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Behind them, the Reapers were facing the same problem, Sylvan’s car swerving, nearly striking a fire hydrant.
“Hold on,” Darien said, eyes turning black.
Magic swept out of him in a deadly wave, the force of his attack snapping every demon’s neck. All of them were small, barely bigger than fruit bats, so it didn’t require much effort, not enough to drain him.
A moment passed before their winged bodies fell to the ground with a series of slaps, a couple bouncing off the hood, bones and wings snapping. In the rear-view mirror, Darien noticed the Reapers had done the same, the tires of Sylvan’s car squishing several dead demons as he drove over them, blood squirting out onto the road.
Christa was breathing heavily. “What were those things?”
“I don’t know.”
Darien picked up speed at the same time as Sylvan, breezing through the Financial District. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get out of here. He swept a hand across his thighs, pushing the shards of glass to the floor, where they crunched under his boot that shifted on the accelerator.
Trav was going to be pissed. This wasn’t the first time Darien had wrecked one of his cousin’s vehicles.
He’d buy him a new one. Take him to whatever lot he wanted and let him pick one out.
No one had a chance to prepare for what came next.
The road literally erupted under their cars, pavement buckling, as if something had struck it from underneath.
Suddenly, they were airborne.
The buildings lining the road cracked and crumbled, as if struck by bombs. Parked and moving vehicles flew, alarm systems wailing. Fire hydrants exploded, water jetting through the air. Every streetlight went dark, bulbs exploding, as all power in the area shut down.
The car spun. And spun and spun.
A shout left Darien’s mouth, a warning for Christa to hold on, his voice barely audible over all the noise.
They struck the road, front bumper-first, and rolled.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The windshield and back window shattered, shards glittering in midair. The car was crushed to a pulp as it flipped down the street with a piercing crunch, bumpers ripping off, tires shredding. Christa was screaming, head snapping back and forth with every spin of the car.
Darien had one split second to act.
With a burst of his magic, he shielded them from the final blow as the car struck ground with a level of force that rattled every bone in his body.
Finally, it stilled.
Darien nearly passed out from the force of the collision. The car was upside down, his seatbelt keeping him from falling flat on his face.
With effort, every muscle screaming, he turned toward Christa, who stirred awake with a pained whimper, a hand pressed against her bloody forehead.
“You okay?” Darien’s voice sounded as distant as it had that day in Gaven’s warehouse, when he and Malakai had been blown sky-high.
“I think so.” Her voice was a gurgle.
Darien unbuckled his seatbelt. He caught himself with a hand in shattered glass, the shards biting into his calloused palm. With a grunt, he righted himself, maneuvering his body as best as he could in the cramped space. “I’ll get you out, hold on.” He reached across the car and poised a hand on her buckle. “Hands out, you’re going to have to catch yourself.”
She braced her shaking hands before her, palms and wrists all cut up.
