Chapter Eight #2
I raise a brow. “What about the truck?”
“It’s headed to the shop anyway. We can pick it up on our way back to Mystic. Tey will probably have my head, but better me dead than you.”
Better me dead than you.
He settles into a protective stance, putting his towering frame between the car and me. I swallow my surprise, then try to slap on a happy face. No need to trouble our new travel companions with our antics just yet.
“Great!” I shout. “Shall we hit the road?”
Thomas and Clarisse cheer as a grumpy-as-fuck Nico and I cram into the back seat. We have so little room that our arms and legs are pressed together, every inch of his side touching every inch of mine. When our hands graze each other, we both jerk them back.
I scoot as far over as possible and lean against the door. Neither of us is too keen on acknowledging the Great Nap Incident of 2025.
Clarisse and Thomas start chatting in hushed tones in the front seats, giggling like lovestruck teenagers. The former removes her vape from her mouth just long enough to blow a big pink bubble with her gum, allowing it to explode all over her plumped lips with a loud pop.
She turns to face us but addresses only me. “So, what takes you down to the Big Apple? Business or pleasure or pleasurable business? A dead rich aunt? Fancy job opportunity? Collecting lottery winnings?”
Her eyes glow in the dark, bright and serpentine.
“Love,” I announce. “We’re both going to attend to matters of the heart.”
“I wouldn’t really say my heart’s the organ I’m following,” Nico mutters under his breath.
Clarisse draws her hands to her chest and sighs. “How romantic! Ain’t that romantic, Tom?”
Thomas grunts in agreement.
“So, you two are able to just up and go like this? With nothing and no one back home missing you, worrying about you, wondering where you’ve gone? Not, say, your brother, Joonie? Your friend, Nico?”
Next to me, Nico’s nails dig into the leather seat.
I puzzle over that question. “Guess not? I have my own business. And most of my friends are online.”
Wait. Did I mention having a brother?
Clarisse hums. “Y’all would make good salesmen. Fair folk. True vagabonds. Maybe you should join us. Become a part of our shtick.”
“I’d love that.” I beam, imagining myself in a tight, sparkly getup and top hat.
“Though it’d be a mighty big shame if one of you were to go missing,” Thomas adds.
The air in the car seems to shift slightly, growing colder. I move closer to Nico.
“What exactly did you say you sold again?” he asks. “Trinkets and knickknacks?”
His question drips with aggression, maybe even a bit of accusation.
“Nico, chill,” I whisper. “Don’t be weird.”
“I’m just wondering what kind of traveling salespeople drive limited-edition red Jaguars down dirt roads that don’t even appear on most maps.”
Thomas and Clarisse stir silently.
I bite my lip. I mean, when he puts it like that, the whole thing does seem kind of suspicious.
“You guys said you specialize in rare and valuable objects, right?” I ask, trying to remain optimistic.
To believe the best about people. “What kinds of things do you sell at Ren Faires? Like, handcrafted jewelry and leather goods? Turkey legs and mead? Ooh, those pendant lockets with cutout silhouettes inside always seemed like pure magic to me. Any chance I can buy one off of you?”
“Our goods aren’t really the kind you can just buy,” Thomas says.
“They’re free?”
“In a sense.” Clarisse cocks her head toward me slowly.
“You see, we work for specific people, specifically one very peculiar man. And he caters to what you might call a unique kind of clientele. Thomas and me, we’re professional dealers.
But only for the people who pay to be dealt in, you feel me? ”
“Joonie,” Nico says, something like understanding dawning in his voice. “Stop talking.”
“We’re hunters, too,” Thomas adds. “Collectors.”
I shake my head. “I’m not quite sure I understand.”
“Joonie. Please.” Nico’s voice is hoarse, strangled.
“It’s real simple,” Clarisse says. “Thomas and I do a lot more than wheel and deal. We also play finders keepers. Sometimes people have the audacity to steal from us, to take what’s ours.
And our boss hates it when someone makes off with what’s his.
So sometimes he sends us out on little missions.
We go retrieve things for him. His products. His commodities.”
Just then, the music goes off, and the radio lets out the sound of a man breathing heavily.
“Thomas, Clarisse—do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?”
Nico face goes pale. “That wouldn’t happen to be your peculiar boss right now, would it?” he bites out.
Thomas and Clarisse make eye contact, a silent conversation taking place between them.
“No, no,” Thomas says. “That’s just our favorite podcast.”
“A true crime podcast,” Clarisse adds.
“Pick up, you idiots!” the voice barks. “Do you have the boy? And his girl?”
My next breath gets trapped in my throat.
“Boss, you’re on speakerphone,” Thomas mutters. “I’m going to have to call you back.”
“What?” I stutter. “But…I thought you were salespeople!”
“We are, in a sense!” Clarisse says, bursting into laughter. “Tell me, you two: Have you ever heard of Harry ‘the Hug’ Lester? Well, I know you have, Nico.”
Harry “the Hug” Lester. Why does that name sound so familiar?
“Nico,” I whisper, “what is she talking about?”
Clarisse jumps-scares into my face, and I jerk backward into the leather seat.
Nico reaches for his phone, but Thomas stops him by twisting his body at an inhuman angle, placing one hand around his neck.
“Now, what do you think you’re doing, son?”
“Calling the police.”
Thomas shakes his head slowly, making a hissing sound. “A little late for that, don’t you think, boy? Should’ve thought about that before you made a bet you couldn’t back up, huh?”
A bet? What bet? Nico doesn’t make bets. Nico is the antithesis of a bettor. He is risk averse. The literal definition of playing it safe.
“Joonie,” Nico murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
Thomas’s hands twitch, gripping the wheel. He isn’t panicking, I realize. This is all going according to his plan.
Which means that none of this was a coincidence.
These two didn’t just stumble upon us on the side of the road.
They’ve been following us. Tailing us.
We are the precious cargo they’ve been after.
But just who is this Harry “the Hug” that we’re being sold to?
“Take their phones, sugar,” Thomas orders Clarisse.
She turns, reaches into my pocket, and pulls out my iPhone, a smug look on her face. I feel something cold and hard press against my abdomen, wedging its way beneath my top.
A gun. I’ve never even seen a gun before.
Unless you count Comic-Con.
I see Nico reach for the car door handle. Unfortunately, so does Thomas, who turns on the child locks, then leans back to elbow Nico in the temple.
Nico’s head rolls back, and I stifle a scream.
“Let us out,” I plead. “Please.”
Clarisse’s head snaps around to stare at me. “Let you out?” she clicks her tongue. “But sweetheart, we’re only just getting started!”
Nico grabs my hand and squeezes it hard.
This time, I don’t pull away.