Dark Traveler

by Catie Rhodes

  It went on so long, my energy flagged. I couldn’t keep this up much longer. Once I let go, that would be it. I was too exhausted to do this again. I searched deep, looking for my last bit of stubbornness, found it, and pushed at the magic one last time.

  The energy flowed down my arm, found the old wood of the stick, and raced to the skull. The skull’s eyes lit up, bluish white, the hottest of flames. Realizing what was about to happen, I tried to let go of the stick on which the skull sat. My fingers wouldn’t move.

  Fear pulsed just as strong as the magic. When this thing started burning stuff, it would likely burn off my arm. I tried again to let go, but it was as though invisible fingers held my hand fast to the wood.

  The other men holding the stick began to do a weird one-handed dance that got faster and faster until they vibrated. They didn’t so much scream as they howled, teeth popping from their mouths. One by one, their eyes blew out. White light streamed from the eye sockets, spreading over them and consuming them. By the time each one dropped to the floor, he was nothing more than a pile of ash with red embers glowing inside.

  Light beamed from the skull’s eye sockets. It landed on the head of one of the not-quite-men. The man’s greasy hair began to smoke, conjuring an odor of unwashed, burning hair that I would never forget as long as I lived.

  The man danced foot to foot to music only he could hear. A guttural sound came from him, growing higher by the second. His head exploded, sizzling pieces of it landing everywhere, including on my skin where they burned. I brushed them off. They kept burning all the way to the wood floor where they landed as ash.

  The skull’s eyes found man after man, the horror repeating itself until I was almost numb to it. It drained me of energy. By the time the last man fell, and the light inside the skull faded, I could barely hold myself upright.

  I staggered a few feet away from the piles of ashes and pieces of sizzling skin and slid to the floor, fingers still wrapped around the skull lamp. Tanner stood pressed against a far wall, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths.

  “I think I want to go home and to bed,” I said and collapsed on the filthy floor, not even caring how nasty it was.

  “You’re going.” Tanner trudged toward me and lifted me off the floor. He carried me out of the bar the way a groom carries his bride over the threshold of the honeymoon suite. The skull lantern bumped against the floor, my fingers still locked around it in a death grip.

  Tanner propped me and the lantern against the bed of my truck. He left me to dig around inside and came back with a bottle of water and a granola bar.

  I sipped the water. It stayed down, so I nibbled at the granola bar. It gave me a second wind. Using my free hand, I pried my fingers off the skull lantern’s stick and shook feeling back into them.

  “Is it okay if that doesn’t ride in the truck with us?” Tanner came close but wouldn’t touch the thing.

  I nodded and placed it in the bed of the truck. Sides heaving from the exertion of the activity, I grabbed the bed of the truck and gasped for air. Tanner stood a few feet from me.

  I held out one hand. “Give me my keys.”

  He pulled the keys out of his pocket and jingled them. “Sure you can drive?”

  No, but I want to drive my damn truck myself. Sluggish, heavy fatigue fuzzed my head and blurred my vision. I wanted to drive, to be in control, but could I keep my eyes open until we got out of this pocket of hell? While I thought it over, my eyes drifted closed. My knees buckling woke me. Tanner grabbed my arm to keep me from falling down.

  “Let me help you.” He slid one arm under my legs, carried me around to the passenger side, managed to open the door one-handed, and stick me in my seat. He kept his arms around me longer than he needed to, his face barely an inch from mine. Then the moment passed. He let me go, shut the door, and walked away.

  My head lolled against the headrest while I waited for him to get in the truck. Thoughts of what Tanner’s lips would feel like on mine clouded my head. My inner voice of reason pushed them away.

  Tanner had damage, the kind that burrowed so deep into the heart it never saw the light of day again. Together we had enough wounds from the war of love and loss to start our own hospital, the kind where nobody ever got better and ghosts haunted the halls forever.

  The driver’s side door opened, and the overhead light came on. I tilted my head to look at Tanner as he crawled into the truck.

  He gave me a little half smile. “That was pretty impressive back there. You saved my ass.”

  “And a nice ass it is,” I mumbled. My cheeks heated, but the words were already out there, and there was nothing I could do but give Tanner a sheepish smile. There was something about this hot, broken man that drew me in, no matter how bad I knew he’d be in the long run.

  He bit his lower lip, seemed to think something over, started to speak, but then stopped. He put one hand on the steering wheel and took it off. He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. It was like watching a seesaw.

  “Never mind that,” he mumbled to himself and leaned toward me, lips parted. I closed the distance and put one hand on his cheek. Our lips barely touched.

  Tanner scooted toward me and slid his hand behind my neck, his movements fluid and powerful. I’d like to say I pulled away, told him this was a bad idea for both of us, but I gripped his T-shirt in both hands and met his lips.

  I’d based my lust for Tanner on the intensity caged in his jewel-toned eyes, in his careful movements. Both hinted at sweaty, midnight passion. Whatever I’d seen hadn’t prepared me for Tanner’s kiss.

  His lips pressed against mine, insistent and all-consuming, stealing my breath. Dizzy, body tingling, I kissed back. The sweat on Tanner’s lips from our fight in the Pale Horse Saloon stung salty and hot. His lips felt every bit as good as they looked.

  I forgot where we were and all my crazy problems. I cared about nothing but Tanner’s lips and tongue and his smell, musky and primal, invading my senses. His hand gripped the back of my neck tighter, late-day whiskers rasping against my upper lip.

  His tongue touched mine. My body jerked, and I moaned. Desire opened up its petals and stretched. Tanner used one trembling hand to trace my jaw with his thumb. He trailed it down my neck. A shiver ripped through my body. Were we going to do what I thought? He was just as nervous about it as I was.

  I drew back to look at him, to make sure. What I saw was as effective as a cold shower in terms of killing the mood.

  The spirits of Tanner’s family swirled around his head. Without me using the mantle, they weren’t more than a soft breeze, a wisp of displeasure. But I felt them and knew they saw me as a threat to Tanner, someone who might hurt him. Any hurt at this stage could prevent him from ever getting past their loss.

  Tanner broke away from me, flopped back in the driver’s seat, stared straight ahead. “That was wrong. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the sexy purr of his voice nothing more than a hoarse croak.

  “It’s okay.” I reached out to touch his arm, almost hit one of the bite marks, and drew away. “Is it the bites? They’re hurting?”

  But I knew it wasn’t the bites. Those spirits circling Tanner’s head hung over him like storm clouds, same as Wade’s memory in the back of my mind kept me from going forward. The funny thing was, we both chose to keep the hurt of our losses with us. We imprisoned the ghosts of our pasts and forced them to haunt us.

  Tanner started the truck. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk. Path of least resistance. Drive me back to Summervale, pretend this never happened, maybe slip away when he got back on his feet.

  Would that really be so bad? Maybe not. I wouldn’t let Wade drop out of my head, even though I wouldn’t start anything with him now if he begged. I loved him too much to play a part in the story Desiree told me.

  Cigarettes. I needed them now. They’d make me feel better. I dug in the console, took out a new pack, slapped it against my palm a couple of times, and opened them. Tanner took his eyes o
ff the road to watch me get one out of the pack.

  “All right?” I asked as I lit it. It was my truck. I’d smoke if I wanted to, but I would give Tanner a chance to voice his displeasure.

  “I didn’t quit until I ran out of money.” He kept his eyes on the white sand in front of us, his voice back to his normal one. I held the cigarettes across the truck.

  Tanner glanced at them and shook his head. “I can’t afford them now any more than I could when I quit.”

  Holding my cigarette between my first and middle finger, I lit Tanner a cigarette and held it to his lips until he took it. He clamped down on it and drew deep.

  “You can smoke mine.” That must have been some kiss. I never offered to give someone access to my cigarettes. But there was something about Tanner. I wanted to help. And deep down, I wanted more.

  “I can’t agree to that.” Tanner took the cigarette out of his mouth and cocked it between his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Why not? You’ve saved my life once, and you helped me fight my way out of that hellhole back there.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder and glanced out the window.

  Next to the truck galloped a white horse. The man riding it glowed like the noon sun. Both man and horse were transparent. As I watched, the man turned to look at me, and they both disappeared. I turned to Tanner to find him watching with wide eyes and an open mouth.

  “This country’s haunted,” he muttered and faced the road again.

  I nodded. It was. But so was the rest of the world and me along with it. No point in worrying about it. We’d been talking about cigarettes, and that was good enough for now.

  “So it’s settled. You’ll smoke my cigarettes,” I said with finality.

  Tanner needed a friend whether we hooked up or not. The reason the spirits of his lost family hovered over him, the reason they were so protective, was that he thought about them constantly. He depended on them to get through the day. They’d never leave if he didn’t let them go.

  Not unlike the spell keeping me from my full power. What Hannah and others had said rolled around in my mind. I saw the logic in letting go of the scar tissue myself. But I just didn’t know how to do it. Hurt holds pretty firm to history. Together they built a wall that was almost impossible to tear down. I let go of the thoughts, knowing they’d come back sooner or later.

  I watched Tanner in the dashboard lights, trying to figure out what I found attractive. His features, if examined one at a time, weren’t the stuff of male models. That had been Dean.

  Tanner’s high cheekbones and small, intense eyes gave him the look of a strong, fast animal. Having seen him fight, I knew his appearance fit what he was. Unwelcome lust heated my body at the memory of his hand on the back of my neck, his lips on mine. I shook it off.

  “Did you box in high school or college?” I’d pretend nothing happened between us. Acting otherwise would be an echo of what I’d done with Wade and now regretted. Tanner and I could go right back to an unspoken attraction and pretend our kiss never happened. No matter how many times I called up the experience on lonely nights.

  Tanner, focused on the swirl of dirt and the narrow road ahead of us, didn’t answer for so long I thought he’d decided to ignore me. When he spoke, a hesitation weighted his words, as though he was going to be very careful about what he told me.

  “Junior high. I was one of those runty, skinny kids. Always getting my ass kicked.” He glanced at me, an impish smile curling his lips.

  I laughed and nodded. “I was the outcast at school. Didn’t know to keep my mouth shut about seeing ghosts. They let me know I was different.” The memory heated my cheeks as though it had just happened yesterday rather than years ago. Just like Tanner, I carried my ghosts.

  Tanner clamped his cigarette in his mouth and took one hand off the wheel. Gently, the way a lover would, he touched my knuckles on the hand nearest him. “I noticed that. My dad had boxed in the Army. He got me started. I was fast, liked the competition, even though my mom hated it.”

  “She afraid you were going to get hurt?” Tanner wasn’t runty now, but if he had been, I could understand the fear.

  “No. Mom was born and raised in California. Different culture. She saw boxing as barbaric.” He stopped speaking. I glanced over to see him frowning. Was he considering telling me something big? I sat as still as possible as though moving might jinx his decision. Finally, he slumped.

  “After high school, I did some amateur boxing matches. It paid more than retail or fast food, and I had a family to support.” He took his eyes off the road and spoke directly to me. “I got my girlfriend pregnant senior year. Her parents wanted her to have an abortion. My parents wanted me not to get tied down so early. But I knew she was the right one. I married her the week after we graduated, and we had a baby a few months later.”

  I tried to imagine a young man so determined, so sure of what he wanted. And to know he still loved his wife deeply, would take his family back in a second, touched me. My eyes burned, and a sadness opened up, almost as strong as the desire I’d felt a few minutes earlier. I envied anybody who got to enjoy their true love.

  Tanner let out a loud breath. “Earlier when I kissed you, it was just the intense situation. Coming down from it, you know?”

  I agreed, even though I’d hoped he found me as attractive as I did him. Men turned my head every day, but liking one versus liking to look at one were two different things.

  “Losing my wife and daughters ripped me apart.” He gripped the wheel tight. “I’m not looking for a relationship.” He glanced over at me, his meaning louder than if he’d said the words.

  Laughter tightened my chest, but I held it back. Instead I said, “I understand. I went there after my divorce.”

  And I had. I alley catted around for several years after I divorced Tim the Asshole. My poor choice in men had led to me losing the only child I might ever have. Trying to choose the right man after that felt impossible.

  Even after I started really dating again and fell in love with Dean, I still picked wrong men. Both Dean and Wade had been wrong men. I still wasn’t sure I wanted to try for another relationship after the heartbreak of losing Wade before it ever started. But the feel of Tanner’s lips on mine had gone a long way toward convincing me I might need to reconsider.

  Tanner glanced at me. “I like you. A lot. But starting again with another woman, especially after the way my wife and daughters died, feels wrong, like a betrayal.”

  “Your family died in a car accident?” I watched Tanner’s posture. Had he been drunk? Or a road rage incident? I couldn’t see the latter at all. Tanner would fight if provoked, but he seemed even-tempered otherwise. The drunk driving was another matter. The level of his guilt suggested there was something.

  Tanner nodded. We’d reached the little town nearest Pale Horse. Tanner pulled onto the deserted and dark Main Street and parked the truck on the side of the road. I tried to hide that I was dying of curiosity.

  “I told you my wife got pregnant with our daughter when we were seniors in high school. I was barely nineteen when Maya was born.” He pointed at my cigarettes and raised his eyebrows. So it was going to be that kind of story. I tossed the pack in his lap.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation of your life,” I told Tanner.

  “No, I want to tell you. Because that kiss was…well, it was what I wanted right then.” He lit his cigarette with smooth, practiced motions. “So there I was, thirty-five years old, with a sixteen-year-old daughter. Maya wanted to get her driver’s license with the other kids. Both Bea and I were more worried, but we signed the consent forms.”

  My imagination went wild. I knew the end of the story, just not how it happened. The big mystery was how the mother and other daughter got in the wreck.

  “Maya passed everything she needed to, and her driver’s license came. One of our rituals as a family was to eat out every Friday night at this little Italian restaurant not even a mile from our house.” He smoked in
silence for a while. A tear streaked down his face. When he spoke, his voice wobbled. “Maya wanted to drive. Bea didn’t want to let her. It was Friday night. Traffic would be worse. I argued with Bea, told her this would be a good learning experience for Maya, and we’d be there to help her if something went wrong.”

  My shoulders tightened as my imagination zeroed in on the right story. Tanner had been with them, had seen the whole thing happen. As a man who could fight his way out of a situation, not being able to save them had to be unreal. Worse, he now blamed himself for allowing his daughter to drive.

  He started the truck again, and I thought he’d decided not to tell me the rest of the story. He drove down the deserted street, stopping at the red light even though nobody was there.

  He spoke, and his already raspy voice was raw with unshed tears. “Bea and I thought Maya would make the mistake. But we never saw him coming.” Tanner drove, focused on the road ahead. “The police said the guy had lost his job and was angry, yelling on the phone to his wife. He ran a red light going sixty miles per hour.”

  The particulars of the story formed in my mind. Tears tightened my throat. I wanted to reach out to Tanner, but doing so would likely insult him or make him uncomfortable. So I said nothing and kept my hands to myself.

  He swallowed hard. “The other driver plowed into the driver’s door on our car. The impact knocked us into another car, and the pile-up started there.” He blew a hard jet of smoke from his nose and stubbed out the cigarette half smoked in the ashtray. “My wife and younger daughter died before they got to the hospital. Maya arrived in a coma from which she never woke. I walked away with a broken leg and a broken arm.” He choked. “But I died that day too.”

  I wanted to tell him he hadn’t, that he’d have to let go of his grief in order to start living again, but saying that would be hypocritical. Wade, the desire of him, grief over the connection we’d had, still plagued me. So did many other sorry events in my life. Who was I to judge Tanner?

  I reached one hand across the truck and held it out, offering him some kind of human contact as comfort. He took my hand and squeezed it. We drove that way through the darkness. My mind drifted. Maybe I even fell asleep. The next thing I knew, Tanner jammed on the brakes, and the tires started to squall.