7. In Which Sam Learns the Difference Between Second Gear and Reverse

"This is a 1965 Shelby Mustang. It's worth more than your life. If you fuck it up, I will have to kill you."

I stared at the shiny black muscle car as my confidence drained out of me. "Isn't it dangerous to leave an expensive car just sitting out here all night?"

"It's not without protections." He grabbed the keys back from me and unlocked the driver's door, leaving it open before walking around the back and dropping into the passenger seat.

Warily, I approached the open door, stared at the pristine red leather seats, the chrome shined within an inch of its life, the gleaming wood of the steering wheel, and felt sick to my stomach.

"Never mind. I'm good." I was pretty sure my internal organs were liquifying. "I can run to Colma. Given the way we keep clearing out customers, no one may even notice if I open late."

"Sit down, quit being a baby, and tell me why the fuck you have to go to Colma." He cricked a finger and I finally sat.

There was no console between the seats, only a carpeted hillock running the length of the car with a long metal stick shift rising from the hillock. The gauges on the dash only concerned themselves with the running of the engine. The small AM radio seemed like an afterthought. Unlike Lydia's sedan with a touchscreen integrated system that allowed drivers to access apps from their phone, this one monitored speed, temperature, fuel, oil, RPMs, and that was it.

"Okay." He pointed to the pedals coming through the floorboard. "The one on the far left is the clutch. Use your left foot on that one. And don't even think about changing gears without that pedal on the floor."

I nodded quickly, trying to hold off his anticipatory rage. "Do I press it down and then shift gears, or does it need to be at the same time?"

"Get out," he growled.

I popped out the still open door like I was made of springs. "Good first lesson," I said, backing away.

"Get in the passenger side. I'll drive and narrate what I do. You watch the patterns and timing. Got it?" He dropped into the driver's seat and then fired up the engine. Cursing, he turned it back off again. "Force of habit. We'll start from the beginning."

I closed the door, pulled the single seatbelt across my lap, secured it, and then focused all my attention on Dave.

"Put your hand on the gear shift."

I did and he put his over mine. "Feel that?" He wiggled the shift. "See how there's a little give? That means you're in neutral. It has to be in neutral before you start the engine, so always remember to check. Once you know it's in neutral, press the clutch down with your left foot and turn the key in the ignition."

The engine roared to life. I started to pull my hand away, but he kept it in place under his own. "I can only do this because the car isn't moving and I still have the clutch down, okay? This is a standard H stick. The top of the H is first gear. Feel that? Slide straight down for second gear. Now go up halfway, feel the give there? That's the crossbar over to third and fourth. Up for third and down for fourth. Now, slide back left along the cross bar and then push down for reverse. Feel that?"

When I nodded, he let go of my hand.

"Back up to first. Now I ease up on the clutch as my right foot presses down on the gas. Feel that? It's in gear now."

I did feel it. The sound of the engine changed and I felt a purpose in the rumble through the seats. The car moved forward and we were off. We drove through the parking lot and then along the dark, empty streets while he explained everything he did. I was feeling pretty confident when he drove back into the parking lot above The Slaughtered Lamb.

He shut off the engine. "Okay, you try now." He got out and went around to my side of the car. When I didn't move, he opened my door. When I still didn't move, he leaned in, unbuckled my seat belt, dragged me out by my arm, and shoved me toward the driver's side.

"I'm going. I'm going." My life flashed before my eyes as I slowly trudged to my death. Watching was exhilarating. Imagining doing it myself was terrifying and I wanted no part of it.

"Quit being a fucking baby and get in."

I'd like to say I nailed it, but that would be a lie. I didn't get the timing right and stalled it on my first try. If I hadn't been desensitized by years of exploding rage, I might have jumped out of the car and kept running. Instead, I blocked him out and tried again, trying to feel that tension, that readiness I'd felt when he shifted gears. I ended up stalling three times, but no gears were stripped.

It was almost two in the morning when Dave had me drive to the nocturne. I had a few truly terrifying moments when I had to stop on a hill and then start again, but I did it, even with a demon forcefully advising me in the next seat.

I put the car in neutral, engaged the parking brake, and then shut off the engine, handing him back his keys. "Thank you. I know—"

"Shut it, kid. You did good. Now," he said, tapping his fingers on his thigh, "why the hell do you need to go to Colma, of all places?"

"Oh, right. It's been so busy and, well, weird at work, I forgot to tell you. Lydia found a necromancer in Colma."

"Makes sense." He nodded.

Ignoring the vamp at the gate who was watching us, I continued. "She owns a fae bar called The Wicche Glass Tavern."

"Heard of it," he said, scratching his cheek. "Never been there."

"It has a foothold in Faerie, so time is off when you visit." I'd read enough fantasy to be appropriately frightened of being trapped for all eternity in Faerie.

"Hadn't heard that part." He stared out the windshield, lost in thought. "Having a door to Underhill nearby…that could be very bad." After a long pause, he shook himself out of his reverie. "Listen, make sure you tell Clive that the fae have access to Underhill. Locally."

Turning his focus back to me, he added, "All the fae aren't like the elves or water sprites who visit the bar. Hell, even that grumpy old bastard Grim is nothing compared to the monsters lurking in Faerie. Doors work both ways. We don't need any of their horrors walking into our world."

"Right. I should sleep well tonight. Thanks."

"What does this have to do with your necromancer? Is she fae?"

"No." I shook my head, still not quite believing it. "She's my great-aunt." I couldn't stop the smile. "I have family. I mean, that doesn't want to kill me."

"Are you sure?" Dave's black eyes glowed in the low light. "How do you know?"

"She told me. Her name's Martha Corey. She has my mom's eyes."

"I get it, kid. I understand the lure of finding family, but what we know is you have an aunt who wants you dead. Now some long-lost relative, one involved with the fae, wants to meet with you? Nah, I'm not buying it."

"I believed her." It wasn't until Dave tried to block her that I realized how badly I wanted to see Martha again. "She didn't trust me. An elf named Galadriel was with us the whole time. I think she was guarding Martha in case I was the psycho trying to kill a relative."

"Galadriel," he echoed thoughtfully. "I've heard of her. Silver hair, purple eyes?" At my nod, he continued. "Bloodthirsty warrior. A general, of sorts, in Faerie."

"In this world, she's Martha's bar manager."

He took a deep breath and blew it out. "I don't trust any of this. I'll go with you," he decided.

"No. I need you to open the bar on time, in case time slips sideways and my thirty-minute lesson ends up taking five hours. I'll be fine." I patted the dashboard. "Like this car, I'm not without protections."

"I don't like it." He climbed out and circled around to the driver's side. Pulling the door open, he said, "See if Owen can drive you tomorrow. At least you'd have some backup if things turn ugly. He's good in a fight. I'll go in early and cover until you get back."

I hugged him quickly before he could protest. "Thank you." Holding up my hand in farewell, I made my way to the disapproving vamp manning the front gate. We stared at each other a moment before he finally relented and opened the gate. Asshole. They were all assholes.

They could hear my heartbeat the minute I walked in. As I walked across the foyer, tension in the house amped up in response. We'd weeded out all the ones who wanted me dead. What we were left with was a mansion filled with vamps who were offended by my presence, disgusted that their Master, for whom they had a healthy mix of respect and fear, seemed to actually love me, and flabbergasted that perfect, powerful, beautiful Liang hadn't been their Master's pick.

Hungry but unwilling to hang out in a communal area, I bypassed the kitchen and took the stairs up to the third floor, to the bedroom I shared with Clive. He wasn't home. I didn't feel his, Liang's, or Russell's signatures in the house. Sighing, I closed the door, flopped onto the bed, and pulled out my phone, hitting Owen's contact.

When it went to voicemail, I remembered what time it was. "Sorry! Hopefully I didn't wake you up. Are you able to take me back to Colma tomorrow morning? Maybe nine or so? Dave said he'd open and cover until we got there. I hope you're feeling better. Goodnight."

Two minutes later, I received a text.

Owen: Seriously? You call at 2 in the morning? It's just all about you, right, Sam? No, I can't be your chauffeur tomorrow. I feel like crap and I'm staying home.

Me: Sorry to disturb you. I hope you feel better soon.

Feeling queasy, I sat up. Owen must have been really sick. He'd probably finally fallen asleep when my stupid phone call had woken him up. I was becoming too used to the vamps' inverted clocks.

I changed into leggings and a hoodie, grabbed my phone and some cash, and went for a run. Being out from under the vamps' suffocating disdain felt wonderful, as did my muscles warming up and stretching out. I ran aimlessly, up and down hills for no other reason than the exertion.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I was nearing Coit Tower. I sprinted around the empty parking lot and leaned against a low wall, not wanting to get too close to the edge. Lights shimmered along the Embarcadero as the first hints of dawn had stars winking out. I pulled out my phone and saw a missed call from Clive. I called him back and he picked up on the first ring.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. On a run."

"Still? It's almost dawn. I'd hoped to see you tonight."

Feeling guilty for letting the house get to me, I sat on the wall and felt my stomach swoop. I hated heights. I kept my eyes trained on the windows beginning to light—people waking for the workday ahead—as I shuffled back from the edge. "Me, too, but you weren't there. It'd already been a rough night and then being surrounded by vamps who hate me…" I shrugged, not that Clive could see me. "I guess it got to me."

He was a long time in responding. "It's selfish of me, I know. I keep waiting for them to come to their senses, to finally appreciate this rare gift they've been given. While we wait, though, you're forced to live in a dangerous and unfriendly home." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." I bounced my heels off the low wall and wished Clive and I could live alone, separate from all the vamp politics and rivalries.

"If you need to move back to The Slaughtered Lamb, I understand. I'll visit as often as I can, but it'll mean I don't get to wrap myself around you every night. You've become a kind of tether. When I—well, you believe I sleep, so I'll use that word. When I sleep during the day, I sometimes hear you, feel you nearby. Sometimes it's just your heartbeat I hear. It's like a tether keeping us connected across time and space. I've come to rely on that tether. It leads me home."

Wiping away a tear, I swallowed down the emotion. Hopping off the wall, I began sprinting back to the nocturne. "I'm on my way. Try to stay awake."

Dawn was just breaking as I took a lightning-fast shower, put on my favorite silk pajamas, and slid into bed. Clive pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me on a sigh, and then he was out.