All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(24)

Outside, the brown Ford idled on the gravel shoulder, and Becca leaned out her window, puffing on a cigarette like it was the last one she’d ever smoke. When she saw us, she killed the car and jumped out, waving both arms.

“By the way,” Kaden said, clapping me on the shoulder again before crossing in the opposite direction. “It wasn’t my uncle who called me.”

By the time Kaden reached his car, Becca had reached me. She flung both arms around me, and the smell of tobacco and the light, glitzy perfume filled my nose. Almost as quickly as she had hugged me, she backed away, tapped a fresh cigarette free from the pack, and jabbed me with the unlit tip. “I knew, I just knew knew you’d get in trouble.”

“I didn’t get in trouble.” I rolled my shoulders, surprisingly glad for the openness of the sky, for the sense of space. I hadn’t been in the cell long, no more than an hour, but the memory lingered. If I had any say in the matter, I didn’t think I wanted to go to prison anytime soon.

“Did you talk back? You’re always talking back.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t make that face,” she said.

“I’m not making a face.”

Without answering, Becca dragged me towards the car. We climbed into our seats, and Becca flipped around and headed north out of town. As we drove, she fiddled with the radio, and then with the heater, and then with the vents. Then, fanning the vents one last time, she turned to me and said, “Well? What now?”

“I need to go home and change.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know, Becca. Maybe I’ll take the rest of the day off. I did just get arrested, after all.”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean no. River is out there. He’s hurt. We have to start looking for him. Is the sheriff organizing a search party? Did he send a deputy to tape off the Dumpster? What did he say about the blood?”

“Becca, it didn’t exactly go that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—”

“Vie, Deputy Fort pulled you out of the Dumpster where we found River’s bloody jacket. The same Dumpster where we saw his . . . his . . .”

“That was a dream.”

“Exactly. So what did the sheriff say?”

“I tried to tell him. I told him River was missing, I told him he was in danger, maybe already hurt. He didn’t believe me, Becca. Or he didn’t care.”

“So then what happened? What did you say next?”

“I . . . well, things got a little heated.”

“Things got heated?”

“You weren’t there, ok? I did my best. He told me there were a million possible reasons River didn’t show up that night. And you know what? He’s right.”

“What are you talking about? A million reasons for me to have that nightmare? A million reasons for that nightmare to have some truth behind it? A million reasons for you, a fucking psychic, to—”

I thought about DeHaven Knight, who had killed the sleeping man so calmly, and I thought about Lawayne Karkkanew and his bodyguard, who had beaten a girl to death and enjoyed it. I thought about all the trouble coming down the road, and at the end of the road, Mr. Big Empty. Before meeting DeHaven Knight, before hearing his insane rant about River, I had thought I knew where things were going. Now, though—now everything had shifted. Until I figured out what that meant, I couldn’t keep Becca safe, and until I knew how to keep her safe, I wasn’t telling her anything about DeHaven Knight or my lead on River’s whereabouts the night before.

“Look, Becca, the sheriff’s not going to do anything. It’s a dead end. Let me think about it. We’ll figure this out.”

“Sure,” she said, running a hand under her eyes. “Sure, we’ll figure this out. And River might be hurt right now, Vie. He might be dead. Fucking dead. Are you going to figure that out? Do you just need some time to think about that?”

“Just drop me here,” I said as we reached the edge of town. “You can go home.”

In answer, though, she dropped her foot on the accelerator, and we shot out of town and up the state highway. When we reached the Slippers’ parking lot, she turned in so fast that the rear tires squealed.

“You said you’d help me.”

“I’m doing my best. Sorry if that doesn’t seem like enough.” I sighed. “Becca, I promise. Give me a couple hours. I’ve been cut by something in a dream, I’ve had perfume sprayed in my eyes, I’ve been in a car wreck, and, after Dumpster-diving, I was arrested. Let me shower, change, and figure out what to do next.”

She lifted her hand, as though she meant to wipe her eyes again, but instead she adjusted the vents one last time. “I know. I’m being awful, honest, I know. This is impossible, right? Impossible for you, impossible for me. So I’m being awful because I don’t know how else to be.”

“You’re not being awful. Go home, get some sleep. By this afternoon, I’m sure I’ll have an idea.”

Still carrying the scent of cigarettes and that glitzy perfume, she kissed my cheek and pushed me out the door. As the Ford drove away, I hurried into the house. I had to find River. I had to stop Mr. Big Empty. But the thing that worried me most was the one truly impossible task: I had to convince my boyfriend, whose birthday I’d forgotten, to go to a party with me.