***
I haven't been on Sparrow Hill since the night I died there. I used to drive it all the time, but that was decades ago, and even ghosts can forget the little things, like how sharp the first curve is, or how fast the trees block out all the light. Even during the middle of the day, it's always dark on certain parts of the road, and this is a long way from the middle of the day.
The little things only distract me for a few seconds. A few seconds is all that it takes for Bobby to snare the lead, his taillights burning bloody through the darkness. I swear and slam my foot down on the gas, sending Gary leaping forward. The gap between us is still narrow, and we haven't lost this yet.
Bobby's car has a better engine, but my car has a better soul, and that can count for a lot once you're on the ghostroads. Gary and I slide through the gap between Bobby and the side of the hill, tires chewing dirt for a few seconds before we're back on solid pavement and blasting our way through the night. Now it's Bobby's turn to come racing up behind me. I hit the gas a little harder, hauling on the steering wheel, not allowing him to pass. Everything depends on this. I can't lose.
We're the first ones over the hill, the first ones to hit the marker that says it's time to turn around again. Gary takes the turn smoothly, and we pass Bobby as we drive back into the shadows of the hill.
The pass is easy. That should bother me, but I'm too focused on the road ahead, too focused on winning—for Emma's sake, for Gary's sake, for the sake of my own soul. I don't realize just how wrong it was for Bobby to let me pass him like that until his car comes blazing out of the darkness behind us like some dark avenging angel, and his bumper slams into mine.
The impact is hard enough to slam me into the steering wheel, Gary going briefly out of my control. He wobbles on the road, and I swear, scrambling to get us back on track. Bobby slams into us again and again, making it impossible for me to do anything but hang on. I've been here before. Terror is racing through my veins like a drug, because I have been here before, and I didn't survive it last time, either.
He hits us one last time, and this time, I can't keep control of the wheel, and Gary's tires can't keep their contact with the road, and we go tumbling down, down, down into the dark, falling into the endless shadows on the side of Sparrow Hill.
***
The first time I took this fall, I was alive, and the trauma of it knocked me out. This time, I'm dead, and so is my car. That makes a bit of a difference. So does the fact that is the Sparrow Hill of the past—the one where my first car has already gone over the edge. I grab the wheel, shouting, "Trust me!" and steer us through the wreckage created by my crash. It's hard. The ground is broken and filled with dangers, and my teeth rattle with every impact. Gary's bearing the worst of it, and he doesn't complain, although his radio flickers wildly, a dozen songs in a second, none lasting more than a single note.
There, up ahead of us: there's the light of the road, dim by any other measure, but a beacon when viewed from the absolute darkness of the trees. We burst through the last barrier, and we're out, tires screeching as we skid to a stop just past the finish line. Panting, I slump back in my seat. "You okay, honey?"
Gary's radio spins; "Back in Black" blasts briefly through the cabin.
"Oh, good." I sigh deeply, unfastening my belt. "I'll be back. I hope."
Gary doesn't have an answer for that. The radio clicks off just before I shut the door.
***
Bobby Cross is pulling up as I walk back over to Bethany. His car has barely stopped before he's out, striding toward us, grinning to beat the band. "Hand over that pink slip, missy, and then we'll see about what you can do for me to get it back," he says.
"No," says Bethany.
"No?" echoes Bobby, disbelieving. I share his sentiment, but don't say anything; I just turn to her, and stare.
"No, she won't be giving you her pink slip, but you'll be giving her your hostage." Bethany's smile is cold and cruel. "You lose."
"Now, hold on a moment, missy," he snaps. "She didn't finish the race."
"Distance was never stated. Only cross the hill and back again. She finished the race. She just took an alternate route." Bethany points to the shattered underbrush marking the scene of my first crash. "Rose Marshall is today's victor. Return the bean sidhe, and go."
"You little—"
"I speak for the crossroads, Bobby," says Bethany. Her voice is soft, and louder than thunder, all at the same time. "Do you truly wish to argue with us? We did not forbid you to cheat and drive her off the road, but neither did we forbid her to survive being driven. If you break this bargain with us, you break them all. Are you willing to live with the consequences of that choice?"