31. Helene #2
“Please, stop. What’s going on?” she asks curtly.
The moment the gauge shifts from cold to the next tick up, I press my foot to the gas. The laces of my sneakers tighten and the tires skid in useless circles before finding traction.
“Why are we leaving?” She tries again, lifting her voice above the hum of the heater. “We’ve got the money in our pockets, and that’s it. This isn’t smart.”
“On the contrary. This is the smartest thing I’ve done in a long time,” I assure her.
“I take grave issue with that.”
I lift my voice to normal volume, careful to modulate it. “Where do you want to go this time?” We pull to a stop at the light. “We can head anywhere. South, probably. South and away from the cold.”
And a town where Norse myth isn’t seeped into its history.
“How about New Orleans? At least there, the place is dripping in other cultures. Or Orlando! I’m throwing it out there. It’s devoid of any culture, only Disney.”
We pass the old hotel with its parking lot half empty. Lights gleam from the restaurant window and the small spa offering only massages and facials like sandpaper with too hard grit.
“Why? Why do you want to leave? And not Disney, if I even have a choice,” she replies, staring straight ahead.
I turn to Audra with a tight grin. “I asked you, didn't I? There’s always a choice.”
“Mom never gave us one.”
Neither did life.
"She sure did. It was prepare or perish," I correct.
"How did it work out for her?"
I hesitate. "Let's not do this now."
We'll wait until we're anywhere but Nightshade Hollow, with its proximity to Salem and Boston. With its grunting and groaning town council determined to put our slice of purgatory on the map.
With our myths and legends walking around on two legs. With runes dropping warnings like wisdom and strange power outages every other day.
“Did you even tell them?” she presses. “Did you tell them where we’re going?”
A deep, yawning canyon opens up inside me. “Absolutely not. And you better not have left them a note.”
“You didn’t give me enough time to leave a anything, not even a thank you,” she says. "They helped get me through my seizure. And we left all those books behind! Hel..."
“You get it, right? You understand.”
Audra smacks me in the boob with the gall to chuckle. Which isn’t fair. Boobs shots are not technically below the belt but metaphorically speaking— “Explain it to me, anyway.”
I frown. “It’s not my life I’m risking, getting involved with them. It’s not about me.”
“Don’t try to pin this on me, Helene.” Her elbow jabs me in the ribs now. “This isn’t something we can escape from. Running never solved anything for us before.”
“I refuse to risk you, kid. You don’t know how awful it was to watch those things take over and talk through your mouth.”
Audra has always been small for her age, even before the official diagnosis was handed down from a team of doctors wearing lab coats and superiority.
Multiple Sclerosis.
There's no way to fix her, to let her be anything other than damaged beauty, a ruined rose. Capable but tragic in the way most heroines from fairy tales can be.
“So you’re ready to run from your destiny?” she throws out.
Her lip pokes out with enough melodrama my frown borders on grimace.
The windshield wipers slap back and forth in a steady rhythm and smear moisture across the glass. I tighten my grip when the bald tires threaten to turn the road into an Olympic ice skating rink.
“I’m ready to do whatever it takes to protect you the way I always have. We’ve built our life on the premise of not looking for trouble,” I say. “That’s what we’ve sworn to do. We keep our heads down, and we take it day by day.”
“What they’re talking about is too important to run from.”
Does she remember? I glance at Audra, and a cloud of silence hangs heavy between us. It doesn't matter whether she remembers the fate weaver's words or not. What matters is fulfilling my promise, the one I made to her and the one I kept to myself.
Yes, I'd always be there for her. Yes, I'd go to extra martial arts training, extra hours at whatever archery range Mom found in whatever town we crawled into, and I'd wear a smile on my face.
As long as I'm strong, Audra has a shot at whatever life she wants.
“I made a promise to keep you safe, kid.” My voice shakes.
She studies me for a moment before shaking her head. "You don't have to worry about me.”
“Yes, I do. It is literally my job,” I say.
“What if I don’t want it to be your job?”
I can’t feel my fingers anymore.
“What if promising Mom you’d keep me safe is something you cling to in order to make yourself feel better?” she pushes.
An automatic curse, an excuse, lifts and stalls at my molars. I stare wistfully at the snow and ice-dusted road, but the familiar landmarks are all buried. Nothing but scraggly black twigs draped in white point the way out.
“I’d like to say it’s not a fair assessment and you cut me but there might be a hint of truth to it,” I admit.
Underhanded and true, which is why it burns so much when I swallow it down.
"I'm not your problem, Hel." She hisses the word underneath her breath, sharp enough to cut through the air and draw blood.
I flinch. "I never said—"
"And you're not Mom. Stop acting like her."
This gets better and better. The statement is familiar because I've felt that way about myself for years now. I might as well have claimed the title.
"Did she ever tell you what rune she drew for me? Every time, the same one. Huh?" Audra waits as I shake my head. "Hagalaz."
Hagalaz (?).
"Fate's wrath," I say dully. "Disruption. Radical transformation."
My stomach plummets because in Norse mythology, Hagalaz is also heavily associated with the Norns, I believe. The goddesses of fate.
"A destiny even the gods can't avoid. So I don't need you to pack up and bolt because you're worried about me. I deal with tougher shit than this every day. What's one more catastrophe in our string of misfortune, Hel?"