Tires squealed behind us. They screamed beneath us, too, and I slammed backward against the black leather upholstery as we went careening down the alley.
“Seat belt,” he barked.
“S-seat belt,” I agreed. Becausewowwe were going fast.
My heart racing, my gaze flitting between the whirring alley walls and the rear window, I groped near the shoulder of my seat for the belt, but then, as we catapulted out onto Third Street, straight into oncoming traffic that he swerved to avoid, those smoky tendrils that fumed around him swept in to buckle the lap seat beltforme—because, oh yeah,vintagecar.
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my lap. “Nice… trick.”
Whatelsecould his misty essence do besides open elevator doors and buckle seat belts? Throttle enemies?
Potentially… entertain… not enemies?
Really, Helena. Is this the time?
Jerked back into the moment when, lucky for us, the tailing Supra got taken out by an SUV with another teeth-jarring smash of glass and metal, I cringed. Still, we barreled on, ripping down the road, the angry snarl of this grumpy entity’s grumpy beast of a car reverberating through me.
The world outside blurred on either side of us, becoming a smear of night streaked through with lights. The numbness of shock settled in, too, as my gaze fell to the skeleton’s hand maneuvering the stick shift.
“Wh-where’s yours?” I asked him.
And how wrong was it that, in this moment of being both chased and rescued by death, I was still stuck on his misty powers and the lingering sensation of those featherlight smoke twists as they’d swept in to buckle me?
“My what?”
“S-seat belt,” I said. “Everyone needs a seat belt.”
“I don’t.”
“Because you’ve got… smoke skills.” I wiggled my fingers at him.
I should shut up.
Maui had been right. Iwasobsessing.
“That thing,” said Reaper Man, his head swiveling away from the rearview mirror, his focus returning to the road. “How fast can it go?”
Thing? What thing?
I twisted in my seat, craning my neck to peer again out the rear window.
Oh.Thatthing.
“That’s… the children’s bookmobile,” I said, pointing at the colossal flat-faced bus that had drifted out of nowhere to chase us.
“No shit,” he replied, gunning the gas. “I’m more concerned with the fact that it happens to be gaining on us.”
He had a point. The bus loomed so close its windshield reflected the muscle car’s slim spoiler. The engine rumbled, reverberated just loud enough to be heard over Reaper Man’s growling hot rod.
Already, we had to be doing fifty.
“It neverneedsto go fast,” I said as the monstrous bus edged even closer, riding our rear as we shot through a red light. “I hate taking it on the expressway and don’t if I can avoid it.”
“Youdrive that eyesore?”
I blinked at him. “I’m the children’s librarian.”
“How fast can it fucking go, Helena?”
