Tick Tock

path, because as they made the left turn, they were struck again, clipped only at the extreme back end of the vehicle but hit with tremendous force, an impact that made Tommy's ears ring and jarred through every bone, and the Jaguar spun. They went through one full revolution, and then another, perhaps a third, and Tommy felt as though he had been tossed into an industrial-size clothes dryer.
    Tyres stuttered across the pavement, tyres exploded, rubber remnants slapped loudly against fender wells, and steel wheel rims scraped-shrieked across the pavement. Pieces of the car tore free, clattered along the undercarriage, and were gone.
    But the Jaguar didn't roll over. It came out of the spin, rattling and pinging, lurching like a hobbled horse, but on all four wheels.
    Tommy extracted himself from the cramped floor space between front and back seats, scrambled up, and looked out the rear window.
    The dog joined him at the window, ear to ear.
    As before, the Peterbilt had overshot the intersection.
    “How was that for driving,” Del demanded.
    Mother Phan said, “You never get insurance again.”
    Beside Tommy, the Labrador whimpered.
    Even Deliverance Payne was not going to be able to coax any speed out of the Jaguar in its current debilitated condition. The sports car chugged forward, loudly rattling and clanking, hissing, pinging, pitching and yawing, spouting steam, haemorrhaging fluids—like one of those rattletrap pickup trucks that comic hillbillies always drove in the movies.
    Behind them, the huge Peterbilt reversed into the intersection through which they had just been flung.
    “We've got at least two blown tyres,” Del said, “and the oil pressure is dropping fast.”
    “Not far,” said Tommy's mother. “Garage door be open, you pull in, all safe.”
    “What garage door?” Del asked.
    “Garage door at Quy's house.”
    “Oh, yes, the hairdresser witch.”
    “She no witch. Just come from Xan River, learn few things when she was girl.”
    “Sorry if I caused offence,” Del said.
    “There, see, two houses ahead on right, lights on. Garage door open, you pull in, Quy Dai close door, all safe.”
    The demon driver shifted gears, and the Peterbilt pulled into the street behind them. Its headlights swept across the rear window, across Tommy.
    Scootie whimpered again. He licked Tommy's face, either to reassure him or to say goodbye.
    Facing front, wiping dog slobber off his cheek, Tommy said, “How can I be safe? It's not dawn yet. The thing will see where we've gone.”
    “Can't follow there,” his mother said.
    “I'm telling you, it'll drive straight through the house,” he predicted.
    “No. Quy is one who made doll, called spirit from underworld, so it not allowed hurt her. Can't enter house if Quy Trang Dai herself don't make invitation.”
    “With all due respect, Mom, I don't think we can count on demons being quite that polite.”
    “No, your mother's probably right,” Del said. “The supernatural world operates on its own laws, rather like we operate under the laws of physics.”
    As the inside of the car grew bright again from the headlights behind, Tommy said, “If the damn thing drives the damn truck into the damn house and kills me, who do I complain to—Albert Einstein or the pope?”
    Del turned right into the driveway, and the car creaked-clanked-clanged, wobbled-rolled-rocked-heaved into the open, lighted garage. When she braked to a stop, the engine coughed and stalled. The rear axle snapped, and the back of the Jaguar crashed to the garage floor.
    Behind them the big door rolled down.
    Tommy's mother climbed out of the car.
    When he followed her, he heard the shrill air brakes of the Peterbilt. Judging by the sound, the truck had pulled to the curb and stopped in front of the house.
    A slender birdlike Vietnamese woman, about the size of a twelve-year-old girl, with a face as sweet as butterscotch pudding, stood at the interior door between the garage and the house. She was wearing a pink jogging suit and athletic shoes.
    Mother Phan spoke to this woman briefly in Vietnamese, and then introduced her as Quy Trang Dai.
    Mrs. Dai appeared crestfallen when she faced Tommy. “So sorry about mistake. Terrible dumb mistake. Feel like stupid, worthless, ignorant old fool, want to throw myself in pit of river vipers, but have no pit here and no vipers either.” Her dark eyes welled with tears. “Want to throw myself in pit so bad.”
    “Well,” Del said to Tommy, “are you going to kill her?”
    “Maybe