“Go, go, go!” I shout at the Normal, even though he’s already going. The truck crunches back onto the gravel road and tears forward.
“They’ll follow us,” I say.
“They’ll try.” The Normal is grinning.
“What’d you do?”
“Slashed their tyres.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did. They were totally focused on you guys. I don’t smell like anything interesting.”
“That’s… a bit good,” I concede.
“I mean, they could catch up,” he says. “They’ve still got magic. But the treaties work both ways. They can’t touch youwhen you’re back in Speaker territory. And most of the country belongs to the magicians, not the creatures.”
“When will we get our magic back?”
“The far side of Nebraska. An hour or so.”
Baz is tapping on the back window. I make eye contact with him. His eyebrow is raised. I nod to tell him I’m okay.
The Normal unlatches the window and slides it open.
I reach through. “Simon?”
Baz takes my hand. “Keeping up.”
“Hang on back there,” the Normal says.
Baz looks at the Normal. And then at me. And I think Baz is asking me if we can trust him. I don’t have an answer. But we need the Normal now. He’s getting us out of this mess—even if he’s getting us into another one.
BAZ
I lean back against the cab of the truck, looking up.
Simon is flying just above the clouds. I want him to land, I don’t want to lose track of him.
I hope he isn’t hurt.
I am, I think.… Hurt.
I don’t want to look away from Simon, so I rub my fingers along the pockmarks in my chest. They sting, but they seem to have already stopped bleeding. I still don’t know what kills vampires—but I suppose I can rule out a chestful of buckshot.
There are still no headlights behind us. Maybe the dark creatures don’t need headlights. Maybe they don’t need cars.
Bunce’s face is in the window again. “We’re trying to put some distance between us!” she shouts. “He slashed their tyres!”
Who did, the Normal? That was clever. Still doesn’t mean we can trust him. Did he purposely herd us off the motorway? Right into their paws? What’s his angle now?
There’s a heavy thud.
Snow has landed in the truck bed, crouching, his fingertips down, his wings half folded behind his neck. He looks up at me. “Baz.”
Simon. I reach out and pull him up to me, next to me, onto me. I’m checking him for holes and wet spots. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he says. “Penny—”
