The Bronze Key (Magisterium #3)(57)
Alex heaved open the van door and they piled inside in a tumble of bodies. As soon as the door shut, Alma took off, driving much faster than Call thought was strictly necessary. Havoc began to whine.
“So I think we can get ahead of the truck on Route 211. The question is how to get it to stop, short of ramming it off the road. And before you say, ‘So what?’ that might hurt the animals.” Alma had an unfortunate habit of looking back at them while speaking, checking on their reactions. Call really, really wanted to remind her to keep her eyes on the road, but he was afraid of surprising her into jerking the wheel and sending them into a ravine.
“Okay,” he said instead.
“How come you couldn’t do this yourself, you and the rest of the Order of Disorder?” Alex asked.
Alma sighed, as though the question was very stupid. “Who do you think they’re going to suspect first? The Order has been operating in the woods around the Magisterium since we were first allowed to be there, catching, tagging, and sometimes even putting down Chaos-ridden animals. But only when necessary. The Assembly knows we’re firmly against these valuable test subjects being slaughtered and so our members must have an ironclad alibi.”
“Really warms the heart, how much she cares,” Aaron whispered to Call, in a rare moment of snark. Call agreed with him. Havoc wasn’t a valuable test subject; he was a pet wolf. Call wished all the animals had somewhere better to go than either death or the Order.
“What about your alibi, then?” Tamara asked.
“Me?” Alma said. “Why, records will show that I was with Anastasia Tarquin, prominent member of the Assembly, tonight. She was kind enough to allow me access to the elementals and we lost track of time, trying some new experiments.”
“What about us?” Call asked, returning to what he considered the main point.
“That’s your lookout,” said Alma, careening off the road and onto the highway. They whizzed past the gas station where, the year before, they’d waited for Tamara’s butler, Stebbins, to come and get them. The highway opened up in front of them. For a moment Call fantasized that they were going somewhere for no reason, just to have fun. Although maybe not with Alma. That would be weird.
Alma gave a cackling laugh and pulled to a stop. They piled out of the van, grateful for the fresh air. It was cold out, the air nipping at Call’s cheeks and chin as he looked around. They were at a fork in the road, where Route 211 and Route 340 split from each other. There was no one on either right now, and the moon hung above them, huge and pale, illuminating the white lines painted down the center of the street.
Alma checked her watch. “They’re about five minutes out,” she said. “No more than that. We have to figure out how to block their way.” She eyed Call, as if wondering if he’d make an adequate human roadblock.
“I’ll do it,” said Alex. He walked to the patch of grass in front of where the roads split.
“What’s he going to do?” Tamara whispered, but Call just shook his head. He had no idea. He watched as Alex raised his hands and made the same piano-playing movements he had before.
Color and light swirled in front of him. Alex leaned back as the lights and colors grew. Call watched with a faint prickle of jealousy. This was what he’d always thought magic might be like, not the deadly darkness that poured from his own hands.
“There they are,” Tamara whispered, pointing. Sure enough, in the distance Call could see a large black truck coming toward the intersection from the east. Its headlights looked like bright pinpricks at this distance, but they were coming fast.
“Hurry up, Alexander!” Alma snapped.
Alex gritted his teeth. He was clearly putting everything into this, and Call felt a flash of regret for having been short with him before. The light in front of Alex had darkened, and the color seemed to solidify into shapes — a jumble of yellow-and-orange wooden traffic barricades with the words ROAD CLOSED across them in big black letters. They were huge and looked terrifyingly solid.
“Alex, move!” Tamara called. Looking tired, Alex slumped toward them. Alma pulled them all behind the van just as the truck rolled up, coming to a stop in front of the barricades.
The truck itself was a nondescript eighteen-wheeler, nothing written along the side. When the driver swung down from the semi cab, he looked entirely non-magical. He was even wearing a baseball cap. He went up to the barricade and frowned at it. From the truck came a voice.
“Just move them!” the voice said, clearly irritated and clearly used to being obeyed. “We’re on a schedule!”
“What if the road’s out?” the first guy asked. “People don’t just put up these things for no reason.”
Call wasn’t sure if Alex’s illusion could stand up to physical contact. He had to do something. He looked over at Alma and narrowed his eyes, suddenly totally aware why she’d taught him and Aaron the soul tap.
“We have to knock them out,” he whispered.
Aaron gave a quick nod, but he was already looking a bit drawn. They’d both used a lot of chaos magic that day and they weren’t going to be able to draw on each other as counterweights if they were both equally exhausted. They were going to have to try not to go too far.
Call’s skin prickled. Chaos came easily to his fingers, tired as he was. He had the uncomfortable thought that maybe exhaustion actually made the magic easier and that if he got tired enough, chaos might devour him without him really quite noticing.