by Eliza Nolan
“Eva, this shelf is right above the table she used as a desk. And that’s not all.” She moves over to the large kitchen cupboard and reveals several more shelves of books inside. “All the cabinets and cupboards are filled with the same kind of books. I couldn’t find one book in here that has anything to do with sociology.”
“And then there’s this.” She slips down the hall towards the back, motioning for me to follow, and then slides back the door of a storage cubby. There’s shelving with more books, and a built-in apothecary type chest with small drawers, each labeled with things like “Stone A-E” and “Black Salt.”
I open my mouth to respond, but have no words. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut and I can’t breathe. “Mom and Dad lied,” I finally manage. Of course, we knew they’d kept the deal with Inanna from us, but they also kept this trailer filled with occult stuff secret. They’d kept us out saying it was “Mom’s private space.” But that wasn’t the case. I can’t even comprehend the size of this lie. How could they?
Grace rubs my back. “I don’t have any other explanation for it. This trailer is like a tiny mobile research library on the occult. Complete with its own protections.”
I slide open one of the little drawers labeled “sage” and poke at the dried leaves inside. “It’s almost like they knew the day would come when we would need all this. But if that were true, then why didn’t they tell us?”
“I don’t know.” Grace frowns. “That’s what hurts the most.” Her eyes are glossy. She’s been thinking this through for a while.
I know Dad said they were trying to protect us from all of this. But...
“Hey,” I say, remembering Fiona’s email. “Do you remember Mom and Dad ever having a green Volvo?”
“No. Why?”
“Fiona said the police think our family left town in one.”
“Okay, that’s just weird. Who even are our parents?” Her head falls into her hands and a huge sigh escapes her lips. “There are so many questions I have to ask them.” She plops down on the sofa and stares at the floor.
I stare at the spot with her and listen to the patter of the rain on the tin roof. Until the sound of the water makes me have to pee.
I’m not a huge fan of the camper’s bathroom, and with the camper tank empty, there’s no way. Luckily, we’re at a rest stop. I push up to my feet. “I gotta use the restroom. You coming?”
“No,” she says. “You go. I’ll stay back and tie things down so we can hit the road when you get back.”
I grab my parka and throw it over my shoulders like a cape with the hood up, and then unlock the door and dash out into the morning rain.
I race across the still-empty parking lot to the bathroom building, splashing through several large puddles on the way. By the time I reach the safety of the covered doorway, my coat, jeans, and sneakers are soaked, the cold wet against my skin making my teeth chatter. In my blind hurry, I nearly stumble over the not-so-small parka covering a pile of…
I scamper back. There are feet, covered in Chuck Taylors peeking out from underneath the waistline of the coat. Someone’s sleeping in the doorway, leaning against the side wall.
Keeping my eye on them I move as quietly as possible and press on the door, which squeaks, then rattles to a stop, refusing to open. I push again.
More rattling.
I try pulling. But nothing. Through the clear glass door, the women’s room is just out of reach. Why the hell would they lock the restroom at a rest stop? I grip the handle of the door in both hands and then jerk back with all my strength.
“It won’t open.”
I squeak and jump back from the head now peeking out of the pile of parka and Chuck Taylors to my right.
“Ashton?” His eyes are squinty and his glasses crooked over his nose, as if he just woke up. His short hair is smashed on one side and sticks up funny on the other. He removes his glasses and wipes a hand down his face. He then pulls the glasses back on only slightly less crooked and shrugs out of his parka-blanket.
“Don’t you think I’d be sleeping inside if the place was open?” he says. He climbs to his feet, and towers over me, making the alcove feel much too small. I’m only semi-relieved I recognize him; I hardly know him. I put my hands on my hips. Superhero stance. Hopefully it makes me look less vulnerable. Why would he stay overnight here? Is he stalking us?
“Why are you still here?” I ask, taking a slow and probably obvious step away. I’m nearing the edge of the covered doorway.
“I was hitchhiking south, and I couldn’t find a ride out last night. I would’ve walked further down the road, but it started to rain. I got stuck here. I don’t suppose you would mind giving me a ride. Just to the next town or whatever. Somewhere I can at least grab some food. Somewhere with a bit more traffic.” He watches my feet, as if he knows I’m ready to run.
If you don’t show fear, people don’t mess with you. I force myself to stand tall. “I’m not sure. I mean, Grace doesn’t like to pick up hitchhikers. She’s a real rule follower.” I feel bad saying no to him after he helped us out with the trailer last night, so I blame Grace.
“Well, maybe if I talk to her.” He smiles, his eyes full of kindness. “I mean, if it’s okay with you.”
Crap. Why didn’t I just tell him no in the first place? How am I supposed to say no to that?
I shrug. “If you want to ask, I won’t stop you. But she’s not gonna say yes. Besides, we don’t really have room.”
He slips on his parka and hooks an arm through the strap of the backpack he was sleeping on. I turn to step out in the rain, but he puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
I spin and jump away, out into the pouring rain.
He holds his hands up, palms out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I linger at the edge of the doorway, rain spatter licking my face.
He takes a step away, giving me more space. His forehead crinkles. “I just wanted to ask you about your friend, Grace.”
I stifle a groan. What the hell? Is this guy seriously trying to ask out my sister at a flipping rest stop?
“What about her?”
“There’s something…different about her. You’ve seen it, right?”
Suddenly my brain is racing. What does he know? Did she grow her demon horns again last night and then go for a walk? Did he see her? I scramble for something to say. Anything other than, you mean because she has horns?
I frown. “You mean, because she’s a rule follower?” I watch his face carefully for any indication of what else he could have meant.
He scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Sure, maybe. I don’t know. I just think she seems different. Not in a bad way or anything.” His complexion reddens a bit, and I sigh. We’re back to him hitting on her at a freaking rest stop.
Fantastic.
“Never mind,” he says. “Let’s just go see if she’ll mind giving me a ride to the next town. I would really appreciate it.”
I eye him once more. He’s taller than me with broad shoulders, but he’s super thin and truly looks no more menacing than the red-headed chick hitchhiker I tried to pick up yesterday, maybe even less so. I shrug, and motion for him to follow, and we jog out into the rain to the trailer.
I dart inside, swinging the door swiftly closed behind me before Ashton gets any ideas. I’m not sure I want him to see the ridiculous collection of occult books and charms we’re lugging around behind our car either.
“We have company,” I say to Grace. I look around to see she’s cleaned the place up again, rolling up our sleeping bags and putting everything away.
Grace peeks over my shoulder and out the window in the door. She puts her hands on her hips. “Are you just going to make him stand out there?” She tries to slip past me to open the door for him, but I check her.
“Wait. Grace. I don’t know why you like this guy. I just want to say, before he asks, that I don’t think we should give him a ride.”
“What?” She
looks over my shoulder again. “That’s the guy who helped us with the trailer hitch last night. Did he sleep here? In the rest-stop building?” Pity fills her eyes, as if someone made a puppy sleep out in the wet cold.
Great, this was going to be a challenge. “No, the bathroom was locked.”
“So he slept outside in the rain?”
“Not exactly. He slept in the doorway. It was pretty well covered.”
“Pretty well?” Her eyebrows rise. She darts around me to open the door again, but I block her once more.
“Look, I really don’t think he can be trusted.” Now I’m thinking about what he said about Grace. How something was different about her. “Besides, the car’s a mess. The back seat is full of junk.”
She blushes. “I sorta cleaned up the car last night as well. The back seat is nearly empty now.”
I bite back a whine. “But you said you didn’t want to pick up hitchhikers. It’s against the law, you said.”
“Technically, he isn’t a hitchhiker. He helped us out last night, and we know his name. So we know him.”
“No, we don’t! He could be some creepy, axe-murdery dude.” I can’t believe I’m throwing her words from yesterday back at her.
“Eva, you said this place is locked up. You’ve seen it, hardly anyone comes through here. We can’t just leave him. Let’s at least see what he has to say.” She places a hand on my shoulder and gives me her I’m-the-reasonable-one-here look that I hate so much. Because she isn’t always the reasonable one. She just thinks she is because she’s older.
I’m about to plow into her again, but my eyes catch on the charm necklace Mom gave her. The copper teardrop. And I’m reminded of the night I conjured up a demon—my own sister. It’s my fault. All of this. Maybe if I hadn’t messed with the spirit board, and maybe if I hadn’t found that book, our parents would still be here. And Grace wouldn’t have had to go through all that. I should let her have her gangly hitchhiker.
I step aside and let her pass.
Grace throws open the metal door to the trailer to reveal a huddled and rain-drenched Ashton beaming up at her.
“I heard you might need a ride.” She flashes him her full-strength, peppy grin. Why does she get so weird around him? Ugh, is she crushing on him, too? Please no.
“To the next town would be much appreciated.”
Suddenly, a loud boom emanates from somewhere behind the rest-stop building with such force I drop down to a crouch in the trailer as my heart flies into my throat. Grace and Ashton both shrink back from the noise as well, and we all spin and stare at the brick building.
It’s still there. Standing silently. No fireballs, no explosions or debris.
“What the heck was that?” Grace’s face has gone white, her smile gone.
“Thunder, maybe. Close,” Ashton says.
“Come inside, out of the rain.” Grace beckons.
Ashton eyes the trailer. “Maybe instead we should pile into your car and get to the next town. I’ll buy breakfast.”
The word “breakfast” perks Grace right up, and she grabs my hand and drags me out of the trailer towards the car.
8
Eva
The rain lightens to a soft patter as we maneuver back onto the highway. A sign reads: “Minnet 5 Miles.”
I grip the steering wheel and glance in the rearview mirror. It’s adjusted so I can keep an eye on Ashton in the back seat. I can feel Grace rolling her eyes at me. She thinks I’m being paranoid. I don’t care. I do not trust him.
Ashton lounges, seatbelt on, staring out the window at the thick forest of pines as if in thought. He’s flung his wet coat over the seatback, and sports a mostly dry green tee-shirt that reads “Worlds Okayest Mom.”
Grace leans back over her seat. “Do you see any food back there?”
Ashton eyes the seat next to him, which is piled with a few canvas grocery bags.
“What do you want?”
“What’s in that bag on the floor?”
He picks up a small paper bag and looks inside. “Just some Pringles.”
“I’ll take ‘em.” She squeals with delight, nearly hopping over the seat to get them.
“Really?” His brow pinches together as if he can’t believe she wants them, but he reluctantly hands her the unopened tube of potato chips.
I know her hunger has gotten a bit out of control in the last day, I might even call it epic, but what does he have against eating potato chips in the morning? We’re on a road trip—sort of. Road trips are the reason snack food was invented. I thin my eyes at him in the mirror, even though he’s not looking.
Grace pops off the top of the can and peels open the safety seal. She reaches her fingers in but jolts back in her seat, eyes wide as she drops the chip canister on the floor. There’s a hiss, and she whimpers, covering one hand with the other.
The car swerves, and I turn back to the road, barely correcting in time to miss a passing car.
Was that steam coming from her hand?
“What happened?” I ask.
Grace looks down at the canister of chips, now spilled out on the car mat. She lifts her feet up onto the seat, curling into a ball. “The chips burned me.” She shakes her hand, and then sticks her fingers in her mouth.
In the backseat Ashton chuckles.
“Unbelievable,” he mumbles under his breath. He leans forward, placing his hands on the front-seat backs. “How absolutely clueless are you?” He’s sneering now, almost as if he’s angry at Grace.
That’s it.
Hell if I’m gonna drive around with a strange pissy jerk in the back seat of our car. Nobody calls my sister clueless—except me.
The tires crunch over the gravel as I ease the SUV off the road.
Grace drops her fingers from her mouth and looks around. “Why are we stopping?”
I swivel in my seat, fist clenched. “Get out!”
Ashton ignores me, pushes his glasses up his nose, and looks at Grace sideways. “Why would you try to eat salt?” He scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Did you really think you could? Salt? The one thing demons cannot eat. How stupid are you?”
I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my door handle, unable to believe my own ears, and now terrified of the guy in the back seat. How does he know? How does he know about Grace?
Grace blinks. “Did you say…demon?”
“Get out!” I shout, ignoring her muttering, and thrust my finger at the door.
Ashton looks at me, deadpan. “Do you really not know? I mean, you know she’s a demon, right?”
“Go!” I throw open my door, ready to march around to his side and drag him to the pavement.
Grace stares at her fingers. “Why would he say that?” Her eyes tear up. She’s so fragile right now. After all she’s been through. She looks like she might break.
Ashton says to me, “You know, right? Just tell me you know.”
“OUT!” I yell. I storm around the car and yank open his door, grabbing him by the neck of his damp tee-shirt. But he’s still buckled in. He doesn’t move away or resist, but his forehead is wrinkled with frustration.
“First, just tell me you know what she is.” His hands rise in surrender.
“I know!” I say. “Why the hell do you even care? Who are you?”
“I’m a Guardian. I’m here to look after her.” His eyes lock on mine. “And you.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I say. “Guardian? Like you’re gonna keep us safe? From, like, salted Pringles? That’s stupid.” I let go of his shirt, and wait for him to elaborate.
“No, not that.” He turns to Grace, straightening his glasses which are all crooked again. “Although, obviously you could use a little help in that department. I’ll give you a bargain rate on my class, ‘Demon 101: How to Demon.’”
Through the passenger-side window I see Grace glare at him through her tears. She’s pretty good at ignoring negativity, part of her “embracing happiness” thing, but even she has limits.
/> I point down the road. “Out!”
“Look, just hear me out. Let’s go to the next town and I’ll buy you breakfast. Give me that much time to convince you it’s in your best interest to keep me around.”
Grace and I share a look; she presses her lips together and nods.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll give you through breakfast to change our minds.”
9
Grace
I examine my fingers. Still red and burning. On the plus side, they aren’t grotesquely bubbling anymore. All that from salt?
I glance down at the spilled potato chips at my feet. I’ve never been so scared of a snack food in my life. I’m still hungry, but now I realize why I’ve been eating so much sweet stuff. I glance over my shoulder at Ashton, then back at the bag on the seat next to him. It’s what’s left of our food from home. Mostly crackers, mixed nuts, and pretzels. Salt, salt, and salt.
I shiver and turn back to watch the road. When had I gotten so fiercely hungry? Will I ever feel full again?
“Why can’t demons eat salt?” Eva asks.
“Because.” He waves a hand in my direction. “You’ve seen what happens. It’s like how acid is for humans. Just stay away.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Eva says, keeping her eyes on the road. “There’s salt in everything!” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “There’s salt in the cookies she was eating, and the protein bars.”
I rub my stomach as she lists all the food we don’t have anymore.
“It’s not that simple,” Ashton says. “It’s got to do with salt crystals and contact…”
I can’t focus on their words anymore; I just need to eat. The relaxing sensation I felt when Ashton was around is wearing off, or I’m getting used to it. The hunger is getting worse. I hug my knees to my chest and take slow deep breaths, in and out.
“That’s not how science works!” Eva snaps at the rearview mirror.
She steers the car down the first Minnet exit off the freeway to a small main street and manages to find a spot in a parking lot near one of those old-style diners with a dining car façade. It must be from the same era as our camper trailer.