“My money’s on an Ancestral or a Crossroads,” Daylan said. “The longer you’re face-to-face with this thing, the more it’ll slip up. You’re going to have to trap it, learn from it, and use what I know about keeping them contained.”
“And how would we go about containment?” I asked.
“Ancestrals require the destruction of a connection first. I’ve seen it done once before; it’s an excruciatingprocess but doable,” he said. “The Crossroads will be a bit more complex because of the contract. Turns out trickster demons are good with words and bonds. You’ll have an easier time just living out the sentence.”
My knee bounced as I looked down at December’s circledAncestralandCrossroads. “How soon should we wait to go back and trap it?”
“As soon as you learn how to set a trap,” Daylan said. “I’ll walk you through it. It’s tricky, but between the four of you, it’ll only take about a week? Maybe two to be safe? And a bit of harvested energy. The good news is I’m sure you have some of that lingering in the air after the night you’ve had.”
“Another understatement of the century,” Nico teased him.
SEVENTEEN
Dreaming tastedof soil and empty kisses. I tossed and turned throughout the night before finally giving up and pulling out my phone. The rabbit hole Wilson lost himself in months ago had his footprints trampled all over it. I read the articles he’d sent me until sunlight inched underneath the curtains.
Nothing good came from wishing things had unfolded differently. And yet my mind played a constant game of what-if.
What if I’d believed him in the beginning?
What if I hadn’t crafted opposition when Rae offered me a possibility?
What if I’d emailed her weeks ago before whatever this was had gotten this strong?
I allowed my mind to imagine a brighter past where the ranch had been safe and I’d met Rae under different circumstances. I imagined a world where someone had raised me to feel worth knowing, and Rae would have slowed down in Alpine long enough to know me.
The vision blew away, dandelion seeds floating acrossstate lines as I washed up for the morning. I’d covered the mirror with a blanket, using my phone’s camera to ensure I looked presentable. The smell of bacon and eggs tempted me out of the room. I checked Wilson’s room downstairs; my knock pushed open the unlocked door. His bed was made and backpack laid unpacked on the floor.
The sound of dishes and cups clanking promised better odds of finding my brother. Wilson was at one of the circular wooden tables, sitting with Nico, December, and Jonah. I scanned the room, noting the handful of other patrons. Noting the missing woman that I’d kissed the night before. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to shrug off the pathetic sound of my voice asking her the silliest what-if of all.
“Morning.” Wilson pushed aside his plate and cup of orange juice as I grabbed an empty chair from an abandoned table. Everyone shifted to make room.
“How did you sleep?” December’s gaze dragged over my red-rimmed eyes and chapped lips.
“Like a baby.”
They waited for more. I waited, too, because maybe we’d find what we were looking for together.
Before any of us could offer a solution to the disheartening search, someone placed a plate in front of me. It held stacked pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a peeled orange. Rae grabbed a chair, sliding it between December and me.
“Morning, everyone,” she greeted with enough energy for the entire table and maybe our neighbors. Her gaze was on her phone, fingers busy typing away. I stared at her for a second before looking back at the plate in front of me.
“How are we looking?” Nico downed the rest of his coffee, sticking one foot out from under the table. “You gotthe list for me?”
“Daylan’s sent over everything he’s got digitized. And the rest, he’s faxing over to the library later today.” Rae’s eyes were brighter than yesterday. Brighter than last night. She’d braided her hair in two, pinning it up off her neck. Her roots were reverting to her tighter curls, the silk press becoming a thing of the past. I wondered what her on-the-road haircare routine looked like. Maintaining silk presses couldn’t be easy with all the running around. Maybe they were just something she did during events—why the hell did I care? Why was I about to offer to help with a wash-and-go? And give her my favorite oils for her edges? And imagining my fingers detangling those dark strands and feeling the soft curls against my skin?
I picked up my fork and knife, slicing into my waffles. As the team talked about gathering supplies from some list they were waiting on, I tried to fuel my body. And tried not to recall that Rae tasted sweeter than the syrup on my plate. She’d been warmer than the mug of tea Wilson nudged in my direction.
“Do you need anything?” he asked in a voice too low for anyone but me to hear.
Soft eighties rock music flowed into the dining room from the kitchen. The few tourists dressed in hiking gear and a local couple I’d seen manning the theater booth on weekends occupied the other tables. No one questioned our arrival last night. But that didn’t stop the stares from the workers at the inn. Or the whispers from the local orange farmer who’d made a delivery this morning and saw my truck in the parking lot.
No local just up and booked a room at the inn unless they were a couple celebrating an anniversary or someone fighting with their significant other.
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I murmured around an orange slice.
Wilson’s gaze flickered to my neck. He picked at his eggs in silence.
“Should we talk about the demon in the room?” I whispered.
