“Descending, right at the top of the curve.”

Alessandro darted into a tiny gap between a white truck and a black SUV on our right.

“Don’t do it, dickass!” Bug barked.

The green exit sign flashed over our heads, an orange warning strip across it screaming, “EXIT CLOSED.”

If h is the difference in height between the two sides of the gap, then θ is the angle of the exit’s slope, V is the velocity, and g is the standard acceleration of free fall at 9.8 m/s2; the required velocity would equal the square root of g *36m2 divided by 2(h+6tan θ)*cos2 θ . . .

I kept my voice calm. “Alessandro, you’re going to kill us. This only works in the movies and it requires a ramp. The moment our wheels leave the ground, the car will start dropping. Even if we make it, the vehicle will be crushed from the impact.”

“It will be fine.” The Alfa roared up the slope, accelerating.

“How? How will it be fine?”

He looked over at me. “This car is very light and we’re going to drive very fast.”

Striped white and orange barriers blocked the way. The small sports car smashed through them. Chunks of wood flew. Behind us the Guardian lumbered onto the exit, speeding up.

“No!” Bug screamed.

Construction vehicles flashed by on our sides. In the sideview mirror the Guardian tore up the slope, squeezing everything it could out of its engine to catch us.

“Please don’t do it,” I said.

Alessandro glanced at me for half a second and hit me with a dazzling smile. “Trust me.”

Black scorch marks stained the pavement ahead. Alessandro stood on the gas. The digital speedometer flashed 145. We were almost to the top of the slope.

I hugged the little dog to me.

The Guardian skidded to a stop. Celia leaped from the top of it, flying through the air like she had wings.

The Alfa went airborne.

I expected my life to flash before my eyes. Instead I went weightless, floating . . .

The Alfa crashed to the pavement and bounced hard. I pitched forward. My seat belt yanked me back. The Alfa skidded to a stop.

We made it. Oh my God.

“For fuck’s sake!” Bug cried out.

“See?” Alessandro grinned.

A heavy thud rocked the car. Celia landed on the roof. Two huge clawed fists smashed into the windshield like sledgehammers. The laminated glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern but didn’t shatter. Celia’s hand-paw broke through the glass and plastic. She clutched the edge of the hole and ripped the windshield out.

The little dog erupted into barks.

I pulled my Beretta out, pinned the dog with my left hand to keep it out of the way, and fired four shots through the roof. An angry shriek answered.

Eleven bullets left.

Alessandro stepped on the gas. The Alfa screeched in protest but rolled forward, weaving between the heavy construction equipment. Something must have broken on landing. We picked up speed . . .

Alessandro threw his arm in front of me and slammed on the brakes, spinning the car to the left. Celia slid off the roof, landed on the pavement on all fours, and rolled to her feet. Her maw gaped and she roared.

We had to get past Celia before the Guardian decided to start blasting the cement mixers and dump trucks blocking its view of us on the off chance the shrapnel and debris would hit the Alfa. Ramming her wouldn’t work. We didn’t have the mass and if she destroyed the car, we would be stranded on this exit.

Alessandro jumped out. Two guns appeared in his hands out of thin air. He fired at Celia.

I unbuckled my seat belt and scrambled out of the vehicle. The little dog tried to follow, but I slammed the door in its face.

The stream of bullets from Alessandro’s firearms pounded Celia. She jerked, snarled, and charged, loping forward in great leaps. I sighted her and fired. The Beretta pumped out bullets.

Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven.

The shots tore into Celia without any visible damage. No blood.

Alessandro darted out of the way. A shotgun materialized in his hands. He pumped it and sank a burst into Celia’s stomach. She recoiled.

Six, five, four.

He pumped it again and fired at her face. She leaped aside, nimble like a cat, and flexed her tail. It whipped Alessandro, nearly taking him off his feet. He grunted and shot her again.

Three, two, one. Out.

Celia reared, swinging her arms in a frenzy. Her clawed hand closed on Alessandro’s shotgun and she tore it from his grasp, knocking him back. He stumbled and she chased him, claws rending the air.

“Celia!” I snapped. “Look at me!”

She spun toward me. I opened my wings and let my magic rip. The focused torrent of power drowned her.

“Come here,” I called, sinking enough magic to seduce a room full of people into it.

Celia rushed me. Her huge arm swung, and she backhanded me. I flew and hit a hard surface with my right side. Pain tore through my hip. Something crunched. Ow. A dump truck had thoughtfully broken my fall.

I looked up and saw Celia leaping toward me, claws ready to rend, mouth gaping. I dropped to my knees and scrambled under the truck.

Celia slammed into the vehicle with a thud and hugged the ground. Her terrible face thrust into the gap between the wheels. Tiny hate-filled eyes bore into me. She tried to squeeze in after me. I held my breath. She wiggled, pushing in another inch, and stopped. The truck sat too low.

Celia bared a mouthful of monster teeth and thrust her arm under the truck, trying to hook me with her claws. I shimmied back. She shrieked, frustrated, jumped to her feet, and gripped the truck, trying to lift it. The huge vehicle rocked.

How strong was she?

Celia shrieked again and dropped down to the ground, her face only feet away from mine. I pulled the mace out of my pocket and sprayed her in the eyes.

Celia screamed and clawed at her face. The telltale roar of a chain saw answered. Blood spray wet the asphalt. Celia squirmed from under the truck and disappeared.

I crawled to the right, out from under the vehicle, and dashed around it.

Alessandro chased Celia with a chain saw. She dashed back and forth. Her left arm hung off her shoulder on a string of flesh, gushing blood. Bone glared from the stump. A gash sliced across her left hind leg.

I pulled my sword out and sprinted after them.

Alessandro backed Celia against the pavement roller and sliced the chain saw across her stomach. A horrible scream tore out of Celia. She threw herself at him, and the sheer weight of her took Alessandro off his feet. He fell, buried under her bleeding body.

No! I ran like I’d never run before in my whole life.

She opened her mouth and aimed for his face.

I drove my gladius into her neck. The sword slid into flesh and found bone.

Boom!

Bullets tore out of the back of her skull. Bone and brain exploded, spraying me.

I yanked the gladius out and brought it back down with everything I had. The blade carved through reinforced vertebrae. Celia jerked and collapsed. Who is your pretty little lamb now?

I dropped to my knees. “Alessandro?”

Please be alive, please be alive . . .

Celia’s body shuddered, rose, and Alessandro heaved it aside, pulling a Smith & Wesson 460XVR revolver out of her mouth. He stared at the massive gun’s fourteen-inch barrel and then looked at me, his eyes incredulous.

“It’s a hunting revolver.” I slumped back. “It’s for big game hunting.”

“Texas,” Alessandro said, loading a state’s worth of meaning into a single word.

The Alfa still worked. It wasn’t as fast or as smooth, and riding without a windshield in a tiny seat with every bump jabbing a spike of pain through my hip was a new kind of torture, but we made it off the exit onto Frontage Road.

I hugged the dog to me with one hand and dialed our lawyer with the other. Sabrian listened to my recap without a word.

“Any injured civilians?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m on it. I’ll be emailing you documents. Read, print, sign, scan, email back, get the originals to me by courier, today.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, just be on time with papers and payment.”

I hung up.

Next to me, Alessandro drove as if we were enjoying a pleasant excursion on the Pacific Coast Highway, winding our way through picturesque hills with a blue ocean on our side. A relaxed smile played on his lips.

“What are you so happy about?”

“We’re alive. I told you it would work.”

“Your car is ruined.”

“It’s just a car. It’s replaceable. You’re not.”

What did it mean? Why did he even care? He saw me for fifteen minutes during the trials, then for another fifteen minutes when he showed up asking me to go for a drive, and then we hadn’t spoken for three years.

“How are you involved in this?”

The smile died. It was like the sun being turned off. I felt like a moment of silence was in order.

“Not that again,” he said.

“Yes, again. I have to find Halle.”

“What part of ‘drop it’ don’t you understand?”