Lizzy’s ball of light fizzles, but it was nowhere as bright as mine, but she’s trying. She’s lying to protect me.
Protect me?
Why?
I stare at both of my hands.
No.
I can’t be.
No.
“Let’s go. Now. Ride’s outside.”
“Liz.”
She turns to me, all jokes aside. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me for once! Don’t say a word. Let’s go now.”
Fuck. She’s thinking the same thing I am.
She flicks her wrists, pushing the doors open as we approach them. The first set, then the second.
“You can’t use magic inside!” a woman yells from the front desk.
“Eat glass, Karen!”
Lizzy waves her hand in the air and the doors shut back. “Jump on,” she insists.
“When did you get a motorcycle?” I ask, hesitantly climbing on, reaching for the handlebars.
“It’s not mine.”
“It’s mine!” A voice barks at me. “And hands off the bars.”
I look around, trying to find the voice as the bike roars to life.
“Liz. Who is this chick? She looks like she’s a few ladles short of a cauldron.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Hold on,” the voice chimes as the bike peels off down the road.
“To what? You said not to grab the handles!”
The bike veers a hard left.
“Coo coo caa-choo this one L bean.”
“L bean? Where are you?”
“Hoo hoo. Down here.”
A little bobble head figure suction cupped to the body of the bike is looking at me. “There she is. Welcome to Betty’s Bitchin’ Rides. I’m Betty, your driver du jour.”
“You’re a talking bobble head.”
“The fuck I am. I’m incognito.”
