Dangerous Creatures(13)

“My money’s on Daryl,” Link had said when the band first announced they were breaking up, right before graduation. “Plus, who wants a gold velvet sofa smellin’ like a Homer’s butt?”

It wasn’t like any of them were leaving a great career behind. “(You’re My) Mystery Meat” and “(Feels Like I’m Chewin’ On) Indigestible Gristle,” Meatstik’s two most requested songs at the Summerville Community Center dances, showcased some of the worst lyrics Link had ever written, in Ridley’s opinion. (“Butcher my heart, fillet my soul, and when I bleed, sop it up with your roll.”) Actually, the very worst. And that was saying something, considering that Rid had sat through more Holy Rollers concerts than anyone.

“Now that the band’s broken up, maybe you should try writing about something other than meat,” she’d said.

“But meat’s what I miss the most,” Link had sighed. “Now that I’m not eating. And now that we’re together again.” Then he’d winked at her. “Our love is rare, medium rare.”

“Don’t you dare quote Meatstik to me.”

Ridley didn’t push it. Now wasn’t the time to be hurting Link’s feelings, especially not when she knew what was coming. Sooner or later, she’d have to tell him that this trip wasn’t about dreams. Not anymore. It was about TFPs—talents, favors, and powers. In particular, the favors she’d lost in a card game called Liar’s Trade at the club called Suffer. She was still too humiliated to admit the truth to anyone—and too afraid.

She owed a debt to Lennox Gates, who was more than just a powerful Dark Caster club owner. If Link didn’t go to New York, he would be giving up more than his dream. He would be getting Ridley into a mess of trouble even she couldn’t escape. Or, depending on how you looked at it, delivering her into the hot mess of trouble she’d just gotten herself into.

Maybe I should tell him to turn around now. I already gambled Link’s future away, she thought, with a pang of guilt. It’s too late to worry about mine. But she shook it off, as quickly as it came. She couldn’t do what she needed to do if she let stupid feelings get in the way.

I’m doing him a favor. I need to deliver a drummer to Lennox to settle this first marker, and Link is going to New York to be a drummer. Is there anything so wrong with doing us both a favor? And that band, what were they called? Devil’s Horsemen? Hangmen? They weren’t really all that bad, were they?

There have to be worse things in the world than spending a year with a few Caster rockers with a solid in to good gigs.

In fact, Ridley knew there were. It was the other thing she’d lost that night—the one she couldn’t even begin to let herself think about. The part where she owed not just a drummer but a second marker, a house marker, which meant it was up to the house to decide when to cash it in, and for what.

In other words, Lennox Gates owned the house and the club, so he owned her marker. In other words, he owned her until a year from the day she lost the game.

She owed him one favor. Or worse—a talent, maybe even a power.

No limits.

Anything he asked.

He could make her step off the top of the world’s tallest building if he decided to. Drown herself in Lake Moultrie. Shut herself in an Arclight.

In fact, Lennox Gates could make Ridley do anything she’d ever made anyone else do, using her own Power of Persuasion. He could collect whenever he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Ridley could still see him gloating, that night at Suffer.

More like insufferable. That’s what he was.

She put it all out of her mind.

First things first.

She had to settle her gambling debt, and to do that, she had to get Link to New York. One drummer, coming right up.



In Philadelphia, Rid only let Link out of the Beater long enough at the local truck stop to buy a Coke, not that he could drink it.

In East Brunswick, New Jersey, she was relieved to see signs posted everywhere that only an attendant could pump the gas, so getting out of the car wasn’t even an option. “Sorry, Hot Rod. It’s the law.”

Ridley couldn’t help but feel an irrational panic that he might turn around and drive right back home. She could sense his nerves all the way from the other side of the car. Link couldn’t keep his hands on the wheel. He was too busy tapping on every other surface of the Beater.

“I just gotta pull over and breathe for a second.” He exhaled loudly, like a smoker without a cigarette.

“You’re fine.” Ridley reached out her hand. I should pat something, right? Maybe his arm?

She let her hand fall on his leg, awkwardly.

“You don’t know that. What if I suck? What if I never get a new band? What if this was all just a stupid idea?” He said the words like they were new thoughts, and Ridley tried not to smile.

“When has that ever stopped you before?” She gave up on the patting.

After that, Ridley was on standby, ready to implement emergency measures. Link was freaking out at the wheel, and Ridley was stuck in his passenger seat. If she didn’t do something, she was going down with this ship.

Like it or not, they were in this together.

Link shrugged. “I could get a job at the Suds-It-Up, I guess.”

It was the saddest thing she had ever heard. It gave her a thought so un-Ridley it felt like heartburn in her brain.