Page 9 of The Mechanics of Broomstick Racing

And she was right. Neil was only a minute behind her. He clipped her shoulder as he made a tour of the car. She tried not to bristle when he, without asking, opened the hood to check out her engine.

Zephyr stomped over, placing a hand on his chest to push him away from her car. “You need to ask a girl to dinner first.”

“Leave the two of us alone, and I will,” he said, nodding to the car. “She looks good in red.”

“As do I,” Zephyr quipped. Was she jealous of her own car? That would be ridiculous. But…maybe?

Neil looked at her, brows lowered. “You don’t need me to tell you that.” She waited for more, bit her bottom lip to keep from fishing for it, but Neil fell silent.

She opened the passenger door, ignoring the angry ruffle of feathers that came from her cup holder. “Get in.” Neil actually took a step backward. She ignored him, getting into the driver’s seat. “Finnegan, you said you wanted to hear the noise,” she sang, reaching over to pat the other seat. “I don’t bite. Promise.”

“You’re no vampire,” Neil said dryly as he shockingly entered the car. He clicked his seatbelt and stared at her familiar as Dale tweeted at the intruder from his cup holder nest of napkins. “But I think you do bite.”

Zephyr flashed her teeth at him in response.

Neil scoffed and asked, “When does this sound happen—”

They sped forward, leaving Pumpkin Hollow far behind them in just a few minutes.

THE ASSHOLE TURNED HER RADIO OFF.

“Hey!” She swiped at his hand. “Passengers don’t get opinions on the music, or anything, really. They sit and look pretty. Quietly.”

He covered the volume knob, undeterred. “I thought the point of this was to diagnose your car. Or are the Greatest Hits of the 70s more important?”

“You should know the answer to that.” She reached for the knob again, but he was unmoved.

He lectured, “Eyes on the road.”

“I know exactly where I’m going.”

“You’ve been gone a long time,” he argued.

“And when are you going to stop holding that against me?” she shot back.

He didn’t have a smart remark for that. Zephyr continued with her plan, following the worn roads, avoiding the potholes that still hadn’t been fixed, before she pulled off onto a dirt road that wove through a mix of empty fields and clusters of trees. “Excuse me,” she said, reaching for the glove box. She clicked it open, grabbed a pair of black fingerless gloves, and snapped it shut.

Her gloves unnerved him. Neil muttered, “If you brought me out here to murder me and leave me in a ditch, I’d suggest gloves that cover your fingerprints.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I promise you I wouldn’t leave you in a ditch. I’d bury you, at least.”

“Hilarious. But what are we doing here? And…” Neil watched her put her gloves on. “Did your bird just smirk at me?”

Zephyr laughed. “Dale’s a bird. Birds can’t smirk.”

“No, he’s definitely smirking.” Neil leaned back as Dale flew from the cup holder and burrowed into the pocket on the left side of Neil’s coveralls. His red head popped up from the pocket, peeking out. “Hang on—”

Zephyr interrupted, “Seatbelt on?”

“Yes, but—”

Her father had known the man who used to work these fields. She had learned to drive here, on these winding farm roads. She wouldn’t normally subject her Pontiac to light off-roading, but a man had pissed her off. And she had amazing insurance.

She drove, taking the first turn at a speed that sent gooseflesh racing up her arms. Neil’s hand landed on her thigh after that turn, unintentionally, she assumed. He was searching, panicked, for something to hold on to.

“I’m not helping you push if you get us stuck!” Neil shouted. He removed his hand, but Zephyr slapped it back into place with an exhilarated scream. “Zephyr, keep both hands on the damn wheel!”

On the next turn, the tires lost traction, and they slid over a few feet. The side of her car nearly clipped a tree. She vowed to be more careful—the nature witches would have her head if took out a tree. “You can’t get stuck if you don’t slow down!”