A sparkle of stardust burst around the Cadillac as the pink paint flecked off in thick embers. The transmission, dashboard, and steering wheel changed from the high-tech collection of dials and levers and rotors into a series of bland instruments caked with hard water and dust. The seat cushions dissolved from leather to matted fuzz plastered with duct tape.

The speedometer went from one hundred and ten to seventy in a single instant. Then it dropped to zero as the Cadillac, if it were even still a Cadillac anymore, stopped driving atop the snow and plunged its front wheels into the drift.

The front of the vehicle lost velocity before the back half, so the back half shot up and the entire car cartwheeled through the air and landed upside-down in the snow.

After a moment of blackness, Delaney wrenched her face out of the slush and spat snow. She tried to rub her head but her arm had become entangled with the steering wheel. Warm blood ran down her face. The engine continued to chug.

"What the fuck," she said. No clue if anyone heard her (or still had consciousness), so she tried telepathy. What the fuck.

What did you do Delaney? said Sloan.

I didn't do anything. The car, it, I think it lost its enchantments.

(Chapter 27)