A View From the Trunk

The car hit another bump in the road, jostling him awake. He sighed and opened his eyes again, knowing he wouldn't be able to see much.

He was right. There only light came from the dim red of the vehicle's tail lights and a thin crack of sunlight coming in from the trunk. He could feel the ropes around his wrists and the dull, painful weight of the disc pressing into his forehead. They'd banded him.

The bastards.

He'd been hearing about these things. "Holy seals," the old bum had called them. They were pieces of gold about the size of a dollar coin, engraved with a Latin verse and supposedly infused with the might of the Lord.

Might of the Lord? Been there, killed that.

Still, glib as he felt about the power of the Almighty, he couldn't deny the headband's effect. He was about as powerful as Cisco the Wonder Kitten right now. In terms of magic, he ranked somewhere between an unconscious David Blaine and a birthday magician on a four-cake-piece sugar buzz. He could affect himself slightly, as evidenced by his awareness that nothing internal was broken or bleeding, but the outside world was off-limits.

No projective magic. Lovely.

Wherever this car was taking him, it looked like he was going to be along for the whole damned ride...