The car whipped around like a baton wielded by a meth-fueled majorette. Scenery blurred into dizzying swaths of white and gray. I cast fast and dirty, knowing even if I could get the spell off, it wouldn’t be enough.
Nate screamed his rage as the
wheel tore out of his hands. His head bounced off the window, but he
still scrabbled to regain control.
Spitting magic, trusting words
and order to ritual memory, body jumbled and tossed, my spell ended
with a cry as we slammed into a snowbank.
The interior was speckled with frost and blood. Nate wasn’t moving.