The hag writhed on the ground as it spat and dug its fingers into the floor, the wood suddenly rot-brittle and full of old bugs.
Jonah swept his arm along the table and knocked a dozen half-full plastic cups and stained plastic spoons down onto the hag. While it screamed and tried to scrabble away, Jonah forced Lucas into an unsteady run toward the door. The shadows clung to them, sticky as old cobwebs, and Jonah could taste the old whiskey stink of the hex as it followed them out.
The door was still cracked open as Jonah had left it. He stiff-armed it open and nearly fell down the steps outside. The night air tasted clean and cold as he sucked it in. It must have hit Luke too, and he suddenly tried to push Jonah off him.
“What… what did you do to me?” he slurred, his words thick and sodden. Luke gave Jonah another furious shove and staggered backward, unsteady on his feet as he swung his head around to search for the thing they’d left behind. “What happened? What thefuckwas that?”
He stopped and lifted his hand to touch his face. Exaggerated horror pursed his eyebrows and turned his mouth down at the corners as he asked aloud, “Am I… am I drunk? Fuck. Fuck. What—I haven’t had a drink in fuckin’ years.”
Tears prickled visibly at Luke’s eyes, wet and liquid along his lashes. Jonah could sympathize with the reaction, but they didn’t have time for this.
Jonah grabbed Luke by the shoulder and shoved him roughly toward the truck.
“I’ll explain later,” he said. “Right now? Get in.”
Luke balked and tried to twist out of his hoodie, the sleeves stretched and tangled around his arms. “I don’t know you. Why should I go with you? What thefuckjust happened?”
“Get in the car,” Jonah repeated as he scruffed Luke like a reluctant cat. “You want anyone else to see you like this?”
The idea of that made Luke turn compliant. He let Jonah shove him into the passenger seat and stayed there. Jonah slammed the door and stood for a moment, hands braced against rusted metal. He took a deep breath and pushed himself upright, keys already in his hand as he loped around the front of the car.
It took three tries to get the engine to turn over. Jonah could feel the pinch of the hex on his jaw as he cursed and gripped the wheel in one hand. It finally coughed to life, and he slammed his foot down on the gas as he pulled carelessly out from the curb.
The streetlamps flickered uneasily overhead as Jonah drove under them. At the end of the road, just as he was about to turn the corner, Jonah checked the rearview mirror. The hag limped down the road after him, each flicker of electric light making her stutter closer. Slow but determined.
Jonah swallowed and tasted whiskey. His grandad’s brand, unlikely as it was inevitable.
This wasn’t over. The hag had marked Luke as its own, and a missed chance wouldn’t put it off. Nothing was ever that easy.
Jonah took the corner tight and cut off his line of sight to the hag. He spun the wheel and jumped the curb as he cut down Chaldea and across the intersection. It wouldn’t solve the problem, but muddying his trail would slow it down.
Probably.
He checked the rearview mirror again. This time the only ghost there was the one he’d brought with him. Ram leered at him from his perch amidst the tools and work bags, glad as always to see Jonah didn’t get to enjoy his life.
