Lili Crow - Wayfarer

Yeah. The Strep put them all in the dustbin. I saved what I could. “Yeah.” Her throat was full. “He loved that stuff. My parents met at a Hellward jam before the band broke up. Mom told me I was a child of the blues.” Her mask was cracking, she could feel it. But the smile that was rising didn’t seem dangerous, because he was watching traffic. It was really nice, she decided, to be in a car with someone who wasn’t driving to impersonate the Wild Hunt.

She had to repress the urge to make an avert sign with her left hand. He really had her rattled if she was thinking about kid horror stories. Still, with the fey, it paid to be cautious, didn’t it?

He was talking again. “Damn. So you were conceived at a Hellward concert. That’s amazing .”

Oh, eww. Trust a guy to go there. “It was their first meeting. I don’t know.”

He actually laughed, and her own giggle took her by surprise. She rolled the window further down, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot of the low chrome bullet that was the Briarlight Diner—he was on a nostalgic kick for sure, because the last time she’d been here was way back in middle school—she was wiping her cheeks and her stomach ached. It was kind of like being with Ruby or Cami, except . . . her heart kept wanting to pound, and the world looked a little less dreary.

He cut the engine, and BessieDean Browne’s throaty voice turned off midway through the howling chorus in Digging Mah Tatoes . “Come on, babe. I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

She struggled for breath. “I don’t—I don’t have any credits.” It was a lie, but she had to save everything she could. Her escape fund was growing way too slowly.

“I said it’s my treat. God, you think I’d take a girl out and make her pay for her own lunch? Come on.”

Her stomach cramped again. She was hungry, but still. “I don’t—”

He popped his door open. “Stay there.”

Then he was gone, and the car was full of the sound of the engine ticking as it cooled. The Briarlight was a long low rounded building, shining from far away, but close up you could see the flecks and pits in its galvanized walls. It used to be the place to hang out in middle school, and there was probably still a chunk of the vanilla beechgum she’d habitually chewed stuck under a table halfway down and to the right. Navy vinyl seats, the smell of old grease—she could almost taste their waffle fries, crispy on the outside and fluffy inside. The waitstaff had been kids attending Haven Community College; some of them probably never left.

Her door creaked as Avery swung it open. He was wearing engineer boots, she saw, and they were charm-brushed. She even caught a breath of cologne. Was he shaving already?

How had he turned into this guy?

“You’re gonna have a milkshake at least,” he informed her. “And even if you had credits, babe, I wouldn’t let you pay. And after that, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“My name is not babe ,” she returned. I’m actually sounding huffy.

“It’s Ellen Anna Seraphina Sinder. I know.” He rolled his eyes, and another laugh caught Ellie sideways, spilled across the parking lot like gold. “I snuck into the office and read your transcripts. I know all about you.”

“You did what ?”

“Milkshake.” He offered his hand. The braided leather bracelet on his wrist wasn’t charmed, it was just worn and faded, as if he’d had it a long time. “Please?”

“All right.” She slid her legs out of the car. “You snuck into the office? Past the Titon?” Mrs. Triumph, that was her name. That red lipstick, and her gold necklace, and those liverspotted hands. God.

“Yeah. Almost got caught.” He paused, and a cloud drifted over the sun. A cool wind touched the backs of her scabbed knees, and she brushed at her skirt to make it fall right. “I had to find out about you, though.”

“Find out what?” What could possibly be interesting enough for him to brave that beast?

His grin widened, if that was possible, and he swung the car door closed. “Anything I could.”

Inside, it was just the same, except there were no middle-school kids leaning over the backs of the booths, catcalling, pooling their allowance credits for greasy food and tall milkshakes in frosted glasses. The tough, cheap navy carpet was a little more worn, the corners were a little dirtier, and the faces of the waitstaff were a little grayer and older. Maybe the community college kids had moved on to a place that had better tips.

Deserted and drowsy, the grill in back hissing and a tired iron-haired waitress in thick-soled shoes shuffling toward them with all the speed of a damned ship limping into harbor. For a second the past doubled over into the present and Ellie half expected to see Ruby in their old usual booth, her head thrown back and her short hair—she’d taken clippers to herself in middle school, and ended up looking waifish and adorable—glowing, a much younger Cami next to her with that slight pained smile and the scars she used to have, roping up her arms.

Avery laughed, a short surprised sound. “Wow. Nothing ever really changes here.”

Do you not see it? You’ve been away for a while, you should. “Some things do.” She essayed a bright smile for the waitress, who had finally hove into port.

“Two,” Avery said, and Ellie shuddered inwardly. The woman’s left eye was filmed with a webby, milky covering. Was she a jack? They’d never hired jacks here before.

Shuffling away, listing slightly to the side, the woman led them right to Ellie’s old booth. Ellie slid in on her old side, sweeping her skirt underneath her with a practiced motion. The vinyl was just the same—faintly sticky—but the table’s surface was clean, at least. The salt and pepper shakers were the same mismatched glass pair, but there was a new spray of artificial silk flowers in a small, cheap yellow plastic vase. New was only a relative term, since they were dusty and obviously had been battered a few times.

The view out the window was just the same, too—the parking lot, mostly empty because nobody drove here, they cadged rides from older siblings or, in Ruby’s case, cousins, or were lucky enough, like Cami, to always have someone who could drive her around and most times pick up Ellie too.

“You still have the old milkshake machine,” Avery told the woman, who blinked and nodded, dropping a couple yellowing, fluttering menus between them.

“Oh,” she said slowly. “Thing breaks down twice a week an’ the cook charms it inta workin’ again. But still here, ayuh.”

“Can we have two big ones? Chocolate? Unless you want something else.” He looked at Ellie anxiously, and she realized he was nervous .

Why would he be worried, though? He was the one in charge.

“Chocolate’s fine.” On impulse, she dropped her hands into her lap and waited for him to look away.

“Two chocos.” The waitress turned and shuffled off, her hips thick and stiff, the hairnet over her graying bun tattered, bits of hair sticking out. There was another hiss and a muttered groan from the kitchen, as if something had gone wrong.

“Wow.” He looked a little embarrassed, too. “Place has gone downhill a little. Sorry.”

Her right-hand fingertips found a familiar bump on the table’s underside. It was beechgum, and it maybe still held the marks of Ellie’s younger teeth. A scalding wave of feeling—relief? Embarrassment to match his? Both, or something else?—roared through her.

“It never was that uphill to begin with.” She searched for something else to say. Dropped her hand back into her lap. “It’s nice, though. It’s quiet. And you’re here.” Her cheeks still burned. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell.