Pale Demon (The Hollows #9)(19)
Author: Kim Harrison

Behind us were the ugly sounds of screeching tires and plastic crunching. I didn’t dare look as we sped ahead, the truck now taking up three lanes as it slowly began to topple over. The little VW had hit the wall, and I swerved into the path of the truck to avoid it. There was a huge crash, and the sound of scraping metal. I looked back to see the truck on its side, cars piling up behind it. Three cars had made it through: us, a station wagon with a white-faced woman driving it, and that gold Cadillac. My God. What had they done?

"Go, go, go!" Jenks shrilled, plastered to the back window. "They got through! Go!"

I floored it, weaving through the cars ahead of us, most of them just now noticing the truck sliding to a stop and taking up the entire road. Brake lights were going on, and my grip on the wheel became sweaty. How had they gotten through? I wondered, seeing that they had lost a fender but were still moving. The VW had become small in the rearview mirror, and feeling sick, I pulled my attention back to the road ahead of us. No one does a hit on a busy road. No one. Who the hell did these people think they were? Or perhaps my question should be, who the hell did these people think we were that they would do such a thing?

"We need to get off this road!" Trent exclaimed as I sped past a slow-moving Jag.

"Gee, you think?" I said, seeing the Cadillac clip another car as it tried to catch up.

"Where’s the map," Trent muttered, leaning over the backseat to find it.

Jenks looked scared, having moved to the front where he could stand on the rearview mirror and hold on to the stem for dear life. "Go right!" he shouted, and I jerked the wheel, looking back to see yet another ball of who-knew-what headed for us.

Trent yelped as the car swerved, his butt smacking into me and a raised foot hitting the wheel. "Trent!" I shouted, shoving him off. "Sit down, will you? I’m trying not to get pasted here, and your ass in my face isn’t helping!"

The orange blob hit the pavement behind us, the Jag I’d just gone around running right into it. The car flipped, and I started to get really scared. What the hell were they using to throw their magic? A grenade launcher? We were going over ninety!

Oblivious to it, Trent slid back into his seat with a huff, the map in his hand.

"Jenks, you got any ideas?" I asked as Trent buckled himself back in, and Jenks’s wings stilled even as a green dust began spilling from him.

"Maybe Trent should have married the bitch," he warbled, and I shifted into the far-left lane to get around a bus. Sure enough, they stuck with me, and my heart pounded. I couldn’t do magic and drive at the same time! Where the hell was Pierce when I needed him? No-o-o-o, the one time I have nonunion assassins behind us, I have a businessman riding shotgun trying to find answers in a friggin’ map!

"That’s our exit," Trent said, trying to look cool, but his grip on the map was too tight. "We’re sitting ducks on the expressway."

"Oh, thank you very much for that observation, Kalamack," I said sarcastically. "You think we should get off the road. And then what?"

"Just take South Memorial," he said, his eyes on the map as he swayed to my swerving through traffic, earning beeps and flashing lights. "We can lose them on the surface roads more easily than on the expressway. Do what I say, and we’ll be fine." But he was sweating. I couldn’t make a bubble-we’d drive right through it.

Jenks darted down to land on the map in Trent’s hand as we flashed past the sign. "That’s the one you want, Rachel. Right lane. Right lane!"

There was a big truck ahead of me in the far-right lane. If I slowed down to take the exit, the Cadillac would hit us. My fingers clenched and relaxed. Behind us, a new glow was starting in the car. I had to time this perfectly. "’Do what I say, and we’ll be fine,’" I muttered through clenched teeth. "Surface streets mean we put the entire city in danger. We’re going to lose them right now."

"Rachel…," Trent said, his voice tinged with anger and fear. "What are you doing?"

"Getting onto Memorial," I said, licking my lips. The engine roared as I pressed the accelerator, and my mom’s car leapt ahead. My heart pounded, and I darted around a white car on the right, then a blue on the right. Crap, this was going to be close. There was a weird prickling through me, but I daren’t look at Trent. It was wild magic, but I didn’t think it was from him. It was like the tracers that the earth sends up to the cloud before the lightning follows it down. The next hit wouldn’t miss. "Hold on!" I shouted, eyes wide.

"Rachel!" Trent shouted, the chicken strap in his hand.

"This is going to be close!" I yelled, and I jammed on the accelerator. The car bounced as we raced forward, and I yanked the wheel to the right at the last moment, skidding across all three lanes and onto the exit ramp. The semi blew its horn, but we were through and bouncing over the rough pavement, narrowly missing the cement wall.

"Ye-e-e-e-e-ha-a-a-a-a!" Jenks shrilled, and I hit the brakes hard so I wouldn’t ram the car ahead of me. My heart was thudding, and we fish-tailed. Scared, I looked to find Jenks in the back, face plastered to the window as he watched the traffic behind us. The awful prickling had stopped. Thank you, God. "They missed the exit!" he yelled. "They missed it! You lost them, Rache!"

I looked across the seat to Trent, white faced. From behind us came a crunch of metal, and someone’s horn got stuck. My phone started to hum. Ivy. Where was my phone?

"We lost them." I breathed, then became worried. We had lost them, but what about everyone else? God, I hoped those people were okay. I was sure I’d seen a protection bubble on the bug, but at those speeds, it might not make a difference.

Ahead of us, cars were slowing for the traffic light. "It’s red, Rachel," Jenks said, and I slammed on the brakes, adrenaline making the motion too fast. Jenks yelped, and Trent reached for the dash, glaring at me. I couldn’t believe they’d tried to take us out on the interstate! I’d been under death threats before, but there were niceties to be observed, union rules. This wasn’t them!

Silent, Trent folded up the map, tucking it away with precise motions. He looked calm, but I was starting to shake. "Nicely done," he said and I almost lost it, my hands clenching the wheel until my knuckles were white. Nicely done? There were people hurt back there, and I felt a sudden surge of panic as three ambulances went by, headed for the interstate. Everyone in that VW bug was probably dead. And the truck driver. And the four cars behind him. The guy in the Jag was probably okay. Probably.