Crossroads Burning

by Nash, Layla

  “I don’t want to go to witch jail,” I said, and all reason fled. I could only see and hear the terrible moment when the ley magic took over and the werewolves died, and the last gurgle of their breathing reached through the magic to remind me of what I’d done. The human face of the man I’d killed swam to the surface and accused me of murder, and my chest seized up. I wanted to know his name. I needed to apologize, to beg forgiveness, maybe meet his family to know where he came from. Find a way to make it up to him, as if I could undo the past. I choked on tears and guilt and what felt like a soul-ripping sob, building and building in my guts until I wondered if it would kill me.

  “There’s no such thing as witch jail,” Hazel said, quiet and calm near the fire.

  I didn’t believe her. That was just the thing they’d tell someone before they put them in witch jail.

  Lincoln didn’t laugh, and he didn’t contradict her. He brushed the hair back from my face as my head rested against his shoulder, and the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart echoed in my ear. The warmth of his body helped melt some of the ice in my veins, but I still felt like a block of sheer regret. “Listen to me, Luckett, and listen well. This is one of those times when everyone does what I say, you hear?”

  He waited until I managed a shaky nod, then squeezed me a little tighter and dropped his voice. “Those werewolves would have killed all of us, or bitten us and turned us into the same. They already bit you once, and you defended yourself. The fact that you’ve got... a little extra firepower than most people doesn’t matter. They attacked us both times, and we fought back with the means at our disposal. That’s it.”

  “They were people,” I said. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t possibly be saying that I could just go on about my life after killing the werewolves. “They had families, people who loved them. I can’t just…I can’t take them away from that and just... be fine. Be normal. That’s not how that works.”

  “You won’t feel normal,” he said. He exhaled a deep breath, enough that it jostled me, and his voice went a little lower as the drawl thickened. “Darlin’, believe me, you’re different now. Everyone feels it after the first time they take a life, even in defense of their own. It’s good that it doesn’t sit right. You don’t want it to sit right. Killing another sentient being should never be easy. But you won’t be punished for defending your own life. I would have killed the werewolves first if I could have, but you beat me to it.”

  Great. So I was a more efficient killer than the scary federal agents. It didn’t make me feel any better. “Then what happens? How do you explain what happened?”

  “For my report, we explain exactly what happened. The werewolves, the magic, everything. For the regular cops...” He trailed off and his gaze went to where Eddie sat by the fire, studiously ignoring everyone and eating his dinner. “We’ll work something out. Probably that they died from exposure and the remains were scattered by wild animals. It happens this time of year. But we can sort that out in a day or two, as we’re heading back to town. I’ll call ahead and have one of the headquarters teams meet us in Rattler’s Run to handle the paperwork and help dispose of the remains.”

  Dispose of the remains. That didn’t sound pleasant. “But what about their families?”

  “We’ll try to identify them, Sass,” he said, and it took forever to remember where he’d heard my childhood nickname. I didn’t mind when he said it. I wouldn’t have minded anything he wanted to call me. His head tilted and the rough tickle of his beard rubbed my forehead. “We’ll do our best. But sometimes we can’t, or it takes a long time. It’s not always as easy as we’d like.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Nothing was ever as easy as I’d like. At least he was warm and even the embarrassment of sitting in his lap in front of his friends wasn’t enough to get me to move. Plus I couldn’t muster the energy to do more than breathe, even though my stomach growled with renewed hunger. It felt odd and kind of shameful to be hungry after what had happened, like I shouldn’t get to go back to normal after the werewolves died.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said, and I wondered how he knew. Why he felt so confident that things could be okay again.

  My hands wouldn’t stop shaking and just the thought of pulling from the ley lines made me a little queasy. It had been too much power. I’d drowned in it, and it nearly destroyed me. But Eddie had said something similar, that he always felt different but eventually he kind of made peace with it. I exhaled as much as I could, trying to drain myself airless, and pushed away the negative feelings at the same time. My ma raised me better than that, and I needed to honor the Lucketts who went before me. Chances were my ancestors did things just as awful defending the town and the Crossroads. If only there were a way to ask them, to get a little strength from my bloodline.

  I went still, my eyes going out to the darkness in the west where the caves waited. Maybe I could ask my bloodline. Maybe the answers waited in the cave for me as well.

  Lincoln rubbed my back a little. “What’s wrong?”

  “I should...” I flushed and tried to untangle myself, succeeding in flopping over into the dirt but not much more.

  He snorted but hid it politely, and helped me sit once more, rescuing my half-eaten bowl of pasta before I kicked it over entirely. Lincoln let me struggle to right myself, being patient as an oak tree growing in the woods. Which only made me more flustered and uneasy.

  The conversation around the fire kicked off again, like they sensed the danger was past, and for a long time I just focused on that damn bowl and spoon, working to get one piece of pasta at a time in my mouth. Lincoln started shredding a few blades of grass, frowning down at it as if where the pieces fell were the answer to some mystery.

  “Have you thought of how to answer my question?”

  “I’ve been a little busy,” I said, gesturing behind him at the open land and the slowly-setting sun.

  Half his mouth smiled at me. “You’ve had almost two days.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever have an answer,” I said. I sighed, letting the spoon fall into the bowl so I could rub my hands together. A bit of numbness crept in and disappeared from my fingers, over and over, like I’d burned them and the nerves came back a little funny. “It’s not something I ever thought about before.”

  “You never daydreamed at school, thinking about what you’d do and where you’d go?” He studied me shrewdly, that half-smile still there and still making me nervous.

  But there wasn’t much of an answer to give him. “My sister Olivia was the dreamer. Looch and I, we always knew we’d have to stay. So there wasn’t any use in thinking of alternatives.”

  “That’s kind of sad, Luckett,” he said. “But it means I get a different question, and I’ve still got three.”

  “Wait,” I said, starting to sit up. “That’s not—”

  “No answer means new question.” The smile spread a little, and his teeth flashed white in the firelight. “Unless you’d care to come up with a good story?”

  I wanted to scowl at him but I got the sense he was teasing me, and I couldn’t figure out why. Part of me even wished Mason would saunter up with some jokes and distract him from the questioning. “Fine. Part of me always wanted to be a photographer. Like Ansel Adams or Edward Curtis, you know. One of those big old cameras with a hood on it, out in the wild with nothing but me and the wildlife and the moon.”

  “That’s not that far from where you are now, Luckett. You could get a camera and head out into the Crossroads, take pictures of whatever you want.” He scratched his jaw, head tilted to consider me. “What about going to Africa or Europe or Asia? Somewhere different? Wild but different?”

  “Well, if you know the answer, what do you want me to talk for?” I laughed a little, a quiet huff of air that didn’t feel traitorous to the fact that I’d killed eleven people. It still felt wrong, but not quite as wrong as before. “You answer the question, then.”

  His eyes crinkled around t
he edges as the smile grew, and he ducked his head to hide it. “I wanted to be a pilot or a marine biologist.”

  “Marine biologist?” I laughed more, biting my knuckle to try and keep it in. “Swimming around in a tank with a whale?”

  “Come on, now,” he said, jostling my shoulder gently. “Every kid wants to swim with dolphins and play with baby otters and stuff. I was just a scruffy little kid from the mountains who’d never seen the ocean. The idea of snorkeling in a coral reef was about as reachable as flying to the moon.”

  I shook my head, trying not to laugh, and somehow ended up leaning into his side until my head rested against his shoulder again. “I could see you as an astronaut.”

  “Now who’s telling stories?” He chuckled, and his arm looped around my shoulders to pull me closer. It felt easy and warm and companionable. Almost natural. Like I’d done it before in better times, and the memory held me just as close as he did.

  I sighed, drawing my knees up to my chest so I could rest my chin on them, and I searched the darkness for a sign of what to do. How to make everything as easy as that embrace. When the darkness had settled over the land, the sun fully set and the stars beginning to peek out, I took a deep breath and whispered the secret I’d never told anyone at all, even my sisters. Especially my sisters.

  “I dreamed about being normal. About being anyone else, in any other place. It didn’t matter where or what or when. I just wanted to be something else. Not a Luckett, not anyone from Rattler’s Run, not a witch, not nothin’. Anything but what I am.”

  He made a thoughtful noise, though he didn’t drop his arm from my shoulders and tell me I was an ungrateful wretch. His chest moved as he breathed, and it slowly lulled me toward sleep, until everything was drowsy and slow and a little blurry around the edges. “I don’t understand what ties your family to this place, Luckett, but we can find out. Once we find out, maybe there’s something to do about letting others shoulder that burden for a while. You can always come back, but maybe some time away would be possible.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “And letting myself hope for it is dangerous.”

  “Oh ye of little faith,” he murmured, squeezing me just a little closer. “I’ve found my way through many problems more gnarled than this one.”

  “Nice to think the servitude of my entire family to one patch of land is so easily dealt with,” I muttered, just a little irked that he thought it would be so easy. As if the Lucketts hadn’t ever tried to free themselves from the ties that kept us in Rattler’s Run. Whole branches of the family burned themselves out trying to break the bonds that kept us from leaving, and even more sneaked away to leave someone else holding the town against the magic. Even the trouble we faced that week might have resulted from Aunt Bess’s efforts to free us from the Crossroads. “Especially after a few hundred years and nine generations.”

  “I don’t have to convince your ancestors to leave,” he said. “Just you.”

  That was easily solved as well. “Not without my sisters. I’m not leaving if they have to stay.”

  “If you’re the only witch, what does it matter if they stay or not?”

  Damn. I’d forgotten about telling him that particular little falsehood. I cleared my throat and resisted the urge to flee into the night. “Is that your second question?”

  He laughed so loud that Mason looked up from the fire and asked what the joke was, and Lincoln’s hand slid low enough on my side to tickle as he guffawed. Lincoln leaned his head close to mine, still chuckling. “So that means your sisters are both witches as well, I take it.”

  “I plead the Fifth, unless that’s your second question.”

  “No, I’m going to save these questions up.” Lincoln shook his head, and I decided I liked his laugh enough I didn’t mind when it was at my expense. He almost transformed into a different person when he laughed—younger, less serious, more approachable. Which was probably why the federal agent side of him didn’t go around snickering and giggling.

  Even though my sleeping bag called to me strongly enough I almost answered, I needed to know at least one more thing before I tried to sleep. “Answer me a question, then.”

  “I can’t promise I will, but I’ll try.”

  “I definitely need to work on my negotiation skills,” I said under my breath. And I was rewarded with another tiny huff of laughter and a squeeze from his arm. I turned to look at him, peering at his expression through the beard and the darkness. “What are you? I saw the green glow, and when you pulled me out of the ley line, it felt like... I dunno. Familiar.”

  His face went still. He didn’t exactly frown, but there was a curious tension that ran through him, like he hadn’t expected me to notice it, or he didn’t think I’d ask. He pondered, the wheels turning in his brain loud enough I heard the squeak, then he finally spoke. “I would appreciate if you don’t tell anyone else, including Eddie and your sisters.”

  He waited until I nodded to go on. “I’m a druid.” And he said it all final and ominous, as if I would know what that meant and would fall all over myself in surprise and dismay.

  “What the hell is a druid?” I vaguely remembered stories about King Arthur and some druids, or maybe it was something about Stonehenge, but nothing that explained that green glow or what it meant for a guy in the middle of the prairie in America who’d grown up in the mountains and wanted to be a marine biologist.

  Lincoln smiled as he looked at me. “That’s two questions.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from simultaneously laughing and scowling, and from the way his smile broke free and dragged him into another belly laugh, I didn’t do a great job of controlling my expression. He squeezed my hand and jerked his chin toward the sky, trying to drag my attention away from his druid-ness, no doubt. “When was the last time you looked at the stars, Luckett?”

  “That’s two questions,” I said, deliberately mimicking him, and Lincoln nudged my shoulder in a gentle rebuke.

  My balance failed and I flopped to the ground, somehow landing on my back on top of my sleeping bag, and instead of trying to sit up again, I laced my hands behind my head as if I’d meant to do it. After only a heartbeat of hesitation, Lincoln lay back next to me, his shoulder warm against mine, and stared up at the stars.

  He pointed at the sky, gesturing toward a cluster of bright stars and the smudge of the Milky Way. “I think the last time I saw so many stars was when I was a kid, in the mountains.”

  “No lights there either?”

  “Definitely not,” he said. Lincoln snorted to himself, apparently amused. “Except when Uncle Digger had the still lit up.”

  “The still? You’ve got to be kidding me.” My eyes drooped though, and it felt like my body was melting slowly back into the earth, like the ley lines were taking me home. “Your family are moonshiners?”

  “Just Digger. He was the black sheep. Well, he was a whole herd of black sheep all by himself.” Lincoln sighed. “I used to help with the mash when I was knee-high to a grasshopper and didn’t know any better, and my ma was distracted by... other things.”

  There was a hell of a story behind that pause and the “other things.” I made a mental note to ask later, to figure out why his mama was busy with “other things,” but a yawn nearly cracked my jaw and I fought to keep my eyes open. “What’s your favorite star?”

  He made a thoughtful noise, then gestured once more at stars I could barely see through my eyelashes. “If I have to choose, it’s Vega. But that’s not the name I knew it by, nor what my kind call it.”

  His kind? Mountain folk or druids? I smiled to myself and let my eyes close, promising I would stay awake long enough to listen to the soft rumble of his voice. “Then what do your kind call it?”

  “There are many stories,” he said, voice a comforting murmur that felt more like magic than anything I’d ever heard. My hand slid over the sleeping bag and the grass and found his, our fingers tangling with an easy familiarity. “Vega is the brightest star
in the constellation Lyra, which means harp. My people also see it as a harp, though we call it Uaithne. It is the Dagda’s harp—he was the good king. When the Dagda summoned it, his harp would float to his hand. There are certain times of the year when Uaithne crosses the Milky Way to there,” and he gestured around, though I didn’t see it and only felt the movement of his body next to me. “Where the Dagda himself stands. It is also the faeries who transform into swans and create a bridge to ease the harp’s passage. Then he can create music once more.”

  “That’s nice,” I said, but it came out too soft. I wanted to curl up next to him and sleep for the next week.

  Lincoln chuckled, then he moved to his side next to me, up on his elbow so he could look down at me. I managed to open my eyes, blinking sleepily, and he smiled. His thumb traced the curve of my lips. “I like when you smile. It’s very distracting.”

  So I smiled, wanting to distract him, and listened to the wind hushing through the grass and the horses stomping and the chirping of the crickets. No one else had spoken in quite a while, and when I bothered to listen, snoring already rose around us. I wondered if maybe Lincoln had the first watch to protect the camp, and he was keeping himself awake by canoodling with me.

  His eyes searched my face, and the firelight reflected in them even as a green glow lit them from within. That crazy mountain druid magic he had, no doubt. “What are you thinking about, Anastasia?”

  I almost didn’t mind my name the way he said it. I bit the side of my bottom lip, a little distracted by his mouth, too. “That no one else seems to be awake.”

  He glanced up, scanning the camp, and his body relaxed a little closer to mine as he looked back at me. “You’re right. Just snoring.”

  “They didn’t even say good night.” I sighed. And somehow I touched his chest, shivering a little in the slow chill of the deepening night, and reveled in the feel of his muscles and the warmth of his shirt.

  “We were a little busy,” he murmured. His palm rested light and exciting on my stomach, not too low and not too high, but I felt restless and wanting. I didn’t know where it was going, but I wanted to find out. Lincoln dipped his head and I held my breath, expecting a kiss, but instead his lips drifted across my cheek, light as a feather.