Sloan grabbed the roof of the car and stepped on the rest in the door. The dolls cackled and cackled and cackled as she made geriatric motions to scale the side of the speeding Corvette. A more nimble Magical Girl would simply backflip out the door and onto the roof. Sloan's coat flapped in the wind.

One of the dolls hurled its spear like a javelin. Sloan threw herself against the door and swung into the open air to avoid the bolt. She wrapped her hands around the handle. The hinges groaned as a blast of wind jerked the door back and slammed Sloan against the frame. Still she held, her feet dangling inches from the snow-drenched asphalt, her ride weaving through aimless curved roads.

(Chapter 24)