"Spoil-sport," said Ms. Fate, her breathing almost back to normal. "I was just getting warmed up."

"That was a really nasty trick, Mr. Taylor," said Screech. "Almost worthy of an elf."

"Let's get back to the car," I said. "We need to remove ourselves from the vicinity, at speed, before Walker decides to send someone or something really dangerous after us. Those poor fools were just a shot across the bows, to get our attention."

"And," said Ms. Fate, "now he knows what car you're using. So much for the element of surprise."

We all piled back into the Fatemobile, Ms. Fate detaching her cloak and tossing it onto the back seat, where it enveloped Lord Screech. Ms. Fate slapped at various controls, the automatic seat belts did themselves up, and she gripped the ermine-covered steering wheel with her gloved hands.

"Atomic batteries to power, turbines to speed!" she yelled joyously, and slammed her foot down.

The Fatemobile peeled out so fast it took a minute for its shadow to catch up, and bullied its way into the streaming traffic through sheer bravado and force of character. The acceleration pressed me back into my seat, and the sudden turns clanged my eye-balls together. Screech finally freed himself from the folds of Ms. Fate's cape and leaned forward.

"Atomic batteries? Is she joking?"

"Who can tell?" I said. "This is the Nightside. We do things differently here."

"You humans and your toys," said Screech. "I think I'll take a little nap. Wake me up when we get to the Gate."

We shot through the Nightside at breath-taking speed, overtaking most things, intimidating others, and shouldering aside anything that didn't get out of the way fast enough. The Fatemobile might look like a contender for Top Gear's Most Effeminate Car of the Year Award, but it moved like a guided missile, and had enough built-in weapons systems to more than punch its weight.