“What?”
“The. Stands!” I twisted his head back around, and he froze, staring at our collective doom.
“Oh, for—” Lilly reached over and stomped on the brakes, halting us close enough to the back of the bleachers that I could have reached out and touched the sun-faded wood. Luckily, the several thousand people assembled to watch the qualifying heats were facing the other way, except for a redheaded little boy peeking out through the slats.
He had a pink cotton candy grin and a massive treat clutched in one tiny fist. Which he smushed all over Lilly’s hair. She screeched and forgot about the car, which floated up and out, wafting above the crowd like a steel balloon. That was apparently not allowed, because almost immediately an irritated-looking mage in a uniform rose from the sidelines and started for us.
“Damn,” Toni said, looking a little nervous.
I was finding it hard to feel much trepidation, personally. And although I could see the wisdom of not putting the patrols in something as bulky as a car when they’d be zooming around over people’s heads, the choice of substitute seemed a little unfortunate. “They couldn’t have issued you guys motorcycles, at least?” I asked the mage on the Segway.
He scowled and ignored me. “Levitation isn’t allowed above the stands,” he told Ronnie.
Ronnie didn’t respond. He was too busy staring over his shoulder at the irate duo in the race car. They’d paused behind the bleachers, bobbing just above where the multicolored pennants began, in order to shout obscenities at us.
“You’re going to have to move your vehicle,” the patrol tried again, this time addressing Lilly.
It was another wasted effort. “My hair!” she screeched, red-faced and outraged. “I paid a fortune for this color! Arrest that kid!”
The mage didn’t reply, because a beer bottle exploded against the side of the car in a rain of green glass. “What the—” The rent-a-cop looked around, trying to figure out where it had come from, while the people below us shouted in outrage.
I doubted that much of the glass had connected, because a kid had parked his Boogie Board on that side of us as a sun shield. It floated above the crowd, deflecting most of the green hail into the aisle. But that didn’t seem to matter to anyone. We were maybe twelve feet above the stands, so the spectators couldn’t reach us, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t fire up a spell. As least, I assumed that was what rocked the car hard enough to almost tip us out.
“All right, that’s enough!” The cop dropped to issue a warning to whoever the joker was below, and I caught another bottle that had been about to bean me.
I whipped it back at its thrower—a young guy standing at the top of the bleachers. He and a group of friends had been talking to the driver of the Bug, who was still pointing in our direction and yelling. And then they froze, gawking at something behind me with their mouths still open.
I spun around to see almost the entire crowd staring at the huge mirror. In between showing the races, it had been reflecting interviews with noted drivers, car sponsors and paid ads. Only it was hard to imagine what that particular image could be selling.
But one thing was certain: the man seated in the large armchair wasn’t going to be giving any more interviews.
Chapter Thirty
The man sat facing the camera, legs crossed, slumped slightly to one side in a large wingback armchair. A cigarette burned in an ashtray by his elbow, which was odd, since he looked to have been dead for at least a century. His skin was brown and withered, like old leather; his hair was stark white; and his lips had shriveled up and drawn back from his teeth, giving him a sort of ghastly smile.
“And now a word with returning champion, Peter Lutkin!” an announcer burbled obliviously.
Lilly screamed.
She wasn’t the only one, and a moment later, the carefully controlled chaos wasn’t so controlled anymore. Some people were still sitting in shock, staring at the gruesome image of the dead man. But others were surging to their feet, demanding explanations, calling for their kids, gathering up belongings. The cheerful, raucous mood of a second before was completely gone.
That was particularly true after a couple of stunned drivers collided near the sidelines. One of them must have dropped some oil or gas on something inflammable, because a nearby tent went up in flames. If anyone had forgotten we were at war, the pillar of black smoke billowing skyward was a damn good reminder. The already panicked crowd broke and ran.