little perfumed cries of joy.
The touch throbbed uneasily inside my head. I tasted citrus, but only faintly, and it wasn’t wax-rotten. Trouble coming, but nothing specific enough for me to take any precautions. Best thing was to just get everything done as soon as possible, so we could leave in a hurry if we had to.
I’d left Graves a note under his plate. Went to town, be back in a bit. Keep the fire going. I thought of adding I’m sorry, but I didn’t. What did I have to be sorry for?
Other than getting him bit and dragged into this whole ungodly mess, that is. Still, he said he didn’t mind. Did that mean I only had to be sorry for liking him, or for getting him kidnapped and tortured by vampires, or what?
He liked being a part of the Real World. I don’t know if I exactly enjoyed it, but I knew I’d never want to be one of the oblivious. Did that make me an asshole?
I couldn’t even figure it out anymore, and it wasn’t the kind of problem I could do anything about. I sparked the car, the engine roused, and Ash made a little squeal of glee.
“You sit yourself down and put your seat belt on,” I barked, and he did. He rolled the window down, though, and spent the entire bumpy ride down the ridge and down the county highway with his face in the slipstream. Don’t ask me, I don’t know.
We would have been okay, except for the Charleston Chew.
I didn’t realize Ash had kiped it until we were outside the big wide Sav ’n’ Shop grocery store that used to be a Winn-Dixie when I was young, and I heard the man shout “Hey! Hey, you!”
I turned incuriously, and he was bearing down on us—the manager, a big potbellied good ol’ boy with furious little piggy blue eyes behind thick horn-rim glasses, pasty cheek flab under a greased dark comb-over. His polyester tie flapped and the wide yellow sweat stains under his armpits married the fussy shine on his wing tips to make the picture of what Gran would call “a bitty-ass man too big for his britches already.”
It wasn’t her most damning epithet, but it was close.
I looked at Ash. Who tore the wrapper open and made a small hmm of contentment. That was when it occurred to me. I didn’t pay for that. He must’ve just grabbed it.
“Oh Lord.” Give me strength. Jeez. I yanked the balky cart to a stop. It had a screechy wheel and wobbled alarmingly, but it was the best on offer. The clouds were coming up fast and the smell of rain was an overpowering, sweet green haze. Stormlight gathered, yellow–bruised in all the corners, making every edge stand out sharp. The shadows had turned to deep fuzzy wells. “Ash. Where the hell did that—”
“Stop right there!” Piggy Eyes was really worked up. He almost plowed into us. “You gonna pay for that? Huh?”
“I paid for everything else, sir,” I drawled, and Ash took a huge bite. He chewed sloppily, observing the scene with bright-eyed interest. I cursed inwardly. “I didn’t see he had that, sorry. Here.” I was already digging in my pockets for the change.
An ugly flush spread up Piggy Eye’s cheeks. He was obviously unmollified. “That yourn? He retarded or somethin’?”
Gran would’ve fixed him with a glare, so I did. “That’s my kin, sir.” It was like channeling her, and I had to try hard not to smile as I offered him two crumpled dollar bills. “He’s special. Here.”
I should’ve been aiming for a submissive tone, I guess. Or at least something conciliatory. Instead, I sounded like I was brushing him off, and—here’s the bad part—there were a couple of wide women in print shorts, locals by the look of them, passing by to head into the store’s air conditioning.
One of them laughed, her flip-flops making regular little smacking sounds against cracked pavement. Her shoulders were permanently sunburned, and her blouse had a tropical print way too bright green to do any good for her complexion in this lighting. “Lyle’s about to do a citizen’s arrest right there again.” She spat tobacco juice, a pungent brown streak, and the other woman chimed in with a cackle that would have done Witch Hazel proud. They swept on into the store, the automatic door wheezing tiredly shut behind them.
Petty tyrants don’t like being laughed at. Piggy Eyes Lyle flushed an even darker brick red, and