Donovan settled in next to me right in the back seat, an odd gleam in his eyes. I nudged him. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Are you trying to get Cress’s head to explode?”
“I am merely providing an opportunity for her to learn better control. She is tired, frustrated, and taking it out on everyone. She cannot be a slave to her emotions forever.”
“You’re not fooling anyone, you know. You’re enjoying this.” I looked up the front again; Greg was still talking about how much nicer it is when women wear dresses instead of pants. Cress was clenching her fists compulsively.
“Perhaps I am,” Donovan said. “I expect that she will last about five minutes before she holds a knife to the driver’s throat.” He shifted in his seat, getting comfortable, and casually wound an arm around my shoulders.
I froze, praying that Cress didn’t turn around. She was holding herself very stiffly. A muscle in her jaw began to tick. Cecil, bouncing on Nate’s knee behind us, chuckled to himself gleefully.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. Traffic thinned as we headed through the dark streets towards the city. Exhaustion overwhelmed me; I ached to rest my head on Donovan’s chest and sleep.
A red flash lit up the night for a fraction of a second, right outside the window.
“What was that?”
Another red light blinked. This time, an awful noise came with it—a sinister buzz, abruptly cut off, like the sound a hornet nest might make just before it exploded. Donovan, suddenly stiff with tension, turned to look out the window. Eryk and Nate did the same.
“Goddamnit,” Greg huffed. “It’s goddamn kids throwing stuff from that school bus.”
A school bus? At this time of night?
I craned my neck to look out the back window. Sure enough, a big yellow school bus was right on our tail, looming almost malevolently behind us.
“Oh, no.”
Banwyn. The yellow school bus was packed to the brim with little children-shaped demons, staring at us with huge glowing eyes. As I watched, a flaxen-haired little kid hung out of the window and threw a silver ball at us. The ball exploded in the air in a flash of evil-looking red light.
Donovan moved quickly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Stop this carriage right now.”
“We’re on the freeway, pal,” Greg snapped. “We can’t stop.”
The bus roared and pulled into the lane next to us. Banwyn stared at us from the windows. One of them clambered up onto his seat and tossed a silver ball towards us.
“Little shits,” Greg harrumphed. “You know, back in the good old days, children were seen and not—”
An explosion rocked us. Greg clutched the wheel, and the taxi veered wildly left then right. “Goddamn!” With visible effort, he got control of the taxi again, hit the gas, and changed lanes, pulling away from the school bus. Sweat beaded on his head. “Little bastards!”
The bus roared, pulling up next to us again. There was nothing more sinister than the sight of scores of little kids, standing too still, staring at us with hunger in their eyes. Another one moved, tossing a silver ball out the window. It soared through the air and exploded near the hood of the taxi, shaking us like a rattle.
The driver let out a shriek. “Grenade! Take cover!” He hit the brakes, then the gas, wrenching the taxi from side to side. “We’re under attack!”
“Cress!” Donovan shouted. “Take the wheel. We need to stop this carriage and face the banwyn now.”
“I was under the impression you wanted me to sit here and look pretty, Donovan,” she snapped back.
Another ball exploded behind the back wheel; the taxi shook. The driver’s eyes bulged. “Incoming! Enemy fire!” He gripped the steering wheel harder, lost to the fog of the past.
“My prince.” Nate, eyes glued to the window, sounded worried. “I sense Batalan magic.”
“I believe you are right.” Donovan narrowed his eyes, looking into the bus. “It is Purg.” Every single muscle in his body tensed. “We must get somewhere quiet, so we can fight him. We cannot risk being exposed here in this realm.”
“Yes.” Cress punched the air. “Finally, a battle worthy of expending myself on. You!” She pointed at Greg. “Find a dark corner where we can fight.”
“Mayday, mayday!” Greg screamed, ignoring her. “We’re under attack!” More explosions rained down on us; he wrenched the wheel again, the tires skidding out of control. Oh, no. Poor Greg.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and shuffled toward the front, putting my mouth close to the plastic security divider. “Listen up, soldier,” I said, putting on the gruffest voice I could manage. “You gotta get us out of here. Take the next exit. That’s an order.”
Eyes wide, panting, deep in the horrors of the past, Greg wrenched the steering wheel towards an off-ramp, and we screamed down the exit, the school bus right behind us. The ramp stretched out before us, winding around and around, barriers on either side of us, nowhere to even pull over.
More explosions shook the taxi; the banwyn stepped up the attack from behind. “Susan!” Bart let out a yelp of terror and grabbed my hand. “I didn't sign up for this!”
“Cecil.” I reached forward and grabbed him by the back of his onesie. “Can you style this car? Give it some extra armor?”
“Hmm.” He sucked on his thumb for a second. “Probably. Hang on.” He waved his pudgy little hands frantically. “East Coast rapper beef special, coming right up.” A shower of golden sparkles puffed from his forehead. “There. We should be bulletproof now.”
Just in time, too; the school bus let out a furious roar and slammed into us from behind. The taxi shunted forward, jolting us all. Greg, clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles, stomped his foot on the gas, and we pulled ahead again.
The off ramp finally spat us out into a quiet industrial area on the outskirts of the city. Up ahead, I spotted a narrow alleyway in between two warehouses. “Pull over there, soldier!”
Greg wrenched the wheel. We skidded; and with an impressive display of driving, he slid the taxi into the narrow alley. The roar of the school bus died away; it was too big to follow us.
“Drive to the end of the lane, and stop,” I ordered.
Greg hit the brakes; a wall appeared in front of us, almost out of nowhere.
I let out a quivering breath. “Good job, soldier.”
Quickly, I glanced behind us; the bus had stopped right at the entrance of the lane, headlights still on full. Banwyn poured out of the windows like cockroaches, crawling on all fours, heads jerking and twisting in a sickening way, holding more magic grenades in their mouths.
