Regan Hastings - Visions of Magic

Someone with a gun.

“Damn it!” Teresa dove for the ground as the first crack of bullets chattering from the automatic weapon enveloped her. Still too far away, she thought wildly, but not for long. She ran toward an outcropping of sandstone rocks. Yes, there might be snakes in there, she thought, but out here, there are bigger dangers. She crouched behind a sand-encrusted boulder and jabbed her hand at the chopper again. And once more, lightning split the sky, racing to do her bidding. But it still missed the damn target.

“Teresa Santiago!” a voice shouted over a bullhorn. “Surrender now or we will kill you.”

The thunder crashed, and the helicopter blades sounded like the heartbeat of a hungry beast. Closer now, those same blades were churning up the sand, throwing it at her, stinging her skin and her eyes. She couldn’t even risk turning her back to the flying sand since that would mean turning her back on her enemies. Every second that passed brought them ever nearer, and Teresa knew she had run out of time. There was no escape. She glanced around at the wild emptiness surrounding her and saw no options.

“Die here,” she murmured frantically, “or die in prison. Not much of a choice.”

So she did the only thing she could do. She stood her ground and threw yet more lightning at the men who had somehow followed her into the desert. Bolt after bolt shot toward the helicopter headed directly at her, yet none of them hit. Desperation fueled her movements, and she knew that her aim was only getting wilder but she couldn’t do anything about that now.

How had they found her? How did they even know about her?

Fury laced her fear and somehow tangled in the threads of her power. She felt something new… something old that pulsed within her. Then it strengthened. Staring hard at the incoming helicopter, she sent one more bolt of lightning at her enemies, and this time she scored a hit. A small jagged bolt slapped the tail rotor of the chopper, sending the machine into a wild spin. Torn between elation and fear, Teresa watched as the pilot struggled for control. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but damned if she’d stand still to be shot, either.

The pilot recovered, the chopper continued on and the gunman took up position again. Teresa braced herself for the inevitable.

She looked up into the face of death-the incoming chopper-and she lived.

A wall of fire appeared in front of her, and the bullets flying at her embedded themselves into the flames instead. Teresa staggered back in surprise, looked up and met the pale gray eyes of a warrior. Fire surrounded his body, enveloping him in a living wall of flame. His features were drawn in concentration, and his muscled body swayed with the impact of more bullets, but still he stood between her and danger.

“Hold on to me,” the stranger ordered.

Teresa didn’t even think about it. She jumped into the fire that covered the man, hooked her arms around his neck and shouted, “Go, go, go!”

And in another bright flash of flames, they were gone.