All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(72)

“You won’t be the only one tonight.”

Dropping back on her bed, Becca drew her knees up under her chin. “Do you really mean that?”

“Well, let’s be honest. Austin’s parents are already dealing with the fact that their son, previously Mr. Most-Awesome-Kid-in-Vehpese, is now the town’s gay pariah. And, on top of that, he’s dating me: I start fights, I live in the shittiest possible place, I’m poor, I’m like trouble seven different ways.”

“But you solved a murder. Two murders, technically.”

“By managing to get myself abducted at gunpoint.”

“Ugh. You are determined to make yourself sound like a bad fit for Austin.”

“I am a bad fit for Austin. That doesn’t mean I don’t like him, but it’s still true.”

“Austin is—”

“Austin, since coming out, has dropped all the macho crap. He’s nice. Actually, he’s sweet. And somehow, that hasn’t made him any less cool. If anything, people seem to like him more.”

“Geez, people like someone who’s nice.” Becca rolled her eyes. “Maybe you could give it a try?”

“Not a chance. Anyway, Austin dropped the drugs. He drinks, but that’s like the state pastime, so nobody’s going to hold that against him. He is golden in every way except for being queer. How am I supposed to fit with that?”

“All that stuff, it changed because of you. Because he’s not hiding who he is, because he’s not desperately unhappy wearing a mask. And maybe because he’s dating you, although I’m starting to think he’s doing that out of pity.”

“Hey!”

A smile broke across her face. “Tonight, be positive—”

“Oh God.”

“—and nice—”

“Please, no.”

“And don’t say anything bad. Not about other people. Not about yourself. Just smile and be . . .”

“Normal?”

“Well, let’s not set the bar too high. Be the Vie who, after he’d cut his hand, got out of my car and walked to the hospital so that I could try to meet a guy who liked me.”

“So, be an idiot.”

“Exactly. A sweet idiot. Come on, you’re going to be late.”

As I said goodbye to Becca at the door, she leaned in and kissed my cheek.

“What was that for?”

“For good luck. God knows you’re going to need it.”

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Thanks, Becca. For everything.”

She turned me by the shoulders and gave me a push. When I reached the edge of the driveway, Becca called after me, her voice husky in a frat-brother imitation, “Better tap that tonight.”

Oh my God. My cheeks, my whole face, turned to fire, and I scurried away from her house as fast as I could. Her laughter followed me out of the foothills.

Austin’s house wasn’t too far from Becca’s, but the walk helped me stretch out some of the stiffness from the bruises Salerno had given me. The wind had picked up and sharpened, cutting through River’s jean jacket and sending goosebumps up my arms. Tonight, the air carried the scent of dry leaves, and, as I drew closer to Austin’s house, the smell of horses mixed with that aroma. On Austin’s street, the houses sat on large lots, and most had barns or other outbuildings. Austin’s family had at least two horses that they moved between the barn and the corral and the pasture and God only knew all the other places horses had to be moved. The smell made me think of the first time I had let my guard down around Austin. We’d taken the horses into the mountains and ridden in search of something I had seen in a vision: the landmark known as the Widow’s Pyre. But horses, like all animals, gave me the jitters, and I had managed to make a total fool of myself, including landing on top of Austin when I tried to dismount.

He hadn’t made fun of me. Well, not really. And he hadn’t been angry. I’d scrambled off him, fast as greased hell, but only because I was worried he’d think I enjoyed being on top of him. Which, for the record, I had. Quite a lot. He’d asked me about why I was scared of animals. He’d calmed me down when I freaked out about the horse. Once, I’d looked back and seen that big, sweet smile growing as slow as sunrise on his face. I’d known, although he wouldn’t admit it, that he was interested in guys to some degree. Maybe that was why it had taken me until now, on with a black October wind slashing me to the bone, to think he had liked me, all the way back then he had liked me, and—and I had liked him. It gave everything a strange sort of harmony, like recognizing a chord from the beginning of a song and knowing, just knowing, that the chord fit, that it fit the rest of the song all the way to the end.

As I went up the driveway to his house—glowing lamps and white siding and red brick and the bright yellow door—the familiar claws sank into my chest. You could have taken a picture of this place, slapped it on a postcard, and called it home, and it would sell coast-to-coast because it was a home, maybe the perfect picture of a home. The kids here hadn’t grown up wearing cast off and good will. They hadn’t grown up hungry or, if not hungry, filled with processed food. They hadn’t gone to bed terrified, they hadn’t been hit, they hadn’t watched as their mom took a cigarette from between her lips, the tip of the end still glowing, and they hadn’t known, right then, to take off their shirts and not to run, because if you ran, if you made her run, it wouldn’t be just once that you felt that red-hot ember, it would be five times, or ten, or whatever she wanted— The old, envious claws twisted inside me, tearing up my guts. I pounded on the door and reminded myself to take a breath.