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The mostly flat-topped Vegas roofs are nothing like the slick fronts presented to the public. Along with the usual clutter of satellite dishes, old antennas and solar cells, they also house the city’s massive air conditioners, since sand clogs up the works if they’re left on the ground. And I made sure that we didn’t miss a single one, hurling the mages back and forth between giant units like very unhappy Ping-Pong balls.
Pritkin was still yelling, but I couldn’t hear him over the wind and Fred’s cursing and some weird noises coming from overhead, like leather sheets caught in a hurricane. But at least no one was trying to kill him right now. They were too busy hanging on for dear life.
And, unfortunately, they were hanging on pretty damn well. The mage near the end went flying when we tore around a corner, snapping out the wildly bucking fence like a towel in a locker room. But the other two were higher up and they grimly held on, despite smashing through a greenhouse, skimming across a pile of old bricks and then slapping face-first into a wall.
“I don’t believe this!” I said, as we dragged them over the top of the wall and through somebody’s patio set.
“These guys really want you dead,” Fred said, staring in the rearview mirror.
I didn’t answer, because one of those lightning-bolt spells sheared off the passenger-side mirror, rocking the car violently. It didn’t look like the rooftops were providing enough in the way of distraction. If we wanted to lose these guys, we were going to have to get a little more extreme.
I nudged the steering wheel slightly to the right.
Within seconds, smoke billowed up in front of us, like a dark curtain held against the sky. It felt like we’d been in the car half an hour, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes. Although I heard sirens in the distance, no emergency vehicles were yet parked around the crash site.
“Is the diner still burning?” Fred asked, frowning.
“Not exactly,” I said, as we plunged for the middle of the fiery billboard.
The motorcycle must have had a full gas tank, because the entire huge surface of the sign was now covered in flames. The paper had already burnt away, leaving an old wooden frame and heavy support beams to feed the blaze. And they seemed to be feeding it pretty well, judging by the heat that smacked me in the face, even this far away.
In seconds, the conflagration had filled the whole length of the missing windshield, the smoke-laden air whipping my hair around my face and making my eyes water. I glanced behind us, and it looked like the mages had seen it, too. They were staring through the lattice of the fence, watching the approaching inferno in disbelief.
And not watching the deadly war mage above them.
Pritkin lashed out with a heavy boot, snapping one man’s head back and then kicking him viciously in the chest. He went flying, his head lolling at a very unhealthy angle, and Pritkin turned on his companion. But he wouldn’t get a fight there. The last mage just let go of the fence, falling on purpose into the surrounding smoke.
“I guess he doesn’t like fire as well as concrete,” I said in satisfaction, before noticing that Pritkin hadn’t budged. “What the hell is he doing?” I asked Fred, who was looking at me apprehensively.
“What fire?”
“He’s just holding on.” I climbed over the seats to stare out the back, but even a full field of vision didn’t help much. Pritkin’s shields could definitely cushion a fall from this height, but he wasn’t jumping—or climbing or doing anything but staring, and not at the billboard.
“What fire?” Fred asked, a little more forcefully.
I flicked my eyes in the direction Pritkin was looking, but didn’t see anything, aside from a lot of smoke. Part of which seemed to have taken on a very weird form. I blinked, but it was still there a second later, the hazy outline of an impossible shape set against the brilliant skyline.
And headed straight for us.
“Oh, shit. Fire!” Fred screamed, and we crashed into the middle of the sign.
Chapter Twenty-five
Luckily, the smaller support struts were already half charcoal, and they exploded harmlessly in a sizzle of black ash. But something a hell of a lot bigger hit the pylons underneath, sending smoking posts the size of tree trunks spinning into the night. We managed to dodge most of those, since they shot out below us, but we weren’t so lucky with the spell that burned through the air a second later.
It had come from below, where I guessed one of the mages had survived the fall. Red lightning crackled over the dash, raised goose bumps on my arms and caused Fred’s wispy comb-over to wave around madly. It didn’t hurt, at least not us. But the SUV did a sudden, vomit-inducing one-eighty in midair—and stalled out.
I screamed, Fred screamed and we hit the roof, which wasn’t so bad.
And then we tumbled through the missing windshield, which was.
I felt myself start to fall, arms outstretched but nothing to grab. And this time, there was no parachute above me, no strong arms to catch me, no anything but wind and air and a long, long way to fall. Which I did—for about a second, before being jerked around in a parabola that had the city lights streaming in a dizzying dance of color that confused my already confused brain even more.
Until I realized that my scream had turned into a duet with Fred’s, who was clutching me against his chest. He had one arm under mine, holding me face out like a sack of potatoes. And the fingers of the other wedged, white knuckled, between the lattice of the fence.
The one we were now hanging off of.
For a moment, I just hung there, panting and staring at the sight of hotels, casinos and LCD montages. And then I looked up at Fred, his completely freaked-out face backlit by the distant neon. “Thanks,” I squeaked.
