8. I Forgot About the Freeway

The alarm on my phone went off at nine. By rights, I should have been exhausted, only having slept a couple of hours, but I woke clear-eyed and alert. Dave may have been wary about an out-of-the-blue relative backed by the fae, but not me.

I considered my options. Owen was out. Maybe Lydia would be willing to drive me again? Remembering her sitting for hours in the courtyard yesterday had me dumping that idea. George? No, he was usually at work by now. The San Francisco Zoo opened at ten. As a large exotics veterinarian, he went in long before visitors began showing up. As I considered everyone I knew and their ability to take a few hours out of their day to chauffeur me, the more sick and helpless I felt. It wasn't anyone else's responsibility but mine. Dave said I did good last night. I could do this on my own. It wasn't far.

Avoiding a plea for help made me feel better, stronger, as I went to find Norma, Clive's human assistant. She worked days, while the vamps were out of it, and had an office down the hall from the kitchen. I stopped there first, starving. I'd taken money with me last night, planning to stop at an all-night diner for food. Instead, I raced home to be with Clive.

I checked the fridge. The vamps hated buying food for me, so the pantry was empty. Since Clive insisted there be food for me in the kitchen, whoever did the shopping usually picked up ready-made dinners they left in the refrigerator. Finding meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans, I piled a plate high and put it in the microwave. There was also a chocolate cake in there, one that would be a crime to let go stale.

After I scarfed my dinner-for-breakfast plate, I cut two slabs of cake. I ate mine with a tall glass of milk and then brought the other down the hall to Norma's office.

When I appeared at her door, she jumped.

"Sorry!" I held out the plate. "I didn't mean to startle you. I assumed you'd heard me in the kitchen."

"Oh, Miss Quinn. Whew, that took ten years off." She shook her head, dark curls bobbing, as though shaking off the fright. "I just got off the phone. I didn't realize you were up yet."

"I come bearing cake." I put the plate and fork down. "And to ask if I can borrow one of Clive's cars." I really hoped she hadn't been tipped to my non-driver status.

"Of course. Mr. Fitzwilliam has been very clear. You have access to everything." Norma started typing on her laptop. "Which car would you like?"

"Can I just go to the garage and look around? I don't know car names. I want whichever one is the safest and easiest to drive, as I don't do it often." Understatement.

"Absolutely." Norma popped out of her chair and a blanket hit the floor. She was wearing leggings and warm, puffy boots paired with a red silk blouse and pearls. She looked down at herself and her warm brown skin pinked. "Um, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, I'm alone in my office. When I have to take part in a video call, they only see from the chest up."

"Understandable. If Clive knew you were cold, he'd add a heater or adjust the thermostat, or something."

She grabbed her keys from the corner of her desk and led me down the hall toward the garage. "I don't mind." At my look, she continued. "If it's too warm, I get sleepy, especially since I'm all by myself. If the room is chilly, it keeps me awake. When I'm not on phone calls, I usually have podcasts playing to keep me company."

"Smart." Did she know she was working for vampires? I needed to remember to ask one of the guys.

"Here we are," she said, opening the garage door. She hit the light and I was stunned by the number and variety of luxury sportscars, but not by the lack of color. Almost every car was black, with a few silver ones mixed in. They were so on-brand, it was ridiculous.

"Seriously?" It was like a freaking showroom, some on lifts, some on the ground. "This is embarrassing."

Norma laughed and raised her eyebrows in agreement without actually saying anything negative about her employer.

"I'm not driving any of these things. Doesn't he have a nice, quiet sedan in the bunch?"

She walked me to the far corner. Here was the Mercedes Russell had driven me in a few times. There was also a BMW and a Volvo. I pointed to the last one, the least assuming of the bunch. "Those are supposed to be safe, right?"

"Absolutely. The key is in the cup holder. Don't forget to take it with you, as the car won't lock if you leave it inside. When you start the engine, the garage door automatically opens. Once you're out, it will close after you."

"Perfect. Thank you so much for the help." I needed her to leave while I tried to remember how to drive.

"You're welcome. If you need anything else, there's an intercom on the wall behind you." With a nod, she left.

I approached the car as I would a dangerous predator. The door opened soundlessly, the black exterior giving way to supple tan leather and a black dash. I sat, closed the door, and panicked. This was nothing like Dave's car. Breathing slowly, I realized it was a great deal like Lydia's. No perfect clutch timing required.

This was stupid. And dangerous. I should call a cab or download one of those ride sharing apps. Pulling the phone from my pocket, I remembered Liam's empty gaze as he leaped over the bar, knife in hand, hell-bent on killing me. Liam, a selkie with his own inherent magic, was unable to fight off Abigail and her pet demon. What chance did a mundane human have? And if she attacked while the driver was in traffic, even more people would die.

Sighing, I pushed the button to start the engine and it quietly purred. The garage door opened as I studied the gauges, buttons, and switches, trying to remember everything I saw Dave and Lydia do.

I could do this. I was twenty-four, almost twenty-five. I should be able to drive a damn car. Tamping down the fear, I looked up the address of the Historical Society where we'd parked yesterday, as The Wicche Glass wouldn't be on the internet. The display on the dashboard asked if I wanted to pair my phone. I hit yes and a map popped up on the screen.

"Beginning route to 1500 Hillside Boulevard. Turn right and proceed to the route."

Deciding it was a sign, I put the car in gear and eased out of the parking place toward the garage door. Once out, on the slate drive, the door closed. I had a moment of worry as I approached the gate, but then it slid open. The cars must carry a chip the gate recognized.

Following directions, I made it across town without incident. Well, there was that car pulling out from a side street that I thought was trying to get in front of me. In hindsight, judging by the loud, sustained honking, stopping to let him in was not the right choice, but I still contend it was the polite one.

It wasn't until I was directed to merge onto the freeway going south that I started to panic in earnest. Thank goodness none of the other drivers wanted to start their day in a collision. A few honks and middle fingers later, I was in the flow of cars.

I was just starting to relax when the computer voice told me to take the Serramonte Boulevard exit. Following her directions, I put high-speed terror behind me. I ended up on a road that ran parallel to the freeway before it crossed the 280, becoming the road that bisected Colma. I passed the out-of-business monument shop, turned the corner, and ended up back in the Historical Society's parking lot.

Putting the car in park, I shut off the engine and breathed. The last thirty minutes of my life were equal parts petrifying and exhilarating. Sometime in the future, I'd know how to do this properly, and I'd then have the freedom to go anywhere I wanted, whenever the whim hit me. I wouldn't need to check with anyone, ask for a ride, or keep it within running distance.

I'd always wanted to see the snow. I could drive to Lake Tahoe, take a run in the snow, and then drive back. Bubbles of giddiness filled me. No more relying on others to get me somewhere or me just deciding it wasn't worth going.

Sighing, I remembered to grab the key before I got out. I looked for a way to lock it, scanning the door for a keyhole, like Dave's car had. Finding nothing, I studied the key and saw a locking icon. I hit the button and the car chirped. That hurdle cleared, I went in search of my great-aunt.

The gateway was passed as easily as last time. The light in the courtyard was different, though. It was as if the perpetual twilight had edged a bit further into night. Voices whispered in the distance as I weaved through the tables toward the door in the magical tree. Knocking, I waited, the whispers pausing.

"Come in, dear," a reedy voice called.

The voice raised my hackles, but I didn't know why. I recognized Martha's voice. Unable to pinpoint what was spooking me, I opened the door and entered.

Martha sat by the fire. The large mirror—the one I suspected of being a window into Faerie— hung behind her, the reflective surface darker than it had been last time. Was there a link between the courtyard and the mirror? Was it Faerie's pull that had me uneasy?

Firelight flickered in the dark room. Martha hunched under a shawl, her head tipped forward. Galadriel was nowhere to be seen. Scalp prickling, I knew Dave was right. I'd been set up.

A withered finger rose from the folds of her clothing, beckoning me foreword. "I've been waiting for you."

Retreating a few steps, I turned to leave and found the door gone. Fuck me.

"Oh, don't leave." The voice had changed: deeper, more guttural. "I haven't had my breakfast yet." Not-Martha rose, shedding the shawls, and kept rising. The top of his head brushed the wooden beams of the ceiling. He had been wearing some kind of glamour that concealed his size and bulk. Rippling muscles glistened in the firelight as he moved toward me.

Ogre? Troll? My mind raced through all the fae monsters I could think of, trying to place this one, trying to remember weaknesses. He most closely resembled an Orc. This was the problem with learning everything from books. I had to rely on others' knowledge and accuracy. The fae weren't big on anyone knowing their secrets, though.

The question for right now was: Did he resemble an Orc by happenstance? Was this his true form or did he know I'd had nightmares about Orcs ever since I first read The Lord of the Rings? Was he playing on my fears, as my aunt had?

Fingering the necklace spelled to keep my mind safe, I backed away and cast out to see if I could find him in that part of my mind where my necromancy lived. Nothing. Either my brain was on the fritz or he was neither undead nor an immortal.

Unleashing razor-sharp claws, my face distending to accommodate a wolf's big, sharp teeth, I motioned the monster forward. I might die, but I wasn't going down easy.

He chuffed a laugh, flexing his arms and rotating his head. He picked up a ten-foot wooden bench and swung.

Ducking at the last minute, I rolled toward him and shot out a hand, raking my claws across the back of his ankle, hoping Orcs had Achilles tendons. He was bellowing when I popped up behind him. Unfortunately, he was also swinging a massive slab of wood.

The bench slammed into my side. I felt my left arm break, heard the sickening crack as I went flying over the bar. I don't recommend crashing into alcohol bottles. The broken glass cuts you to shreds as the alcohol stings like a mofo.

Blocking it out, blocking all the pain and fear out, I slowly righted myself and stood. Blood seeped into my eyes, but I could see my own death staring at me clearly enough.