, her voice stronger. Joris narrowed his eyes at her.

"We most certainly can, from two
different
angles," he hissed.

Astara glanced at Bran, and his eyes widened.

What are you doing?
he screamed at her in his mind, but she only shook her head and looked back at the men.

"I said you can’t kill me," she said, and Joris spun back to her.

"I am quite tired of your mouth," he hissed. "One more word and that is the end of you."

Astara opened her hands. "
I’m waiting.
"

Joris nearly erupted with rage. He jerked his hand out.

"Kill her then!" he shouted. Marcus and Craig looked at her and hesitated.

There was no fear in her eyes, even with the guns leveled at her.

"Shoot her, now!" Joris yelled again, and both men fired. Bran didn’t have a second to think, a second to pull at the magic, before both bullets were gone, flying toward her.

But suddenly, there was a rush of movement, something flying from across the room—an explosion of wooden shards, as the bullets were slammed aside by the impact of a wooden crate hitting them full force. The crate flew across the room, colliding with the wall and taking both bullets with it. The crate exploded into dust and wood, spilling all over the ground. The eyes on both of the men widened.

"She’s a mage too!" Marcus gasped. Craig shot again, the sound bursting in Bran’s ears. Astara was faster, though, her arm a blur of motion in a circle, and the bullet clattered into the wall beside her. Craig shot again, but she was ready for him and held her hand up. The flash of the bullet was stopped one inch from her palm and hovered right in front of her. She looked at it, then to Craig. He was sweating. She struck the bullet out of the air with her hand, like she was swatting a fly out of her face. Bran was taken aback at what he had seen her do.

"That was impressive," they heard Joris say, and both spun to face him again. "I must commend you both. You’re well versed in magic."

"Thank you," Bran said, keeping his voice steady and cold, though inside he was in awe at what he had seen Astara do.

"However," Joris lifted a finger. "You have yet to see any displays of magic on our side."

He waved his hand, and both of the bald men stepped forward from behind him. Bran felt something inch its way under his skin, a fearful part of him becoming unsure.

"You may be able to stop a bullet," Joris said. "Or two bullets, or ten bullets. But you are no match for trained mages—" He smiled, staring at Bran, "—and you know it."

Bran tried not to let his gaze falter, but he felt that it was in his eyes, and Joris had seen it. Bran held his ground, not moving back.

"I have two mages who will do my bidding," Joris said. "When you play with fire, someone’s bound to get hurt."

Both of the bald men leveled their wands at Astara. She froze, looking from one to the other. Joris turned to Marcus and took something from him, and then turned back to Bran.

"So, Bran, you’ve got a choice to make." Joris held up what was in his hands. It was a pair of handcuffs, with a small box attached to the side of it. Bran recognized them instantly:
magecuffs.
The same that the police used to keep people from doing magic.

"You can put out both your wrists and get in the van," Joris said. "Or you can have your wrists forced in front of you and your eyes burned out of their sockets to keep you submissive." Joris shrugged slightly. "You choose."

He narrowed his eyes.

"And please choose fast," he said. "Or else we’ll have to load your unconscious body into a crate in the back of the van."

Instantly, an idea leapt into Bran’s mind that he had not thought of before. It was so abrupt, it sent a chill down his spine, and so unexpected, it made his thoughts of escape a thousand times louder again.

Chapter 29

Inside the Black Van

Bran stood there, staring at Joris and his men from across the garage. None of them moved.

"Your choice," Joris said, holding the handcuffs out farther. Bran took a deep breath. He stared at them—but in the same moment sent his mind toward the van. In an instant he could feel it, his fingertips brushing against the metal, as if he could wrap his hands around its form.

"Choose, now," Joris said, louder.

Bran’s mind was so wrapped in what he was doing, Joris sounded only like an echo. Bran pushed at the magic, forcing more out like a rope, wrapping it around the van, feeling it, moving inward. His mind touched the van and its workings, and suddenly he could feel down into the deepest parts of it.

"Bran!" Joris shouted, and the sudden sound gave Bran a start, and he looked back to Joris. Their eyes met for a moment, and Joris took a step backward.

"I’m through with this," Joris shouted. "He’s doing magic— take him!"

Both of the men jumped forward, but it was too late. There was a flash of motion, and the headlights on the van burst on. A screech of tires came roaring in their direction. Joris fell away as the van came hurtling toward him, and Craig and Marcus jumped, but the edge of the van clipped them, throwing them into the wall.

Bran felt his inner senses scream out, and he dove against the wall as well. A sudden flash of heat shot by him. He gasped and covered his face with his shoulder, and felt it burn the back of his sleeve. He saw the bald man, his wand outstretched, and the end of the wand begin to glow, brighter, and another flaming arrow of fire came hurtling toward him.

He didn’t have a chance to pull for magic, and dove out of the way, fire leaving a burnt circle on the wall. The bald man shot again, and Bran moved; another came, and Bran lifted his hand, bringing the magic between him and the fire and deflecting it back. The bald man saw it and leapt out of the way, and it hit the wall where he had been standing a second before.

Bran saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, as the second bald man shot a beam at Astara. Bran couldn’t get his magic there in time, but she was ready, and the shards of the crate she had slammed into the wall came hurtling across the room again, piecing themselves in front of her like a wall in a split second. The beam of fire slammed into it with such force she was almost pushed off her feet, but she held it, until the bald man released the magic, and the pieces of wood fell to the floor, burning and filling the room with thick smoke. Bran coughed as the smoke began to rise, gathering high above them and going out the destroyed skylights.

"Get behind the van!" Bran shouted to Astara, coughing. They started to run, keeping to the path the van had made through the river of glass.

"Stop them!" Joris shouted, pulling himself from the floor, his hands bloodied from the glass on the concrete. Both of the bald men lifted their wands, fire launching like cannonballs toward Bran and Astara. Bran dodged it, and the ball went past him; Astara wasn’t ready and she tripped, her palms slamming into the metal. Bran was next to her in an instant, and he pulled her around to the other side, using the van as a shield between them and the men.

"Are you all right?" he gasped. She nodded quickly. Bran heard a shot ring out and something slam into the wall behind him. He heard Joris start shouting and the men run across the room, kicking the glass shards. The room smelled of blood and sweat and fire mixed together.

"We can’t hold them all off," Bran gasped. "You’ve got to get into the van!"

"How will that help?" Astara hissed at him. Bran looked through the windows of the van and could see the men coming toward them.

"I don’t have time to think about it," Bran said, and he reached forward and jerked the door open. Luckily, it was unlocked, and she jumped in. Bran leapt in after her into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him, searching the control panel on the door. It was filled with too many buttons, and he didn’t have any idea which one to press.

"How do you do the locks?" Bran shouted urgently.

Astara reached across him and pounded all the buttons at once, and he heard the locks click.

"What do we do now?" she said. Bran looked about the van for anything that might help them. It was filled with bags of equipment, all tightly closed. He saw a gun lying on the bench

in the back, and the men through the window, running toward

them. Suddenly, he noticed keys in the ignition.

Oh, no,
Bran thought.
Don’t even think about it.

But he heard the men shouting, closer; and he looked over his shoulder and made up his mind. He lunged forward and turned the keys, and the engine roared to a start.

"Bran!" Astara gasped. "You’re not actually going to
drive
the van!"

"I think I am," Bran said under his breath, still not sure of what he was doing but reaching forward to shift the gears anyway. He pulled it into drive but slipped down too far to the next gear and had to pull it back up again.

"Get out of there!" Craig shouted, running to the side window. Bran blocked him out, trying to remember how he had seen other people drive.

"It’s in gear," he said out loud, checking. "Brakes off…"

"Get out of that van!" Craig yelled, and he seized the door handle. It was locked, but Bran heard it click from the inside, and it made him jump and slam his foot down on the pedals. The van flew forward and threw him in his seat.

He spun the wheel and found himself going toward the men. They leapt out of his way as he tried to slam on the brakes, but pushed on the gas instead. Astara shouted as they ran over a pile of wood, nearly throwing Bran from his seat as he struggled to make the van go straight.

"Turn the wheel!" Astara screamed, and Bran jerked it about the other way.

"Watch out for the doors!" Astara shouted, trying to hold onto her seat as Bran went hurtling toward the garage doors.

"That’s where I’m
trying
to go!" Bran yelled over her. He pushed on the pedal, holding his arms against the steering wheel as the garage doors sped closer and closer, nearing impact…

"Hold on tight!" Bran said loudly, and he tightened his teeth together, the sound of the engine roaring in his ears like jets, and he slammed into the doors.

The impact hit him hard, but he saw the doors explode out in front of him. The pieces went flying outward, some of them into the road and other parts hurtling over the top of the van. Bran didn’t stop to look back, spinning the wheels around as the van shot off onto the street, filling the road with noise.

"Watch out for the building!" Astara screamed.

He skidded onto the curb and came onto the sidewalk and fell back onto the street again. He heard a roar behind them and looked over his shoulder—the second van had just erupted from the garage, its front window broken.

"Speed up, Bran!" Astara shouted, and Bran spun back around and slammed on the gas. The engine gave a loud noise, and the van lurched forward, with Bran struggling to keep it in the road. He swerved around the corner and nearly hit a streetlight.