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“I guess I was a bit angry,” I said. “But that sure felt good.”

“What if nobody comes in here for a while?” Martin asked. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. We can’t wait until Monday to get Lucky back.”

“Some people never take a day off.” I could remember lots of times when my dad worked all weekend.

“But what if nobody goes into this room? They just use it when there are interviews. Right?”

“Good point. So let’s leave a couple small hints that something is wrong.” I lifted one of the larger pieces from the floor and hurled it through the two-way mirror. I shot another piece through the window between the room and the hallway.

“That should do the trick,” Martin said. “As long as you don’t mind seven years bad luck.”

“I think I’ve already had twice that much.”

We left the building, setting off the alarm one last time, and walked around to the side so the guard wouldn’t see us. While we waited for him to leave, I checked the street. It didn’t look like a great spot to get a cab. We’d probably have to hike five or six blocks before we could flag one down. It was after eleven, and I was getting tired of walking. I glanced over at the parking lot behind the building. It was empty except for a car and two vans, each with TICHBORNE AND FAWKES painted on the driver’s door.

“You know how to drive?” I asked Martin.

“Sure. Sort of… My sister took me out a couple times. Why?”

“Let’s get some wheels.” I unlocked the car, opened the doors, and switched on the ignition.

“Cool.” Martin slipped behind the wheel. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah. I never took a car, but I figured out how to start them. You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Absolutely. I was born to drive.” After almost backing into a wall, Martin got us out of the lot and onto the street. “I like this,” he said. “It’s almost as good as a video game.” He turned the wheel left, then right, weaving in his lane. He started swaying from side to side, moving his body in synch with the car. Two blocks later, he said, “Oh boy. We’ve got trouble.”

I glanced over my shoulder. A cop car had slipped behind us. I couldn’t tell if they were checking us out or just cruising.

“You think they know I don’t have a license?” Martin asked.

“I think they know you can’t drive straight. But I wouldn’t worry about it.” I reached under their hood with my mind, pressed down on their radiator cap, and gave it a twist. Steam shot out as the cap came loose. They pulled over to the curb and we drove on.

“I could get used to this,” Martin said.

“Me, too.” I glanced ahead. “Stop sign!”

Martin stomped on the brakes and skidded to a stop, throwing me forward against the shoulder belt.

“Chill out. I saw it.” He looked both ways, twice, then drove on. “We really could have anything we want, couldn’t we?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess the problem is I really don’t know what I want. I mean, in the future. Right now, I want Livy to like me. And I want to rescue your sorry, trouble-seeking butt. But all of that rest-of-my-life stuff, I don’t know.”

“Me, either.” I knew I wanted my life back. I wanted to save Lucky and destroy Bowdler. But beyond that, I didn’t have any quick answers.

“Wait,” Martin said, “that’s not true. I know what I want. I want to drive. I want to drive everywhere. All the time. This is way too much fun to stop.” He turned the corner smoothly enough that I barely had to hold on.

I knew what he meant. Driving was power. You could go where you wanted, when you wanted. No schedules. No routes. No waiting for a bus or a parent.

“I got it! Let’s go to Las Vegas,” Martin said. “Imagine you at a dice table.” He shook one fist like he was shaking a pair of dice, then tossed the imaginary dice toward the windshield. “Winner!”

“Imagine me with a bullet in my brain. I’m not messing with those casino guys.”

“Okay, so it’s not a perfect idea. But you have to admit, it’s fun to imagine.” He took one hand off the wheel and tapped the sheet on my lap. “What’s next?”

I checked the list. “There’s an experiment on the Petain International corporate jet.”

“Where’s the jet?”

“Philly airport.”

Martin stomped on the brakes again. Behind us, someone hit the horn, then screeched around our car, the horn still blaring. “Are you crazy?” Martin shouted. “An airport? You know what kind of security they have there?”