“Let’s just focus on getting back to the house,” I told him. “We can worry about it then.”
“At least it’s not far,” Rans agreed.
We emerged into the open. I was blasted by a wall of hot wind, and found myself squinting against the unforgiving sun. The atmosphere was unsettled. Threatening. I glanced around, seeing a bank of slate-gray clouds gathered menacingly in the northwest.
“Storm’s coming,” I murmured, shivering as something danced across my skin. The odd sensation prickled across every nerve as it passed.
Rans tensed beside me, and realization hit an instant later.
“Shit,” I hissed. “You can feel that, too?”
“Fae,” Rans said grimly, grabbing my hand. “Run.”
I sprang after him, praying my borrowed sandals wouldn’t skid on grit and gravel as we sprinted toward the sleek shape of Nigellus’ hunter-green Aston Martin convertible. Unable to help myself, I craned around, scanning our surroundings for anything suspicious. On the far end of the parking lot, an ominously familiar black Mercedes crept forward, easing around a line of parked cars and starting toward us.
“Black Faemobile at three-o’clock!” I gasped, redoubling my efforts to keep up.
“I see it,” Rans growled. He let go of my hand as we skidded to a halt by the convertible. The driver’s door opened to his touch, thanks to the magic of keyless entry. “Get in!”
I flung the door open and lunged inside, slamming it behind me. Rans hit the ignition button and the engine roared to life. An instant later, we were peeling out of the dusty gravel parking lot. I twisted to look out the car’s miniscule excuse for a back window. Sure enough, the aggressive lines of the Mercedes’ front grill snarled at us from a distance as the larger car careened onto the road behind us.
“Seat belt,” Rans said sharply. I fumbled with the catch until it clicked, and took the phone he thrust at me. “Find a route to Modesto that doesn’t go north through Vallecito. I don’t intend to lead them anywhere near the winery house.”
I clenched my jaw and called up the app, grabbing the dash with one hand to keep from being thrown sideways as Rans turned right onto the first road we came to without slowing down. The tires squealed, the powerful car fishtailing for a nauseating second or two before friction overcame inertia and we surged forward even faster.
Trying to ignore the speed of the scenery blurring past the windows, I started typing in Modesto and pulled up directions when it popped up. After a frustrating few seconds of convincing the damned app not to reroute us through Vallecito, I let out a breath.
“Okay, got it. Stay on E-18 for about nine miles. When we get to Columbia, take the right fork onto Springfield Road, and another right onto Shaws Flat.”
Rans gave a tight nod in my peripheral vision. “At least we’re in the right car for this... and they’re not.”
“Better than a motorcycle,” I mumbled.
“Matter of opinion, that,” he said as the tires screeched around a tight curve in the hilly landscape.
I snuck a glance at the speedometer and immediately wished I hadn’t. So I looked behind us instead, relieved to see that the heavier Mercedes wasn’t gaining any ground. Of course, it also wasn’t losing as much as I might have liked—but to be fair we’d barely gotten underway. The two-lane road was narrow and twisting, our insane speed making me suddenly glad that I hadn’t eaten anything recently. Now if I could just pop a few Xanax to help with the pants-wetting terror...
“Please tell me that vampires have really, really good reflexes,” I said.
“Oh, absolutely,” he replied. “Like striking cobras, we are.”
The tires shrieked with oversteer as we rounded a left-hand curve, narrowly missing an ancient-looking pickup truck coming from the other direction.
“Brilliant,” I said faintly.
Small mercies—at least the convertible’s top was up. Cruising along the California highways with the top down and the breeze blowing through my hair was one thing. Doing so at a hundred-plus miles per hour with a summer storm whipping toward us, and a carload of murderous Fae on our tails was quite another.
The Mercedes had briefly disappeared from view as we rounded the last curve, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think we’d lost them. Ahead, buildings and houses loomed—a decently sized little town that I would have loved to route us around, but there was no good way to do so. Rans barely slowed, his focus through the windshield growing laser-intense as the distractions and potential number of things to hit increased exponentially.
“Half a mile to the right fork onto Springfield,” I reminded him. “It’s just past an elementary school.” And please, god, let it not be time for school to let out for the day.
Sirens wailed behind us as some poor local cop got the shock of his life, clocking two cars blazing through his quiet little town at ridiculous speeds. I threw a hand forward to catch myself as Rans cursed and hit the brakes, avoiding a T-bone collision with a sedan pulling onto the street from a side road.
He slewed into oncoming traffic to get around the slower car, but even that minor slowdown was enough to allow both the cop and the Fae to make up ground behind us. Heart in throat, I gulped harshly to force the panicked throbbing back down inside my chest where it was supposed to be. The Aston careened onto Springfield Road as I gripped the phone tightly in the hand that wasn’t braced against the dash.
“Next left!” I called over the sound of the police siren. “Then go one-point-two miles, and right at the fork—that should take us right to the highway!”
Rans gave a short nod and wrestled the car around the sharp turn before flooring it again. I craned my neck, trying to see what was happening behind us. To my shock, as they approached the intersection we’d just blown through, the dark Mercedes pulled next to the police car and muscled it into a ditch. The
