Chapter 6 Whitney #3
“The one nice thing my ex did was buy me a car, but I don’t want it.
My friend’s going to pick me up in the morning, but I have no cash right now at all, and this guy left his wallet when he bolted to help me.
Could I give you the car I don’t want to pay for the hotel room, and then you can pay for our room out of your pocket?
I can write it all on a paper and mail you the title later, but I’ll give you the keys right now. ”
“You want to trade that Honda.” He points. “That silver one.”
I nod.
“For one night in this crappy motel?” He tilts his head and arches one eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“What if you don’t send me the title?”
“It’s a risk, even though, I swear I will.” I force what I hope is a sweet smile again. “You’d still have the car, though. Drive it around without the title, or sell it to a chop shop. I don’t care. It’s still worth more than one night here, but I hate that car, and we have no money, so.”
“And if I say no?”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll sleep in the car.”
“You can’t stay in the hotel parking lot.” The kid looks nervous.
“That’s fine, we won’t. We can park on the side of the road.”
“So you’re not worried the car’s going to be flagged in a crime or anything?” He frowns.
I almost laugh. He’s halfway smart for a kid, but if I was worried about that, would I tell him? I actually almost feel bad, but he’s either getting a murdered guy’s car, or he’s getting murdered himself. The car’s still the better option, and tomorrow we can head out on horseback again.
“Fine.” The kid looks nervous, but his greed has overcome his fear.
I toss him the keys.
He gives me a keycard and says, “Room 301.”
I proudly exit the tiny lobby and march around the corner, Xolotl following behind me like an emo bodyguard or something, his footsteps loud and heavy. As I open the door to our room, something obvious hits me.
I made no stipulations about the state of the room, and there’s only one bed.
I groan.
“What?” Xolotl pushes past me, his enormous frame barely fitting through the door into the not-very-clean room. His lip curls. “This place is disgusting.”
“That’s the least of our problems. You don’t need to sleep, right?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not mortal. I don’t sleep.”
“Phew.” A wave of exhaustion rolls over me as if on cue. “If you can just spare me a few hours, then we can get back on the road to Reno.”
He nods slowly.
“Since there’s only one bed.” I point. “I’ll sleep on.
. .” I spin around, noting that the only other things in the room are a small end table that serves as a nightstand, which barely holds the lamp resting on it, and a small, very uncomfortable-looking bucket chair.
I screw up my face, and spit out the words.
“I’ll sleep on the floor. But can I have the blanket, or do you get cold? ”
His laughter’s surprisingly warm. “I don’t get cold, and since I don’t sleep, why would you sleep on the floor?”
I try to hide my obvious relief. The floor does not look clean at all. “What will you do while I sleep, then?”
“I’m not sure.” He sighs. “This is a first for me, making a deal with my own champion. Usually I’d be planning out the first steps in the orchestration of a war.
Or I’d be out killing people to draw the attention of one powerful group or another in order to begin the first parts of a war.
” He smirks. “Instead, I’ll be sitting here, watching you sleep, I suppose. ”
A shiver runs down my spine, though I’m absolutely sure he didn’t mean it that way, and I don’t want him to mean it like that, either. “Or,” I say.
“Or what?” He arches an eyebrow.
As I stare at his face, I realize just how stunning Mr. Cobalt Blue really is.
I’ve been able to ignore his appearance, knowing how horrible he is, but now it really crashes down on me, the dream I’ve been having over and over for years.
It’s about him, the super hot but also evil and murderous psychopath in front of me.
I can’t believe I spent so much of my life thinking we’d wind up in love, and stressing out over how the man I loved could kill me.
The killing-me part makes sense, at least.
I’ve pretty much known from the moment he burst from the depths of that mountain that I was going to die because of him.
It’s not hard to believe the man who’s killed countless people since waking would be the one to end my life.
I’m more interested in what exactly has stopped him from doing it so far.
Yes, we’re tethered.
Yes, I’m his champion, whatever that means.
He knows he made a mistake in picking me, so then why hasn’t he killed me so he can start over? Instead, he’s trying to reform me, while he knows I’m also working to reform him.
I suddenly have an idea. “The three days, they’re so you can learn about humans.”
“And to train you to be useful.” He nods. “Agreed.”
“So while I sleep, you could watch television.” I snatch the remote from the edge of the tiny end-table.
“It’s a form of entertainment humans developed to keep us from being bored when we have nothing else to do, like when we can’t sleep.
” It’s perfect. “I’m used to noise. I’ve had lots of roommates, and I’m so tired, the sounds won’t keep me awake. ”
“You want me to watch what?” He tilts his head. “Some kind of human bard performing in that box?” He looks at it dubiously.
“Not a bard. It’s way less corny than that.
” If the television even works. When I find the remote and press it three times, there’s nothing.
I spin the batteries, and then it works, so he didn’t melt all the tech yet.
Even better, it gives me an option to sign in to Netflix, which I appreciate.
I’m sure whatever would be playing on regular channels at almost three in the morning wouldn’t showcase humans in a good light.
“Okay.” I start scrolling through options, find nothing good, and then I decide to search.
But what show could I have him watch that will make him understand humanity? What might convince him to let us live, or at least that indiscriminate murder is bad?
I settle on Gilmore Girls.
Rory’s good.
Her grandma’s a mess.
Her mom’s a hoot, but she’s complicated.
There’s not a ton of genitalia flying around, which is for the best since that bothers him quite a lot.
“Okay.” I smile. “Just don’t do anything that will fry the electronics—”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” He frowns.
“The latest technology when I was last awake was weaponry, mainly, but guns often misfired in my presence. Telegraphs sometimes fried, and photographs never worked.” His nostrils flare.
“I believe my magic destroys more than simply the human life-force. It might destroy anything that creates.”
Interesting. “So the television works because you haven’t been using your magic to murder people.”
“I’m not murdering them,” he says. “To humans, murder implies an intent to end or kill someone in particular.”
“Um.” I blink.
“I merely end all life near me. That’s not the same.”
“Agree to disagree,” I say. “But anyway, I’m going to try and scrub my teeth off with some wadded-up toilet paper, and I’m going to shower, and then I’m going to sleep.” I point at the bed. “So that means you get the chair.”
Watching him try to sink into the world’s smallest chair is comical.
“What?” His eyes flash. “Why are you laughing?”
I suppress my snort. “No reason. But in an unrelated observation, you might be too big for that chair.”
He glances back at the bed.
“Oh, no,” I say. “You said I could sleep there.”
“I will simply sit beside you, and I won’t interfere with your sleeping in any way.”
“No way,” I say. “You said I could have the bed, so you get that chair. Besides, there’s no way I can sleep if you’re right there beside me.”
“You nearly fell asleep while riding me, and you were definitely beside me then.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s different.” I point. “Chair.”
“It’s not large enough for my frame.” Hearing him state the obvious makes me smile again.
“Look, once I come out of that shower all clean, you will not be on that bed.” I point, and I glare at him with real energy. “Okay?”
He blinks. “But won’t you just put dirty clothing back on? What’s the point in cleaning?”
“It’s the best I’ve got.” I shrug. “Not many options here, sir.”
“I like hearing you call me sir.” He lifts his chin. “What if I made you clothing? Would you continue to call me sir?”
I freeze. “You can do that?”
He balls his hands around, spinning and twisting some kind of dark smoke between them, and then he presses his hands together and yanks something out of the twirling darkness. When he extends his hand, it unfurls. It looks like a long black dress.
“What on earth is that?”
He offers it to me.
“A dress?” I shake my head. “Do I look like I wear dresses a lot? Try again.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He starts to toss it over his shoulder.
I snatch it out of the air before it can hit the disgusting floor. It’s black, it’s gauzy, and it’s strange-looking, but it smells like fresh leather and campfire, so I carry it into the bathroom. Maybe I can wash my clothes and hang them to dry. If I think about it as a nightgown, it’s not so bad.
The shower feels amazing, and I can’t stop marveling that somehow, my feet are healed.
They looked like raw hamburger and felt even worse when we stopped at that gas station.
But now, they’re pink, smooth skin. I suppose even death magic can help restore some things.
After I’m clean, I do my best to scrub and wring out my tattered and fraying jeans, half-trashed shirt, and ripped jacket.
The black dress turns out to be much more substantial than I expected, with gauzy but not at all see-through fabric that hugs my arms and legs, swirling out and around from my calves down to my ankles.
It’s pretty punk rock, which I should have expected seeing as it was made by Death himself, but I don’t hate it. A pair of black boots would make the whole thing almost awesome. The exact pair I had in my brain is waiting for me outside when I step out of the steamy bathroom.
“What’s this?” I reach for them.
“You were projecting again.” He’s lying back on the bed, his head leaning against the headboard.
“Hey.” I can’t decide whether I’m more annoyed about him being on the bed or about him reading my mind. “Stay out of my brain.” I set the boots down near the edge of the bed. “And get off.”
He slides over to the far side. “I don’t think I will. This is much nicer than the chair.”
“You can’t be here if I am.” I fold my arms.
He pats the empty part of the bed. “I disagree. You’re quite small. You should fit just fine right here. I promise not to touch you.”
I believe him. He seems entirely devoid of any kind of carnal interest, and the idea of genitalia freaks him right out, which I find funny, but I don’t love the idea of having him so close. “What if you bump into me while I’m asleep, and poof. I die? What then?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Seriously, something bad happens to you if I die, right? That’s why you haven’t killed me, even though I’m annoying?”
“Who says you’re annoying?” His cobalt blue eyes bore right into mine.
“I—” I swallow. “I stabbed you. That had to irritate you.”
He frowns. “It did.”
“Well, are you going to answer? Why keep me around, then?”
“The small nuisance you’ve been—your knife barely did a thing—has been offset by the entertainment.” He can’t be serious. Does he really find me entertaining?
I sit on the edge of the bed, and I realize that my newly healed feet feel dirty just from crossing the room. “You couldn’t have magicked me some socks while you were at it?” I mutter. “Those boots are going to rub on my feet without them.”
“Is it not customary for humans to thank others when they do them a favor?” His lip’s twitching. “I assumed you had socks.”
“Stinky gas station ones,” I mutter. “Which my bloody feet almost ruined.”
He appears to be dangerously close to smiling.
“And another thing,” I say, plopping down onto my side of the bed.
“You’re wearing all black. You shift into a black horse.
Did it occur to you that some people might, I don’t know, prefer another color?
” Not me, but some people. I slide my legs underneath the covers, praying they’re clean.
“And dresses are such an antiquated thing for you to make. Did you do that just because I’m a woman? ” I yawn.
“Your brain appears to be fuzzy.” He folds his arms and looks down his nose at me. It’s not hard to do. He’s enormously tall, and I’m relatively short. “You need to sleep.”
“You’re so patronizing.” I close my eyes, though, and I sigh deeply. “Don’t tell me what I need. You’re not the boss of me.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what I am.”
I know I should reply. I should tell him off, but I just can’t find the energy to do it.
The only sound in the room is the voice of Lorelei Gilmore lamenting the fact that she had to ask her mother for money so Rory could go to Chilton. I’m smiling as I finally drift off to sleep.
When I wake up feeling much more rested, Mr. Cobalt Blue is gone.