sedan that hadn’t put a scratch on him, or stand and fight. I didn’t much care for either one, so I came up with Plan C. I decided to do both.
I have another weapon that’s like my athame but it shoots fire, an old walking stick that belonged to Sorren’s maker, Alard. I’d left it in the car, just in case. Now, I grabbed the walking stick in my left hand so I could level it out the driver’s side window like a lance, bracing my elbow against the window frame. I gripped the steering wheel with my right hand. Then I called up my will, reached out my touch magic to the resonance and memories in the walking stick, and floored the gas.
A stream of fire shot from the walking stick, striking the monster squarely in the chest. My Mini Cooper peeled rubber as I pushed its acceleration to the limits, swerving past the creature to get clear. I was pretty sure I was going to make it, before the monster leaped toward me, landing on the hood of my car. Its body was blackened and charred with strips of burned flesh hanging down in tatters, and its toothy maw pressed up against the windshield, terrifyingly close.
He was too close to blast again with my walking stick, and I sure as hell couldn’t drive into town this way. Gravel and loose bits of asphalt crunched under my tires, and I had an idea that was either going to set me free or get me dead.
Before I could second-guess myself, I picked up speed, then pulled the handbrake and hit the gas. The Mini Cooper started to doughnut, spinning in a circle so hard my seat belt seized up. I had a death grip on the steering wheel. The engine whined and the car went into its second loop, careening into the turn. The monster lost its grip and fell off the hood, leaving a trail of claw marks across the metal. Suddenly free of the extra weight, the Mini Cooper skidded off the road and into the brush, knocking over the white roadside shrine.
My ears were ringing from the impact of the sudden stop, and I was pretty sure my neck would be sore tomorrow, but the airbag didn’t inflate and I wasn’t dead. Stunned, it took me a moment to struggle with my seatbelt. Blood was running down my face from a cut over my left eye. I reached for the walking stick and my spoon-athame, prepared to fight that thing once more.
Shots rang out. I didn’t need to see the gun to know it was big, and the noise was deafening. My head was spinning. The car door refused to budge and I had to kick it open. When I crawled out, I stopped cold at what I saw.
Daniel Hunter stood in the middle of the street in a wide-legged shooting stance, plugging the monster with bullet after bullet. The creature staggered, but it did not stop. At this rate, if Daniel didn’t have any other tricks up his sleeve, we were both going to die.
Something crunched under my foot. I looked down, and saw part of the broken white memorial cross. The air around me shimmered, and I could make out the faint images of two young men in their late teens. They were watching me as if they could see me, but I couldn’t hear what they were trying to say. My hands shook as I raised the walking stick, determined to go down fighting, although I wasn’t sure I had enough juice in me to send another blast.
The ghosts moved closer, and I was aware of the broken memorial under my foot. Even through the sole of my shoe, I could sense the deep emotions of the person who had placed the marker. Wrenching grief, dark loneliness, and deep, true love.
Terrified, bleeding and out of good ideas, I plunged my magic down into that broken marker and pulled hard.
An orange jet of fire streamed from the walking stick and hit the monster in its head and shoulders. The creature shrieked and writhed. Filled with the borrowed energy of the shrine, I kept him bathed in flame too bright to watch. Smoke and the smell of burned and rotten meat filled the air. Daniel produced a shotgun from somewhere, and aimed for the thing’s knees.
The monster tottered for a few seconds before collapsing onto the roadway. It jerked once, then went still. The monster’s head