Chapter 27

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall asleep. There's comfort in knowing I have my grandfather's protection. Well, to be honest, I'd rather the amulet didn't let me get beat up before it decided to intervene because I feel like I've been thrown through a woodchipper. Every part of me aches, and the constant bumps in the road don't help.

Mortal beggars can't be choosers.

When I open my eyes, light peeks over the horizon, and I'm greeted by the sight of the candy bar thief puking his guts out in front of a fast food restaurant. The bus is empty as everyone goes inside to order food. The engine isn't running, and it feels almost peaceful.

I check my phone, unable to stop myself from hoping Paul's name appears in my missed messages. Instead, I find no one has contacted me.

No one. Not my birth mother, not Conrad, not Paul.

Did my birth mother get my message? It's early yet, not even five in the morning in California. She could be sleeping.

Does Conrad know what happened yet with the vampires he sent?

Does Paul… I sigh. Does he miss me? Does he regret me?

I grab my bag and walk the aisle, stretching my legs. Blood stains my shirt from where I wiped my hands, reminding me of all that has happened.

Something has to be done about my appearance. I quickly leave the bus and jog my way to a side door of the restaurant near the restrooms. The stalls are full, but I set myself up at the sink. I wash my hands and arms, splash water on my face, and use wet paper towels to clean under my shirt. I watch the people entering and exiting, making sure no one pays too much attention to me.

Turning my shirt backward, I put on the jacket to hide the blood on my back. It's no fashion show, but it'll do. At least I no longer look like I lost at fight club.

I see the amulet bump beneath the material. I expected an enchanted object to feel differently—like a tingling eruption or the surge of the magic ball Anthony let me hold that burned my hand as a kid. This just feels like a necklace.

But I suppose that doesn't matter when it did its job. I'm alive. For what, I'm not sure at this point.

I wish my grandfather were here to give me advice. The isolation and loneliness are overwhelming. It leaves a hollow pit inside of me, and there is a prickling sensation in my chest. I imagine tiny supernatural creatures living in there, carving out a bigger home with their minuscule knives, and they won't stop until there is nothing left but a bag of skin. The pit will slowly grow like a cancer until I become one of those wild people living in the woods—so secluded that I forget how to speak or interact with other humans.

What am I fighting for? Why am I even here on this journey? I don't recognize my life.

In a silent toast, I lift an invisible glass toward my reflection in the mirror and whisper, "To the fall of the Devine legacy."

I take the pretend drink, wishing it were real. Why couldn't this all be some magic drug-induced hallucination? Maybe if I lay on the restroom floor and close my eyes, Anthony will come and find me—laughing at the fact I can't hold my liquor and pot.

All that magic. All those great big lives. And it boils down to this hot mortal mess staring back at me.

The door opens, and I recognize a woman from my bus. She touches the diamond ring on her finger like she wants the world to know she's not alone. The gesture reminds me of the comfort I get from knowing the amulet is there. Or maybe she's scared I'll steal it.

"Oh, excuse me," she mumbles, even though she's not nearly close enough to bump into me. Her eyes sweep over me, and I see her lips tightening. I'm really not in the mood to be judged by a stranger, so I leave the restroom.

I'm tempted by the smell of food but feel the need to conserve my cash reserves. If anyone is tracking me, I don't want to be found. I have no clue if they are, but it feels safer this way.

Before leaving, I refill my water bottle by the drink dispenser. I don't linger in the parking lot. I see people watching me, but I don't keep eye contact for too long. I might be protected, but anyone who comes into my life will be a moving target.

I'm the first person back on the bus, and I settle into my little corner next to the window. It's brighter outside now, and I feel resigned to my path.

Mabon said Conrad is in California. Paul and Diana should be safe. My brother thinks I've used them and ditched them. They should be fine as long as I continue to resist the urge to hear their voices. I like to think Conrad can't hack my phone because it's protected, but I don't want to take any chances. And what's to say he won't hack the people I contact? Nothing I believed in makes sense anymore.

I look at my bare hand and touch my ring finger. I'm jealous of that judgy woman in the restroom. How could Nancy throw Paul away? I'd give anything to have that perfectly normal life with him.

Instead, if I somehow make it through this, my world will never look the same. I'll be alone.

No, scratch that. I'll be married to a supernatural of Uncle Mortimer's choosing.

The idea is so repulsive that I clench my hand into a fist and squeeze hard as if I can erase the image of being married to anybody but Paul. This is my fantasy, dammit.

"Oh, god, please don't let it be Chester Freemont."

If my parents had written a will stating that I am to inherit everything, I'm sure they would have included a clause forcing me to align with the Freemont family and bear a flock of little Chesters. I suppose that's one good thing about no one expecting I'd outlive the rest of them. They didn't bother to put their wishes in writing.

"Death or Chester?" I mutter to myself, still clenching my fist. "Well, this is the worst choose-your-fate game ever."

I flatten my hand and rub it against my thigh before reaching for my phone.

"Death," I belatedly answer my own crappy game.

I need to get out of my head or at least focus on solutions instead of self-pity. A quick check tells me no one has messaged me. Still, I look at Paul's name in my contacts like it's some mystical link to let me feel him with me. I don't call it. I need to delete it, but I can't make my fingers press the button.

Instead, I text Lorelai, "Sorry to be a bother. Please let me know if you got the message and are safe."

I hover my finger over the device before finally forcing myself to send it. Two messages aren't too much, right? I mean, if I send another, then I'm heading into needy stalker territory. It's too early to call California. I know nothing about this woman. Does she sleep with her phone off? Does she sleep until noon? Did she block my number after I called because she didn't want contact with me?

I hear someone getting on the bus, and I burrow down into my seat. People are filtering inside. The break is over, and we're about to get back on the road. I'm glad for it. I'm ready for this journey to be over. Knowing there is a day and a half left on this bus isn't helping.

My stomach growls, and I dig into my bag to look for that candy bar from the bus station. Sweets are not what I want, but it makes me think of sparkle pancakes.

Everything reminds me of Paul and Diana.

What if I just get off at the next stop and walk away? Toss my phone in a trashcan, drain my bank account for all the cash I can get to tide me over until I find a job, and just disappear into the ether? Forget about Conrad's bounty on my head. Forget about the vampires. Forget about the birth mother, who probably never wanted to hear from me.

I'll never find another Paul, but there must be someone out there who'd marry a sad woman with a fake name who doesn't want to bring kids into this world. Or I could just live in the forest and adopt a bunch of cats.

A strange sensation comes over me at the thought, making me physically incapable of following through with the idea. I'm not sure what this feeling is, but it's intense.

Guilt? Sense of duty? Familial responsibility?

Cowardness?

My phone rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound. I fumble to check who it is, hoping it's Paul while knowing he shouldn't be calling me.

Lorelai's name pops up.

My birth mother is calling.

I take a deep breath and answer, "Hello?"

"It's," she makes a confused noise, "um, Lorelai. I got your message. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm," I look at people filing onto the bus, "good."

"You're safe?"

"Yes," I answer.

"Good." She sighs into the phone.

"I'm sorry if my message was cryptic. I wasn't sure how to say?—"

"Don't talk about it on the phone. You need to get here." I notice her voice is soft, almost like she's trying to whisper. "Listen, I checked flights. You'll be in Denver in a few hours. Once you get to the bus station, get on the train that goes to the airport. There is one leaving every fifteen minutes. The ride is just under forty minutes. When you get to the airport, hop on the one o'clock flight to San Francisco. I'll be waiting to pick you up."

"But—"

"Do you understand?" she insists.

"Um, yeah, but?—"

"Okay. Good. I'll see you then. Be safe." Lorelai hangs up the phone.

I pull it back, confused by what had just happened.

"I got you something." The older gentleman sits next to me and hands me a food bag. It takes me a moment to react to him. "It's not healthy, but it's better than candy for breakfast."

His words have a parental tone, the gentle yet firm scolding that comes from raising kids. Paul uses that same tone when he corrects Diana's behavior.

I nod my thanks, and I take the bag. Why is he buying me food? Do I look that desperate?

Never mind. I know the answer to that. I'm scraped up and wearing my shirt backward.

"My name is Walter, by the way, but you can call me Walt."

"Mary," I answer.

"Good to meet you, Mary."

"Thank you, Walt." I open the bag and pull out a breakfast sandwich. I refrain from telling him how much this gesture means to me. How this one little simple act of kindness fills me with just a bit of hope that this dark period will go away.

"My wife used to pick young families dining at restaurants and would pay their bills. She would tell me, Walt, no matter how little we have, someone always has less. We have to keep putting good out into the world. It's the only way to live."

I notice that he uses the past tense but still wears a wedding ring. This is the second time he's referred to his wife. It's safe to assume he feels as lonely as I do. I feel like he wants me to ask about her. I don't want to. I don't want to take in more loss. Walter is a kindhearted, possibly lonely guy who just bought me breakfast. I want to savor the positive moment.

Even with all that in my mind, I find myself saying, "She seems like a wonderful person. When did you lose her?"

"Last year," he says with a small tremble in his voice. "Aneurysm. It happened suddenly. One moment, she's laughing, and the next…"

I can see that a year has not taken away his pain or lessened his love. He doesn't need to say much more. I can picture what he had.

The polite thing to do would be to share a bit about myself. To tell them that he's not alone in his grief. I don't mention my family.

"I'm sorry," I say. "That must be rough."

I think of all those phrases people said to me at my family's funeral. None of them helped. Not really. Words didn't change facts.

He nods. "I take her with me on trips. I've been spreading her ashes everywhere I go. She's in my bag now."

"Oh?" I nod.

"I suppose some people think that's weird," he says. "But I like having her with me. How about you? Do you have someone?"

"Nope. Completely single."

I envy Walter. I'll bet he never had to worry about vampires chasing him or magical legacies. I want what he had, even if, at the end of it, I end up sitting alone on a bus with Paul's ashes.

Fuck, my brain is morbid. Even my fantasies end badly.

I realize the bus had started to move while we were talking.

All these people have no clue about what is happening around them, and they have no clue how lucky they are. I wish I didn't know the things I do.

Walter produces a worn paperback and settles into his own quiet thoughts. I eat the breakfast sandwich and return to my post, staring out the window at the flat countryside. I don't know if this is Colorado or Kansas, and I guess it doesn't matter. The sun is lifting over the prairie, hitting the ground in such a way that, in the breeze, the rolling grass looks like water rippling over the fields. I imagine they've looked like that since the beginning of time, watching centuries of humans come and go.

I'm the last remaining Devine. If I turn my back on that, centuries of a proud legacy die.

"It can die."

"Not today, Astrid." I push her voice out of my head.

Walter glances at me, and I wad up the wrapper to my finished sandwich. I shove it back into the bag. "Thank you. This was amazing."

He smiles and nods before turning back to his book.

Lorelai called me. She's safe for now. It barely feels real, but she wants me to come. Sadly, I'm too jaded to believe it's for a happy reunion. I suppose I'll find out the reason soon enough.

Stress must be taking its toll on me. My body feels heavy, and exhaustion is creeping in. I close my eyes, wondering if there is any reason to stay awake.