The Dead and the Dark(12)



Impossible. I can only want what you want. That is my nature. The Dark encases the host—he feels its warmth and is comforted. For as long as you carry me, I am you. I can be nothing more.

The host clears his throat. “Partners, then.”

Partners, the Dark agrees. To a certain extent, the host is not wrong. They are partners. The Dark presses into him, pulling at the piece of his heart that aches to strike again. Beneath his skin he is a viper, and vipers are not meant to spend their days waiting. The Dark breathes, Shall we do it again?

The host smiles.





6


Country Roads


When Logan imagined a shopping trip, this wasn’t what she pictured: cramming into Brandon’s rented Dodge Neon, peeling her knees from the dash in the boiling heat, puttering down Main Street to find a dinky antique shop that just happened to sell some art. Since arriving in Snakebite, Logan had learned that the center of town was the farthest a person could get from a McDonald’s in the contiguous US, the town proper was a whopping 1.5 square miles, and the nearest anything meant it was at least two hours away in Idaho.

Satan himself couldn’t create a more perfect hell.

Brandon stayed quiet on the drive into town, eyes fixed on the flat gold hills that rolled out on both sides of the valley. It’d been years since they went anywhere without Alejo along to mediate. Given the months they’d been apart, Alejo apparently thought a trip into town—just Logan and Brandon—might generate some warmth between them. Maybe Alejo didn’t know them as well as he thought.

Brandon had one hand on the wheel while the other hung out the driver’s side window, carelessly ducking under and over the current of the wind. Without turning, he asked, “When was the last time it was just us?”

Without hesitation, Logan said, “Tulsa. When I was on the show.”

“Ah,” Brandon said. He adjusted the square black sunglasses that sat over his regular glasses. “That’s right.”

That’s right. Logan tried not to let the cool carelessness in his voice creep under her skin. To Brandon, Tulsa was just another spot on the road. It probably didn’t weigh on him like it did on her, hanging heavy in the silence between them. It probably didn’t linger at the back of his thoughts every time he closed his eyes. He probably didn’t see it like she did—the brick-walled tunnel under the city, the smell of garbage and fried food, the flat horizon that felt like everywhere and nowhere all at once.

She’d only been allowed on ParaSpectors once in her life, and Brandon had made sure the opportunity never came up again. Maybe she’d asked too many questions, been too annoying, or maybe he’d just never wanted her there in the first place. At night, when it was quiet enough for Logan’s thoughts to really run wild, she could still hear his voice echo like a thunderclap from the alley walls. She pictured the way Brandon turned to her, stare full to the brim with hate, and said, Get out, Logan. Go home and leave me alone.

And then nothing. He stared until the production team swarmed in, offered Brandon a water, a moment to sit, asked if he wanted to start over on the episode. They’d led Logan away from the set, back to the motel, and said, That was weird. Maybe another time.

After that, it was radio silence between them. He didn’t say a word to her the entire week they filmed in Flagstaff. In Shreveport, he booked a room in a different motel so he wouldn’t have to be around her. Logan couldn’t wrap her head around how casually he’d moved on like the hurt didn’t rot under his skin. Brandon hadn’t spent sleepless nights scrolling through ParaSpectors forums, reading speculations about why Logan Ortiz-Woodley never returned to the show.

She probably annoyed the shit out of them

No one wants to babysit a whiny kid when they’re working

Bralejo is perfect. Adding a kid would just make it weird



For years, Logan had craved an explanation. Some kind of apology for the outburst and the subsequent silence. She’d expected Brandon to at least say it was an accident, it had been a long day, he was nervous without Alejo, he’d directed his anger at her on accident.

But Brandon had said nothing.

Even now, gliding along flat roads to nowhere, Brandon said nothing. Mired in humid, uncomfortable silence, he said nothing. Maybe he kept her at arm’s length on purpose, just waiting until she was eighteen so he could get rid of her for good. Maybe he wanted it to be just him and Alejo again. Maybe he’d regretted adopting her the whole time. Before Tulsa, their relationship had already been awkward and distant. But after, Logan had stopped trying to fix it. If Brandon didn’t care, Logan wouldn’t, either. She would live her life, and he could be a part of it if he wanted to.

They parked outside Snakebite Gifts and Antiques and Logan went to work. She’d visualized how to improve her room, and had it down to a few well-placed art prints, some string lights, a new comforter, and a couple of potted plants. Gracia had a policy against candles in the motel rooms, but herbal incense and a stick lighter would do the trick. The store wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured—mostly old shelves littered with dust-coated antiques that hadn’t been touched in years—but she could make this work.

Brandon wordlessly followed, quiet as a ghost. He perused the shelves they passed, badly pretending that he was looking for something.

“Do you have something else to shop for?” Logan asked.

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