Page 58 of Casting Butterflies

“There is a shop with secondhand garments across the street that’s open for another hour. You’ll have to make yourself invisible, though, to grab some garments.”

Dressing myself proved easier than expected, although I did feel sorry for the woman running the till who saw clothes moving on the racks and being removed and completely freaked out. She exited the shop screaming, and when I exited, fully garbed, Cedric mentioned she ran up the street claiming her store was haunted.

Oops.

Still holding the I’m-not-here magic in place, we moved away from that area, just in case someone took the woman seriously. Cedric knew of a few bars in the area, and we soon found our ride with the keys tucked in the visor, as if the owner wanted his car stolen.

Once I sat in the driver’s seat, the dilemma hit. Which direction should I go? Cedric made it sound so easy. Just ask the spirit inside me. Because we totally chatted all the time.

Still, I had to try. I closed my eyes and pushed a thought. Hey, spirit inside me. We need to find your home. Care to give me a clue?

No reply. Not surprising.

Come on. You know we lost Misha, and without him, we don’t know where to go.

Nada.

I sighed as I opened my eyes and then squeaked because a goddamn butterfly floated in front of me.

20

“For a girl who hates butterflies, you seem to rely on them a lot,” Cedric noted.

Guess he could see it too. “Not on purpose,” I grumbled. “What’s it doing?” The butterfly flitted through the windshield and hovered over the hood.

“I do believe it wants you to follow it.”

And so we did.

The Corolla back home drove like a dream compared to the shitbox we acquired. The floor, mostly rotted and lacking a mat to hide the giant holes, meant I could see the road as I drove. The Flintstones might make it look fun, but I’ll tell you, it was actually terrifying as I worried my foot would accidentally scrape the asphalt, get caught, twisted, dragged. Shudder. I could imagine so many bad scenarios.

We only drove our rusty prize for a few hours, ditching it in a town and stealing another parked by someone who’d just pulled into work and actually left the keys in the ignition. Who the heck did that? Apparently, a guy who ate a lot of fish. Geezus, his car reeked.

Over the next few days, as we drove east following the golden butterfly, we swapped less and less often, as opportunities grew few and far between. The towns became smaller. The roads rougher. Our latest vehicle, which had all-wheel drive, was one Cedric recommended we keep because as he said, “I don’t think we need to worry about cops pulling us over out here.”

“Where is here, anyhow?” I queried. The Russian signs didn’t provide handy English translations, but at least, the butterfly kept leading us via actual paved roads.

“We’re in Siberia, which makes sense as a hiding place for elves, as it is the least densely populated region of Russia.”

The problem being when the butterfly wanted us to leave the icy roads bordered in snow and head off into the wilderness. Since I didn’t dare ditch the car and go on foot, especially not knowing how far we had left to go, and given the fact it was frost-bite cold, we spent some time looking for an alternative method of transportation. The snowmobile we borrowed had a full tank of gas, plus one strapped to the back. From the house—whose occupants slept because I forced them to, which required me ignoring Misha’s imagined frowning disapproval—we also took some food and cold weather gear. While the stealing did still twinge my conscience, I assuaged it by reminding myself I had to complete my quest for the greater good. Surely, I’d be forgiven?

Driving a snowmobile proved interesting to say the least. When I first throttled the machine, I almost fell off, as it jerked forward with more force than expected. Cedric protested from his protected spot inside the duffel-type bag I’d strapped to the seat in front of me.

“Whoa. Watch it.”

“You wanna drive?” I snarled.

“I just might so we both live.”

Smartass. I got the hang of it soon after and even ended up enjoying how the machine powered through the snow. The glowing butterfly flitted ahead, dancing and weaving, leading me who knew where—hopefully not off a cliff.

We drove for hours. Stopped to refuel and have a snack. Then rode again. We’d set out mid-morning, and by late afternoon, with daylight waning, I began to worry. My straying attention led to me plowing into a soft drift and getting stuck.

“Fuck.” I swung my leg off the machine and eyed it. Snow covered the nose. I tried to dig at it first with my mittened hands. Then tried gunning it. No amount of trying to rock it forward or in reverse made it budge.

Giving up, I sighed, “I think we’re stuck.”

Cedric poked his head from the bag. “Well, that’s not good.”