It’s a smooth 15 hours from Lafayette to Iowa City as the empty semi rolls.  I asked Ruth, being a Christian magic person if she knew the Iowa City witchkiller posse that attacked me.  She said that they wouldn’t be a problem.  Then refused to elaborate.  When I asked her point blank if she approved of their murdering people she stonewalled me.  When I threatened not to help her with the truck anymore unless she told me she called my bluff.   

“Yes you will” she said calmly.   

The sleeper cab in the possessed murder truck is much nicer than any car sleeping set up I’ve ever been able to arrange.  I wonder if I can just tool around in a semi-truck without a trailer and power it with magic instead of gas.   

I think the spirit was messing with me in my sleep.  I had a dream I was in a match in a big arena.  I was supposed to fight Jon Moxley but he refused to fight a woman so I cast a spell to turn myself into a man. 

Dream man-Grace is much better looking than real life woman Grace FYI.  It was also ridiculous because I was still wearing a sports bra top and boxing trunks turned into a major wedgie.  At that point instead of wrestling we just started fucking in the ring while the crowd cheered us on.   

I don’t know what the Spirit of 66 was trying to accomplish with that dream attack.  While I was awake I could feel the spirit lurking around the outskirts of my mind but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.  I can see how it could drive a non-magic person with no defenses mad.  Poor Bubba.  I wonder how many people before him fell under the same curse.   

Magic can be a real bastard.

I called Dany to let her know we were coming but she still needed some time to arrange to borrow the equipment she to pull the engine out of a semi.  That night the three of us hung around a barrel fire behind her shop.  We ordered pizza and drank Templeton Rye and had a fine time.  I thought there might be some friction between the witch and the Christian wizard but they were fine.   

After Dany went to sleep in her van and Ruth on the couch inside I put on the stupid helmet and went and knocked on the hood of the truck.   

“I left the sword inside, I can’t hurt you, I just want to talk.” 

A blob made of engine grease and old oil not 3 inches tall oozed out and formed on the hood.  It looked like one of those M&M monsters from the commercials.  I don’t know if it looked like that because it was injured or because it was diminished by my attack or if it was trying to take on a non-threatening form.   

“Tomorrow we’re going to yank this engine out.  If you try to move to another part of the truck I’m going to stab you again.  Once we have the engine out we’re going to bury it deep in the ground.  You’ll be trapped.”   

“Why are you doing this to me?” its voice was tinny and small like a little kid on a CB radio.   

“I can’t let you hurt anyone else and you can’t stop.  I’m sorry for what happened to you for whatever that’s worth.  It doesn’t have to happen that way, you have another choice.  You can fade away alone under the ground or you can make your last act in this world something worthwhile.” 

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