“They’re not going to kill a bunch of civilians with witnesses around. They’ll let us off
. How much farther to where we’re going?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“Okay. Take this next exit and let me think.”
Howard jerks the wheel and we scream across three lanes of traffic, almost flipping as he turns onto the exit.
“Good plan. Kill us before they can,” I tell him. “You’re doing great.”
There’s a red light at the bottom of the exit.
“What now?” he says.
“Keep driving.”
“Don’t stop?”
“Keep going!”
He does it and we almost get T-boned by a semi.
“I said go through the light. I didn’t say ‘Don’t look where you’re going.’”
“Sorry.”
There’s a puddle of something at the bottom of the off ramp. As the Vigil van hits it, I bark some Hellion hoodoo.
The puddle expands and deepens. The van hits it easily going sixty. It spins out, does a complete three-sixty, and clips the side of the van coming down right behind it.
The first van is stuck, but the second one stays on us.
Best of all, doing that hoodoo didn’t just weaken me, it goddamn well hurt. That can’t be a good sign.
I push up my sleeve and cut myself again. Luckily, Howard’s eyes are plastered to the road and he doesn’t see me. This time when I do some hoodoo, I just whisper it.
A car from each side of the street flips into the air and explodes. When they come down, they block both lanes of the two-lane road.
“What was that noise?” says Howard.
He glances in the rearview mirror.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Keep going. And slow down.”
“All right.”
Behind us, the second van slams into the burning cars. It skids and flips onto its side.
He looks in the rearview.
“Was that you?” he asks. “Are we all right now?”
“No. There’s at least one more van. Get back on the freeway. Head south, toward LAX.”
“LAX? Where are we going?” he says suspiciously.