Seanan McGuire - An Artificial Night

“Toby?” interjected Connor. “They’re gaining.”

May and I turned toward him, saying in unison, “Shut up, Connor!” It’s always good to have backup. After a pause, I added, “And drive faster!” It couldn’t hurt to try.

Connor slammed his foot down on the gas. The car lurched forward. Glancing back over the seat, I winced. Blind Michael’s men were still gaining. Then again, they weren’t dependent on silly things like gasoline or internal combustion. They had magical horses.

“Next time, I get a magical goddamn horse,” I muttered, turning back toward May. “You said I wouldn’t let you drive.”

“Well, you won’t! You brought the Selkie instead,” she said. “You don’t trust me.”

“No, I brought the Selkie because you’re a lousy driver.” I decided to ignore the whole “trust” issue. She was my personal incarnation of death; if she expected me to trust her, she was delusional. “You remember everything I’ve ever done, right?”

“Well, duh.”

“Do you remember the time I had the guy with the gun sneak into the car?”

She blinked. “Yes. Why?”

“Do you think you could do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Drive like that.”

There was a pause as she realized what I meant. Then she wailed, “I don’t know how to drive like that! I’m not you anymore!”

“So learn,” I said, and pressed myself against the door. Spike mewled in protest, pinned against my chest. “Spike, hush. Connor, keep your foot on the gas and scoot over. May, get your ass into the driver’s seat.”

“What? Why?”

“Toby, this isn’t such a good idea—”

“Both of you, just do it. May’s driving.”

They turned to stare at me, demanding in unison, “Why?”

“Because she drives like a manic on crystal meth! Now get moving before I take the wheel and do it myself!”

I didn’t think my driving was that much of a threat, but apparently, I was wrong. Connor unfastened his belt and scooted over into the passenger seat, smashing me against the door until I unfastened my seat belt, squirmed free, and balanced myself on his leg. He kept his hands on the steering wheel until May scrambled over the seat and grabbed it, shouting, “Now what?”

“You were driving earlier! Just drive!” I jabbed Connor in the side with my elbow. “Let go of the wheel and buckle up. This is going to get rough.”

May was working herself into a panic. “That was just a game!”

“So pretend this is another one!” All the kids were awake now, and several were starting to cry. Trying to sound jovial, I called, “Hey, kids, if you’re not wearing a seat belt, put it on!” They’d already been traumatized enough; they didn’t need to watch me argue with my Fetch. Then again, neither did Connor.

He fastened his belt, looking at me bleakly. I reached up to grab the oh-shit handle with one hand, offering him the other. When he took it, I squeezed his fingers. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Liar,” he said.

May fought the wheel, trying to steer. She was being too delicate about it. We’d be lucky if they didn’t catch us before we got off the bridge. “Toby!”

I squirmed around to get a better look at the Riders behind us, snapping, “Just drive!”

“Why me?” she wailed.

“Because if you don’t, we’re all going to die!” There was something ironic about forcing my Fetch to save my life, but I could dwell on that later, after we’d survived the experience.

May stared at me, then nodded and slammed her foot down on the gas. At least she knew which pedals to use. The car roared like a wounded beast and leaped forward, accelerating at a distinctly unsafe speed. Finally.

If I even suspected that my driving was half as bad as hers you’d never get me behind the wheel of a car again. She rode wild across all four lanes of traffic, weaving between cars that couldn’t see through the Luidaeg’s don’t-look-here spell and thus didn’t realize we were there. It was a good thing, too; if they’d been able to see us, we’d have caused more than a few accidents. More and more of the children were screaming. I understood the sentiment.

Connor pulled his hand out of mine and covered his face, closing his eyes. I glanced at him, trying to pretend that I wasn’t clinging to Spike for dear life. “Coward.”

“Your point?” he muttered, not looking up. I sighed. Fine. If he wanted to be that way, it was no skin off my nose. I looked to the rearview mirror to check on the locations of the Riders and smiled. My plan was working; they were still behind us, but our lead was growing because May’s driving was too erratic for them to predict. Drivers—even faerie drivers—usually follow the rules of the road out of a sense of self-preservation. May, well … May didn’t.

I’ve been driving since I went to work for Devin, and May knew everything I did. Thing is, watching a surgeon on TV doesn’t make you a doctor. It just means you know what surgery looks like. May didn’t have my muscle memory. She’d actually driven a car all of once, during the relatively simple trip from the Luidaeg’s apartment to Shadowed Hills, and even then she’d shown a dismaying tendency to drive the wrong way down one-way streets, ignore traffic lights, and attempt to use the sidewalk as an extra lane. Now …

Given free rein on the open highway, May was embracing her inner race car driver. It didn’t help that she had no idea how to control her speed, and was thus opting for as fast as the car will go. The children’s screaming tapered off as they stared out the windows, awed. They’d probably never been in a car that was trying to break the laws of physics before. I was just afraid they were going to learn what a twelve-car pileup looked like, from the bottom.

Andrew had his nose pressed against the glass, watching wide-eyed as the Riders began closing the distance between us. “Look, Auntie Birdie,” he said, “the men are going faster.”

“That’s nice, Andy,” I said, finally letting go of Spike. It climbed over the seat to curl up in Jessica’s lap. She was one of the few that was still asleep. I hoped she’d stay that way. If the screams hadn’t been enough to wake her, maybe she would.

“They’re followin’ us.”

“Yes, they are.” They were getting closer fast, weaving in and out of traffic with a speed my little VW couldn’t hope to match. I tried to run down my options and couldn’t think of any. We had no place to go. We’d outrun them, or we’d die.

He turned to look at me, frowning. “Why?”

“Because they’re mad at me, sweetie. Now hold on tight, okay?”

He smiled at me, nodding. “Okay.” I love kids. They’re endlessly adaptable, and not as breakable as we think.

My Fetch wasn’t handling things nearly as well. She swerved between two trucks with a heart-stopping squeal of the brakes, wailing, “Am I doing this right?”

“You’re doing fine! Keep driving!” Maybe I was afraid she’d kill us all, but I was a lot more worried about Blind Michael’s men. They weren’t the sort who’d negotiate once they’d run us to ground. They might be willing to lop our heads off and take them home as trophies instead of torturing us, but that was probably about it.

“Aunt Birdie? What’s going on?”

I winced at the sound of Jessica’s voice. “Honey, just hold on. We’re on the way home.”

“Aunt Birdie—”

“Not now, sweetheart!”

“The bridge is ending! The bridge is ending!” May shouted, slamming her foot down harder. The car sped up. I hadn’t known that was possible. “Now what do I do?”

“Take the first exit!” I turned to look out the windshield, bracing my hands against the dashboard. “Turn right and head toward the warehouses when you get off the bridge!”