The car sailed smoothly around another corner, like it had grown wings and could fly me right off this blasted highway. No such luck. If I went flying, a long date with gravity would greet me shortly thereafter.
I could only evade my pursuers for so long, and I certainly couldn’t count on all of them being such poor drivers. Sure, they were undead, but their reflexes worked just fine. If I wanted to make it out of this alive, I’d need to either get off the mountain or face them directly. Outside a steel box on wheels, there was a possibility I could take them down in hand-to-hand combat.
I wouldn’t feel too guilty about killing them since they were already dead.
Ahead of me on the side of the road was a sign for a runaway lane, a high, sloping hill that could be used for cars whose brakes gave out on the treacherous road.
It was also a great way to get me to a higher vantage point.
“Should I do something
gloriously stupid, Fen?”
He pipped, as if suggesting this would be nothing new. Or maybe I was projecting.
The two remaining cars were gaining on me. I guess when a driver doesn’t need to worry about dying, they’re willing to take more risks. And here I thought I was plenty risky enough.
I said a silent prayer to Seth that the road would stay clear, and jerked my wheel to the left, sending me straight for the runaway slope like an arrow fired at a target. There was only one chance for me to get this right. Manea didn’t offer do-overs.
The Mustang lost momentum as I rose up the slope, just as I anticipated. I reached the apex of the hill and slammed my foot on the brake, making the car skid in the wet mud. I parked and listened to the engine purr along to the falsetto rock genius of “Thunderstruck.”
“Na-na-nanananana,” I said under my breath.
A magical incantation it was not, but it would do.
Rain pounded against my windshield, almost too fast for the wipers to keep up with. Outside, the world had turned into a smudged impressionist interpretation of a mountain landscape.
“All right, buddy. If I don’t make it through this, I hope Sido will feed you.”
Fen did not reply. Perhaps the idea of being taken in by my mentor, Sidonie, was too depressing for him to contemplate.
There was also a sixty-five percent chance he’d fallen asleep.
I touched a photo stuck to my dash of a beautiful, smiling, blonde woman who bore a striking resemblance to me, if I had a California beach-bum glow and my mother’s more Anglo-Saxon features. I didn’t say anything, but felt a surge of comfort.
Casting my eyes up to the sky, I added, “And you. Don’t you dare think any of the newbies are talented enough to fill my boots yet, you ungrateful prick. If ever there was a time for you to come through, this is it.”
Thunder rumbled.
Good enough.
I got out of the Mustang in time for the two cars following me to pull up, the lead sedan barely stopping in time to avoid running me over.
That would be an embarrassing way to go.
“Nice of you guys to show up.”
The man who got out first gave me a look so stony Medusa might have flinched. The undead were not exactly famous for their senses of humor.
“Miss Corentine.” This voice was smooth and calm, cutting through the rain as if it wasn’t there, as if the speaker hadn’t a care in the world about some bad weather.
“Prescott.” My hands had involuntarily balled into fists, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the snark to a minimum. He was no underling. He was the right-hand man to death herself, which meant he could act in her stead.
Prescott McMahon could kill me with a brush of his fingertips and a lightly whispered oath.
“I’d like to say it’s nice to see you again, but we both know that’s rarely the case.” He moved forward so I could get a good look at him, no longer lingering behind the cars. There had been two men in each car, so in addition to Prescott there were three undead henchmen I’d have to dispatch if I wanted to get out of this.
Not the worst odds I’d faced.