Jace slept terribly that night. Though he was exhausted on the long walk home, when he finally got into bed he couldn’t stop thinking about the possessed car.

He tossed and turned. When he did fall asleep, it was only briefly. His dreams were haunted by flashing headlights, tinny horn sounds, revving engines, and shattering tables and doors.

He shot awake as soon as his alarm went off the next morning.

“Wake up, Jace,” his mom called through the door. “You’re coming with me to pick up your father.”

“But it’s a school day,” he called back. He got up and searched through the clothes on the floor for a pair of shorts.

“You’ll be late,” she said. “Now get dressed and downstairs.”

Jace stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later. He was tired and yawning. The table was gone. The whole mess had been cleaned up.

“Well, I guess we need a new table,” he said.

His mom glared at him over the top of her coffee mug. “We’ll talk about that later,” she said. “And don’t mention it to your dad. He has enough trouble right now.”

Jace, his mom, and Ruth got in the car. As they started down Juniper Lane, heading to the hospital, Mom cleared her throat.

“You snuck out last night,” she said quietly.

Jace froze.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know you were getting rid of the car, and I appreciate that you did.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. “I mean, you’re welcome. I mean, well, you know what I mean.”

She glanced at him and smiled. Jace relaxed against the seat back. Ruth kicked his seat, but it didn’t bother him. His dad was coming home, that car was gone, and everything would be back to normal now.

Then he noticed something dangling from the rearview mirror.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked, sitting up.

Mom smiled. “Do you like it?” she said.

She reached out and wrapped her fingers gently around the rabbit’s foot. She stroked its short fur.

“I found it in the wreckage under the kitchen table,” she said. “I think we could use some good luck after the last couple of days, don’t you?”

“It was in the car,” Jace said in a whisper.

“What are you talking about, honey?” Mom said.

“The rabbit’s foot,” he said.

“Oh?” Mom replied. She clicked on the right-turn signal as they approached the corner of Juniper Lane and Lake Street.

Jace nodded. “And it was in Dad’s car when . . . ,” he said.

He grabbed for the rabbit’s foot, knocking his mom’s hand out of the way.

“Jace!” she snapped.

Jace tore it from the mirror. On the tiny metal band at the chain end of the foot was an inscription: Christina Rose Pope.

Mom swerved as she took the turn onto Lake Street. The car lurched toward a lamppost. She tried to steer it back onto the right side of the road. She slammed on the brake pedal, but the car only sped up.

Ruth shrieked.

Jace pressed the button to open his window. It didn’t budge. He stabbed it over and over, but nothing happened.

The car got faster and faster.

It sped down Lake Street, veering in and out of oncoming traffic.

Mom desperately tried to control the car, to stop it, to keep it from crashing with a car going in the other direction.

“I can’t stop!” Mom shouted.

Jace pulled the handle, trying to open his door. Then he remembered the lock. He flipped the lock open as the car sped off the ramp, toward the woods on the edge of the highway.

The door handle resisted. With a grunt, Jace forced the door open. He tossed the rabbit’s foot out and watched it land in the gutter.

At that moment, the car screeched to a stop, inches from a streetlight.

Jace slammed his door closed. “Drive,” he said.

Several cars had stopped, and their drivers watched as Mom put the car in gear and slowly eased back into traffic.

“I don’t understand,” Mom said. She glanced at Jace. “Maybe you can explain it to me.”

Jace sighed. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said.

“Try me,” Mom said.