"She'll be fine. Her head's probably going to hurt for a day or two. It's not the injury, it's just something that happens to civilians when you blast their bones back together like that."
"It's my fault she's hurt."
"I assumed that. Eugene said there were some ugly people looking for you. Guess they found her instead."
"I'm going to find them. And no one's going to blast their bones back together."
"You take care of that girl in there first. You might be hell on two legs, but she needs taking care of. Throw a sheltering spell on her. Get Eugene to give her some protection charms."
"I should have done that when I first moved into the store."
"You fucked up. So fix it. Here."
He pulls a pencil-size piece of lead from his side pocket and puts it in my hand.
"Now you don't have any excuse. You can draw the circle and do any spell you want."
"I haven't done that kind of magic in a long time."
"What kind of magic have you been doing?"
"Killing things, mostly."
"That'll make you friends. Try a shielding spell later. Maybe having the lead in your hand will trigger some muscle memory and it'll come back to you. If you can't make it work, call me. I'll talk you through it."
"Okay."
"You should call me anyway. Let me take those bullets out of you. Five, isn't it? Maybe they won't kill you, but they can still cause an infection."
"If they do, you can just fix me with your rocks."
"Rocks? Oh. Those. No. Those are glass."
"I've never even heard of glass like that."
"That doesn't surprise me. Those are some of the rarest objects in existence. I don't suppose you'd let me take those slugs out tonight?"
"No thanks. Maybe when I'm done.">The guys are talking and laughing, passing a joint back and forth. Not a care in the world. I hate the idea of carjacking for one simple reason. It's a dog crime. A crime for morons and any little shitsack with the fifty bucks to buy a Saturday-night special. Still, I want the Escalade and I want it now. I look back at Max Overdrive, but Allegra's inside and I can't see her. As I turn back to the van, there's a glint from the rear driver's side window that I missed before. The glass is gone. The window is broken. The van is stolen. Hallelujah. I'm not carjacking. I'm regifting.
I go for the passenger first. He's so ripped that when I grab him, he's in full rag-doll mode, loose and relaxed. That's a good way to hit the ground if you're ever thrown-or pulled-from a vehicle. Only I toss him about ten or fifteen feet farther than I meant to. I've been boxing giant fire-breathing jellyfish and Hellions with skin like titanium. What do I know about fighting humans?
The driver is a pimply scarecrow with a Mohawk and a dirty Sex Pistols T-shirt ripped just so. He looks like a twelve-year-old dressed up like Sid Vicious for Halloween. When his buddy goes flying out of the van, his buzzed brain finally realizes that something is happening. He starts fumbling in his waistband for his gun, but his pothead reflexes aren't helping him. He might as well be wearing oven mitts. But I'd rather not get shot again if he manages to get all his digits working.
While he fumbles I grab the top of the door frame, kick off the edge of passenger door, and slide across the Escalade's roof, landing cat quiet on the driver's side. Speed Racer finally has the gun out, cocked and pointed at exactly where I'm not anymore. I lean in the open window, grab him by the neck, and haul him out, pinning his gun arm to his body. When he struggles, I bounce his head off the side of the van. Just once. Dazed and docile, it's easy to flip him over my shoulder, carry him around the van, and dump him near his friend. His gun I toss down a sewer grate.
Back at Max Overdrive, Allegra is on her feet, shaky as a newborn calf. I scoop her up in both arms, carry her to the Escalade, open the back, and lay her out flat.
"No hospitals," she says.
"I know."
"Where are we going?"
"For ice cream. What's your favorite flavor?"
"Fuck you."
"That's my favorite, too."