Swarm by Scott Westerfeld, Margo Lanagan, Deborah Biancotti Page B

and clamoring between the narrow walls. Thibault slowed, but Chizara overshot, caught in sudden headlights.
    Her feet pedaled and she nearly fell, but she recovered, flinging her arms out wide.
    A shiny black Ford convertible lurched out of the alleyway, headed straight at her.
    But Crash raised a hand, and the gnashing of locked-up brakes joined the screech of tires. The engine choked and died as the car’s chrome grille stopped just short of Chizara’s knees. A cloud of exhaust drifted across her, and Thibault smelled the stink of rubber.
    Nope. These two weren’t locals—this car did not belong in the Heights. It was hugely long, like 1960s long. Its silver trim gleamed against the black, and its interior was all bloodred leather, impeccably restored.
    The guy swore, turning the keys uselessly.
    His girlfriend just looked irritated.
    â€œQuit it, would you?” she said to Chizara. “Don’t you know that’s bad for the engine?”
    Chizara didn’t answer. She looked as stunned as Thibault felt.
    These two weren’t surprised by her power. Not at all.
    The guy spoke up. “Look, give us our car back, okay? Or my girl messes up your head.”
    So she was the one with the power. Was the guy just some rich boyfriend?
    Chizara recovered her cool, laid a hand on the steaming hood.
    â€œMessing with me won’t fix your car. It stays a doorstop until you tell me something. Where do you guys get off, playing with powers in our club?”
    The girl twinkled her fingers at Chizara, her silver rings gleaming. “Oh, you had plans for those dolls?”
    â€œSeriously? Dolls? You could have killed someone!”
    â€œDon’t be so dramatic.” She gave Chizara a makeup-laden eye roll. “What were you planning to do, just let them dance all night?”
    â€œYes!” Chizara cried.
    As they spoke, Thibault made his way around to the passenger side.
    The guy looked bored. “Let’s call it even. We messed with you, you messed with us. I mean, what do you think it feels like, getting shut down right in the middle?”
    â€œYeah, you couldn’t have waited another minute?” the girl said. “We’d have given your dolls back.”
    Chizara glared at them. “What were you even doing ?”
    â€œWhat do you think ?” the girl said. “Do people not know about the birds and the bees in this shitty town?”
    Chizara stared at them. “That was sex?”
    â€œThat was foreplay,” the guy said. “Wait till you see the news tomorrow night.”
    â€œYeah, lotta dolls going to be crying. Sniff.” The girl dabbed at her eye with the back of her wrist. “Now, are you going to start this engine, or do I have to knock your universe silly?”
    Chizara stood tall. “You don’t have a crowd to work with.”
    The girl smiled, tapped her head. “I keep that juice stored up, right here. Just like you do. And if you force me to prove it, I’ll make your crazy permanent.”
    That didn’t sound good, and Chizara looked like she wasn’t going to move.
    Thibault crept closer, ready to grab the girl from behind if she tried anything.
    The guy turned around and looked straight at him. “And that goes for you, too.”
    Thibault froze.
    Chizara stood aside, waved her hand. Something clicked under the hood and then the engine shrieked to life.
    â€œThanks for playing!” the girl shouted.
    The guy spun the wheel expertly, pulling the Ford out ofthe alley. With a rattling engine fart it shot off toward Hill Street. It bucked like a nervous show pony at the corner and swerved out into the traffic.
    â€œOregon plates,” Thibault said.
    Chizara grabbed his arm and pulled him along the street.
    â€œWe should follow them. You got any money for a cab?” She skidded to a halt. “Oh, right. You never need cash. And my bag’s back at the Dish. Damn it.”
    â€œWait. I do