Liza screamed in pain and rage.

Hilda just screamed in pure rage.

The vampires’ eyes turned red and fangs sprang from their mouths. They poofed and became black mists, filling the back of the truck before whooshing out the rear window.

Like living fog, they flowed up where the gunman held on with one hand, firing more rounds into the truck.

Hilda’s black mist formed an impenetrable cloud on top of the truck while Rip sped down the street, blocking the view of bystanders as Liza materialized over the man.

He looked up, eyes widening at her mouth full of teeth and her red hate-filled eyes.

She pounced.

He screamed once, a loud cry of horror suddenly choked off.

Moments later, Liza unceremoniously kicked his drained body off the vehicle and pocketed his gun. She joined her sister in becoming mist and together the two streamed back inside, rematerializing on the passenger bench along the wall.

No one said anything for a moment.

Rip glanced through the opening between the cab and the back, and noticed Liza’s ear looked fully restored. Neither woman seemed particularly happy at the moment, though.

Chance stared at them, aghast. He tried to move closer to the back door.

Twig, more used to the sisters’ capabilities, kept his attention focused out the back window.

“Heads up! One more bloke is coming for us. Looks like he’s got dynamite.”

“Well, that’s not going to be good for the bloomin’ horses,” Chance snapped, turning his attention from the girls to the window.

“Don’t start, you. Caltrops are horrible for horses and not just the ones villains ride. Until they’re picked up—”

Finley said, “Will you two kindly shut up? I need a good shot.”

She shoved them both out of the way and leaned out the back window with her Webley, firing off a quick round that missed.

The rider put the reins in his mouth, pulled out a match and struck it. Then he cupped his hands around the fuse.

Finley fired again, just as Rip jerked the wheel to avoid a cart, making her miss once more.

The rider grabbed his reins again, holding onto the dynamite and dodging another shot. He dug his heels into the horse’s side, urging it onward.

Just as the fuse burned down to a nub, he tossed it at the truck, then ducked when Finley fired once more.

A huge explosion sounded behind them, heat and forced air rushing through the rear window of the truck.

“I’m out,” Finley said. “Hand me a gun.”

Twig pulled out a little FN semi-auto. She looked at it and snorted.

“Hmph. Twenty-five caliber.”

“Careful and don’t shoot the horse with it, milady.”

She gave him a disgusted look.

“No loss if I do. We eat horses, you know. They’re delicious.”

Twig gave her a horrified glare as she leaned out the window again to continue shooting.

But the horseman surprised her, having lit another stick and closing the gap while she was distracted.

Before she could fire again he tossed the dynamite hard, sending it beneath the truck. Then he pulled back on the reins to stop his horse.

The dynamite exploded under the rear wheels, bouncing the back part up and shredding the tires.

The truck came down with a hard thump and Rip’s speed reduced dramatically.

“They got us,” he said, checking the steam gauge. He floored the accelerator, but with two blown tires in the back, the speedometer displayed his futile efforts by going down . . . down.

“He’s approaching again,” Blair said. “We’re almost there, I can see the gazebo.”

Rip nodded and kept the pedal to the floor. Chunks of rubber sprayed off the back.

The man clicked his tongue and the horse sped up close to the truck. Rip threw on the brakes, lurching to a halt. The horse had no time to stop and slammed into the back, knocking the man off.

Twig cried out in horror, poking his head out to check on the animal. It looked stunned, but remained on its feet, snorting and shaking its head.

The man stood up and dodged when Finley shoved Twig out of the way and opened fire.

Blair pulled herself out the window with the Tommy gun again, but the horseman stayed on the opposite side. He dodged the 25s Finley shot, diving behind a trashcan.

“This thing has horrible accuracy! I can’t hit the side of a barn with it!”

“Aim to the right, Lady Finley. But please don’t hit that horse!”

“I’m not able to hit anything with this peashooter! Somebody hand me a real gun!”

Rip jumped the curb as the last of the rear tires flew off. The rims dug into cobblestones, sending sparks flying out the back of the truck in rooster tails.

“What are you doing?” Blair said, pulling back inside.

Ahead, the white gazebo loomed.

“Heading for the stairs.”

“You can’t drive down there!”

“We’ll be blown up if we try to get out and fight. That guy’s still out there.”

“I see him!” Finley shouted.

The man raced forward on foot, with a lit stick of dynamite in his hand.

At the last second, Rip pulled hard on the wheel and drove straight between two marble columns toward the stairs.

The nose of the truck went down the steps. They lurched to a screeching stop, sheet metal scraping against stone as it stuck inside the stairwell, its rear sticking out the top with the rims still spinning.

Blair glared at him across the seat, her temper flaring.

“This is a fine spot!”

He smiled at her and pivoted, bringing his feet up. Rip kicked with all his might, knocking the windshield out. It clattered down the stairs, shattering. He jumped out after it.

“Everybody squeeze through to the front!”

Blair’s face dropped as she realized what he was doing. She wasted no time, climbing over the hood and down to the steps.

The vampires misted again, flowing in black smoke out of the back and halfway down the stairs before rematerializing.

Twig and Chance gently pulled Lady Finley from the rear window, where she held on with a Tommy gun now, ready to take the last horseman. They pushed her through the compartment window, gravity assisting, then followed her into the cab and out over the hood.

That left Bixby and Sharp.

“After you, old chum,” Bixby said.

“No, I insist.”

Bixby nodded and climbed through the compartment window.

Just as Sharp was about to follow, he heard a slap against metal, and a sharp hissing noise.

He looked down at a stick of dynamite near his feet, its fuse almost gone.

“Oh, bother.”