Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“I can drive myself to the safe house. I’ll be fine,” I grumble as I grip the leather steering wheel so hard my fingers cramp. Yep, great job there, Tuesday. Leave the hottie hellhound with the biceps as big as your head to travel almost seven hours and three hundred and seventy-five miles, alone.
In my usual stubbornness to avoid help of any kind, I insisted I could drive myself. “What could go wrong? I will be fine.” I sniff with self-disgust.
I have spent hours driving in a state of heightened alert, with my hands locked in a death grip onto the steering wheel in a ten-and-two driving position and a nervous sweat beading on my brow.
I dare to take my left hand—frozen claw—off the wheel for a second, to rub my tired eyes.
I want my boring life back. I would rather deal with a nightmare shoe sale display, one where a kid has mixed up not only the left and right shoes but also the sizes.
Matching hundreds of different shaded shoes is preferable to this.
I am so stupid. The last time I drove a car was the day I passed my test, and I never left my home city.
Dad taught me to drive when I was seventeen.
Once I had my pass certificate, as a rite of passage and for my first and last solo trip, I drove my dad’s car through a McDonald’s drive thru.
That was seven years ago. I rub my thumb against the steering wheel and swallow.
I loved learning to drive with Dad, but the whole car thing tainted the experience.
All three of my older sisters were gifted their first car.
With blatant unfairness, and in a sweeping statement by my mum, I was informed that if I wouldn’t behave like a proper witch—I was refusing to attempt any magic—I had to walk.
I lift my stiff shoulder. It was fine. Who was I to dictate how my parents spent their money? I enjoyed walking and school wasn’t far.
I am sure it was a naff attempt at reverse psychology by Mum, but instead of pitching a fit, I drifted further away.
I wanted nothing from them anyway, so it was probably a good thing.
In my teenage mind, it only highlighted again that my parents and magic just brought me pain.
It made me more determined to be successful on my own terms. Away from magic.
I didn’t drive a car again until today. I push the unhappy thoughts to the back of my mind. It’s in the past and I am no longer a teenager. I’m an adult and I am adulting perfectly.
I quickly peek at my phone. According to the driving app, I am only thirty minutes from my destination.
Nothing is going to go wrong. As if fate is listening to my thoughts, the fancy hire car shudders, and the headlights dim.
Oh, no. There is a burst of warm air from the heater, and then the dash lights up, blinding me.
I take my foot off the accelerator just as the car goes dark. Slowly, we roll to a stop.
“Motherclucker.”
The engine ticks and my heart pounds as I sit wide-eyed in the dark on a country lane in the middle of nowhere Scotland.
I gulp and my shoulders creep towards my ears.
The fear that is rolling inside me makes me feel sick.
I was pooping myself just driving. This is on a whole new level.
The dead car is on a bend with no lights, and we are surrounded by thick hedges.
Oh no.
With shaking hands, I put the car in neutral and let go of my death grip on the wheel. Get a hold of yourself, Tuesday, and think about what you need to do. Don’t you dare freak out, I berate. Crikey, the voice in my head sounds like Mum.
If I can deal with sixty-two staff and our wonderful array of customers, I can deal with this.
I am the best problem solver. My not-so-sneaky staff call me Scary Poppins when they think I’m out of earshot.
I roll my tense shoulders and flex my sore fingers.
I am spoonful-of-sugar nice until things go wrong, then I can get a bit bossy. I am a retail manager badass. I snort.
I unclip my seat belt and, channelling my inner Homer Simpson, I frantically push every button on the dashboard, but nothing works. The phone Owen gave me is also dead. It must have cut out at the same time as the car did.
Uh-oh. That is not creepy. Not at all.
Magic normally raises the small hairs on my arms and tickles the back of my neck.
I don’t feel that sensation. But that doesn’t mean much.
Why would the car and the phone die at the same time?
I shiver and then turn my head to scrutinise the passenger seat.
My girl, who is safe in her fancy extra-large protective travel bubble, is fast asleep.
I think. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes.
Damn it, I can’t see her. My eyes can’t pierce the thick darkness. Why does tonight have to be so dark?
“It’s okay, Daisy. I’ll get us out of this,” I say, in case she is awake and is looking at me. I aim for brisk confidence, but my voice wobbles at the end.
With a disgusted huff at myself, I crack the car door and the sound of the night rolls in. I blink into the darkness. I am so used to city sounds and the never-ending artificial light. I have never seen the outside world so black, so vast. It’s jarring. I hold my breath and listen.
There are strange clicks from random insects. I frown and tilt my head. Wow, I didn’t even know we had clicky minibeasts in the UK. I have no idea what the hell they are. I strain my ears for any other signs of life. The wind rustles in the trees and that’s it. Absolute silence.
At least I will hear if a car comes, well, urm, unless it’s electric. Great. I nibble on my lip and wince. I’ve been chomping on it for hours and desperately need some lip balm. My bottom lip probably looks a chapped mess.
“I wonder if this car has a warning triangle?” Gosh, my voice sounds loud to my ears.
I grab the keys, rotate my stiff body, and boldly shove the heavy car door open.
I use the door frame to help me clamber out onto the road.
My knees knock together, and I whimper as I straighten.
I’ve been driving for so long, my poor body has moulded to the shape of the seat.
I was too nervous to stop and take a break in case I had to turn the car around or drive in a small space.
The thought of reversing gives me heart palpitations and makes my top lip sweat.
My feet crunch on the ground as I head for the back of the car.
When I reach it, I trip on the uneven road surface and almost go down, but a wild grab with my hands and my fingers dig into the roof trim.
I hang on a second longer to steady myself and then squint down at my feet. What the heck is that?
“Oh my goodness, please don’t tell me I hurt some poor creature.” I toe something squishy and I squeal. “Oh no, oh no, am I a murderer? I was driving super slow.” I feel sick.
No, it’s not a dead body. Is that… Is that grass?
I stop myself from dropping to a crouch and touching the ground as a trickle of memory tugs at my brain.
A flash of the road before the car died.
I lean against the car with relief. The rural road had a strip of grass running down it and I now distinctly remember I had been mindful to keep the tyres straddling it while praying no one came the other way.
Now, will the boot open with the key alone? These new cars are so fancy and reliant on technology. I feel along the back of the car, the dirt from the road gritty underneath my hand. I aim for the middle and… Aha! I find the lock. I trace it with my fingertips and then blindly aim the key.
The boot whooshes open and I puff my cheeks out as I methodically feel my way around the boot. Nothing. It’s bloody empty. No crappy triangle, no warning spell. I haven’t got anything to light up the car. I drop my head in defeat.
I am doomed.
I slam the boot closed and shuffle my way to the front. Hands on my hips, I peer at the road ahead. Why is it so bloody dark? As I turn back to the car, the moon peeks from behind what I can now see is thick cloud cover.
As the clouds break, the full moon shines down, granting me much needed light.
I tip my head back in thanks and give the moon a grateful smile.
Between the heavy clouds, I can see a slice of the night sky and a smattering of stars.
Wow, they are so pretty. I quickly glance about before the light disappears and I see—I tilt my head—is that a break in the hedge?
Just around the bend… Is that a driveway?
I dash forward, being mindful of the uneven road, and I find a driveway and a sign: The Sanctuary Hotel.
Well, isn’t that convenient? A warning bell in my head is going off like the clappers.
Creepy. Creepy. Creepy.
But what choice do I have? I glance back at the dead, stranded car and pull a face. Creepy hotel or wait until it gets light? The way the car is positioned on the road, I could kill somebody if another car comes around the bend.
Mind made up, I ignore my screaming self-preservation instincts and turn back to the car. It shouldn’t be too much of a push. Right?
As I hurry back up the grassy road, I realise there is a slight incline I didn’t notice. That’s handy. I might be able to freeroll the car into the driveway. That’s if the fancy car’s steering works without power. Otherwise, I’m going to overshoot the driveway and find myself stuffed into a hedge.
So much fun, I think with a manic smile as I clap my hands. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I mutter. I will say a lot about Mum, but she raised me and my sisters to be tenacious. All the Larson women are stubborn as hell. So, thanks to Mum, I am not a damsel in distress.
I dump the keys in the closest cup holder so my hands are free, and I take a peek at Daisy. Her hot breath fogs in adorable puffs against the travel bubble. She is curled in a ball, and thankfully fast asleep.
Then, like I’ve seen in films, I brace myself against the open door frame. Come on, Tuesday. My boots dig into the uneven tarmac as I give the car a good push.
Nothing happens. I groan, jump back into the car, and put the car in first gear.
That might help. I get back into position.
Films make this look so easy. I growl, get a little mad, and push the car with all my might.
Just as my poor shoulder begins to scream in protest, the wheels move, inch by tiny inch, and then the car is rolling.
Yay, it is moving!
It quickly picks up speed. Crap, it’s rolling pretty fast!
I squeak and fling myself into the driver’s seat.
I am almost settled inside when the car door slams closed, cracking against my right shin, which is still dangling in the road.
Ouch. The stupid bloody thing. I stuff my leg inside and ignore the urge to give it a rub.
Instead, I grit my teeth and tug like mad on the steering wheel.
The wheels dry grind on the tarmac and the car eeks its way to the left.
Come on. Come on. Without meaning to, as my eyes are firmly on the looming menace of a hedge, I clip the kerb and the bounce puts us dead centre on the hotel’s driveway.
We roll into the empty car park. The front wheels bump into another kerb, stalling the car’s now slower momentum, and the car settles into a parking space. Perfectly between the lines.
Wow.