“The hills? Like, banjos and toothless dudes? Yeah. We’ll blend there.”
I almost snapped. “What’s your idea, Goth Boy? Whatever it is, it better be good and it better involve money. My stash isn’t going to last forever, and getting more isn’t a huge trick, but it takes planning. I know what I’m doing, I’ve done this before, stop riding me!”
I didn’t realize how sharp my tone was until Ash’s head poked up in back. He stared at me, warily, little orange sparks threading through his irises. I let out a long sharp breath.
Calming down was not going so well.
“Sorry.” I continued. My voice was very small. “Go back to sleep, Ash. I’m just tired.”
Ash tilted his head and settled back down. I could tell just from the staticky silence that he was awake, and watchful.
“We could stop and rest.” Graves actually relaxed a little, settling into the seat. “Wish I could drive. I just . . . I wanna help, Dru. I wanna do something.”
I nodded. My jaw hurt, because I was clenching my teeth. Yeah. I wish you could help me too. There’s no help for this, Graves. I’m all we’ve got right now, and I got to start thinking. But I’m so goddamn tired. I unfroze my jaw. “There’s a map in the glove box. Open it up and find where we are, then I’ll ask questions.”
I didn’t really need to; I’d planned out our route at the rest stop while Graves took Ash into the little boys’. Now there was something I could be grateful that I didn’t have to do.
“You got it.” He looked happy to be given a task, the green glow coming back into his eyes, and when he had the map out he dug in the pocket of his long black coat and fished out a pack of Winstons. I glanced at him, my eyebrows raised.
He actually smiled. It was a thin bitter grimace, but better than nothing. “Swiped ’em from the rest-stop vending machine. You mind?”
It was my turn to shrug. “Knock yourself out.”
“Goddamn. It’ll be my first since they . . . you know. Can’t wait.” His eyes lit up, and for the first time he actually looked . . . well, like himself. Instead of a thin wounded shadow of the boy I . . . liked? Loved? Didn’t know what the hell to do with?
Yeah. Graves was full of surprises. I don’t know why I always felt it right under my ribs, high up on the left side, every damn time he pulled one out.
But my shoulders went down, I took a deep breath, and by the time the cigarette lighter popped out I could actually lighten up on the wheel a bit. My fingers were no longer white-knuckled, and after another ten miles Ash actually started to wheeze-snore a little. I tacked our speed on up to seventy and settled in.
PART ONE
CHAPTER TWO
We didn’t make the sort of time I hoped, but we got there. By late evening on the third day we were all sick of each other. Graves lit another cigarette, and the brief flare from the lighter he’d found somewhere made me blink.
I slowed down even more, squinting through the film of road grime on the windshield. The car bumped over washboard, and Ash made a small puppy sound from the backseat.
I hoped he wasn’t trying to tell me he needed to pee. “We’re almost there,” I said for the hundredth time. “Just hold on.”
“Where the fuck are we?” Graves clutched at the dash. “There’s no light.”
I knew what he meant. When night falls in deep Appalachia, it falls hard. There’s precious little orange citylight or townglow out here where the trees press close and the land pleats up like Gran’s face when she tasted something disagreeable. Up on the ridge roads sometimes you have star and moon to go by, when you can see them through the trees. But down in the hollers the dark is a living thing, and our little cone of headlight shine didn’t show much except the rutted-out road between dust-bleached, choke-close trees. A few places even had creepers coming across the road, a sure sign that nobody had been up this way by car in a while. We’d left town behind at dusk, and I was feeling my way.
The last turn—a sharp, almost axle-breaking right—and I could feel the trees drawing away. The road disappeared in a sea of high grass, and our headlights swam through it.
“Jesus,” Graves almost moaned. “There’s no road. Does this place have plumbing?”
“Will you quit bitching?” I’ll admit it. I snarled. My ponytail was a mess, and curls hung in my face. “There’s a well, and an outhouse. It’s better than being killed by vampires.”
“Bang,” Ash piped up, but softly. He was scooting between windows, looking on one side, then sliding across the seat to look out the other way. The car rocked slightly every time he did it, and I’d given up trying to buckle him in. The grocery bags in the backseat—enough to get us through a couple days, at least—rustled, and I groped for the window crank. My window rolled down, and the smell of spring, thin earth, rock, trees, creepers, the familiar metal tang of the crick down the way—it all about rocked me back on my heels.
It smelled like home.
The boys were quiet for a little while.
“You’re smiling.” Graves said it like he was surprised. He could probably see me just fine in the glow from the dash.
I found out I was. It wasn’t a big wide stupid grin, but it felt close. “Smells like home, that’s all. I lived here for a long time.”
“That must be the drawl you’ve got. Southern honey, anyone?” Lightly teasing, and amused.