Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(21)

Whirling about, she looked into the darkness, fear blossoming inside of her.

He was here.

She knew it.

Felt it.

Walking backward, she stared out into the night and listened to the cars speeding down the highway and the engines rumbling all around her. The whine of air brakes and the laughter of men filled her ears, but still she could hear the Professor's voice in her mind.

Still alive? Doing well? I'm impressed.

She turned around and fled to the building as fast as she could.

Holding down her cowboy hat as she ran, she could feel the big bag beating against her back. In her haste, she tripped and fell smack into a puddle of oil and grimaced as it splattered her face. Terrified that she was being pursued, she quickly rolled onto her hip and looked behind her.

There was no sign of her tormentor.

Scrambling quickly to her feet, she rushed past a few truckers looking at her in surprise, shoved open the door to the building, and stumbled in.

A bored-looking girl, with her hair heavily gelled and pulled back into a very tight ponytail, looked up from where she was reading a tabloid behind the counter. There were a few truckers prowling the aisles, looking for snacks and other supplies. Through an arched doorway in the wall, Amaliya could see into the restaurant. Business seemed to be better on that side.

“Showers are over there,” the girl said in a bored voice, and popped her bubblegum. She pointed across the heavily-stocked aisles to a large sign that read Restrooms and Showers.

Startled, Amaliya said, “Thanks,” and headed down an aisle, feeling embarrassed of her appearance. Inside the truck stop, it felt so normal and mundane. The ominous presence she had felt earlier was gone. She felt safe among the mortals.

Eh, she thought. I'm among mortals. Gawd, that's lame.

Her luck was definitely staying the course. She was covered in dirty oil and smelled like the crazy woman she had fed on.

The shelves around her were stocked with all sorts of things she didn't usually see at convenience stores. She hadn't realized so many products were personalized for the truckers on the road. A few of the drivers glanced toward her curiously, but mostly they just wandered the aisles looking at DVDs, mini-TVs, resin statues of Indians and clothes.

Sighing, she entered the room labeled Showers that had a silhouette of a woman over it. The only other occupant was a woman with curly black hair, blow drying her hair. As if by mutual agreement, they ignored each other. Amaliya headed to the end of the room and sat her bag on a bench. For the second time that night, she pulled out fresh clothes and her toiletries. She headed behind the curtained off area for a quick shower.

A few minutes later, she sat on the bench next to her bag and tugged on her boots. This time she was in black jeans and a black AC/DC t-shirt. The curly headed woman was now putting on makeup.

“Hitching?”

Amaliya looked up, startled.

“Huh?”



“You don't look like a driver. Either your hitching or you're a girlfriend or wife. And you don't look like either of those.” The woman's keen, dark eyes examined her.

Amaliya looked at the mirror behind the woman, suddenly afraid.

“I...yeah.” She didn't know what else to say. She was afraid the woman would notice her lack of reflection and call down the entire truck stop on her.

“Where you headed?”

“Dallas.”

“Just came through there. I'm on my way to New Orleans. Going home or running away?”

“Bad boyfriend,” Amaliya lied. Well, sort of. Did your murdering vampire professor count as a bad boyfriend?

“Hit you?”

“Worse.”

“If they are smart, they do it where it doesn't show,” the woman said.

“He's smart.” Amaliya sighed. She tried to keep at the edge of the bench and far away from the mirror.

“I'll see if anyone will give you a ride. Go get something to eat in the restaurant. What's your name?”

“Liya.”

“Nice to meet you Liya. I'm Tammy. I don't like a young woman just hanging out here. Most of the guys are decent, but one or two...well...you know.”

“They're smart?”

Tammy smiled slowy. “Yeah. They're smart.” Shoving her blush into her makeup kit, she turned her back to Amaliya and began fussing with her bag.



Hastily, Amaliya escaped from the room with the evil mirrors and made her way to the restaurant. Her bag banged against her hip as she walked. A few men took note of her now that she wasn't covered in oil.

“Sit wherever you want,” a forty-something waitress said to her when she passed into the restaurant.

Unlike some of the big cities in Texas, there wasn't a smoking ban here. The smell of stale cigarettes and fried eggs greeted her as she walked past the long counter lined with truck drivers. Sliding into a corner booth, she sat, nervously hoping that no one would see that the window beside her did not hold her reflection. Reaching out, she snagged the edge of a plaid curtain and tugged it over to obscure that fact and hoped for the best.

The same waitress reached her table, cocked her hip, and looked down at her. “Watcha getting?”

“Uh, coffee. Black,” she told the woman. Her name tag read “Rhonda.”

“That it? You're kinda a tiny thing. You need food.” Though her words should have sounded concerned, they sounded more accusatory.