The setting sun painted the western horizon with shades of pink that blended into the blues and violets of the clear desert sky. Dust made the distant mountains hazy while also catching the sunset colors. A train rumbled south toward Tucson, overpowering the sound of passing traffic on I-10.
In his coyote form, Rowan watched for an opening to cross the interstate from a copse of Palo Verde. That very morning, he had decided to abandon Arizona and set out for California, but a series of chaotic events involving Animal Control, a squadron of javelinas, and an ice cream truck had led to an amusing yet delayed start to leaving his home state.
As the most active local trickster god, he generally loved trouble, but he had to leave the state because he sensed that the type of trouble coming was not the fun kind, and he didn’t want to get caught up in divine politics. The uptick in people pulling on chaos magic—magic from his domain—had tipped him off that there was conflict among the local magic users. Then, this morning, he spotted a disciple of the Beacon of Light and decided it was time to move on. There’s trouble, and then there’s eternal imprisonment from the goddess of justice. What’s more, if she had agents in town, either the Lord of Destruction also had agents here, or she was after Rowan specifically. While technically, no one deity was more potent than another in his pantheon; it had been his experience that he couldn’t take on any of the other gods in a straight-out fight. His well of power was in Arizona, and he had no idea what would happen if he left. However, with the agents of at least one of his enemies lurking about, he would do his best to lay low.
He sneezed when the draft from a passing car caused a small whirlwind of dust to drift over him. Spotting a break in the traffic, he stood from his hiding place and stretched. Two more cars were approaching, and after them, a large enough break for him to easily cross the entire interstate without risking causing an accident or getting run over.
A feminine voice in his head begged, Please help her.
Rowan shook his head. That had never happened before. He mused whether deities could become schizophrenic. He reasoned that maybe he had been spending too much time in coyote form.
The approaching cars were swerving. The lead car, a beat-up old Toyota Corolla, was being forced off the road by a newer, sleeker black Mercedes SUV.
Rowan caught a glimpse of a scared little girl in the backseat and, simultaneously, heard the desperate female voice again. Help her!
Rowan caught a glint of steel on the road. It was a nail that likely fell out of one of the construction vehicles that frequently visited the new developments north of the city. With an effort of will, he unleashed enough raw chaos to entangle the chasing vehicle’s wheels and the nail. With a gust of wind, an unlucky tumble of the nail, and a pop, the rear tire of the Mercedes burst. The already swerving vehicle slipped off the pavement onto the loose gravel and skidded down the embankment into the scrub brush.
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Rowan’s tongue lolled out.
Using raw chaos, especially in such quantities, without any words of power had consequences. There would be a backlash from the forces of order magnitudes worse than using a spell, but he had been in coyote form, and there had been no time. He could already feel the tension building in his gut.
Rowan could see the car with the little girl turn off at the exit a half mile down the road. The brutes from the chasing Mercedes were getting out of their vehicle and assessing the damage.
The tension from the backlash of his previous spell surged before it hit like lightning, coursing through his body as the universe sought to balance out what he had done. He had saved a child, but there would be an exchange.
Rowan looked over and saw a small dog, either a Boston Terrier or a French Bulldog, darting into the road—the creature the universe had chosen as payment for his magic. A semi-truck was barreling down the interstate, oblivious to the animal now caught in the headlights of death. He would not let that animal pay for his magic.
He darted forward, and as he reached the dog, he shifted from coyote to human to scoop up the dog and shelter it with his body. The semi-truck’s tires seized up, and the screeching of tires and honking of the horn overwhelmed his senses.
He saw the semi’s grill sliding toward him. It was a wall of gleaming steel. He turned away and hunched his shoulders as if protecting his head would save him.
Rowan didn’t feel the impact so much as experienced it as sound and fury. He came to a skidding halt in the dirt off the side of the road. The sky and road were a jumble of colors and sounds. He had moments to wonder if he was airborne before he struck the ground and skidded across gravel.
He could hear the driver stumbling out of the truck, but he couldn’t move to see anything. His spine must have been broken because he couldn’t feel anything. The small dog whined and stood on his chest.
The ache from the magical backlash subsided, leaving him feeling only his throbbing head and the emptiness of a broken, paralyzed body. Rowan knew his debt to the universe was now paid in full.
“I didn’t see you. You came out of nowhere,” the panicked driver said as he stumbled forward with a phone in his hand. “Don’t move, I’ll call for help. Just—Oh god! Don’t move.”
“Not going anywhere,” Rowan answered between wet coughs.
The resonant female voice spoke fervently directly into his mind. He thought he could hear crying. Thank you, thank you for saving the girl.
“No problem,” he whispered.
A heavy weight pulled his consciousness down. The sunset's crimson and gold colors blurred together, and the hum of traffic and rumble of the train faded. As darkness consumed him, he had time for a final thought: This day could not get worse.