Traven is quiet for a minute.
“I wonder if she brought the Qomrama Om Ya with her or came to retrieve it?”
“Forget the girl. What’s the Qomrama?”
Traven slows and steers us around a sinkhole that’s swallowed part of a sandwich shop and auto-parts store. Cops on the side streets look worn and shell-shocked.
“In the first language, ‘Om Ya’ simply means ‘God.’ ‘Angra,’ depending on how you say it, means ‘great’ or ‘grievous.’ ‘Qomrama’ is a bit murkier but it means something like ‘devourer.’ The Qomrama Om Ya is the Godeater. A weapon designed by gods to kill other gods.”
I check the side mirror.
“Father, did you come straight to the Chateau from your place?”
“Yes. Why?”
Candy looks out the rear window. I keep an eye on the mirror.
“There’s only one car back there and it’s been with us for several blocks. Speed up.”
The car falls back for a few seconds then speeds up and stays on our tail. It’s a Charger, not that that matters. In a flat-out chase, a skateboarder with a broken ankle can outrun a Geo Metro. The Charger is overkill. It accelerates and comes up behind us.
“Take it up to forty and keep it there.”
“The car will shake apart on this uneven pavement.”
“Yeah, but it’ll make it harder for them to shoot at us.”
“Oh,” says Traven. He hits the gas.
The Charger doesn’t even notice. It pulls up alongside and King Cairo rolls down the front passenger window.
“Switch places with me,” I say to Candy.
I squeeze into the backseat and she gets in the front.
Flame hits the side of the Metro.
“Don’t slow down.”
Traven nods. Steers around the bumps the best he can.
Cairo is hanging out the window of the other car. Rolling his eyes and making faces. He tosses another fire hex at the Metro. It hits hard enough to shake the little car.
Candy is turned around in the front seat looking at me.
“Remember when I told you I was going to take you shooting?”
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations. Consider this your first lesson.”
I take a 9mm clip from my pocket and hand it to her. She grins like a wolf. Hits the release and the gun case opens like a metal flower. She shoulders the gun, slides in the clip, and chambers a round.
“Don’t get too excited. You don’t shoot until I say to and you only shoot at what I tell you to. Got it?”
She nods. With the gun in her hands, she can’t stop smiling. Traven isn’t. Flames are hitting his car, blistering the paint and turning the driver-side window black. And now there’s an armed amateur in the seat next to him.
“Aren’t you glad you came along, Father?”