Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan

by Seanan McGuire

  "What the fuck are you trying to say?"

  "She's saying you can make me fight you for Emma, but you can't just trade one for one," I say, finally getting the gist of what Bethany's trying to say. "I guess you don't have that kind of authority."

  "Who's to say she does?" Bobby looks truly angry now, fury distorting that eternally-youthful face in ways that aren't attractive in the slightest. "Why does that dumb little bitch get to tell me what I can or can't do?"

  "Because that 'dumb little bitch' is speaking for the crossroads." I glance toward Bethany, seeing the miles stretching out to forever in her eyes. "Isn't that right?"

  "Got it in one, Aunt Rose," says Bethany. She smiles, and for a moment—just a moment—she's a normal teenage girl, unchanged, innocent. The girl she might have been, if she'd never fallen prey to Bobby Cross. The moment passes, and the eyes she turns on Bobby are filled with shadows too deep and too dark to have ever been human. "I am here because you are ours, and your actions here endanger more than you have the right to damage. Because we were...acquainted...while I lived, I get to be the one to judge whatever you decide is fair."

  "I killed her, I should get to eat her," snarls Bobby. "That's what's fair."

  "But she got away from you. She walked the Ocean Lady and won Persephone's favor. She found the crossroads, twice, and was tempted, but made no deals. She's passed outside your ownership, and if you want her, you have to win her." Bethany folds her arms, smiling sweetly. "You have to pay if you want to play. So find a fee that suits you."

  Emma is here, somewhere. Bobby's not going to let me walk away without a fight, and I won't go without Emma. "A race," I say abruptly, taking a step forward. "Him and me, there and back. Winner takes all."

  "Done and done," says Bethany, before Bobby can object. "You each have something you can wager."

  "I won't cede my claim to her," says Bobby.

  "No one can make you. But if she beats you here, today, she takes the bean sidhe and leaves unhindered. If you win..." Bethany glances my way, looking almost regretful. I brace myself for what comes next. "You get her pink slip. The boy's soul is yours."

  "What?" The word bursts forth unbidden. "Gary isn't part of this!"

  "He is now," says Bethany. "What you do after losing is up to you. Do you accept my terms, Bobby Cross, Rose Marshall?"

  I want to refuse them. Bobby must see that in my face, because he smiles, slow and poisonous, and says, "I do."

  "Rose?"

  I close my eyes, unable to shake the feeling that this, all of this, is nothing more than wrong. "I do," I whisper, and silence falls.

  ***

  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I whisper for what feels like the thousandth time, resting my cheek against the warm leather of Gary's steering wheel. "I didn't know what else to do. I'm so, so sorry."

  The radio spins, flicking through half a dozen songs from our brief earthly time together before stopping on a song I don't recognize, one that entreats me to "gamble everything for love." The volume stays low, soothing, not blaring in my ear.

  I sigh, closing my eyes. "I'm still sorry. This isn't what you signed up for."

  The music goes briefly silent before clicking over to a modern station, where the song informs me that losing me is like living in a world with no air.

  "Okay." I have to laugh at that, just a little, and laughing even a little makes me feel enough better that I can sit up, wiping the phantom tears from my cheeks. "Maybe this is what you signed up for after all. Come on, baby. Let's go kick a dead guy's ass."

  The engine turns over, and then we're rolling through the midnight, heading for the night's designated drag strip...heading for the future. Whatever that future is going to be.

  ***

  I set the challenge, so Bobby chose the raceway. It shouldn't be a surprise when we follow the markers to the makeshift starting line and find ourselves idling at the base of Sparrow Hill, where the road winds its way into the even deeper dark beneath the trees. Bobby is already there, standing next to his car. So is Bethany, standing off to one side with a starter flag in her hand. We're really going to do this.

  It's hard to strut confidently in a green silk prom dress, but I've had years to practice, and I almost manage it as I get out of the car and cross the dusty pavement to where Bobby stands. "Emma," I say. "Where is she?"

  "You'll get her if you win," replies Bobby. "You won't win."

  "My hostage is present," I say, indicating Gary with a wave of my hand. "Now show me yours, or this doesn't happen."

  "The terms are fair," says Bethany.

  Bobby scowls like a storm rolling in, and stalks around to the back of his car, where he unlocks the trunk and hauls a rumpled, bound and gagged Emma into the questionable light. Her eyes are closed and her head is lolling forward, but she's breathing. I don't know how hard it is to kill a bean sidhe. Hopefully, tonight is not the night when I find out. "Happy now?" he demands.

  "Not by a long shot," I say. "Leave her here."

  "Why would I do a silly thing like that?" He runs a fingertip lecherously down the curve of Emma's cheek, smirking at me. "Your hostage is going on the race with you. So's mine."

  "The terms are fair," says Bethany again, sadly this time, like she'd rather be saying something else. "But you can't keep her in the trunk. If your hostage is damaged, the entire contest is invalidated."

  "Fine," snaps Bobby. He wrenches open the passenger-side door and all but tosses Emma inside, slamming the door behind her. "Now can we get started?"

  Bethany nods. "You are to cross the hill and return. First one here wins. If you cheat, I'll know. Is everyone in agreement?"

  "Yes," says Bobby, and "Yes," I say, and then we're walking back to our respective cars, Gary's engine already live and running, his own dark machine roaring into bitter wakefulness. I have to wonder if Bobby's car is self-aware; I have to wonder if it understands what its driver is doing.

  But there isn't time for lengthy contemplation. Bethany is standing at our ad hoc starting line, a checkered flag in one hand—and there's no point in wondering where she got it; she's a crossroad guardian now, and I guess that comes with a few party tricks of its own. She watches with calm, sad eyes as we roll up to either side of her, our idling engines like dragons in the quiet midnight. Then the flag comes down and there's nothing to do but drive.

  ***

  I haven't been on Sparrow Hill since the night I died there. I used to drive it all the time, but that was decades ago, and even ghosts can forget the little things, like how sharp the first curve is, or how fast the trees block out all the light. Even during the middle of the day, it's always dark on certain parts of the road, and this is a long way from the middle of the day.

  The little things only distract me for a few seconds. A few seconds is all that it takes for Bobby to snare the lead, his taillights burning bloody through the darkness. I swear and slam my foot down on the gas, sending Gary leaping forward. The gap between us is still narrow, and we haven't lost this yet.

  Bobby's car has a better engine, but my car has a better soul, and that can count for a lot once you're on the ghostroads. Gary and I slide through the gap between Bobby and the side of the hill, tires chewing dirt for a few seconds before we're back on solid pavement and blasting our way through the night. Now it's Bobby's turn to come racing up behind me. I hit the gas a little harder, hauling on the steering wheel, not allowing him to pass. Everything depends on this. I can't lose.

  We're the first ones over the hill, the first ones to hit the marker that says it's time to turn around again. Gary takes the turn smoothly, and we pass Bobby as we drive back into the shadows of the hill.

  The pass is easy. That should bother me, but I'm too focused on the road ahead, too focused on winning—for Emma's sake, for Gary's sake, for the sake of my own soul. I don't realize just how wrong it was for Bobby to let me pass him like that until his car comes blazing out of the darkness behind us like some dark avenging angel, and his bumper sla
ms into mine.

  The impact is hard enough to slam me into the steering wheel, Gary going briefly out of my control. He wobbles on the road, and I swear, scrambling to get us back on track. Bobby slams into us again and again, making it impossible for me to do anything but hang on. I've been here before. Terror is racing through my veins like a drug, because I have been here before, and I didn't survive it last time, either.

  He hits us one last time, and this time, I can't keep control of the wheel, and Gary's tires can't keep their contact with the road, and we go tumbling down, down, down into the dark, falling into the endless shadows on the side of Sparrow Hill.

  ***

  The first time I took this fall, I was alive, and the trauma of it knocked me out. This time, I'm dead, and so is my car. That makes a bit of a difference. So does the fact that is the Sparrow Hill of the past—the one where my first car has already gone over the edge. I grab the wheel, shouting, "Trust me!" and steer us through the wreckage created by my crash. It's hard. The ground is broken and filled with dangers, and my teeth rattle with every impact. Gary's bearing the worst of it, and he doesn't complain, although his radio flickers wildly, a dozen songs in a second, none lasting more than a single note.

  There, up ahead of us: there's the light of the road, dim by any other measure, but a beacon when viewed from the absolute darkness of the trees. We burst through the last barrier, and we're out, tires screeching as we skid to a stop just past the finish line. Panting, I slump back in my seat. "You okay, honey?"

  Gary's radio spins; "Back in Black" blasts briefly through the cabin.

  "Oh, good." I sigh deeply, unfastening my belt. "I'll be back. I hope."

  Gary doesn't have an answer for that. The radio clicks off just before I shut the door.

  ***

  Bobby Cross is pulling up as I walk back over to Bethany. His car has barely stopped before he's out, striding toward us, grinning to beat the band. "Hand over that pink slip, missy, and then we'll see about what you can do for me to get it back," he says.

  "No," says Bethany.

  "No?" echoes Bobby, disbelieving. I share his sentiment, but don't say anything; I just turn to her, and stare.

  "No, she won't be giving you her pink slip, but you'll be giving her your hostage." Bethany's smile is cold and cruel. "You lose."

  "Now, hold on a moment, missy," he snaps. "She didn't finish the race."

  "Distance was never stated. Only cross the hill and back again. She finished the race. She just took an alternate route." Bethany points to the shattered underbrush marking the scene of my first crash. "Rose Marshall is today's victor. Return the bean sidhe, and go."

  "You little—"

  "I speak for the crossroads, Bobby," says Bethany. Her voice is soft, and louder than thunder, all at the same time. "Do you truly wish to argue with us? We did not forbid you to cheat and drive her off the road, but neither did we forbid her to survive being driven. If you break this bargain with us, you break them all. Are you willing to live with the consequences of that choice?"

  A look of utter terror flashes over Bobby's face. He's been in the dark for a long time, and all to stay young and beautiful forever. "No," he says, hurriedly.

  "Then return the bean sidhe, and do not test our patience in this way again. You can still claim the girl, if you can catch her fairly. You will not take her tonight."

  Still ashen, Bobby pulls Emma from his car and drops her to the pavement. He doesn't look back as he climbs into the driver's seat and blasts away, leaving the four of us alone.

  Make that the three of us. When I turn to thank Bethany, she's gone. I look at the place where she'd been for a moment. Then I nod, and make my way to Emma.

  She's still gagged, her hands tied behind her back, but her eyes are open, and focus on me as I kneel to pull the gag away. She coughs, weakly. "You didn't have to do this," she whispers.

  "Hush," I reply, and start working on the rope that binds her wrists. "You're my friend. Besides, I couldn't let you die before you met my boyfriend."

  "Boyfriend?" asks Emma, blinking.

  "He's the hot guy behind me. The one with the smokin' wheels."

  Emma's eyes flick past me, and widen as she sees Gary—the only possible "hot guy" on the road. Then she starts to laugh, punctuating her amusement with more coughs. "You have to be kidding me."

  "Nope." I straighten, helping her to her feet. "I'm getting a malted for this, right?"

  "You're getting all the malteds you can drink," she says, fiercely, and pulls me into a hug. "Thank you."

  "What are friends for?" I pat her back with one hand and turn to smile at Gary. He flashes his headlights at me. "Let's go home."

  ***

  Last Dance Diner says the neon sign, glowing through the darkness like a lighthouse guiding us safely into port. The lights are on, and there are people inside, being waited on by Emma's staff. After the midnight, this level of the twilight seems almost bright enough to be the day.

  We slide into the parking lot, and Emma pats Gary's dashboard, saying, "I'll send Dinah out with some fresh oil. Thanks again. For everything."

  His radio spins, and the Beatles tell her that they get by with a little help from their friends.

  "Don't we all?" Emma turns her smile toward me, only the weariness at the corner of her mouth betraying what she's been through tonight. "You coming?"

  "Yeah," I say, and kiss Gary's steering wheel before sliding out of my seat. He closes the door behind me, and my feet crunch in the gravel as I follow Emma toward the warm and welcoming light of home.

  I won't tell you this is how it ends. I won't tell you this is where it ended. Those things would be lies. But I'll tell you this: the road is as long as you want it to be, and every accident can be a blessing, if you're willing to look past the bad parts and find the good ones, like the friends who wait for you on the other side. I won't tell you this is my whole story, but it's as much as I'm going to share right now.

  If you ever need me, I'll be there to get you home. And in all the Americas, from midnight to noon and in-between, the truckers roll out, and the diners stand like cathedrals of the road, and the beat...the beat goes on.