she says through her stretch, voice unconcerned.
“May as well be comfortable.”
“Are we in danger?”
This is the most important question.
She sighs.
“No. You’re not in danger.”
(0)
I notice how she says I’m not, but she doesn’t say we’re not. (3)
“Are they looking for you or me?”
Lyre turns her head again, opening her eyes to stare at me. She doesn’t answer, saying instead,
“We can run if you want. Pack up right now. Drive all night. Find some random parking lot when I can’t drive anymore, then keep going.”
Someone shouts on the TV, but neither of us break our stare-lock.
“But they’ll catch up,”
she continues matter-of-factly.
“It might take longer, but they will. And you’ll be tired, hungry, and scared when they do.”
My throat tightens.
“So what’s your solution? Just wait here for them to catch up?”
Lyre waves a hand, encompassing the room in a single gesture.
“My solution is to be comfortable. There’s no danger, so why run? Better to deal with it now, with our bellies full and our bodies rested.”
“Okay, well, now I know they’re coming, and I’m scared. So why won’t you just tell me who’s coming?”
I lean forward, trying not to let my voice rise too much. She’s my benefactor, and I think she’s my friend, so there’s only so far I can push.
But I’m pushing anyway.
Lyre scratches at her cheek, squinting at the ceiling.
“I know what is coming, Grace, but I don’t know who carries the fate.”
O
I frown, my patience wearing thin.
“Can you just give me a direct answer for once?”
Lyre’s eyes meet mine, strangely luminous in the dimly lit camper.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
She taps her temple with one finger.
“Clarity isn’t part of the package.”
(2)
Something inside me snaps. The fear, the uncertainty, the cryptic half-answers-it’s too much.
“What are you?”
The question bursts out of me, fueled by desperation and fear.
“You talk about fate and you knew about my scars without looking and you know when invisible cats are dangerous or not and-“
I drop my voice to a harsh whisper.
“Someone’s following us, and all you can tell me is I’m not in danger. But there’s more to being alive than just breathing. I ran away for a reason. So tell me what you know!”
Lyre tilts her head, her multicolored hair catching the lamplight.
“You said it didn’t matter what I was.”
She doesn’t even address the rest of what I word-vomited at her.
Heat rushes to my face, I’m not sure if it’s shame or anger.
“That was before you started acting weird and not giving me straight answers.”
“Humans. You’re all the same.”
She sits up straight, her eyes suddenly hard and gleaming, like polished stones.
“You say one thing but change your minds so capriciously. ‘It doesn’t matter what you are, Lyre.’ Until it does. Until you’re scared. Until you need something.”
The disappointment in her voice is like a slap to the face, and I flinch. My shoulders slump. She’s taken me in out of kindness, and I’m here demanding more and more.
But isn’t it normal to want clear answers? Wouldn’t it be normal to be frustrated in this situation?
Still, it seems like I’ve hurt her feelings, too…
“I’m sorry,”
I murmur, clinging to the pillow like a lifeline.
“I really don’t care what you are. I just…”
Three sharp knocks echo through the camper, and I jump.
Lyre sighs.
“Put on your shirt, Grace. They’re here.”
CAINE
The warlock is an annoying companion on a long drive, but his ability to track the girl’s presence is little short of miraculous.
“I’m telling you,”
Jack-Eye says, gesturing wildly in the cramped backseat at Thom,
“a woolly mammoth would absolutely destroy an elephant in combat. Thicker fur, larger tusks-built for the ice age, man.”
Thom shakes his head. His glasses slip down his nose, and he pushes them back with trembling fingers.
“Elephants have superior intelligence and agility. African bull elephants can weigh up to seven tons and reach nearly thirteen feet. Your mammoth would be too slow.”
“Too slow? Are we forgetting they hunted in packs?”
Jack-Eye counters.
This conversation has lasted at least the last thirty miles. It started, oddly enough, with a conversation about chickens.
“We’re discussing a one-on-one arena battle, Thom says, voice steady despite his physical weakness.
“Not a pack hunt.”
Their absurdity grates on my nerves, and I clutch the steering wheel harder.
“How much longer?”
I ask, interrupting their inane debate without guilt.
“Three point seven miles, still in the same location,”
Thom answers, not missing a beat.
“Even without the pack there-“
“This entire discussion is idiotic,”
I say through gritted teeth.
“Woolly mammoths are extinct.”
Fenris’s voice is a low grumble. They’re just trying to pass the time. Not everyone broods in silence like you.
I don’t brood. I contemplate.
Four hours of contemplating how to approach the girl doesn’t count as brooding? 2
I ignore him, focusing on the road signs flashing past in the darkness. Three point seven miles. There’s a tug in my chest, almost a whisper of premonition telling me I’m close. The distance between us has become physical pain-like someone slowly peeling back layers of skin.
“How about now?”
I ask.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.