Wilder muttered something, but I could only tell because I felt the rumble of his voice against my palms.
The message was clear enough, though. He knew we were being followed.
Instinctively I held on tighter. We’d been pacing ourselves thus far, but I was sure that was about to change. Before Wilder had a chance to speed up, the smaller car changed lanes and passed us. I gritted my teeth, expecting the car to sideswipe us or force us off the road, but it kept driving until it was around us and continued down the road as if we were of no particular interest.
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Were we being paranoid? I didn’t think it was unfair for me to be worried when it came to vehicular-homicide attempts, especially not this close to the Church, but maybe a car was just a car in this case.
That didn’t explain away the truck.
The engine revved loudly, the way only something without a muffler can.
“Wilder…” I whispered, even though my words were lost in the night air. The truck edged closer, motor roaring, and I knew to my bones this guy wasn’t planning to drive past us.
From inside the truck I could hear the obnoxious bass thump of loud music. The beat sounded like rap, but I couldn’t make out the words.
I swallowed hard and faced the road ahead. There was nowhere for us to turn, and if we pulled over, there was a solid chance they’d run us down in the gravel.
I had an opportunity now that I hadn’t when the car rammed me the previous day. My attempts to cast a spell at the time had been thwarted because I’d needed to keep the car on the road, and violent magic was something better done with all one’s focus on the task at hand. Flustered though I might be, I was now in a perfect situation to cast the spell I’d intended to use then.
“Try to keep it steady,” I yelled, hoping he might understand me in spite of all the racket around us and two helmets muffling my words from his ears.
Keeping one hand on Wilder’s waist to balance myself, I angled my upper body back towards the truck.
This was no charm or locator spell. This was old, dark magic, the kind La Sorcière specialized in. My grandmother, Genevieve, had cautioned me against dabbling in this kind of craft, but I think she’d forgive me for it just this once if she knew what the situation was.
Dark magic didn’t need words. It needed focus and intent.
It needed a target.
I locked eyes on the driver of the truck. Though it was dark out and the lights glaring at us made me half blind, I could just make out his features. He was young, but I’d long since stopped believing youth and innocence had anything to do with each other. Sitting next to him was another, bulkier man. Neither of them looked friendly.
Lifting my hand so my palm faced the truck, I narrowed my eyes and focused all my energy towards the front end. My fingers started to get cold, and my limbs tingled like they were waking up from sleep. It was the peculiar sensation of all the strength and magic in my whole body gravitating to one fixed point.
My fingers began to glow red, first a glittery shimmer, then so bright it rivaled the beams from the truck light.
The driver looked worried.
He ought to.
In a last-ditch effort to stop us, the truck lurched as the driver changed gear and it charged towards us. Wilder must have heard the commotion because he outpaced them at the last moment. The truck’s fender came within inches of our rear tire.
Grabbing the neck of Wilder’s jacket, I reached out, practically inviting them to try again. This time they got close enough I felt the warmth of the engine radiating outwards and I smelled the gas fumes from their exhaust.
I slapped my hand down hard on the hood of the truck, and the motorcycle jerked briefly before Wilder regained control. When I lifted my hand, there was a dent in the hood so deep it looked like a small meteor had crashed into it.
The driver’s attention shifted from the hood to my face, and I saw him mouth a swear.
I curled my fingers into a fist, winked at him, then mimed an explosion by opening my hand wide.
During a brief, shuddering pause nothing happened, and I was terrified nothing would. Had I done it wrong? Was my focus not strong enough? Had I—
The hood of the truck blew off, ripping back towards the windshield. The truck braked too suddenly and veered to the shoulder of the road, flipping on its side and rolling three times before it hit the ditch.
Once the sound of squealing tires and grinding metal on concrete faded, Wilder stopped the motorcycle. My heart hammered, and I could feel the twin beat of his through his shirt. He pulled off his helmet and gawked at the scene, then at me.
“Jesus Christ, Genie, what happened?”