"Not on me," I said.

"Don't even ask," said Screech.

A whole bunch of werewolves threw themselves in front of the Fatemobile, and we screeched to a halt as they grabbed the front wheels and the undercarriage, forcing the car to a stop. The pack was running in circles around us by then, jumping and leaping and howling beneath the huge Moon. Long, jagged rents appeared in the car's roof as the wolves above us went to work. One wolf reared up beside Lord Screech, and punched the side window. The reinforced glass shattered, leaving a jagged hole through which a huge hairy hand came clawing, reaching for the elf, who calmly grabbed the hairy arm with both his slender hands, and broke the arm in three places with quick, efficient moves. The werewolf yelped piteously, and snatched its arm back. Screech kicked the side-door open and left the car so quickly he was little more than a blur. He grabbed the nearest werewolf, lifted it off the ground and turned it over, and broke its back across his knee. He threw the broken body aside, tore out another wolf's throat with his bare hand, then grabbed another and used it as a club to beat other wolves.

He was hurting them, but he wasn't killing them. They healed almost immediately and came at him again. And the moment he slowed down, they would be all over him.

A werewolf hauled open the driver's seat so quickly he ripped it right off its hinges. Ms. Fate's hand snapped forward, and a silver shuriken sprouted suddenly from the wolf's left eye. He howled horribly and fell backwards, turning half-human again as the pain maddened his mind and he lost control. Ms. Fate stepped quickly out of the car, a shuriken in each hand, and dared the werewolves to come to her. They prowled back and forth before her, showing her their teeth, wary of the silver; waiting for her to drop her guard for just one moment.

A wolf pulled open the door next to me, hauled me right out of my seat, and threw me into the road.