and crushed scent of grass… That way. He set his finger to it as usual, sliding along it with as much delicacy as his thick fingertip could manage, his hand pale in the darkness behind his lids. “That direction.”
He opened his eyes with an effort. Pain blossomed in his temples, but he tried not to let it show so Nick wouldn’t fuss. Letting go was almost harder than Finding, at least in the first moment. He blinked hard and turned to Nick.
Who was staring at him.
“What?”
Nick said, “West is that way,” and pointed, his finger aimed toward the glow of the setting sun. Brian looked down to see his own hand was pointing at the deepening navy sky in the east, back the way they’d come.
“Whoa. Wow.” Brian shivered, half excitement, half not. Nick had assumed they were headed for the west coast, where Ariana’s adopted family had moved, but it looked like Ariana had ended up a lot closer to home. “We passed her.”
“Yeah.” Nick looked pale, his eyes wide. “Back there somewhere.”
“Can’t be too far.” He’d checked their heading two hours ago.
“Right.”
Brian closed his eyes to find that thread again but opened them immediately as Nick grabbed his arm and shook him. “Wait. Hang on.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to stay under this time. You should, um, eat first, and use the john.”
“I just did, and we had chocolate shakes and onion rings two hours ago.”
“Drink something.”
Brian raised his pop and chugged the last of it. A mistake, because it made him burp thunderously, but that wasn’t terrible since Nick looked more irritated and less… lost.
“Gross, dude.” Nick took the empty pop can from him and stuffed it in the trash behind the seat. He straightened, put both hands on the wheel, and sucked in a breath Brian could hear.
“Would you rather wait? Do this in the morning?” He wasn’t sure waiting would make it easier, but Nick’s nervous tension was thick enough to feel.
“I— no. Not unless it would be safer for you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. Let’s do this thing.”
“Yeah. Let’s.” He smiled, but Nick was staring out the side window, back into the eastern darkness, and didn’t respond. All right then. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath and then another. The threads of traces floated in the darkness, silver and amber and black and yellow and rose and moss and cotton candy and stale cigarette smoke. The green one had slipped away again, and he carded his hand through the nearest strands, tasting the sharp and warm and soft and rough and nasty of familiar threads, Nick and Lori and Damon and Keisha and sick-guy… and yes, there. Green and flakes of old paint and leaf shadows. Gossamer wings like in some song. He touched the thread gently, and it slid over his skin like silk. That way.
He knew when Nick put the car in gear and pulled away from the station. The bounce over the exit to the road rocked him, but distantly, like in a dream. He opened his eyes, letting the half-seen, dusk-dim countryside flow past. In the air, that green thread ran off to the left of them, children’s songs echoing in the air, distant laughter, distant tears. He kept a careful fingertip following it as Nick turned back the way they’d come, lined up with his finger, and sped down the entrance to the highway.
They drove east about half an hour before he felt the thread shifting, suddenly looping around. He closed his eyes to follow it better. “Back there.” His throat was dry.
“I saw that.” Nick was already slowing the car. “Fuck, no way to turn around till the next exit. You doing okay?”
“Fine.” Speaking was an effort. He licked his numb lips and pointed around over his shoulder. “That way.”
“Yeah, hang in there. I’m trying.” Nick sped them up again.
About ten more minutes of turning and backtracking, over roads unseen behind his closed lids, brought them to what felt like a small street. Nick was driving very slowly, the car barely humming compared to the throaty roar of the highway. Leaf green pulled him left and then right, forward and behind, until the car stopped. He was pointing across his chest, out the side window.
Nick said, “That must be it.”
Brian blinked his dry, itchy eyes open. The small house they’d pulled up in front of was a blur, like a watercolor left out in the rain. He used his other hand to rub his face. It helped a little. He