But the pace picked up a little as she cleared West Four, and she was able to lift into the upper lane, where she increased her speed. The driver before her was riding so close to the tail of the car in front of him that any sudden slowdown would send him careening into it. Kit eased up on the throttle; she did not want to be part of a pileup. Cars were packed in so tightly there was no room to maneuver. One vehicle spinning out of control would take a dozen or so with it.

She slowed still more as she passed South Zero and dipped to the middle lane, weaving a little to try to get ahead of a cautious driver. Actually, if she dropped to the bottom level, speeded up, and darted back upward, she might be able to—

The tunnels before her blossomed into an orange panorama of fire. She saw the colors before she heard the explosion. The world was nothing but a rage of scarlet dotted with spinning black shapes—ringcars tossed backward by the force of a powerful blast. Even before the first ringcar barreled backward into hers, she felt her vehicle buck and shudder from the shock waves, and she fought the controls to keep it steady. Everywhere around her was the slam and screech of metal hitting stone and metal. She felt a hundred small collisions as ringcars from above and behind knocked into hers and in turn were hit by others. That was all a matter of seconds; then a ringcar before her came hurtling backward, red with fire, black with smoke, and plowed into her car. Her body smashed sideways into the wall; her neck seemed to snap in two. Another collision rammed her against the opposite wall—and then another and another, until she was too hurt and dizzy to count. The heat was impossible. She couldn’t breathe. Her right arm felt both leaden and tortured. Had she broken it? She couldn’t twist her head far enough to take a look.

Then behind her, the second explosion went off. She felt it, though she could not turn her head to view it. There was nothing she could do. Oddly, she felt no fear, no panic, nothing but an irresistible lassitude. She closed her eyes and thought how easy it would be to fall asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Leesa left the morning after the ball. Just as Nolan had felt his perceptions alter when she arrived, so did he feel them realign the day that she packed up her belongings and departed. What confused him was wondering what was reality—the world as colored by Leesa or the world viewed through his own lens. For surely the world itself was unvarying, unchanged. He was the one going through permutations.