All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(42)

I ground my teeth. “If you—”

But the guy wasn’t listening to me anymore. He was lost back in whatever black-and-white flip-phone game he was playing. I marched out of the station, growling as the bottles clinked and chimed together. I was running out of time today. If those security cameras were only on a twenty-four hour loop, as a lot of the cheap ones were, then tonight they would record over whatever they’d stored the night before, and any footage of River at the station would be lost.

Plans raced through my mind. I’d have to skip the party and come back later. That meant I couldn’t call Austin—he’d want to know why I wasn’t going to the party after I had been so insistent earlier. If I told the truth, he’d want to help. If I lied, well, he’d probably catch me out, because I was shit at lying. Better to avoid him altogether if I could. When I came back tonight, I’d— A brown Ford sedan shrieked to a stop in front of me, missing me by about an inch. When my heart dropped out of my throat, I kicked the tire and leaned in the passenger window.

“You’re a maniac. Were you trying to run me over?”

Becca pursed her lips and blew a perfect ring of smoke. “You, you big muscle-bound jock, are a day late and a dollar short.”

“What?”

She twiddled a flash drive between her fingers. “Looking for something? Camera footage, maybe?”

A dark suspicion wormed its way through me. “No way.”

“A full twenty-four hours of security camera recording.” She smirked. “Maybe we can compare copies?”

I growled, and with a laugh, she reached over to open the door for me.

“Stop gloating,” I said. “Let’s see what happened last night.”





As Becca drove us across town, with the Ford whimpering and the driver’s side dropping a good six inches every time the wheel turned, my gaze kept falling on the flash drive in her lap.

“How did you get those recordings?” I asked.

Her smirk flashed again. “Did you ask nicely?”

“Of course I asked nicely.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Well,” I amended. “I started off nicely.”

“Let me guess: you were all gruff and surly and demanding, as you always are—”

“Wait a second.”

“—and when that didn’t work, you went from gruff and surly and demanding to hostile and abusive—”

“Excuse me?”

“—and when that didn’t work, you went from hostile and abusive to sulky. Which, I should add, you’re doing right now.”

“I am not sulky.”

“You’re all hunched over, and your face is squished up the way it always is when you’re moody.”

“My face does not ‘squish up.’ And I’m only hunched over because—” I caught myself, but it was too late. Becca’s other eyebrow went up.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing. Another run-in with Lawayne.”

“So you did go back to Jigger Boss. Without me. Without even telling me.”

With a sigh, I dropped back into the cushioned seat, ignoring all the bruises that screamed at me. “Becca, I just wanted to look around. I didn’t want to get you into trouble.”

“But you didn’t mind getting yourself in trouble.”

“It’s different.”

“Really?” Her voice had become dangerously calm. I’d read about ships that sailed across completely smooth seas and then, all of the sudden, a bubble of methane gas would shoot up from the ocean floor and the displaced water would swallow the ship whole. Becca’s voice felt like that right now, that kind of smooth that, in the next instant, meant sudden, inescapable, absolute death. I was starting to realize I should have just shut up. “Please, Vie,” she continued, “explain.”

“Never mind.”

“No, I’d love to hear the differences. I’m a girl, of course, so that’s probably the first thing on your list.”

“Becca, come on.”

“Come on? Come on? What? Am I acting irrational? Hysterical? Like a girl would act?”

Shut up, my brain was saying. Shut up. But my mouth didn’t get the message. “A little.”

“You stupid, stupid, big old stupid. You knew I wanted to be part of this. You knew how important this was to me. And you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.”

“That’s a lie, Vie. You know it, so don’t argue it.”

The Ford took a sharp corner as we headed east, towards the mountains. Behind us, the sun skimmed the horizon, turning Vehpese and the Bighorn Mountains gold and ochre and fire. Becca threw her cigarette out the window, but the smell of its smoke lingered, coating my tongue and throat and mixing with a fresh, shampoo scent. Becca’s hair was wet, I realized, and she’d changed clothes. She wore a t-shirt and jeans and a fluffy, oversized hoodie, and she’d scrubbed last night’s makeup from her face. This felt more like the real Becca to me: pretty, but natural, and tough under all that fluffy fleece.

“You’re smarter than I am,” I said. “You thought of the security cameras first.”

“Of course I am. And of course I did.”