Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

The goddess appeared in the middle of the lane, standing in front of the oncoming car, wholly unconcerned.

Evie pushed on the gas as hard as she could.

The car stopped as if she’d slammed into a wall, and the passengers fell forward. Evie’s foot leaned on the gas, the engine revved, the tires kicked up a spray of gravel, but the car didn’t move.

Hera didn’t have to raise a hand. She only stared, lips parted in wonder.

Frank picked himself off the floor, where the sudden stop had thrown him. He put his hand on Evie’s shoulder and squeezed.

“What do I do?” she said, bracing herself on the steering wheel. What did destiny think it was doing, trusting the Storeroom to people who had no power to face such magic?

“I don’t know.”

A feathered thing rocketed from above, toward Hera. The goddess saw it at the last second and flung an arm to shield herself against the falcon that came at her, talons outstretched. She was distracted only a moment, and she struck back with a hand that had grown claws of its own as the falcon veered away. Their battle took them off the road.

Hera’s concentration was broken. The sedan leaped forward, free from her grip. They continued on the road out of the cemetery. The falcon—Merlin, a shape-shifting wizard—screeched and veered out of sight. Hera looked after the car, then after the falcon, and seemed uncertain which to attack first.

Evie could only drive and hope.

In the rearview mirror, she saw Alex running after them. No sign of Robin. She slammed the brakes. Her blood rushed painfully in her ears for the few moments it took him to reach the car. When her father opened the door and helped pull him inside, Evie was already moving again.

A thump crashed on the trunk of the car, then sounded on the roof. Evie craned over the dash, trying to look up through the windshield to what had jumped on the car.

Above her, Excalibur glinted in Arthur’s outstretched arm.

She hit the button to open her window. His hand gripped the edge of the roof.

“Drive!” he shouted. “Don’t look back!”

“Bloody hell!” Alex said with a laugh.

In command of the fiery steed, Evie drove.

The highway was destroyed because of the earthquake. In her mind, she mapped out the way she’d have to take to get home, the dirt roads around the back of town that would get her to the farmland near the house, and from there she’d have to hope for tractor paths.

She still had to get to the other side of town, which meant she still had to drive through town. A block away from Main Street, emergency lights flashed ahead. The police had the way barricaded.

“I’ll go around,” she said, thinking aloud. Front Street to Third Street, along the neighborhood—

“Stop!” Johnny Brewster ran toward her, flanked by a pair of deputies. He had his gun drawn. Evie braked, swerving sideways as the car slid to a halt.

Arthur knocked on the roof of the car. Alex opened a door and leaned back as the warrior slipped inside and tried to look natural, his sword resting on his lap.

Now that wasn’t conspicuous.

“What do I do?” she said, glancing at her father in the rearview mirror.

He looked pale, his lips pressed nervously together. “Stop, I suppose. It’s Johnny. He won’t give us trouble.”

But there was a woman following the police, walking calmly, knowingly. She was lithe and predatory. Evie’s stomach churned. She was the one who’d come to the house to tell her her father had been kidnapped.

Johnny didn’t lower his gun. Even when Evie met his gaze, when he had to know it was her, his friend and harmless, and that Frank was in the backseat.

Alex said, “You’re going to have to drive, Evie.” He stared ahead at the oncoming troopers.

“But it’s Johnny, we just have to explain—”

“We have to get out of here.”

“Evie, get out of the car! Keep your hands up!” Johnny called. The other officers moved around to flank them.

“Dad, that woman with him is working for Hera. I think Alex is right. She might have told them anything.”

Her father’s car window hummed open. He leaned his head out. Alex held his arm, like he wanted to pull him back, and Evie nearly screamed at him.

“You, too, Frank! Out of the car!”

“What’s the problem, Johnny?” Frank said.

“Those men in the car, I need to take them in.”

“Why? What have they done?”

“They’re wanted. I’ve got warrants.”

Evie shouted out her own window, “Whatever that woman told you, it isn’t true. She’s lying. They haven’t done anything.”

Johnny glanced back at the woman. She didn’t move; her expression never changed. Three cops held guns trained on the car.

“I could arrest you for harboring terrorists. Both of you! They’re terrorists, Evie. You don’t want to help them!” His jaw clenched. He was close enough that Evie saw sweat on his face.

“I can’t do much against guns,” Arthur said softly. “Not that many of them, at least.”

“I can take as many bullets as you need me to,” Alex said.

Arthur muttered something that sounded like, “Good God.”

She’d gotten a citation from the President recognizing her patriotism. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this.

“Dad, get down,” she said, and put the car into gear. She stepped hard on the gas pedal, and the car screeched forward, hit the curb, bounced onto the sidewalk, then off it again as she cranked the wheel around. The officer who’d been standing there lunged out of the way.

Shots rang out. Evie flinched, ducking reflexively while still trying to steer. She hadn’t expected them to shoot. These were Hopes Fort cops—how often did they have to shoot in the line of duty? When did they ever have to stop runaway cars?

She squealed around the next corner and was five blocks away before the sirens started after her.

“The cops here are a little slow on the uptake, aren’t they?” Alex said.

“That’s Hopes Fort,” Frank said. “Is everyone okay?”

“I don’t think they even hit the car.”

Evie drove until the pavement gave way to dirt. One car screeched to a stop at an intersection to avoid hitting them, the only oncoming traffic they encountered. Once again, that was Hopes Fort. But the sirens—two or three sets of them—were getting closer.

A flash ahead caught her attention. One of the cars was approaching from the other direction. They were going to hem her in.

Out of town now, all around them lay barren winter fields, plowed clean, waiting for spring planting.

She hoped the sedan had good tires.

White-knuckled, glancing manically in the rearview mirror, Evie leaned the wheel to the right. The car slid off the road, listing as it rolled onto the shoulder, which sloped to a ditch. Steering a wide arc meant she didn’t have to touch the brakes, and she had no faith in her ability to execute a Hollywood turn-on-a-dime at high speed. In moments, she was driving across the field, spewing a cloud of dirt behind her. She checked her mirrors and couldn’t see the cop cars through the dust.

An honest-to-God car chase, straight out of an issue of Eagle Eye Commandos. Not to mention the larger-than-life heroes surrounding her. She couldn’t wait to tell Bruce about this.

Home was about five miles ahead. She’d never considered going anywhere else. No one argued, so she kept going. Home was safe; the others must have thought so, too.

“They don’t seem to be following,” Arthur said, twisting to look out the back window.

The police cars were still there: One stopped on the road, two others slid down the embankment to the field, where, near as Evie could tell, their tires were spinning. They were shrouded in a huge cloud of dust, which was getting farther and farther away. Hopes Fort police cars: ten years old and in need of new tires. Or maybe they had a little luck on their side. Merlin was still out there, after all.