Page 5 of Minions and Magic
Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “Okay. I’ll talk to Alberta and maybe we’ll just pop in for a moment or two. If Dallas and Clinton give me a cold shoulder, then I’m leaving. I love your cooking, Glenda, but even your smoked pork loin isn’t worth people saying mean things about Alberta and me.”
“Understood.”
She was right. I’d talk to Cassie and Sylvie and see if they could somehow convince Dallas and Clinton to extend a public civil greeting to Shelby and Alberta. They didn’t have to hug them or hang around all afternoon like besties, but if they welcomed the exiled wolf to the event, then their packs would at least know to keep their nasty comments to themselves.
Thanking Shelby, I said that I hoped to see them both at the party next Saturday, and headed for my car. I was driving back to town, lost in thought and musing over my upcoming events, as well as thinking of a sexy demon, when I noticed a car by the side of the road. It looked like someone had been changing a flat and gave up. The vehicle was lopsided, lowered down to the axle in the left front. I glanced in the rear view mirror as I drove past and slammed on the brakes, realizing there were a pair of boots sticking out from under the car.
There were humans who called Accident their home, and supernatural beings who wouldn’t survive having the weight of a car fall on them. Fearing the worst, I dialed the firehouse and frantically dug through my trunk for my jack.
Pierre answered and I let out a relieved breath. I was within the wards that surrounded Accident, and dialing 911 might get me a human rescue squad. The moment the humans left town they’d forget all about whatever supernatural might be trapped under that car, but I still didn’t want to take the chance that this would be the one time in centuries our wards failed us. Plus there was a good chance a human EMT wouldn’t have any idea how to care for whoever was trapped under that car.
“Pierre! I’m out on Hollow Ridge, about a mile south of Beaverton Road. There’s a car on top of someone.”
The vampire shouted to someone else, then turned back to the phone. “A rollover?”
“No. Looks like he, or she, was changing a tire and the car came down on him. Or her.” I found the jack and cradled my phone against my shoulder as I hauled the pieces out of my trunk.
“What kinda car?”
I could hear the sound of an engine starting in the background, and hoped they were leaving with or without Pierre.
“I don’t know.” I lugged the jack parts over to the car and eyed the front. “A Hyundai something or another. Silver with primer gray on the fender. I’m guessing it’s a guy because the feet in boots look kinda big, but it could be a troll.”
Oh no. There were other trolls that came and went from Accident, but my mind automatically went to Alberta. No. Shelby would be devastated if something happened to her mate, although I doubted getting squished by a car would be enough to kill a troll.
“Feet, not fins!” Pierre shouted to someone else. “We’ll be right there, Glenda. Hang on.”
I dropped the phone as he hung up and began to assemble the jack as fast as possible. Then I reached under the car, half afraid of what I might feel but knowing I needed to position this jack under the frame of the car or risk it coming down a second time on whoever was under there. The metal was sticky with what I hoped was some kind of automotive fluid. Determined not to think of it as blood, I shoved the jack under the frame and began the incredibly difficult task of trying to hoist the car up off the ground.
Why didn’t I own one of those nice hydraulic jacks instead of this cheap piece of crap that had come with my car? It was taking every bit of strength to budge this stupid Hyundai, and my jack looked like a flimsy piece of tin foil trying to hold up a…well, a really heavy car. At least Cassie had taught me how to do this when I’d turned sixteen and gotten my license, insisting that I be able to change my own tire if I got caught out somewhere with a crappy cell signal. We might be witches, but none of us could magic a spare onto a car. Unfortunately.
Terrified that my jack wouldn’t hold, I stopped when the car was a mere ten inches off the ground, and swallowed back my fear enough to crawl partway under and see who this unfortunate motorist was.
When I saw Stanley, I nearly wept, partly because I hated seeing him like this, and partly because as a werewolf, his chances of living through such a horrible accident were pretty much guaranteed.
I’d grown rather fond of Accident’s second exiled lone wolf and made a point of chatting with him every time I went into Petunia’s Auto Repair, Bait, and Beer shop. I was there to get beer, because I didn’t fish, and thankfully my car hadn’t needed repair during the last year. Stanley was a werewolf of few words, but get him talking about cars or fishing, and he’d go on for hours. I might not fish, but I certainly was very interested in fish that could be smoked, fried, baked, broiled, or stewed, so Stanley and I had become friendly. He’d brought me a nice trout last week, and in return I’d dropped a batch of blackberry muffins off at Petunia’s as a thank-you.
“Stanley. Oh, Stanley.”
The werewolf shuddered and I tried not to gag as I saw his face better in the dimming sunlight. His body was strangely dented, crushed from the front of the car, but it looked like a particularly heavy part of the undercarriage had come down hard on his head. It was a flattened, bloody oval. A human never would have survived this. A witch never would have survived this. I wasn’t sure a werewolf could. Crushed ribs, broken pelvis, internal bleeding, fractured jaw—all that would heal in a few days or weeks’ time for a shifter. But I knew things like being blown into little bits did a werewolf in. It had to do with damage that was too catastrophic to heal before decay set in. Stanley was all in one piece, but it was his head that bothered me.
Nearly every werewolf in Accident had a concussion weekly, but I’d never seen one with half his skull caved in.
“Pull me out.”
His voice was bubbly and soft, and I couldn’t help but flinch.
“I think your spine is broken. And your head… It’s probably not a good idea to drag you out by your feet. The medics will be here soon. Just hang on, Stanley.”
“Don’t wanna be under this car. Back’ll be fine. Pull me out.”
I cautiously eased my way out from under the car, figuring he’d know better than me what injuries a werewolf could heal from. With a grimace, I grabbed him by the heels of his work boots and pulled, not liking the way his body stretched out or the wet gasps he made as I slowly slid him out from under the car.
The expression of relief on the werewolf’s face once he was free of the car told me I’d made the right choice. “Are you gonna be okay?” I asked, finally hearing the sirens coming up the road.
“Don’t…know. Head. Can’t think.”
Ophelia and Pierre would know better than I how to position Stanley so his supernatural healing would work best. I felt so helpless, and I was the witch whose talents lay in healing. But my skills were more along the line of augmenting or speeding up the natural process. I could shorten the time it took a broken bone to knit, reduce the recovery period for the flu. I wish I could do more than create healing potions—my smoothies that did the job but always tasted so foul. I wished I could truly heal, just channel my power and repair any wound, eradicate cancer, make every part of someone’s body whole and healthy with a wave of a hand and an incantation.
