Fallen Reign (Sins of the Father 1)

Quill held a finger up to my face. “I made no such claims. That’s you making judgmental statements about me based on what you’ve seen of my life. That isn’t fair. I don’t go around calling you poor simply because – ”

Florian tapped me on the shoulder. “Um, Mace. Guys. You guys?” He was digging his fingers into Quill’s back, too, with increasing strength and desperation.

“What is it?” Quill snarled.

Florian only pointed up with one finger. I followed and looked up, just in time to see the huge globe of whirring, crackling fire headed directly for our faces.

The flames splashed onto the top of the car, spreading like a horrible, screaming puddle of magma across an invisible glass shield. My heart pounded at the terrifying proximity, the heat of the magical fire far too close for comfort.

But Quill’s idea had worked. If we’d been driving and a fireball had found its way into the car without any kind of magic shielding us, the night, and our lives, for that matter, would have ended with our bodies fused to a massive pile of smoking, flaming wreckage.

“Oh dear God,” Florian said. “We’re alive. We’re alive.”

“Where is she?” Quill hissed, looking up through the glimmering force field as the flames dissipated. “I can’t see her.”

“Neither can I,” I said, poking my head from one window to the other, desperation mounting. We were sitting ducks.

“The shield isn’t going to hold forever.” He grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me into the driver’s seat even as he squirmed past me, swapping places. I was too stunned to fight back. After some seconds of far too intimate bodily contact, I found myself gripping the steering wheel. “I need to focus on putting up another shield, and on firing back, if need be. Mason, you take over and drive.”

“I don’t have a license,” I stammered. “What if we get pulled over? Or I could crash your car.”

“That is the least of our problems just now,” Quill shouted. “Any cop that tries to flag us down is as good as dead when Leonora gets to them. And this crap heap is practically junk, anyway, thanks to you. Just. Drive.”

“No need to sound so damn bitter about it,” I grumbled. “You’re independently wealthy, remember?”

“Mason Albrecht,” Quill said through gritted teeth. “I swear, if we survive this, I’m going to punch your insufferable face into pudding. But for now, shut the fuck up and let me focus.”

My mouth flew open for just half of a second, then clamped shut again. I wasn’t going to argue anymore. Survival was way more important than getting the last word in at that point. Quilliam started incanting under his breath again, preparing another spell. I smashed my foot on the gas pedal, then looked for Florian’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Florian, can’t you help reinforce the car, at least until we get to Monica’s place?”

He shook his head briskly. “No can do. I need to be in contact with the earth to be of any use, or at least have plants close by. It’s why I said to pull over.”

I shook my head back. “Not an option at this point.”

“And I agree. But I’m just saying, if we crash, and my face smashes through the windshield, and I make contact with the ground, and somehow survive? Then I can probably help.”

“Excellent optimism,” Quilliam said, without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “But let’s hope that it doesn’t come to that.”

He stood up again, clutching the shredded remains of the roof to steady himself, the air wavering with the flickering red of his shielding spell as he poked half his body out of the car again.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. If Leonora came at him with another fireball, the inside of the car would probably end up mostly protected, but I couldn’t say the same for the top. We’d end up with half of Quilliam’s body, the exposed bits seared to a nice, crispy char. “Get your stupid ass back inside the car before she blasts you to hell.”

“Calm down,” Quill said, which was so much more infuriating considering how he was clearly panicking just moments ago. I ventured a glance to throw him the dirtiest look I could muster, then caught him looking skyward, aiming his hand at clouds I couldn’t see. Then, in the softest voice, as of charcoals slithering through a brazier, Quilliam spoke again.

“Ignis.”

The tremendous roar of fire had me believing that an actual, live dragon had descended from the clouds to douse us in a shower of flames, but the sound was coming out of the palm of Quill’s hand. I could have been whiplashed with how quickly my head moved between glancing at the road ahead and the frightening, frankly awe-inspiring sight of Quilliam J. Abernathy firing a goddamn flamethrower out of his fingers.

A little voice in the back of my head told me to never, ever tell him that I had, at any point in history, found him cool. I bit my bottom lip, pushing on the gas as I maneuvered the streets, this time not breaking focus or flinching, not even when a huge, blackened lump of something crashed to the ground and rolled off the road some feet away from the car.

“What the – holy fuck. Was that Leonora?”

Quilliam pulled himself back into the car, arranging himself across the seat, his face a picture of demoniac smugness. I could have punched his teeth in right there, but he’d just saved our asses twice in one night.

Don’t say thank you, I thought to myself. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“That was so fucking awesome,” Florian yelled, so excited that he was shoving and shaking the back of Quilliam’s seat.