“I’m not stopping!” I say, but just then, the engine starts to sputter. “What did you do?” I yell at Baz.
“Nothing,” he says. “Not this!”
The engine flags. I pump the accelerator. I try to change gears. The truck behind us is gaining too fast. A driveway comes up on my right. I yank the wheel at the last minute, and we spin into a gravel lot.
The Mustang rolls to a stop at the foot of Stonehenge.
PENELOPE
When our car leaves the road, I close my eyes and cover my head. Every spell I’ve tried has failed. There’s nothing left to do but think about all the modern automobiles with airbags I failed to hire—and brace for impact.…
But there is none.
When we eventually stop moving, I open my eyes, and I swear I see Stonehenge just a few feet away. And all I can think is,We’re home, somehow, Morgana be praised.
But it isn’t Stonehenge. It can’t be. First of all, there’s no magic here—it’s a dead spot.(Has the Humdrum been to western Nebraska? Is there an American Humdrum? Is this one Simon’s fault, too?)
Second of all, the standing stones aren’tstones.They’re…cars.Huge old cars, painted grey and arranged just like the stones in Wiltshire. Some of them are tipped on their ends and sunk into the ground, and some of them are stacked on top of the others. Whatisthis place?
We don’t have magic.
We don’t have mobile service.
We need aplan.
Simon’s leaning over the back of his seat, touching my arm. “Are you okay?”
“We still have Baz,” I say. “We still have your wings. We fight like orcs if we have to.”
Baz hops out of the car, taking point in the rear lights. I stand beside him with my shoulders square. I’m accustomed to fighting next to someone far more powerful than I am. “Take out their phones first,” I say.
Simon stands at Baz’s other side and spreads his wings.
The truck pulls into the parking lot, moving slowly now that it has us cornered. It stops in front of us. The engine and then the lights turn off.
One person gets out. A black guy, about our age. He’s wearing a denim jacket and wire-rimmed glasses.
His hands are empty, and after a second, he waves. “Hi.”
26
SIMON
“Hi,” I say back.
Penelope isn’t having it. “What do you want?!”
The guy scratches his neck. He looks embarrassed. “Nothing. I saw your, uh, show, in Omaha—and I wanted to talk to you.”
“So you chased us across Nebraska?”
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t meant to be a chase.”
“It felt a lot like a high-speed chase,” I say.
“We obviously didn’t want to talk,” Penny says.
Baz is cold as ice. His wand is pointed at the guy. “What are you?”
