Chapter Sixteen #2
“I think you broke Badulf’s nose,” Luke commends with a proud grin. Breathing is suddenly harder than it was a minute ago. He grabs the backpack and my duffel. I don’t bother arguing with him over carrying it, because I’m too fucking tired to be a feminist at the moment.
“Maybe it will make him look more attractive.” I match his pace. “You know, give him the whole ‘rugged bad guy’ look.”
Luke laughs, the sound clear as the morning sky. “As if he needs any more bad guy in him.”
My soft chuckle joins, but it dies as the tornado we just survived catches up with me. “What was that with all the wind?” I ask him.
“It’s known as The Reckoning, when all the slain monsters and demons sent to the abyss with obsidian and exorcisms rise again. Usually with a penchant for vengeance.”
“Got that part,” I retort. A hopeless thought hits. “Does that mean Beliar is back? Since you stabbed him with the dagger, he would have been in the…”
“Abyss.”
“Right. Which is just the clouds, from what I gather. But now he’s not?”
Luke’s lips press together. “Unfortunately. Hopefully he’s only back in the underworld, though, not the overworld.”
Hopefully isn’t very reassuring. “One of the market vendors said that the Reckonings are happening more often. That’s bad, I take it?”
“Very. They used to only happen during lunar eclipses every ten or so years. The last lunar eclipse happened almost a year ago and it sounds like there’s been multiple Reckonings since.”
“Another lunar eclipse is happening on Sunday,” I tell him, remembering what the pickled hooves vendor said. “A big one, apparently, that’s going to result in a super bloody blue moon.”
Luke glances at me with amusement. “A super blue-blood moon?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I was in med school, not an astrophysicist.”
“Beliar is going to make his sacrifices then to—”
“Weaken the already weak veil?” I finish for Luke. “Pickled Hooves thinks so, too.”
Luke scrunches his nose in confusion. Like in the diner, it’s adorable, and I’m disgusted by that thought. Nothing about him should strike me as adorable.
“Do I even want to know who Pickled Hooves is and how you know them?”
I wave him off. “You had your Night Market detours and I had mine. All that matters is the timeline. Can we get to Death Valley by Saturday on a motorcycle?”
“Don’t have to.” Luke pulls a ring of keys from his pocket, clicking the unlock button.
He turns me to face the field to our right.
In the tall grass is a lone rusted minivan.
It’s impossible to tell what color it used to be, or even the make.
The windshield is cracked and only one headlight blinks on.
As if anticipating my displeasure, Luke so helpfully points out, “You’re the one who didn’t like the motorcycle.”
“You couldn’t have found anything better than this piece of shit?”
“It’s a piece of shit that runs and has seats and might even have intermittent air-conditioning if you talk to it real nice instead of insulting it.
” Luke jerks open the back door, which shrieks with the movement.
He tosses my bag in and adds his more carefully since it’s full of the soul jars.
We’re closest to my door, which he opens for me, raising a brow. “Now say thank you and get in.”
“Thank you,” I say, overemphasizing the words. It is better than a motorcycle, and likely safer, though not by much. I guess I’d rather die crushed in a soccer-mom death trap than skidding down the highway like a skipping stone.
Luke slides behind the wheel, adjusting his seat and lone side mirror since the one on my side is gone.
Sticking the key in the ignition, the van chugs to life before lulling to a dull rumble that has me nearly certain it’s missing a catalytic converter.
I’m guessing they don’t care much about emissions and the ozone in hell.
“Here.” Luke wiggles the map from his back pocket and hands it to me as he turns out of the field. “I shouldn’t need directions, but keep your eyes on it just in case.”
“We’re heading straight to Death Valley?”
Luke nods. “It should take a little over twenty-four hours once we pick up Route 666 in what we know as Chicago.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
He side-eyes me. “Why would I be joking?”
“Route 666? Really? It’s Route 66 and you know it.”
His lips quirk into a light grin. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the smile peeking through. “How long until we get to Chicago?”
“A few hours. We’ll stop for lunch, stock up on food, water, and fuel, then keep going.”
I nod, satisfied with that game plan. Leaning back into the surprisingly cushy seat, all my aches and pains hit at once.
Aside from my throbbing knee, my inner thighs feel like they’re on fire, my loose jeans protecting me from the worst of the chafing but not all of it.
Shallow cuts I don’t remember getting mar my exposed skin.
I flip the mirror down and gasp at my face.
As if the canyon-deep eye bags weren’t enough, my cheeks sport red splotches from where Badulf’s blood hit me. Though the water soothed it, my skin still smarts when I press the pad of my pointer finger against it. The placement makes it look like my tears left scars.
“That’ll fade,” Luke reassures me. “If it still hurts, the balm in the front pocket of my backpack where the med kit is should help.”
“It’s alright.” I close the mirror before I can analyze the rat’s nest that is my hair.
“How’d things go with Hazaar? Did you convince him to trade two hundred?”
“Actually, I got four hundred.”
His brows shoot up. “Really? How’d you manage that?”
There it is again. That impressed voice of his that should make me scoff but has warmth flooding through me.
“I drive a hard bargain.”
“That you do,” he says softly, almost to himself.
Silence envelops us and exhaustion slugs me.
I pull out every trick to keep myself alert, biting my filthy nails and sipping Luke’s water since mine is empty.
Despite it, my eyes droop. My nightmare will surely meet me at the crossroads of sleep if I let myself fall into it, but I have no tricks left.
“I owe you an apology.”
Luke’s voice breaks the stillness. I blink, my contacts all messed up from starting to doze.
“What for?”
“For what I said in the junkyard.” Luke glances at me, bringing me to full alertness. “I was frustrated we couldn’t find a decent vehicle option, but you didn’t deserve that.”
I’m not used to men apologizing to me, something my ex never did sincerely. I bite my tongue against my initial instinct, which is to spew the usual “No worries!” bullshit when I, in fact, thrive on worry. Instead, I let his words stretch thin between us like pulling candy.
“I appreciate that,” I say. “I could have picked a better time to interrogate you.”
“Like now?” The look on his face is daring, as if he almost wants me to prod.
“Depends.” I shrug. It’s my turn to play the evasive one. “Are you going to snap at me again?”
“Depends what you want to know.”
I contemplate what’s worth knowing. “Hazaar said he knew you. The hell hounds seem like they do, too. How? I can’t imagine even during your peak monster-hunting days you gallivanted around hell figuring out friends from foes.”
“You’re right. I don’t know my way around thanks to my career in monster hunting,” Luke says simply. “I know because I grew up here.”