Natalie Damschroder - Heavy Metal

“You did a pretty good job last night,” she said softly. “You’re exactly what I wanted. Someone who can tell me the truth but who won’t have an agenda.”

But Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, Riley. You need more than me. I’ll call the Society for you, and John, the head of the Protectorate. It’s only about three hours up to Boston. You should head straight there. They can help you.” He stretched to pull open a drawer under the counter and retrieved a pen and piece of paper. “I’ll write the directions for you. Do you have GPS?”

Disappointed defiance drove her to say, “I don’t have a car.”

Sam looked up. “What?”

“It was stolen yesterday when I was inside paying for gas. The police said it’s been happening a lot around here, so I don’t think it’s connected.”

Sam whistled. “Life has really been kicking you in the teeth, hasn’t it? Do they think they’ll find your car?”

“They wouldn’t commit, but they found the others. Joyriders, I guess. I’m supposed to check in with them today. My phone was in the car so they can’t exactly contact me with updates.”

He eyed her shirt, the same one she’d worn the night before. “I imagine all your stuff was in the car, too.”

“What isn’t in storage, yeah.”

He wiggled the pencil, thinking. “All right. Since there’s a chance they’ll recover the car, you probably won’t want to leave immediately. But here’s the information you’ll need when you do.” He finished scribbling on the paper and handed it to her. Riley stuck it in her pocket, avoiding the temptation to crumple it into a ball.

“When you get to the Society, ask for Kirsten. She’s the education coordinator. She and Alana, the executive director, can help you figure out your lineage and sign you up for classes, and John will assign you a protector. I’m going to see if he has someone in the area who can go up with you.” He looked around as if searching for something. When his gaze landed on his phone on the counter, he stood to get it.

“Sam, wait.” She stood, too, her sneaker squeaking on the linoleum. “I’m not going to Boston. I’m not letting some strange guy take me anywhere. And I’m sorry—you obviously trust these people, but I can’t. Frankly, they sound like a cult.”

Sam snorted. “I promise you, I’d never send you up there if I didn’t honestly believe they could help you.” He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. His expression went shrewd, which put Riley on alert. “You won’t take my word at face value, I get that. But why take your family’s instead? Especially when they withheld information from you, and you don’t even know why they hated the Society so much. Don’t you want to make up your own mind?”

Riley ground her teeth. Damn him for figuring out the right buttons to push. Of course she wanted to make up her own mind. But would the Society actually help her? “Every feud has two sides. How do I know they don’t hate my family as much as my family hated them?”

“They might not know anything about your family,” Sam countered. “You said your mother and grandmother had no abilities.”

“They knew. Grandma complained about the way they treated her, and she told me I was lucky I never had to endure it.”

Sam’s lips compressed. “I don’t know what went on. I can’t promise anything. But there are different people running things now. There’s no big list of people to shun posted on the wall.”

Riley almost laughed, but remembering her grandmother’s words dredged up another fear, one she’d always attributed to a child’s imagination. Boogeymen and monsters under the bed. But her abilities were real, and… “You said that metal is a rare source.”

Sam nodded. “Sources are usually more natural. Plants, crystals, water—there’s a lot of water-based power. Rain, the ocean, rivers, even sometimes standing water, like puddles. The sun. The moon.” A funny expression crossed his face, gone before she could identify it. “Metals exist in nature, but you’re using processed metal. It’s concentrated, so it gives you a lot more power. Without guidance and training, that can be dangerous.”

“Yeah, so can experimentation. How do I know they won’t lock me up to run tests on me? Maybe those people who came after me last night were sent by the Society.”

Now Sam outright laughed. “That’s not what the Society does, Riley. It’s the Society for Goddess Education and Defense. Their purpose is to help you, not hurt you.”

Riley folded her arms, mirroring his stance, and stared him down. “So why aren’t you there anymore?”

His amusement disappeared and his face went blank.

A familiar chill returned, banishing the little bit of hope he’d generated. “See? You were helping with their ‘education’ program.” She made air quotes and tucked her hands back into the crooks of her elbows. “So why’d you quit? You were a protector, too, weren’t you?”

“Wow.” Sam set his phone back on the counter and raised his eyebrows at her. “You did that much research on me?”

“Well, yeah.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was trying to decide if I could—who I could trust. You seemed the least dangerous from the start, but I wanted to make sure. You left the job with the Society, and left the Protectorate, and now you’re working in a bar . Why?”

Sam shook his head. “It has nothing to do with the organization and everything to do with me. Look, let me just call them. You can talk to them yourself. Make up your own mind.”

She didn’t know what else to do, and she couldn’t argue with his logic anymore. She pursed her lips and met his gaze head on. “Fine. All right.”

But when he picked up the cheap little cell phone and flipped it open, her stomach churned and bile crept up the back of her throat. She stood on a precipice, and she knew the leap she was about to make would change her whole life.

Sam stared at the car, appalled. “This is yours?”

They stood in the impound lot, surrounded by sports cars and fifteen-year-old, stripped-down sedans interspersed with pimped-out drug-mobiles. After winning the battle to call the Society, Sam hadn’t been able to reach anyone. It was too early for anyone to be at the office, and even John hadn’t answered his phone, which was unusual. His message provided Nick’s number for emergencies, so Sam had decided they could wait a few hours. As Riley had pointed out, he was trained as a protector.

Luckily, her call to the police had been more productive. They’d found her car overnight, just a few miles from where it had been stolen.

Riley opened the car’s little trunk, looked satisfied, and closed it again. “Everything’s here.”

“You can tell that at a glance?”

“I don’t have that much, and the big suitcase is locked.” She opened the driver’s door and slid in, one foot on the ground. “It all looks okay. Phone’s here, too.” She pocketed the battered, cheap, little flip phone—so similar to Sam’s he couldn’t help but notice. “Assholes spilled soda on the console, though.” She glowered at it, but Sam still couldn’t get past what she was driving.

“It’s a Beetle.”

“Yes, Sam, it’s a Beetle.”

“But it’s not even the cool kind.” It was only a few years old, but Riley had said she owned it outright. So she’d picked the damned thing.