LYRE
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, counting each breath the oversized wolf takes from the passenger seat.
Inhale. Exhale. Each one sounds like someone slowly deflating a balloon made of sandpaper. If I weren't tracking the faint magical signature pulsing at the edge of my awareness, I might conjure a plastic bag just to get some peace.
"So where exactly are we headed?" Jack-Eye asks, his voice carrying the forced politeness people use when they think you're being unreasonable.
The pulsing grows stronger, moving toward the eastern edge of the city. They're still on the move.
"I told you," I snap, taking a hard left as my tires squeal, "I don't know yet."
"Not to be difficult, but that's hard to believe." He braces one hand against the dashboard. "You're obviously driving somewhere."
