By Samantha Cook
Chapter Sixteen Back to the Bunker
Fire marched towards the building bared by the Ashes, each finally allowed to remember magic for what it was, each hating it despite knowing how weak and harmless it had become. That did not seem to matter anymore - someone had to be responsible for each death the magical society had caused, and burning them seemed just as adequate as it was in medieval times.
Tristan parked the car at the top of the deserted drive before rethinking their tactics. He started the car up again edging an inch forward before stalling it, accidently shaking the passengers awake. "One less thing to do," Tristan thought silently to himself as he began to drive into the trees that surrounded the bunker. Then he collected a few large braches that had fallen to the ground and tried to disguise the car as part of the shrubbery.
The obvious entries were surrounded by hordes of angry people. Those who could not reach the front of the bunker stood back, throwing bricks and torched bottles of alcohol whenever they saw a head appear in the windows. Shot guns were leant up against picket signs that made it frighteningly obvious how long ago it was planned, while hand guns could be seen amongst the members of the crowd. Tristan couldn't help but wonder if the police had let them borrow their weapons.
There was no getting in through the front door, unless they pretended to be part of the crowd, and however mutual the idea was, it was also crazy. The mob barged at the doors that wavered back and forth as if the same amount of strength was pushing against the horde. Both sides were 'Ashes' now - it was even. The only other entrance that was possibly accessible was the large ground floor windows. One of the mob members threw a brick through the glass just as they were considering that path, showing them how it was only as thin as a sheet of icing sugar, yet still contained enough magic to grow back within seconds. It would have to do.
"Okay, Feya, here's where you start running and you don't turn back, no matter how worried you get," he reeled off, gently taking her hand in his and stuffing the keys into her palm. She refused to grasp them. "And I know," added before she could interrupt. "I know it looks bad, but this was your idea, and I think we're doing the right thing. Just take the keys."
"What about you and Kelsey?"
"We can fight or run. We're not pregnant."
"You're not invincible either - in fact, the people in there think you're dead." The thought seemed amusing to him, and she smiled despite herself. "Besides, I don't have a licence."
Tristan laughed. "Neither do I. And it's about time our friends knew the truth." He turned round to check on Kelsey who was fussing around in the boot, probably looking for her dagger. "And one more thing," he said, looking back into Feya's eyes, this time with a seriousness in his aura. "I know you have my parent's atheme, possibly what they died protecting. I'm going to need it." Feya was taken aback. All this time he was aware she had it, and he probably knew all about what it could do.
"I'll answer any questions later. It's a dangerous possession to have on your person," he told her as she hesitated, drawing the atheme into the open and twirling it in her hands. He carefully removed it from her grip, replacing it with a small pocket knife. Then he looked up to see someone he had not seen since the day he died.
"T...Tristan?"
Feya turned to face a familiar burly young man Tristan was grinning at. "And Feya - are you?" He swore, gaping at her rounded stomach.
"Yes she is, Finn," Tristan spoke when all Feya could do was to hug her belly, blushing with pride, the first time she had felt excited about this child. Finn looked as if he had put on a few natural muscles while they were gone, probably to make up for the lack of his muscular powers. He stood in the middle of the deserted road, breathing deeply so that his shoulders rose and fell in a perfect rhythm. "Finn?"
