Angelology(166)

the past few miles,” Gabriella said. “It seems that they are not giving up on you.”

“Are you sure it’s them?” Verlaine asked, looking over his shoulder. “What will we do?”

“If I try to run,” she said, “they will follow us. If I continue onward, we will arrive at St. Rose at

the same moment and have to confront them there.”

“And then what?”

“They will not let us go,” Gabriella said. “Not this time.”

Gabriella hit the brakes and jerked the wheel, turning precipitously onto a gravel road. The

Porsche spun on its tires, delineated a half circle over the snowy road, tipping slightly from the

momentum. For a moment the car felt free of gravity, thrown into a state of weightless free fall on the

ice, nothing more than a box of metal fishtailing right and left as the tires sought traction. Gabriella

slowed and held the wheel, trying to gain control. As it steadied, she hit the gas again until the car

sped ever faster, climbing the incline of a long, slow-rising hill, the noise of the engine deafening.

Gravel crackled on the windshield in a barrage of sharp explosions.

Verlaine looked over his shoulder. The black SUV had turned onto the road, following at a

distance behind.

“Here they come,” he said, and Gabriella gunned the engine, taking them higher and higher along

the hill. As the road crested, the thickets of trees gave way to a white sweep of valley, beyond which

a dilapidated barn stood red as a splotch of blood against the snow.

“As much as I love this car, it doesn’t have the capacity for speed,” Gabriella said. “It’s going to

be impossible to outrun them. We need to find a way to lose them. Or hide.”

Verlaine scanned the valley. From the highway to the barn, there was nothing but exposed frozen

fields. Beyond the barn the road twisted up another hill, snaking its way into a copse of evergreens.

“Can we make it to the top?” Verlaine asked.

“It doesn’t look like we have much choice.”

Gabriella drove past the barn, where the road tracked a slow, steady ascent. By the time they

reached the evergreens, the black SUV had gained so much ground that Verlaine could make out the

features of the men in the front seat.

The one in the passenger seat leaned out the window, aimed a gun, and shot, missing them.

“I can’t go faster than this,” Gabriella said, growing frustrated. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she

tossed a leather purse to Verlaine. “Find my gun. It’s inside.”

Verlaine unzipped the bag, digging through a tangle of objects until his fingers brushed cold metal.

He lifted a small silver handgun from the bottom of the bag.

“Have you shot a gun before?”

“Never.”

“I’ll walk you through it,” she said. “Switch off the safety. Now roll down your window. Hold

steady. Good, now level your arm.”

As Verlaine positioned the gun, the man in the SUV took aim.

“Just a moment,” Gabriella said. She swerved into the opposite lane and slowed, giving Verlaine a

clear shot at the windshield.

“Shoot,” Gabriella said. “Now.”

Verlaine aimed the gun level with the SUV and squeezed the trigger. The bigger car’s windshield

cracked into a web of filaments. Gabriella slammed on the brakes as the Mercedes hit a guardrail and

flipped over the edge of the valley road, metal crunching as it rolled. Verlaine watched the upended

vehicle, its tires spinning.

“Brilliant shot,” Gabriella said, pulling to the side of the road and cutting the engine. She gave him

a look of pride, clearly pleasantly surprised by his aim. “Give me the gun. I need to make sure they’re

dead.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Of course,” she snapped, taking the gun and climbing out of the car and over the guardrail. “Come,

you might learn something.”

Verlaine followed Gabriella down the icy hillside, walking in her tracks through the snow.

Looking above, he saw that a mass of dark clouds had collected. They hung abnormally low, as if they

might descend upon the valley at any moment. Once the two of them reached the car, Gabriella

instructed Verlaine to kick out the windshield. He bashed chunks of glass with the heel of his sneaker

as she crouched down and peered inside.

“You hit the driver,” she said, drawing Verlaine’s gaze to the dead man.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“I should say so.” She gestured to the second man, whose body lay twenty feet away, facedown in

the snow. “Two birds with one stone. The second was thrown when the car flipped.”

Verlaine could hardly believe what lay before him. The man’s body had transformed into the