Chapter 44
We both looked for the door that led back out into
hell proper, and neither was exactly astonished when it didn’t show
up. The devil wasn’t done teaching us Time Travel 101.
“Now
what?”
“Now it’s the same
decision we were looking at the last time we were in this room that
isn’t a room. We either stay here and hope my mother takes pity on
us—”
“Yeah, that’s likely.”
“Or pick another
door. And find whatever it is we’re supposed to find.”
“Yeah. No choice at
all, then. But listen—wait, wait!” I backed up. Laura was getting
really quick with her fists, and if I hadn’t been undead I’d be at
two shiners and counting. Or two nosebleeds and ... eh, fuck it.
Nobody cared but me. “Can we at least try to get clean clothes
while we’re here?”
“Or maybe
period-appropriate clothing! Oh, Betsy, I never, ever would have
thought of that!”
I won’t lie; that
cheered me up. Laura seemed so independent and cool these days,
like she didn’t need me so much.
Which was a weird way
for me to feel ... I’d never known she existed before a couple of
years ago. So why would I want to be needed? That wasn’t just
pathetic, that was Ant-level pathetic. Level-one pathetic! Ye
gods.
“I’m so glad you
brought that up. I could use something more appropriate than jeans.
One of these time jumps we could be the
ones accused of witchcraft. Let’s—” She glanced around. “Uh ... I’m
not sure how we would do that.”
“I’m not sure,
either. What if you waved your sword through, I dunno, my dirty
leggings?”
“No! I could hurt
you. Even kill you.” She shook her head, a hard series of snaps:
left, right, left. “Killing you wasn’t part of the
time-travel-in-ten-easy-lessons plan.”
“Yeah, you’re right
... killing me would really put the stink on our shitty week. Look,
your sword only disrupts paranormal energy, right? So if a werewolf
jumped on you, you could slice him—”
“And he’d turn back
to human, yes. But our clothes are real. They’re not paranormal
energy. There’s nothing for my sword to disrupt.”
“Well, nuts.” And me
without my overnight bag! I knew I’d been right to pack one. And
not just because it was a spot to stash my letter from
Sinclair.
I bent, brushed as
much dust and dirt off my legs as I could, then straightened. I
thought about l’il Sinclair, and couldn’t hold back a smile. That
open-faced cherub had been long gone—long dead—by the time I’d met up with his grown-up self.
But it still was kind of a kick to meet my heart’s own love as a
child. A brother. A twin.
“Okay, so, let’s get
to it”
“Are you sure you’re
ready?”
I beckoned Laura with
my fingers, a come-on-and-hit-me gesture I might make to a fighter.
If this were a martial arts movie. And I was trapped in it. “Don’t
mind me, I’m just going to cringe and flinch and cry like a bitch
until I wake up in Stillwater, circa 1961—ow!”