“Very, very human,” Issie says, planting a kiss on my cheek, but sort of missing and getting my hair.
I repeat it. “Very, very human.”
And then I tell her the rest of the story. When I finally finish, we’re halfway back to the city and Betty says in a quiet, steady way, “So, we attack them first.”
“Yes.” I look around the car at my friends. They already look tired, their faces are lined and battle weary, stress has thinned out Issie’s cheeks, hardened Nick’s mouth, made circles beneath Astley’s eyes, and caused Amelie to start pulling on her dreads.
“Well,” Betty says. “I guess we’ll really have to give the teenagers some more weapons.”
After we hang up, we all settle into a nice sort of silence. One of Astley’s men has been driving the whole time and he seems competent despite his suit and porn mustache. There’s a tattoo across the back of his neck. It’s some language I don’t know.
I stare across the seats at Nick and Astley. Nick is sitting in front with the driver and Astley is positioned directly behind him, sitting with Amelie. Issie and I are in the last row of seats and Issie’s fallen asleep, her hand clutching her cell phone. My gaze returns to Astley. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted, tug on the fabric of his winter hat, get his attention, ask him what he thinks about me now that I am human again, what he thinks about our chances of surviving all this.
It’s now or never really. The clock is running out, and there’s no way I can turn around and head back to the old Zara life—a life without snow or death or imminent world destruction, a life without pixies and shape-shifting humans and gods. Somehow, I have to stop the end of everything. I will.
I tuck my hair behind my ears, fix my own wool hat, and sort of sigh. The landscape is open out here, and we’ve been going through it for a while. Stretching my fingers out wide, I look at my human skin. It’s pale. It’s weak. How can I stop the end if I have no magic? The thought unsettles me. Doubt creeps into my stomach, making a pit. Just then, Astley turns around.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I shrug, which is the best non-answer I can think of at the moment. Astley rubs at the bottom of his stubbly jawline, and his eyes shift away from me, out the back window.
“We are being followed.”
I turn to look.
“Do not turn!” he says urgently, but it’s too late. I already have. He leans forward and tells the driver, but there’s nothing we can do. We’re on a long stretch of road through plains. There are no exits. Nowhere to turn off.
“They might not be following us,” I offer. “That’s sort of a worst-case scenario. I mean, why would they even need to follow us?”
“Intimidation,” Amelie says through gritted teeth. She opens her mouth a bit more to keep talking. “Or perhaps they know that we went to Hel, that we have more information on how to stop them.”
“Hardly enough,” says Nick, waking up thanks to Astley’s shoulder-shaking efforts. He growls a little bit beneath his breath. “Hardly enough information.”
“Or he wishes to turn you back,” Astley says, eyes narrowing, “now, while we are weaker, away from our comrades.”
“Where are we?” I ask as the driver tenses his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“They are speeding up,” he tells us.
We speed up too.
“They are maintaining distance,” he says.
We speed up more.
“Still maintaining distance,” he says.
Astley pulls out his phone. He punches in numbers.
“Who are you calling?” Amelie asks.
“The law-enforcement authorities. I shall report an erratic driver. Hopefully, they will respond,” he says, and I’m assuming this is what he does, because he stops speaking English. After a minute he clicks off the phone. “They will respond.”
“Soon?” Amelie asks. She’s holding up a mirror and angling it to see the dark car behind us. It’s an SUV and pretty solid looking. “Because they are—”
The car jolts forward and swerves. My seat belt presses hard against me. People swear. Issie wakes up, mumbling and confused. I try to calm her down and tell her what’s going on, but before I can, the car jerks forward again and zigzags as the driver tries to maintain control.
“I hate freaking pixies, and I hate the freaking apocalypse, and I hate freaking Iceland,” Nick growls, pivoting. “Does anyone have a gun?”
Nobody does.
“How can nobody have a gun?” he asks, his voice getting hysterical. “We’re on a mission to save the world and nobody has a gun.”
His voice takes on a new edge.
“He’s changing!” I warn. “Crud. Crud. Crud!”
The car slams into us again. The back end is now much, much closer to where Issie and I are sitting. The glass in the window is shattering. I unbuckle Issie’s seat belt, urging her to move to the next row of seats.
She clicks into place. A wolf snarls in the passenger’s seat. He pivots and glares at Amelie and Astley.
“Not them!” I scream. “Not them. Good guys, Nick. Good guys!”
His growl deepens and he swings his head to look at the driver. The driver’s pulling over? He’s pulling over and smiling and I suddenly understand that he’s a part of it, a plant or something.
“Get him!” I shout. “Get him! The bad one is right there! Get him!”
SCANNER TRAFFIC, BEDFORD POLICE DEPARTMENT
Control to 14: We have a report of a blue man running down Water Street with a disembodied head in his hands. Again. We have a report of a blue-skinned man with a head in hands on Water Street. 10-3. 14: En route.
Nick lunges after the driver, knocking him out of the car. They both tumble onto the road, a twisting mass of teeth and claws. It barely has time to register but Amelie’s already bolted out after them, diving over into the driver’s seat and out the now busted open door. She slams it behind her.
Astley takes the time to say, “Stay here,” before he’s out his door too, and I suppose I should appreciate that, but instead, I’m mad. There is no way that I’m staying in here when they are outside fighting. They could get hurt. They could—
I’ve got my hand on the door handle when Issie pulls me back. “Zara!”
“What?”