An Artificial Night - BK 3 (29 page)

May nodded, nearly falling over as she dragged the wheel to the right. The car wasn’t cooperating, and I couldn’t blame it; if she’d been trying to steer me, I wouldn’t have been terribly cooperative either. Connor whimpered, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut as we swerved off the bridge and down the street, barely avoiding a collision with a commuter bus. Five of the Riders managed to change direction and follow us; the other two missed the turn and went shooting off down the bridge, trapped in the flow of traffic.

“Two down!” I shouted, jubilant. “Take the first right and floor it!” Turning, I elbowed Connor. “Look for things to throw.”

He uncovered his face, eyeing me. “What?”

“Look for things to throw out the window. Clothes. Cans. Whatever.”

“Why?”

“Distraction!” The rest of the explanation was lost as May found the turn and roared around it without slowing down. For one dizzy moment it felt like the car was going to flip over. I fell back against my seat, accompanied by a chorus of giggles and cheers from the back. At least some of us were enjoying the ride. Turning my attention back to the windshield, I choked. We were driving straight for a brick wall, and May wasn’t stopping. I caught my breath, and shrieked, “Turn around! Turn around! Turn around!”

She turned and blinked, keeping the gas pedal pressed down hard. “What?”

In unison, Connor and I shouted,
“Watch the road!”

“Okay . . .” May shrugged as she looked back to the road, and then yelped in surprise. “Toby, there’s a wall!”

At least one of us was surprised. I slammed my fists down on the dashboard, yelling, “Turn around turn around!”

That got through. She hauled on the wheel, sending us into a wide spin. Andrew tumbled away from the window, slipping out of his seat belt, and bowled Raj over. The two of them landed in a heap on top of one of the smaller Cait Sidhe. She started to howl, surprised, and the rest of the children joined in. The noise startled May enough that she pulled us out of our spin and into a smooth turn.

You can say anything you want about the Volkswagen bug, but never, ever claim that it doesn’t have a good turning radius. We somehow avoided slamming into anything, instead winding up pointing toward the mouth of the alley we’d mistakenly tried to use as a getaway route. Problem: the five remaining Riders were lined up across the alley’s mouth, blocking our escape.

And May still had her foot on the gas.

What followed was a quick and dirty lesson in the law of relative mass. The Riders were fierce, armed, and possibly deadly; they were riding magical horses that could move as fast or faster than a car and were a lot more maneuverable. These were all things to their advantage. We had a hysterical Selkie, an age-slipped changeling, and a car being driven by someone who had no concept of her own mortality. Guess who had the overall advantage?

We plowed into the Riders at almost full speed, hitting one while two others dove out of the way, losing control of their mounts in the process. The illusions on the two freed horses dissolved, the motorcycles replaced by fae steeds who wheeled and fled.

Only two Riders were left as we pulled out onto the street, and they were following at a cautious distance. “Connor, give me something to throw,” I said, rolling down the window.

“Like what?”

“Anything! I don’t care!” He stared at me, then bent to remove his shoe and pressed it into my hand. I paused to gauge my aim, and then chucked it out the window.

In a perfect world, I’d have hit something. This isn’t a perfect world. The shoe flew wild, landing on the sidewalk. “Damn it. Give me something else.”

May interrupted, shouting, “Toby, the sign says ‘stop’!”

“Don’t stop!”

“But the sign—”

“If you stop, I will
kill you myself!
” I shouted, flinging several empty soda cans and Connor’s other shoe into the street. May gave me a panicked look, but didn’t slow down. The kids saw what I was doing and cheered. Then they rolled down the back windows, starting to throw anything that wasn’t nailed down out of the car. This wasn’t the sort of thing I would’ve normally encouraged, at least in part because it would have caused their parents to kill me, but these were definitely special circumstances. A little lifesaving misbehavior seemed like exactly what we needed.

Spike hissed and fled to the front seat when an overenthusiastic child tried to pull it out of Jessica’s lap, having sensibly recognized the rose goblin as something that would cause a lot of damage if thrown. Jessica glared at the kid, removed her one remaining shoe, and pitched it out the window. That was promising; it was the first real action I’d seen her take since we got out of Blind Michael’s lands.

Maybe it was the combination of our speed and the objects flying out of the car, or maybe it was just sheer, dumb luck. Whatever the reason, we made it through the intersection just ahead of a turning Metro bus. So did the first Rider. The second Rider didn’t. The sound of crashing metal has never been that sweet.

The last Rider was still behind us, and we were running out of things to throw; we needed to lose him. To make matters worse, the excitement was starting to wear off for the children, and it was being replaced by fear. I could hear whimpers starting under their continued giggles. Kids get upset easily. They also recover fast, but that doesn’t make it a fair trade.

I threw the last of the cans out the window, demanding, “How are we supposed to get rid of this guy?”

“I don’t know!” snapped Connor.

“Then what good are you?” I threw a bad paperback romance out the window, followed by my trash bag from the week before.

“Toby? Toby?”

“Shut
up,
May!”

“Um . . .”

I turned toward her, glaring. “What
is
it?”

She had time to whimper, “Hill,” and then we were going down, fast. Very, very fast. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the last Rider pulling his steed to a halt at the top of the hill, staring. He wasn’t dumb enough to follow. Lucky us, we were already committed.

“Turn! Turn!” I shouted. The kids weren’t whimpering anymore—most of them were cheering like wild things. The few that had the sense to be scared were screaming, but the screams were almost indistinguishable from the cheers.

San Francisco was built on a series of hills. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of them are steep enough that sane people won’t drive down them even at a normal pace; they go around instead, using the side streets with gentler inclines. Yet here we were, plummeting down one of the tallest hills in the city at a speed so ludicrous that I was willing to bet we were close to breaking a record. Slowing down would have been suicide. The brakes weren’t good enough, and parts of the car simply wouldn’t stop.

“Turn where?” wailed May. Connor was staring at the street as it unspooled ahead of us, all the blood drained from his cheeks. He looked terrified. I couldn’t blame him.

“Find a smaller hill! Turn!” We could lose some speed by turning. The car probably wasn’t going to recover—the damage to the engine had been done—but we might still be able to save ourselves if we could slow down enough.

May wrenched us hard to the left, and this time the car
did
lift up onto two wheels before dropping back to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The shocks weren’t going to like that. The brakes probably weren’t too happy about it either.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” said an unhappy voice from the back.

Privately, I agreed. Out loud I said, “Try to wait, okay? Let us stop the car first.”

“How do I stop the car?” May demanded.

“Start slowing down!” The hill was tapering off, and we’d stopped gaining speed; there was a chance that we’d be able to decelerate enough to keep from becoming a thin metal sheet at the bottom of the hill. Not a good chance, but a chance.

“How do I slow down?”

“The brakes, hit the brakes!” snapped Connor.

“The what?”

Oh, that was
not
what I wanted to hear. “Take your foot off the gas!”

“Oh!” May nodded and eased off the gas, looking relieved. The car slowed, until we were moving at a speed that had at least a passing resemblance to the legal limit.

“Good,” I said. “Now try the other pedal.”

Connor held his breath as May fumbled for the brakes, found them, and brought the car to a stop in the middle of the street. She slumped forward, resting her forehead against the wheel, and I leaned over Connor to set the parking brake before we could start rolling again. The kids in the back cheered. Connor shuddered and started breathing.

I eyed him. “Wimp.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Are we dead yet?”

“No. The brakes worked.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” said the voice from the back.

“Me too,” said Connor.

“I don’t ever want to drive again,” moaned May.

“Deal,” I said, before adding, “You realize you just saved my life, right?”

“What?” She sat up, staring at me.

“We’d have died if you hadn’t taken the wheel.” I grinned at her. “Good job.”

“I can’t save your life! I’m your Fetch!”

“Yeah, I know. Get in the back.” I nudged Connor with my elbow. “It’s your turn to drive.”

He gave me a sharp look. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” I shrugged. “I’m still too short to drive. Our other option is May. Do you really want to do that again?”

He looked from my Fetch to me and back, frown deepening in a scowl. Finally, he took off his seat belt, saying, “May, move.”

Flashing a grin, May scrambled into the backseat, settling next to Jessica and Spike.

Connor slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seat belt, saying conversationally, “You realize I hate you.”

“I know,” I said, and smiled. “I’m okay with that.”

“I didn’t really save your life,” said May.

“I’m okay with that, too,” I said. “Come on. Let’s get these kids home.”

Connor sighed and restarted the car. It wasn’t riding very smoothly anymore, and I was fairly sure the shocks were shot. Oh, well. There’s nothing like a good car chase to start the morning off right. I gave him the directions to Mitch and Stacy’s and fell silent, enjoying the quiet. The kids were exhausted, and Connor and May were too busy hating me to talk. It was nice to have the break.

May was right. She didn’t save my life, because she
couldn’t
save my life; she wasn’t the one who was going to take it. A Fetch is an omen of death, not the cause.

Whatever killed me wouldn’t be something we could prevent with a little trick driving. I’d finally met an enemy that was bigger than I was. Blind Michael wanted me dead: that’s why May was there, and the Riders proved it. We’d gotten away, but whatever he sent after me next would be bigger, meaner, faster, and probably a lot smarter. If I was lucky, I’d be able to get the kids out of the range of fire before it was too late. It was already too late for me.

C
ONNOR FOUGHT THE CAR TO A STOP as we pulled up in front of Mitch and Stacy’s house; the brakes hadn’t been working well since our little joyride down the hill. Funny thing, that. Frankly, I was amazed we weren’t trying to stop the car by digging our heels into the concrete, Flintstones style.

When we finally stopped moving Connor staggered out of the car, moving to rest his forehead against the nearest tree. “I’m going to die,” he moaned.

“No, you’re not,” said May, climbing into the front seat and then out the driver’s side door. “Trust me, I’d know. It’s a professional thing.”

I unfastened my seat belt, eyeing them. “Guys? Disguises?” The Luidaeg’s spell hid us from prying eyes, but I wasn’t sure it extended past the boundaries of the car.

“Oh, right.” May snapped her fingers and was instantly disguised. She still looked like me, but now she was me-as-human. I’d never seen my human self from the outside before, and somehow, it was more unnerving than looking at my real face. Illusions are personal things, and we don’t usually steal them from one another.

Connor groaned and waved a hand, not lifting his head. The air around him shimmered, dissolving the webs between his fingers and roughening the texture of his hair. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” I said, leaning over the seat to stroke Jessica’s hair away from her forehead. “Come on, puss. Time to go.”

Jessica looked at me, then out the window. “That’s my house.”

“Yes, it is.” Andrew had dozed off, curled up with Spike in what would have been a sickeningly cute pose if Spike had been less, well, spiky. “Come on, Andy, wake up,” I said, shaking him. Spike opened neon yellow eyes and chirped. “Yeah, I know, I’m bothering you. Now get up.”

“Andy doesn’t like to wake up,” Jessica said.

“I’m noticing that. Can you make him move?”

“Okay.” She reached over and yanked Andrew into a sitting position, bracing her knee in the small of his back. He made a mumbling noise and tried to lie back down. “No, Andy. Get up.” He protested again, but stopped trying to fight her. Fascinating. People are strange. Jessica was useless for most of the ordeal but as soon as she had to deal with her little brother she was nothing but efficient. I’d have to remember that, just in case another crazed wanna-be god ever kidnapped us.