Chapter 19

After making the call to the police, we vanish from Skykomish and hurry east.

We cross the mountains and drive through endless fields beneath a sky so blue it doesn’t look real. I stare at the mashed-potato clouds, and despite knowing who I am and where I’m going, I feel a sort of calm settle in my stomach. I keep thinking of Cyn, and wishing we could walk together. I would point to the crops and tell her the name of each, and how my mom knew how to cook delicious food from every vegetable.

If I ever get out of this, that’s what I’m going to do.

It’s late when we stop at a pitiful excuse for a town, just a few buildings at the crossroads and wheat fields whispering around us. Crickets chirp beneath the darkening purple sky. A cantaloupe moon glows orange above, about as bright as the old streetlights with moths swirling around them—waning, but still three-quarters full. A shiver trickles down my shoulders, nothing more. When will the Lycanthrox finally wear off?

Randall parks outside a café and checks his watch. “Time for dinner.”

I nod, and my stomach rumbles in agreement.

We walk into the café. Inside, it looks kind of like an old diner, kind of like a rustic restaurant. On one of the tables, there’s a half-finished, thousand-piece puzzle of a train. The place seems abandoned.

“Hello?” Randall calls.

A white-bearded guy who looks as rundown as the town shuffles out of the back room, drying his hands on his pants. “Evening! My name’s Ford.”

What, like the car? I glance at Randall, but he doesn’t offer our names.

“What’ll it be?” Ford says.

“What do you have?” Randall asks, settling in a chair.

“Well…” Ford squints as if remembering. “We have the bacon and cheese sandwich, the grilled cheese, the eggs and ham…” He rambles on for another minute or two while Randall gazes out the window.

Outside, Isabella and Jessie’s red convertible cruises up, top down, Cyn in the back.

I clear my throat. “I’ll have the bacon and cheese, the Reuben, and some curly fries. Oh, and a slice of blackberry pie with vanilla ice cream, please.”

Randall glances at me, his eyebrows raised. “You got money?”

“Uh…” I reach into the pockets of my jeans, but of course I don’t have my wallet.

Randall grins, his teeth bright. “It’s on me.”

“All right, then,” Ford says. “And you, sir?”

“Biscuits, gravy, sausage. Thanks.”

Ford nods and shuffles off again. I joggle my leg while we wait, and Randall reads a yellowed brochure on tractors. The bell on the door jingles and in walk Jessie and Isabella, followed by Cyn. They stop when they see us.

“Oh,” Cyn says, “they beat us to it.” Her cheeks look flushed from the convertible ride.

My stomach tightens when I see her looking so windswept-beautiful like that. There’s a wild glint in her eyes, what she likes to call adventurous.

“That’s all right,” Isabella says. “Not enough of us here for Winema to worry.”

Cyn drifts toward the opposite side of the café, sitting in a corner booth. Isabella glances at us, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“Hey,” Randall says, waving.

Isabella approaches him. “We’ve got about an hour, and then we’re moving out. Winema doesn’t want us staying still for too long.”

“Makes sense.”

Ford reappears. “It’ll be a minute,” he says to us. “Got to wake the cook.”

Isabella clears her throat, and he looks at her as if he just noticed.

“Evening! My, we don’t get this many visitors usually! What would you like?”

“A menu, please.”

Ford rummages behind a counter. “Those are a little… outdated…”

“Well, then,” Isabella says with a smile, “we’ll have your special of the day.”

“Sounds good.” Ford glances between Isabella and Jessie—I’ll bet their dark skin looks foreign to him—and then his eyes settle on the fading streak of flamingo pink in Cyn’s hair. “Where are you folks from? Down south?”

“Why, yes.” Isabella gives Ford a sweet smile. “And we’re all very famished.”

Nodding to himself, Ford disappears into the back again. He shouts something, though I can’t make out the words.

“Wow,” Cyn murmurs. “I didn’t think towns like this still existed.”

Isabella chuckles. “This one is only barely existing.”

From the kitchen, I hear bacon sizzling, followed by the aroma of crispy-smoky deliciousness. My stomach rumbles like thunder. I start dreaming about how my sandwiches are going to crunch between my teeth.

After a couple of minutes, Randall clears his throat and shuffles his feet. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”

I shrug.

“I’m going to make a call, all right?” He stands. “Stay out of trouble.”

I shrug again. Randall strides out the door. I pick up the tractor brochure he left and pretend to be interested while I eavesdrop on Jessie and Isabella. They aren’t talking very loudly, but my hearing is sharper than it used to be.

“Have you ever met Cliff Sterling?” Isabella says.

“No,” Jessie says. “Why?”

“They say he never goes anywhere without a gold-and-blue lily pinned to his lapel. It’s a gift from the Faerie Queen. His lover.”

Jessie rolls her eyes. “Why would she fool around with a werewolf?”

“Think about it.” Isabella arches her eyebrows. “His pack has a monopoly on bootleg faerie wine. And he looks a whole lot younger than his age, thanks to being one of the Faerie Queen’s favorites. Her magic rubs off on him.”

Jessie laughs. “Oh really? I should find myself a faerie, if it’s better than Botox.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s got to be the Faerie Queen.”

Jessie grimaces. “Never mind.” She pauses. “What about sleeping with Cliff? Would that work? I hear he’s real handsome.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply,” Isabella says.

Cyn’s gaze flicks between the two women as they talk. She’s obviously curious. Hopefully not about meeting Cliff herself.

Jessie grabs a menu from another table. “Lord, nothing is cheap anymore. We can’t afford all this.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Cyn says.

Jessie smiles wickedly. “Oh, but we’re going to fatten you up, little girl.”

Cyn returns her smile. “I think that’s Hansel and Gretel, not Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Fairy tales.” Jessie snorts, but she can’t help looking amused. She leans back and crosses her legs. “Maybe you can help us.”

“Help?” Cyn says. “What sort of help?”

“You’ll see,” Jessie says.

Isabella gives her sister a look. “We’re talking financial help?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Jessie says, and she stands.

Shit. This doesn’t sound good.

“Excuse me, sir!” Jessie calls through the back door. “Could I ask a question?”

In a muffled voice, Ford calls, “Yes?”

“Do you have any gluten-free foods? My cousin is allergic.”

He pokes his head through the doorway, a puzzled scowl on his face. “Gluten?”

“Wheat products.” Jessie waves at the fields outside with a sigh. “No?” She glances at Cyn. “I guess we’ll just have to go back to that gas station and try to make a dinner out of snacks. Sorry, hon.”

Cyn frowns, but she has no allergies that I know about.

“Just a minute,” Ford says to Jessie, and he turns to Cyn. “What can you eat?”

“Um…” Face red, Cyn glances at Isabella, then shrugs.

“Let me see,” Jessie says, “what you’ve got round back.”

She’s already walking behind the counter, hips swaying in an I’m-in-charge-here way. Ford runs his hand over his thin white hair, waves his arm as if it were his idea to let Jessie into the back, and then follows at her heels.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Isabella stands. “Wait there, Cynthia.”

And Cyn doesn’t say anything, just nods.

Isabella ducks behind the counter next, but she doesn’t follow Jessie into the back room. Instead, she slides over to the cash register and smiles. She hits a few buttons with expert speed, and the till clanks open with a ring.

Cyn sucks in her breath, her eyes bright.

Isabella scoops all of the money out of the register, unzips her purse, and drops the bills in. Then, she shuts the cash register and steps away just as Jessie and Ford walk out of the back room. The smallest of nods passes between the sisters.

“Find anything?” Isabella says, her hand on her hip like she was waiting there.

“No.” Jessie shakes her head. “Don’t want to risk it.”

Cyn’s sitting bolt upright, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. But she still isn’t saying anything. Dammit, do I have to talk?

Just then, Randall walks back in, sliding his phone into his pocket.

Isabella taps him on the shoulder. “You might want to get yours to go.”

“To go?” A shadow of understanding passes over his face. “Now?”

“Yes,” she says. “Unless you just want to come with us.”

Randall’s hand closes around the door handle. “We’re coming with you.”

“But…” Ford looks between them, confusion in his watery eyes. “I can make you something special, without any of that gluten stuff…”

This is ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.

I shove my chair away from the table and lumber to my feet. “Excuse me,” I say. “But could I have a word, sir?”

Ford frowns and rubs his nose. “Sorry?”

Randall’s hand clamps on my biceps so hard it bruises. “It’s not worth the trouble.”

“But—”

“Have a nice night,” Randall says to Ford, as he steers me outside.

Isabella and Jessie stroll out after us with Cyn. Isabella squeezes her plump purse, then vaults over the closed door of the red convertible and lands in the driver’s seat, laughing. Jessie shushes her, but she can’t help smiling too. Cyn looks somewhat dazed, a pink flush in her cheeks—what’s she thinking right now?

“I can’t believe you two,” Randall says, shaking his head. “We’d better get out of here.”

Jessie leans against the hood of the convertible and grins. “And visit a decent restaurant!”

“That was unbelievable,” Cyn says in a quiet voice.

I give her a look. “You didn’t have to let them do that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She glares at me as she climbs into the convertible.

“They robbed an old man!”

Randall shushes me and drags me into the blue pickup. “Shut the hell up before you get us all arrested, bloodborn.”

“I’d love to see you get arrested.”

He growls under his breath and slams the door behind me.

As we drive away, I see Ford in the doorway, frowning, his hand raised in goodbye.

“Makes me sick,” I say. “How can you do shit like that?”

Randall keeps his eyes on the nighttime road. “Where else are we going to get money?”

“You’re all criminals.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

He rolls down the window, and the wind of our passing hisses through the wheat.

“Maybe if you tried earning some money for once, instead of making things worse—”

“Oh, so you have a job?”

“No, but—”

“That’s what I thought.” Randall shakes his head. “Good luck putting that on your resume. ‘Werewolf seeking position as nanny.’”

I laugh, then swallow. Don’t want to sound like I actually think he’s funny.

“Your girlfriend didn’t seem all that bothered,” he says.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

Randall smiles, kind of smugly. He turns on the radio and fiddles with the dial. A new hit by Bloodless fills the truck. “Too late to understand/Too late to go back now/I’ve crossed the turning point/By turning you.”

“You like?” he says.

I realize I’m nodding my head to the music and stop myself. “Yeah,” I grunt.

“It’s about being bloodborn, you know,” he says. “Vampires, of course.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “Everybody knows all vampires are bloodborn. No baby vampires.” I think for a minute. “Not like werepuppies.”

Randall just snorts.

“You guys hate each other, right? Leeches versus curs?”

“That’s a stereotype. We get in fights occasionally, but the bloodborn have to stick together.”

“Do not use this as an opportunity to try and convince me we should be best buds.”

Randall laughs, and startlingly enough, it sounds genuine. “You know, I really only care about you not getting killed on my watch or going on a murderous rampage. Other than that, I don’t care if we’re barely on speaking terms.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter.

“But if you try hard enough,” Randall says, “you might be good enough for the pack.”

“Like I’d want that.”

“Well, you don’t really have many other options.” His forehead furrows. “I mean, I’ve tried living as a lone wolf. It sucks.”

I hide a shiver. “So this is it? My life from now on?”

“This is only the beginning,” Randall says, and he turns up the music.