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The limo started up again before either of us could recover, causing me to fall heavily into the mage, who sat down hard on the backseat next to a sandy-haired boy with Coke-bottle glasses. As the car started weaving wildly through traffic, a pile of nylon rope slithered over the seat from a puddle around the boy’s feet and began winding around me and the mage. I didn’t have to ask how: the little boy was named Alfred, and he was telekinetic.
He looked calm enough, but he had a battered old backpack in a death grip. I would have suggested that he concentrate on getting the rope around the mage rather than both of us, but I didn’t have the breath. It was all getting squeezed out of me by the nylon corset that was tightening by the second.
The mage started swearing and trying to reach inside his coat while I struggled to hinder him and simultaneously get a hand on my gun. But it was still in my purse, because I hadn’t wanted to draw it in full view of traffic, and my purse was outside the ropes. All around us, a mini war was taking place, with yells and curses and the tinkle of breaking glass. Then there was an explosion and suddenly it was a lot lighter inside. It looked like something had taken out a couple of windows.
A particularly hard corner slung us onto the floor and I decided I’d had enough. I shifted about a foot to the left, which got me out of the trap but allowed the ropes to go slack where my body had been. Which in turn allowed the mage to get a hand inside that damn coat.
I didn’t know what he might be carrying, but based on past experience, it probably wasn’t anything that should be used inside a car filled with kids. I couldn’t see my purse and I didn’t have time to get to my gun anyway. I didn’t have time to do anything but grab him, close my eyes and shift.
We landed hard in the middle of the road, rolling a couple of times in the direction of the vanishing limo, the SUV almost running us down until Francoise all but stood on the brakes. The SUV’s front tire screeched to a halt about an inch away from my face. I stared at it, blinking, while the mage slammed an elbow into my ribs, trying to fight free of his encompassing cocoon.
Francoise leaned over the windshield and said something, and the ropes suddenly tightened, sending him back into mummy mode. “Gag heem!” she ordered, throwing me a handkerchief. I wadded it up and shoved it into the mage’s mouth just as he got his chin free from the ropes. I’d forgotten; if they can speak, they’re deadly. Thankfully, Francoise hadn’t. I jumped on board, she revved the motor and we were off.
It quickly became obvious that Francoise had figured out the gas and the brake pedals—sort of—but was a little hazy on things like yielding, red lights and speed limits. Which meant she fit pretty well into Vegas’ traffic. The limo was another story, lurching along in fits and starts a few blocks ahead.
We caught up with it as it turned onto Sands Avenue and started to pick up speed. Francoise took the corner too fast, tires squealing in protest, and slung me into the side door. But she stayed in control and floored the gas pedal.
“Get me close enough to shift inside,” I told her.
“’Ow close?” She was white and shaking, and her eyes were
a little wild.
“I don’t know.” I’d never tried shifting into a moving vehicle and I doubted it was all that smart. But if Francoise could get me with a foot or two, it might be feasible. “As close as you can get!”
She muttered something but slipped between two cars and maneuvered the SUV alongside the limo, near enough that the driver hit the horn. I took a deep breath and shifted, landing in a heap in the narrow center aisle by the bench seat. I had half a second to verify that there were only three children in the limo: Alice, huddled in a ball on the floor, Alfred in the back and Jesse near the front being held by two mages.
Then four guns were in my face, one practically touching my nose. I grabbed Alice and shifted before they could fire, landing on the back bench again, alongside Alfred. “That was cool,” he said, as I grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
“Get my purse!” I ordered, causing the mages’ heads to swivel our way. Alfred grabbed my battered denim bag from the floor just as the mages threw a spell and we shifted out.
I landed in the backseat of the SUV, a child in each hand and exhaustion running through my veins. Francoise was watching me frantically in the mirror. She said something, but it was in French and I was too tired to even try to translate. “Your hair is on fire!” she screamed, doing it for me, as Alfred started whacking me in the head with his backpack.
I tore off my jacket, which was still in garden party shape, although the fabric was now an appropriate camouflage canvas. I used it to put out the flames as Alfred clambered over the seat into the front. “I can drive,” he told her calmly. “She’s going to need help to get Jesse.”
“You’re what? Twelve?” I demanded.
He gave me a look. “You’re afraid of maybe getting a ticket?”
“You’re sure—”
“Please. I’ve been driving since I was a little kid,” he told me with a complete lack of sarcasm.
I decided that this would be another one of those things Tami didn’t need to know about. I grabbed Francoise by the back of her camisole. “Are you okay with this?”
She nodded frantically, up for anything that involved getting out of the driver’s seat. And then somebody must have recognized us, because an arm appeared out of one of the wildly flapping doors and tossed something in our direction. Francoise jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, slamming us into the side of the longer car and smashing the door back onto the thrower’s arm. But it was too late to stop the small black sphere from bouncing on the hood, once, twice, and before it could hit a third time, I panicked and shifted—the car.
A wave of nausea and vertigo hit me that was so severe it took a few seconds for me to notice where we’d landed: catty-corner across the hood of the limo. A massive explosion rocked the road behind us, shattering the rest of the limo’s windows and leaving a crater the size of a kiddie pool in the road. The back of the limo was also smoking, as if the bomb had taken out part of the trunk as well, although neither that nor the fact that the driver couldn’t possibly see anything past the SUV had slowed him down.
I don’t know if he was panicking or if he thought we were playing an elaborate game of chicken. But if it was the latter he was in for a surprise. Because I couldn’t shift again, could barely tell which way up was, a fact not helped by the unmistakable feel of the SUV beginning to slide sideways off the hood.
“Francoise!” I hoped she had an idea, but all I got back was a stream of four-hundred-year-old French invective.
And then the bumping and the sliding and the earsplitting shriek of metal on metal suddenly stopped. As did the SUV, despite the fact that the limo continued on its crazy zigzag course through traffic. I realized with a lurch that we were somehow floating a dozen feet or so off the ground, wafting in the general direction of the curb like the giant leaf we weren’t.
“Telekenetic, remember?” Alfred asked as we touched down.
Francoise scrambled out of the car so fast that she fell into the road. “I like ze horses!” she screamed, apparently addressing traffic. “Thees form of travel, it ees insane!”
