She almost protested. He didn’t know what happened. She hadn’t been the one taking the risk. She was trying to help Jay, that’s all. He clearly needed it.
Yet, all things considered, a fight about responsibility was the last thing she or her father needed. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll rinse this mess off before the toxic waste makes me a superpowered villain.” She removed her soggy shoes and headed for the staircase.
“Ellie?” her father called.
Ellie paused on the first step, turning. “Yes?”
“We will honor your cousin’s last wishes,” he said. “Together. As a family.”
“As a family,” she agreed.
SIX
THE THING ABOUT TEXAS: it’s big. Some Texans will insist that it’s the biggest state in the US of A, and although that isn’t true, they’re close enough. The drive from Texarkana to McAllen takes fourteen hours. Somebody can finish a road trip across New England—Maine to Connecticut—in less time. That said, Ellie enjoyed watching the world pass outside her window. She gazed at farm animals and great, gnarled trees amid corncob meadows. A rainbow of southern wildflowers bloomed alongside the road.
As her father listened to his favorite long-haul driving music (eighties rock), Ellie scrutinized her memories of Trevor. There were no clues, no warnings, that hinted at his violent death. If lives were books, his final chapter came too soon and belonged to a different genre.
At three years old, Ellie thought Trevor was old and wise. He’d just gone through a growth spurt and was taller than her parents. Trevor used to pick her up and spin. Though he never went too quickly, Ellie felt like she was flying.
After Ellie learned how to read and type, Trevor tried to hook her on his favorite MMORPG, but she just wanted to read his comic books. He had so many; how did he afford them all? He explained that high school students could work part-time once they turned sixteen. “Sometimes I tutor kids,” Trevor said. “If you ever need help with math, that’s my best subject.”
“Thanks, but I’m good at school,” she said. “Can I borrow those?” Ellie pointed to a stack of Mothman Detective comics beside his lumpy beanbag chair.
“Ask your mom,” he said. “They’re really violent.”
Her parents both said no. Instead, Ellie borrowed a copy of Jupiter Jumper.
Over a hundred issues of Jupiter Jumper later, fourteen-year-old Ellie visited Trevor in South Texas. She had not seen him since he moved to Kunétai, the Rio Grande, to be an elementary school teacher and father. When Ellie and Trevor greeted each other, she tried to shake his hand, and he laughed, and she wasn’t nervous anymore. He introduced Ellie to his new wife, a woman named Lenore. Lenore had the kind of streaked, layered hair that required maintenance every six weeks, and she smelled like gardenias. The perfume was subtle enough that Ellie only noticed it when Lenore hugged her.
Because Trevor and Lenore both worked as teachers during the school year, they had a quick, purely legal wedding in the spring, with a family wedding and honeymoon planned for summer vacation. “Where are you going?” Ellie asked.
“First, we’re visiting my great-grandparents in Guadalajara,” Lenore said. “They won’t be able to fly up here for the marriage ceremony.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Ellie said. “Where are you going after that?”
“Across the Atlantic. England, France, Spain.” Lenore counted the countries on her fingers, highlighting long French-tip nails.
Trevor said, “The Apache invade back!”
“Don’t make that joke when we’re traveling,” Lenore said. “Some people won’t understand.”
“You think it’s funny, though, right?”
“No! And it’s not even true.”
According to Ellie’s mother, who was a library of family knowledge (including gossip), that was a common point of contention between them. Lenore, who was a mix of Spanish and unknown ancestry, wasn’t Native, but Trevor figured marriage could change that. After all, their children would be Lipan, and culture was the most important part of belonging. That’s what he always said. But Lenore had her own culture, her own experiences. It was one of those complex, deeply personal matters of identity with no one-size-fits-all answer, and Ellie wasn’t looking forward to a rehash of old arguments. To change the subject, she demonstrated all the tricks Kirby knew. Appear. Disappear. Heel. Sit, stay, roll over, play dead-dead. Track. Listen. Levitate object.
“He is so much cleverer than my momma’s Pom!” Lenore said, trying to pet the shimmering air. Kirby leaned against her hand, basking in her praise.
“Someday, I can teach your oldest kid how to wake the dead,” Ellie offered. “I don’t plan to have my own.”
“No, no, no,” Lenore said. “My hypothetical babies won’t learn ghost secrets. Death is a natural end point.”
Ellie pet Kirby, too. It felt odd, like trying to press two positive magnetic poles together. Her hand met some resistance, but it was almost intangible. Nothing like warm, silky fur.
“Mom felt the same way when she taught me,” Ellie said. “She’s still afraid. We never wake up humans, though. Just animals.”
“Death is death. No offense, Kirby. You’re perfect, perrito.”
Ellie didn’t try to convince Lenore further. It wasn’t her place.
The next day, Ellie and Trevor went hiking at a National Park near sacred mountains. At first, they passed several other people; it was a pleasant spring day, sunny and just breezy enough to feel refreshing, the perfect weather for a jog or stroll. But the trail had numerous offshoots, some less traveled than others, and Ellie picked the most overgrown path. She and Trevor were looking for rare birds: warblers, kingfishers, thrashers. Gemstone feathers of red, green, and yellow. The animals shied away from crowded places.
“I want to walk here every day,” Trevor said. Quietly, to spare the birds a fright.
“Why don’t you?” she asked.
“There isn’t time, Cuz, and it’s sweltering by summer. Maybe when I retire.”
“When’s that?”
“Fifty years from now, if I’m lucky.”
He stopped suddenly and looked at his feet. The trail, formerly narrow and overgrown, had petered out. Was it ever a park trail at all? Maybe they took a wrong turn and followed deer tracks. Trevor took a map from his cargo shorts and unfolded it. “We went this way,” he said, pointing to a tangle of brightly colored lines on a cartoon forest. “Took the blue route. We should be here. Where’s the path?”
“Is it time to send a flare?” Ellie wasn’t scared yet. She had a fully charged phone, carried a water Thermos, and could rely on Kirby to howl for help. She did not consider that where they were now, the park had bad reception, water went fast in hot environments, and Kirby’s howl was more likely to scare away hikers than draw them near.
“Let’s turn back,” Trevor said. “I haven’t seen a bird lately. It’s like they’re hiding.” He was right. The forest was quiet. When did the leaves stop rustling? Ellie felt like she was wearing earmuffs. Even Trevor’s voice sounded muffled.
As they retraced their steps, a single hiker rounded the bend to greet them. The elderly man was stooped so low, his silver hair brushed the leafy trail, almost like a veil.
“Excuse me,” Trevor said. “Are we on the blue trail? I seem to be … oh, damn!”
Trevor leapt between Ellie and the hiker, his arms spread, like a human shield. Had a black bear broken through the bushes? “What’s wrong?” Ellie asked.
“Run,” he said. “Ellie, go!”
“Where? We’re lost!”
The hiker straightened from his stoop, rising and rising until he loomed over Trevor. His gray hair shivered and jumped, as if tickled by an invisible, static-charged balloon. To Ellie, the strands resembled antennae or snake tongues. Tasting, considering, searching for prey. The hiker had no mouth, nose, eyes, or ears. Nevertheless, his blank face followed Ellie and Trevor as they scrambled back.
“Can your dog attack?” Trevor
asked.
“I don’t know! He’s just a pet! What’s happening?”
“Ancient evil. It’s the Leech.”
“But Six-Great killed him!”
She remembered a story, one of many about her six-great-grandmother’s exploits. Her mother shared it years ago.
“Once,” her mother had explained, “a monster climbed from Below and made his home inside the swamp. Like roots, his hair spread through the water and muck; it climbed trees, wrapped around their branches, and slithered between furrows in their bark. It covered the swamp with a mycelium black skin, absorbing the land’s vitality. Many heroes tried to slay the Leech, but they were encumbered by mud, wrapped—as if by spider web—in loathsome hair, and devoured. For centuries, the Leech flourished, made strong by blood. At last, a hurricane loosened his grip on Earth, and Six-Great-Grandmother cut off his cursed hair. Hope that the Leech will stay Below.”
“She tried to kill me,” the Leech said. “Yes.” Its voice hummed like wasp wings. Because the Leech spoke Lipan, not English, Ellie struggled to understand it. She spent more time training Kirby than learning her language, something that constantly frustrated her mother. “I have enough strength for revenge,” the Leech said. “You smell like the one who wronged me.” Its writhing gray hair coiled around twigs and snapped them into wood chips.
“Old one,” Trevor said, “I have bad news. Your hair is now whiter than sheep wool. You’re dying. I could end you today with a needle. Or this.” He flourished a Swiss Army knife. Its two-inch carving blade was sharp, as if never used. Trevor was more likely to need its pliers, nail file, or screwdriver.
“Is that right?” the Leech asked. Its hair swarmed more quickly. “Show me.”
Even if the Leech was dying, Ellie doubted that she and Trevor would escape with a wee knife. The Leech’s thirst for revenge had been strong enough to anchor it to Earth for centuries. How dangerous would its last death throes be? How could Trevor stab it with anything if he could not get past the swarm of fishing line-fine hair, each strand sharper than needles and hungrier than mosquitoes …
Suddenly inspired, Ellie reached beyond the earth, ran her consciousness through the sea of dead beneath the park, and woke them by the thousands: every mosquito that had perished there. She and Trevor wore heavy-duty repellent; would that work on ghosts, too? Ellie hoped so. She also hoped that dead mosquitoes—the females, anyway—still hungered for blood.
She heard them humming, saw the air shimmer from ground to canopy, felt pinpricks on her arms. Blood was drawn from her, ruby red droplets shivering against her skin and zipping away, carried by invisible bellies. But the repellent mostly worked, because she and Trevor were only nipped a dozen times each, if that, whereas the Leech was writhing, its hair entangled by clumps of semi-solid ghosts, its body covered in a shell of trembling red droplets.
Trevor took Ellie’s hand and ran. Later, after they reached the ranger’s station and reported their brush with death, Trevor said, “That was amazing, Ellie. You’re a freaking superhero.”
“Hah. No. Come on. I’m no Six-Great.”
“Not yet,” he said. “You will be.”
“Maybe by the time you retire,” she said, laughing, embarrassed and proud and still a little frightened, because the monster had taken her by surprise, and now she didn’t know when or if she could feel safe.
“Way before then,” Trevor said.
The park was evacuated for a week. During that time, all the ghost mosquitoes fell asleep, returning to the underworld Below. Rangers found a tangle of gray hair on the blue trail. It took a while, but the Leech was finally dead. Ellie had finished Six-Great’s task.
It should have been a proud moment, but Ellie also felt profoundly sad. The Leech was the last of its kind. The monsters of her ancestors had been replaced by different threats. Invasive creatures, foreign curses, cruel magics, and alchemies. Vampires were the new big bloodsuckers.
Trevor, however, was overjoyed. “I’ll talk to Lenore,” he said. “Convince her that our hypothetical children need to learn your secret. Incredible!”
That was the last time that Ellie and Trevor chilled together, and the memory brought unshed tears to Ellie’s eyes because her Cuz would never retire now. Would never get another high score at the arcade or text Ellie cat pictures or wear a cheesy alphabet-embroidered vest on the first day of school to make his students cringe. She couldn’t save him.
She could, however, protect his family. That’s what Trevor believed, anyway. Guess he really meant it when he called Ellie a hero.
SEVEN
WITH NINE HOURS of road trip behind her, Ellie saw a billboard along the highway: ROCK SHOP TRUCK STOP! MUSEUM! EXIT TWO MILES. “Do we need gas?” she asked.
“The tank is half full,” her father said. That was a yes. He never let the needle drop below a quarter. Even less than half made him anxious. Whenever Ellie teased him about this habit, her father related a cautionary tale that usually involved a friend of a friend who perished because they weren’t prepared for the worst-case scenario.
“We can drive a long way on half a tank,” Ellie mused. She really enjoyed his stories.
“Sometimes, you need to drive more than a ‘long way,’ Ellie,” he said. “Remember the Brown-Johnsons? Your old babysitters?”
“Yes?”
“Their neighbor’s boss took a wrong turn in Iowa. He drove through a field of corn that never seemed to end. When the gas ran out after one hundred miles … cursed scarecrows got him. They put a feed bag over his head and tied him to a post. The man barely escaped with his life. If only he had a full tank of gas,” Ellie’s father shook his head. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“How did he escape at all?”
“Eh. I don’t know. Probably wriggled free and lit the crops on fire with a matchbook hidden in his shoe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Judging by the gossip Ellie had overheard in the mall earlier that week, evil scarecrows were becoming a pest. Probably spreading with fields of monoculture corn and soy crops. The formerly diverse scary stories of the prairie were being replaced by repetitive encounters with straw-filled bodies and dead, button eyes.
Fortunately, although Ellie and her father had passed farmland during the drive to South Texas, it was all rather ordinary. “Can we refuel at the Rock Shop Truck Stop?” she asked. “I want to check if there are fossils for sale.”
“Sure,” her father said. He yawned and rolled his shoulders. “I hope they have coffee, too.”
“Dad, are you tired? I can take over for a couple hours.” As of January, Ellie had a driver’s license. She hated the license itself, because her ID photo was an unflattering combination of a half-smile and half-blink, but it did enable her to drive a bona fide motor vehicle. Not that she had the chance very often. Car accidents killed or injured more teens than any other cause, including curses and slippery bathroom floors. Therefore, until she graduated from high school, Ellie could not drive alone, parents’ orders.
Did it count if her father was sleeping in the passenger seat? Apparently not, because he said, “No, no. I’ll just take a quick nap in the parking lot.”
“You’ll burn up, Dad.”
“It’s not that bad anymore. I can park in the shade and lower the windows.”
“Cool, cool, but Kirby comes with me. I’m not leaving any dog in a hot car.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He exited the highway. Ahead, a truck stop broke the monotony of middle-of-nowhere, Texas. A warehouse-sized building with a flat roof was surrounded by gas pumps and concrete. Her father pulled into a parking spot in front of the building. “We can get gas on the way out,” he said. “Do you need fossil money?”
Never one to turn down free cash, Ellie said, “Yes, please!” He gave her twenty dollars and reclined his seat. “Buy me a cup of joe, if they have it.”
“Joe? Never took you for a cannibal, Dad.”
“Oh, c’mon, let me have a littl
e old-man slang. And—”
“You aren’t old!” she interjected.
He raised his eyebrows, folding wave-shaped creases into his forehead. “Thanks. And more importantly, cannibalism is no joke, honey. Even talking about it might invite … trouble …” He trailed off.
“Dad. We’re Apache. Wendigo is a monster for the northerners.”
“Easy, Ellie. Better safe than sorry.”
“Got it. Cup of joe, hold the human. Thanks for the fossil cash!” She jogged off before he could start a long, unnerving story about a friend of a friend who encountered the Wendigo. There’d be plenty of time for that in the second half of the drive.
The rock museum entrance led to a typical gas station convenience store. It had candy, beef jerky, soda, cigarettes, and other amenities for needy drivers. There was a sign over the checkout counter that advertised “ROCKS & MUSEUM THROUGH BACK. ASK FOR HELP.” Ellie approached the cashier, a middle-aged white woman with a heart-shaped face and pink-rimmed glasses. “Do you have lots of fossils?” Ellie asked the woman.
“We do. Fossils, insects in amber, and minerals. Museum is five dollars.”
“Thanks! That sounds perfect. Are there megalodon teeth or T. rex footprints?”
“The first one sounds familiar. Well?” The woman held out a hand. Amusingly, her fingers were tipped by sharp acrylic nails. They were almost as pointy as velociraptor claws, which suited the museum well.
“Awesome.” Ellie forked over the twenty and received a crinkled five and ten in change. Lincoln and Hamilton were certainly easier on the eyes than Indian Killer Jackson. Not that she was particularly thrilled to see any early president. As Ellie walked to the museum entrance—a door behind the counter—the cashier cleared her throat: ahem!
“Um, yes?” Ellie asked.
The woman pointed to a screen beside the cash register; it projected gray security footage from the museum interior. At first, Ellie was puzzled. She couldn’t see anything interesting. Just empty rows between display cases. In fact, she was the only guest at the moment.
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