Last Exit

by Catie Rhodes

  Griff shot past, Tubby close on his bumper, and parked in front of a long one-story building. Griff shut off the engine.

  “What is this?” I looked around for signage and saw none.

  “Buckaroo Bunkhouse,” Mysti said drily. “For cowboys who have too much fun to drive home. We’ve got the whole thing to ourselves.”

  I shucked off my seatbelt and reached for the door handle, trying to prepare myself for whatever waited inside Buckaroo Bunkhouse. But the last twenty-four hours had taken its toll. I was in no shape to make life or death decisions, and I knew it.

  The bad part? I had a feeling this was a done deal, that I was traveling a one-way road with no exits. My last exit had passed long ago. I had no choice but to tough it out and hope I had what it took. I sucked in a deep breath and trudged toward the bunkhouse.

  15

  Shelly slammed out of the bunkhouse and stalked toward me. “You should have been here hours ago. What happened?”

  “It took a little effort to get Oscar’s soul.” I showed her the tiny phoenix box.

  She recoiled from it. “Get inside. Your uncle’s waiting.”

  I hurried into the bunkhouse. It turned out to be a long room lined on each side with ten bunk beds. Twenty beds. Plenty for thirteen people. But only if those people liked each other an awful lot.

  “Here comes that mean little woman.” Cecil’s voice came from a bottom bunk. A skinny bare foot stuck out from under one side of the sheet. His face was pasty, his olive skin faded to the color of chicken broth.

  “What happened to you, old man?” I sat down on the little chest beside the bed.

  This was my joke with Cecil. I’d call him an old man, and he’d call me a mean little woman. Stuff like that made this bad turn of health hurt all the worse. He’d be gone too soon. His loss would be like Memaw’s. There’d be nobody who could ever take his place.

  He rolled his eyes. We wouldn’t discuss it. “Did you find the madman’s soul?”

  I took the soul box out of my pocket and held it out to Cecil.

  He cringed. “Get it away.”

  I stuffed it back in my pocket, ignoring the brush of evil against my skin. Cecil lifted a shaking hand, two fingers extended. Give me a cigarette. Hating myself, knowing Shelly would black my eye if she saw, I did what he wanted.

  He lit his cigarette. “What’s your plan?”

  “We have to destroy Oscar’s soul. Eating the hag’s magical core almost killed me. I don’t have a weapon strong enough to kill a soul. So I called someone who is strong enough—Black Silas.” I leaned my head back against the wall, suddenly aware of the ache of fatigue in my bones, of the coldness in my skin.

  Cecil gave a resigned nod. “Not a bad plan.”

  I studied his face. “Now you talk to me. Mysti and Griff told me you were trying to contact the Wanderer. What are you up to?”

  “Doing the best I can with a shit situation. Same as you.” He stared at the bottom of the bunk bed over him.

  “The Wanderer isn’t going to see me.” I couldn’t bring up that Death card. Not now, not without screaming.

  “You, my sweet, are in the winter of your naivety about this world. My heart aches for you.” He put his hand over mine, the clammy skin chilling me even more.

  I pulled back my hand. “What is that supposed to mean? You just said contacting Black Silas wasn’t a bad plan, didn’t you?”

  “It’s not a bad plan. You just didn’t consider everything.” Cecil tried to inhale his cigarette, choked on it, and let out a string of ugly coughs.

  I shot off the chest and fluttered around him. He shook his head, coughs still wracking his body, and motioned me to sit again. I obeyed, scared to upset him more. Cecil’s coughs slowed. He took a few deep breaths, then pulled on his cigarette. The smoke jetted from his nose in a bluish plume.

  “What are you going to do if Black Silas actually destroys Oscar’s soul?” He waved away the cloud of smoke between us and peered into my face.

  I shrugged. “If Black Silas gets rid of Oscar, that’s it. I win.”

  Cecil shook his head. The expression on his face was one I knew well. It said, You should know better. But I didn’t. Too much had happened in the last few hours. My mind was scrambled. The only two things I knew for sure were that I missed Tanner and that I was scared of the bad thing I sensed coming. I hung my head and shook it.

  “Don’t be ashamed. Queenie’s the one who told me when I called to ask her advice on contacting the Wanderer.” He gripped my arm in one cold hand. “Think. Who are Oscar’s huntsmen? Name them for me.”

  I took a deep, shaking breath. “Joey Holze, Michael Gage, Nash Redmond, Veronica Spinelli, my own damn mother…” I trailed off, trying to think of more, and finally said, “Ghosts of people who hate me.”

  Cecil spoke my thoughts. “These spirits are your sworn enemies. So even if Black Silas kills Oscar for you, they’re still going to exist. What are you going to do?”

  I slumped and shook my head, more ashamed than ever. There was so much I hadn’t thought of.

  Cecil let out an impatient breath but stopped short of saying anything. He put his cold hand back on me. “Sweetheart, listen to Papaw now. Even if Black Silas destroys Oscar forever, you’re going to have to call the hunt against the remaining huntsmen.”

  But I didn’t know how to call the hunt. I didn’t even have a clear understanding what it was. Dimly, I remembered we’d originally been talking about the Wanderer. Cecil had managed to change the subject. Why had he done that? The cords in my neck began to throb from tension.

  Cecil dropped his cigarette butt in an empty soda can on the floor. It hissed as the fire died.

  “You’re going to have to wield a great deal of power to call your own hunt. How will you get that power?” He didn’t have to say more. We were still talking about the Wanderer. Just from a different angle.

  “I’ll have to absorb the mantle completely.” The news came as no surprise. Just another shovel of shit on a growing pile. Worse, I had no clear answer how to fix it.

  I owed a chthonic being named Sol an unspecified favor for eating a hole in the scar tissue. That hadn’t done the job all the way. Letting go of my own baggage thinned the scar tissue spell a little here and there. I could probably let go of the rest over time, but this transformation needed to happen now. Cecil was right. I needed the Wanderer’s help. And he’d done what it took to secure that.

  Cecil’s voice, brittle with years and rough with experience, was so soft I had to strain to hear him answer my unspoken thoughts. “Now you see why I contacted the Wanderer. I managed to secure a meeting for you. The meeting will take place in the cavern on this property.”

  “Why the cavern?” I didn’t want to go down there. Some people came out to the Hill Country just to tour caverns. But they gave me the creeps. So damp and dank. And dark. Very, very dark.

  Cecil tapped me to get my attention. His eyes bored into mine. "I expect you to do whatever it takes to keep this meeting.”

  I closed my eyes. Black Silas’s words suddenly made sense. Arrangements had already been set in motion. My deal with him over Oscar’s soul was just one facet. Outside, the sky rumbled with thunder. Herta had given me a little time, but Oscar was on his way. Soon I’d face both him and Black Silas.

  “Oscar’s coming. How am I going to get rid of him and meet the Wanderer?” The words spiked worry though my heart. No telling what the Wanderer would do to give me control of the mantle.

  Cecil shook his head. “Things will work out. I’ve made arrangements. Once my end of the deal is complete, someone will tell you what to do next.”

  I tensed. Why not Cecil? He was the one who’d made the arrangements with the Wanderer. I had such a bad feeling about all this. My whole world was swirling around a toilet bowl, and I had no way to stop it.

  Cecil hoisted himself out of the bunk bed and grabbed for his white button-down shirt. “When is Black Silas meeting us?”

  “Af
ter dark.” I helped him get one skinny, tattooed arm into the sleeve and then made him sit back down.

  “Then we need to go.” He kept struggling into his shirt.

  “You stay here and rest.” I tried to pull the shirt away from him. He yanked it from my grasp.

  “Help me get ready. Now.” Cecil’s dark eyes gleamed with authority.

  Heart pounding from his rebuke, I helped Cecil pull the shirt over his shoulders.

  “Where is the meeting?” He barely glanced at me.

  “Black Silas mentioned a crossroads near here.” I shivered against the cold premonition something bad was about to happen, something that couldn’t be fixed.

  “Of course. It would be there.” Cecil snatched his socks off the top of his boots and tugged them on. He scowled. “Help me. Now.”

  I did what he said. Soon we walked out of the bunkhouse, me holding Cecil up by one arm. Shelly hurried over.

  “What are you doing?” Rather than speak to Cecil, she spoke to me.

  Tired of all the arguing, I shrugged.

  Cecil pointed at Kenny’s huge truck and spoke to me, ignoring Shelly. “Help me into the truck. Then tell the others we’re all going to the crossroads. They need to bring weapons.”

  Shelly helped Cecil while I faced what remained of Sanctuary. Shelly, Brad, Jadine. Hannah with Tubby as her plus-one. Dillon, Finn, and their kids. Griff and Mysti, stuck by circumstance. They all stared back, faces filled with varying degrees of fear and defiance.

  “Get your vehicles loaded and ready. Bring weapons.” My voice competed with the country music coming from the dance hall.

  A rustle of uncertainty went through what remained of my friends and family.

  "Do it now.” I lowered my voice just the way Cecil would have, lowering my chin and glaring at them.

  They broke apart, doing as I’d said, throwing me odd glances.

  I went to Dillon and stopped her from crowding her kids into the truck she and Finn had procured from somewhere. “Except you. Take your kids somewhere safe and hide with them.”

  She bared her teeth at me. “Fuck that. I’m coming to help you.”

  “Who’s going to raise your kids if you get killed?” The words rolled off my tongue, cold as well water in winter. I sounded just like Cecil at his meanest.

  Dillon flinched and slumped away from me. She grabbed one kid by each hand and marched for the bunkhouse. My heart ached as I watched my best warrior leave my side. But what else could I do?

  A hazy night had fallen by the time I climbed into the late Kenny’s monster truck with Shelly and Cecil. Brad and Jadine took one look at the three of us, turned on their heels, and got into Finn’s truck. Griff, Mysti, Hannah, and Tubby rode in Griff’s SUV.

  The tension hung between Cecil, Shelly, and me, heavy enough to be an extra person. Cecil drove the mile from Boone’s Ghost Town to the crossroads in silence. I stared out the window at the thick clouds, waiting for a peal of thunder holding the shouts of men and the bay of hounds.

  By unspoken agreement, we parked in a line half on and half off the dirt road.

  Cecil stared at me in the rearview mirror. “Get out. I want to talk to my wife.”

  Shelly, staring straight ahead, made no reaction. Not even a glance.

  I slid out of the truck, sour acid pooling in my gut. Something bad was about to happen. Cecil knew what it was and wouldn’t tell me no matter what. My ignorance ached like an infected wound. The options before me looked like a choice of rotten fruit. No matter which I picked, I’d get something I didn’t really want.

  I stood still and took deep breaths. It did nothing to calm me. The magic of the season crackled in the air and popped against my skin. The date was October thirtieth, one day before Samhain. Tomorrow night, the veil between the living and dead would be at its thinnest. Oscar would be even stronger. If my plan with Black Silas didn’t work, if the Wanderer refused to help me again, I’d be knee-deep in shit creek.

  Mysti and Griff hovered around me but didn’t talk. Finn stood next to me, arms crossed over his skinny chest. He had my back. Brad and Jadine stood off to the side. Jadine had hold of Brad’s arm as though he might run if she let go. Tubby and Hannah stood close together. Hannah had a hand on his arm.

  A truck with only one headlight approached. We all stiffened. Tubby and Hannah hurried to my side, both reaching for guns. The truck, blaring jukebox country, slowed. The driver, his face a dim blur in the murky darkness, turned to stare at us. He gunned the accelerator and hurried past, taillights fading within seconds.

  Thunder rumbled the sky. The shout of Oscar and his huntsman vibrated faintly underneath. They were on the way to stop me from handing over Oscar’s soul to Black Silas to destroy. And Black Silas was on the way, supposedly to help me.

  Cecil and Shelly finally got out of the truck. Tears streaked Shelly’s face. Cecil lit a cigarette, the flame creating ghastly shadows on his gaunt face. Shelly watched, lips turned down, but said nothing. The worry I almost had under control came roaring back, flaming higher than ever.

  Cecil tugged my sleeve. “Walk over here. Let’s talk.”

  I followed him a short distance away from the others. He stopped and faced me.

  “I need you to make me a promise.” Cecil blew a cloud of poisonous smoke into the night.

  “Let’s hear it.” I swallowed hard against the panic crowding my throat.

  “Never run from your destiny again.” He gripped my arm with more strength than I would have imagined such a sick man could have.

  I blinked twice. “What do you mean?”

  He leaned into my face, breath reeking of cigarettes. “Who you are is enough. Be who you are.”

  “Is this about the Wanderer?” I couldn’t understand why he’d tell me this.

  “It’s about everything going forward.” Cecil turned away from me.

  I followed, ready to demand answers.

  Finn stepped in front of me. “This might be Black Silas.”

  Two round headlights drifted toward us, flickering weakly. It took me several seconds to understand why Finn had known this was Black Silas. But it came with a rush. There was no sound of an engine running. The headlights came silently, as though they were the ghost of a car.

  Headlights blinding us, the car pulled to the intersection of the four roads and stopped. It was too dark for me to see the car’s color, but I could make out enough to see that it was an old model car. Like the one Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow died in.

  The door creaked open, and the huge revenant I’d met at Black Silas’s auction house in China Grove, Texas stepped out. He left the headlights beaming. Without acknowledging us in any way, he opened the car’s back door and stepped aside.

  Black Silas stepped onto the road and nodded at Cecil. “The deal is done, old friend.”

  Cecil stiffened but returned the monster’s nod.

  Fear pricked its way up my back. Some secret, back-door deal had passed. Now bad things would happen, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them. A darker cloud than before covered the moon.

  Black Silas walked toward us, the headlights creating a nimbus of white fire around him. Darkness pooled over his face.

  He beelined for Cecil and held out his hand. “It’s been too many years.”

  Cecil took Black Silas’s hand. He jerked when they touched. Remembering Black Silas’s too-hot touch, my skin crawled.

  “Funny coincidence that this is where we’ve ended up.” Black Silas gestured at the crossroads. Another story I’d never know.

  Cecil barely nodded. Black Silas shifted position, and the headlights beamed on Cecil’s face. It shone with sweat. He gripped one of my arms too tight and pulled me forward.

  “Show Mr. Silas what you have.” He tightened his hand around my arm.

  Wrongness crawled over my skin like the sticky gossamer of a spider web, the kind that stays no matter how hard you try to brush it off.

  Cecil stepped closer and whispered, “It�
�s going to be okay.” He kissed my cheek.

  I dug the phoenix box out of my pocket, careful not to pull out the hag’s heart with it. Some instinct told me to keep that to myself for now. I held the box out to Black Silas. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight and took the box. He raised his eyes to mine. His teeth gleamed in the darkness. With the bright beam of the headlights silhouetting him, he looked like a film negative.

  “Oh, what this would bring at auction.” He waved one long-fingered hand over the box.

  With the wave of that hand, the icy heat of Oscar Rivera’s inherent evil pushed at my skin, testing my barriers. I strained against it.

  “Can you kill the soul?” This was the only question that mattered.

  Black Silas bounced the box in his hand. “You asked my assistance, and I intend to give it.”

  Not an answer. Acid heated my stomach. I patted my pocket for my roll of antacids, but they weren’t there. I’d lost them along the way. Just like Tanner. Just like my witching supplies. I pressed one hand to my mouth, winced against my burning insides, and tried to decide what to do next.

  Thunder clapped, nearer than ever. Right behind it came the shouts of Oscar and his huntsmen, the neighs of their horses, and the hoarse barks of the red-eared dogs. The thunder of motorcycles faded in for a second.

  “What are you waiting for?” We had to get this done before Oscar came. Something told me that once he got here, it would be too late.

  “I said I’d help. I just didn’t say what I’d do.” Black Silas made the gold box containing Oscar’s soul disappear and turned his back on me.

  “Now wait just a damn minute,” I yelled and grabbed for Black Silas.

  Cecil pulled me away. I fought my uncle with all I had. This was our only chance. If Oscar came again, he’d have another chance to kill me. I couldn’t allow that. Cecil gripped both my wrists with more strength than I expected, holding me away from Black Silas. The monster never acknowledged us. To him, we could have been ants fighting.