Page 21 of Filthy Little Witch
“I don’t know,” I said as Wes’s head lulled down in front of him. “But if we don’t get him to an ER?—”
“No doctors,” Wes muttered. “They’ll ask questions.”
“Shut up, man.” I wasn’t prepared to watch him waste away from an infection when his pride was the only thing standing between him and a shot of penicillin. “Witch, open the door.”
Marta helped me load Wes into the back seat, where he promptly slumped over, before she started for her bike.
“Come with us,” I insisted. “Leave the bike.”
“Hell will freeze over before I do that.” She scrunched her features, scowling at the thought of leaving her precious behind.
“I get it,” I added. “But we shouldn’t split up, not until we know what’s going on.”
She remained hesitant, heels dug into her spot.
“We’ll come back for it later. Get. In. The. Truck.”
The disgruntled look on her face made me think she would ignore me, but when she only nodded and climbed into the passenger seat, I went around to the driver’s side and set about dismantling the panel under the steering wheel. Most modern-day vehicles couldn’t be hot-wired because of push-button start and anti-theft nonsense. But Leander drove an early ’90s pickup, so getting it started took almost no time.
“Should I even ask why you know how to do that?” Marta asked with raised eyebrows.
“This ain’t my first rodeo.” I winked, put the truck in drive, and set off toward the hospital.
CHAPTER 8
Atlas
It didn’t take us long to realize that something was really fucked up about where we were. The streets were empty. We didn’t pass any other vehicles on the roads. The shops were open, and the lights were on, just as they had been when we’d driven past them to go to the ritual, but there weren’t any people inside, almost like everyone had blinked out of existence.
“You thinking Avengers: Infinity War or Zombieland?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the witch in the passenger seat.
She didn’t answer; she just glowered out the window as we passed a popular department store that should have been bustling with people. Instead, the parking lot looked like a junkyard where cars went to die.
“The hospital on Route 9 is closer, but the one in Asheville is better,” I said.
“No hospitals.” Wes groaned from the backseat.
“Shut up,” I said, glancing at my brother in the rearview. He looked like shit, his skin pale white, his features twisted in excruciating pain.
“I can heal him,” she said. “I just need some rest, and then I’ll be able to do the spellwork.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust your secret special magic powers, not after what just happened.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You’re not a miracle worker.”
“I’ve healed demon wounds before.” She clenched her fists in her lap. “I need to recoup my strength. Maybe the others went back to the motel. We should check there.”
“The others?” I scoffed. “Look around you, witch. There are no others.”
“We need sacred ground,” she continued, like my protests meant nothing. “We need to head back to the estate. I have herbs and candles there, not to mention the eons of ancestral magic in the earth.”
“Herbs and candles?” I scoffed. “Look at him! We need stitches and antibiotics and?—”
“Listen to her, Atlas,” Wes said. “She can heal me. She knows what she’s doing.”
Yeah, I fucking bet.
I took a deep breath and debated what to do. Even if we went to the hospital, I didn’t know what to look for. Yes, we needed penicillin, but would that even work against demon magic? How much was I supposed to give him?
On the other hand, witches had been known to do a better job of treating and patching up wounds than the best doctors. Maybe with a little rest and some witchy-woo-woo shit, she could get Wes back on his feet.
