Aspen (2 page)

Aspen kicked snow over the enchantment and hurried after the truck, which was pulling into the fueling station for diesel. When it stopped, Aspen stood nearby and huddled in her coat until the driver stepped out. He was an older man dressed in a beige shearling coat and jeans. The collar of his black and red flannel shirt stuck out around his neck and the stub of a cigar dangled from his lips. He glanced at Aspen in passing and began working with the pump.

“You shouldn’t be out here, kid. If you don’t catch your death of cold, you’re going to get run over. Some of these boys haven’t slept in forty-eight,” he said.

“I know, but I need help. I understand you’re heading as far as Wyoming?”

The driver didn’t look at her. “Where did you hear that?”

Aspen bit her lip. “A little bird told me? I was hoping you could give me a ride, I can pay my own way—”

The driver straightened. “What is a kid like you doing trying to hitch a ride on a rig? Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”

Aspen decided on a version of the truth. “My mother died recently and I am trying to get out to my father. He’s a cop in Jackson Hole. Can you help?”

The driver chewed his cigar and stared at the fuel tank in front of him. “Why isn’t your daddy coming for you?”

Aspen joined him in his study of the truck’s outboard tank. “My parents are…were… separated, they have been most of my life. I tried to let him know what is going on, but he’s on a case. Please, I have nowhere else to go!”

The driver flicked his finger across the pump and set it on automatic, then turned to look at Aspen. “Kid, you’re talking about two thousand miles in a truck with a man you don’t know.”

Aspen shrugged. “How is that different than on a bus with fifty people I don’t know? Besides, I have a feeling about you, you’re a good man.”

The driver snorted. “My ex and daughters wouldn’t say so. Okay, look, kid. I have a job to do in Wyoming and this truck is part of it. You can ride, but I make no promises as to how far. If things go south, you walk. Are we clear?”

Aspen smiled. “Yes, sir, we’re clear. Thank you!”

She made to hug the driver and he stepped back. “No hugging! You said you had some cash, run get me a burger and fries from the ‘stop while I finish filling this beast up.”

“Yes, sir!”

She started across the lot to the restaurant, picking her way through the ruts and around spots of diesel.

“Hey kid, what’s your name?” the driver called.

Aspen turned and walked backwards. “Aspen, what’s yours?”

“Mack. Hurry up with that burger!”

Aspen saluted and hurried into the restaurant, relieved to have found a ride that would get her home with a minimum of fuss. She didn’t know who Mack was, but her magik said he was a good man going in the right direction; her magik had never let her down before and she didn’t think it would, today. With a smile, she took a seat at the takeout counter and waited for the busy waitress to take her order.

II

I-80 West, Somewhere…

Miles clicked by and Aspen watched out the window as the countryside changed, little by little. She’d never seen very much of the country and it was interesting to see what changed and what remained the same as they moved along. Mack was quiet, as companions went, only speaking as necessary to share information or place orders at the many truck stops and restaurants where they stopped for food and fuel. Aspen dutifully placed the orders and brought food back to the truck where Mack was either busying himself with fueling the hungry diesel engine or talking on the phone in hushed tones.

It was early morning and the sun was a haze beneath the heavy clouds that stretched as far as Aspen could see. She watched them while she stood in line inside yet another truck stop, waiting to order breakfast for the two of them. She was still looking at the grey storm looming behind them when she stepped back out into the cold. The truck was parked across the lot and she moved toward it at a slow walk, her attention on the clouds; she’d never seen a storm like that.

When she looked back it was to see Mack talking with a young woman with long black hair and exotic blue eyes that were striking even at this distance. The woman was dressed in some kind of black military uniform and had a weapon holstered on her left hip. She spotted Aspen, said something to Mack and moved off to a black sedan parked away from the pumps. Mack turned and lit his cigar, his eyes on Aspen, who felt her stomach go cold.

“What’s going on?” she asked, offering Mack his coffee.

Mack took the foam cup and sucked at contents greedily. “Nothing. Just someone asking for directions. Did you get the donuts?”

Aspen held up a white paper sack. “Two powdered jelly, two plain, two glazed and something called a longjohn for me.”

Mack took the bag and opened the truck’s door. “Let’s hit it, we’ve got miles to cover.”

Aspen let him help her back into the cab and settled into her seat. From her vantage point she could see the black sedan and the woman within. It looked as if she had two other people with her, an older man and, maybe, another woman in the back seat. They drove off heading west and Aspen lost sight of them in the early morning traffic.

Mack climbed into the truck beside her. He flicked the controls and the engine coughed to life in a plume of exhaust and a rattle that shook the cab. The transmission clacked, the brakes hissed and they were off again, crawling across the lot and accelerating onto the highway. Once they were up to travel speed, Mack fished a donut out of the bag and handed the rest to Aspen, who retrieved her own snack and placed the bag on the console between them. She nibbled on the donut and watched Mack, who for the most part ignored her, his attention on the task of eating and driving without crushing any of the other vehicles around them.

“The side of my head is starting to burn, kid,” he said.

Aspen looked away. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

Mack licked jelly off one of his fingers. “Thinking what?”

“That you weren’t always a truck driver.”

Mack glanced at her. “Nobody is born behind the wheel.”

Aspen laughed. “You know what I mean, you used to do something else. Maybe even still do. Something important.”

Mack finished his donut and pulled the chewed end of his cigar out of his pocket. He lit it with the lighter stud on the console and took a drag before looking back at Aspen. “You’re a very observant girl, Aspen. You remind me of one of my daughters. No, I wasn’t always a driver. I used to be a cop, back in the day.”

Aspen leaned back in her seat, which was more like a recliner than anything else. “Why did you quit?”

Mack exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I didn’t quit, I moved on. It’s a long story.”

“We have a long road ahead,” Aspen replied.

Mack chuckled and flicked ash out the window. “Maybe later. Get some sleep and let me drive.”

Aspen curled up in her seat and drifted into a fitful sleep. Though they would part in just a few hours, Aspen would see him again in seven years’ time.

CHAPTER TWO

St. Louis, Missouri, Smokin’ Guns Diner, Five Years Later

Smokin’ Guns Diner had once been a truck stop on Route 66 back when the 66 was the main thoroughfare from Chicago to California. It had become a diner and motel in the 80s and later been adopted as a refuge for those eager to avoid the prying eyes of the law. Everyone from down on their luck gamblers to so-called ‘monster hunters’ gravitated to it for the food, comfort and sense of safety found within its old chrome walls and battered but clean rooms.

It wasn’t much to look at. The chrome had seen better days and was now stained and pitted with age, the windows had turned yellow in the Missouri heat and the old neon sign sputtered and sparked in the rain, sometimes so bad it shorted out.

The inside wasn’t much better, just a dozen cracked red vinyl booths flanking a long counter and another twenty red vinyl stools. An antique jukebox sat at one end, a payphone and restrooms at the other.

Aspen hummed to herself and rubbed down the scarred Formica countertop with a rag that smelled of an odd mix of soap and egg. No matter what she did, the dishrags at Smokin’ Guns always smelled like fried eggs.

The diner had once required waitresses to wear yellow dresses with white aprons, but the current owner, Creek Jackson, had come to his senses and Aspen was dressed in a pair of jeans and a white camisole. The cross Raven had given her hung from a chain around her neck as did the amulet that protected her from prying Fae eyes. The cross was identical to Raven’s save that the name Aspen was engraved in the back; the amulet was a simple pentacle of silver with a purple stone in the center. It was plain and that was how Aspen preferred it. Curiosity meant prying eyes, which was the last thing she wanted.

She scrubbed at a wad of egg and cheese stuck to the counter and sighed. What she wanted was to go home. She missed Raven terribly and the longer she was away, the stronger the ache in her heart became. She imagined she could feel their link growing weaker with each day, but she knew that was impossible.

“Why did I even leave?”

A customer sitting nearby, a retired hunter named Clay, looked up from his steak. “I beg your pardon?”

Aspen hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “Just wondering why I left home. How’s the steak?”

Clay’s weather-worn face cracked into a smile revealing the tombstone lumps of his teeth. “Bloody, just like I like it. You can tell ol’ Creek he done good.”

Aspen glanced at Clay’s plate. Steak fries floated in a pool of blood that threatened to wash over the sides of the cracked white plate and surrounded the lump of meat that had, once, been a bulk-sold sirloin as tough as shoe leather. The sight made her stomach growl and she returned her attention to the stain, which was stubbornly refusing to come clean.

Why had she left Chicago? Life with Raven was great, better than anything she had expected in her lifetime. She’d wandered from job to job since college, always running when the Gallowglass or local Master discovered her. But Raven was different. She didn’t want magik or power, all Raven wanted was Aspen’s friendship and, if she would admit it to herself, Aspen’s love. Aspen could feel Raven’s love even now, three hundred miles away.

And maybe that was the problem. Aspen knew Raven loved her as much as she loved Raven, but Raven wouldn’t say anything. She was too afraid of hurting Rupert and screwing up their friendship to treat Aspen as anything but a friend. It was maddening. So…she’d left. Yet another dumb move.

The bell over the door rang and Aspen looked up to see a lanky, blonde girl enter. The girl looked to be seventeen or so, with long, blonde hair streaked with pink and eyes hidden behind chrome aviator glasses. She was wearing a rain-soaked leather jacket over a black tee that read “I Smell Like Strippers” and jeans tucked into combat boots. The girl pulled off her glasses and took a seat at the counter.

“Can I get a menu?” she asked in a thick southern accent.

Aspen pulled a fresh plastic menu from the stack beneath the counter and handed it to the girl. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee and a shot of Irish, if you’ve got it,” the girl replied.

Aspen smiled. “If I ask for ID, am I going to get a fake one that says you’re old enough to drink?”

The girl arched an eyebrow. “Does it matter how I answer?”

Aspen laughed. “No. Because I’m not going to give you booze. But the coffee is fresh and hot and strong enough to put hair on your eyes.”

Aspen spun and pulled the carafe from the heater behind her. She plonked a cup and saucer older than she was onto the counter and poured the girl a generous cup. The girl perused the menu with a look of annoyance on her face.

“Let me know when you decide,” Aspen said.

The girl tossed the menu onto the counter. “I’ll take the cheeseburger. I want it dead, if it looks like that guy’s steak I won’t eat it. Double fries, no slaw.”

Aspen nodded and turned to Creek, who had appeared over the grill behind her. She repeated the order and rang it into the cash-register before turning back to the girl.

“It will be right up. Can I ask what brings you out here? You aren’t exactly our normal clientele,” Aspen said.

The girl made a face. “You mean I’m not old, wrinkled, and grouchy?”

“Not old and wrinkled, anyway. The vote is still out on grouchy,” Aspen said.

The girl stared at her. “I’m not grouchy. It’s just been a long day and I just needed a safe place to grab a bite and decompress. Is that all right with you?”

Aspen leaned on the counter and poured herself a cup of tea from a pot she kept beside the coffee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The girl cocked her head. “What are you, the local shrink?”

“Bartender,” Aspen replied. “We’re good listeners.”

The girl shrugged. “Nothing major. My sister and I were cleaning out a nest not far from here and she got bit. She’s spending the night at the clinic down the street, that’s all.”

Aspen sipped her tea, a motion that gave her time to think. It was clear the girl was a hunter, which wasn’t something she normally approved of. Aspen had been on the receiving end of hunter attention more than once and many of them were the ‘shoot first, shoot second, ask questions if anything is still breathing’ kind of people. But there were good ones like Clay and Creek and there was something about this girl. Her aura was clean, almost pure, which was unheard of for most hunters, who usually took to the job because they got to kill things and not go to jail. Most preternaturals didn’t leave evidence behind.

“What kind of nest?” she asked.

The girl sipped her coffee and glanced at Clay, who nodded. She then looked back at Aspen. “Lycans. A wild pack, not answering to the local alpha or Mistress. We caught wind of them about a month ago and tracked them to a hole in the wall a few towns over. Someone must have tipped them off, we should have gotten the drop on them, but somehow they knew we were coming.”

Aspen refilled the girl’s coffee. “Sounds like it got bad. Is your sister going to be okay? I could check in on her.”

The girl made a so-so gesture with her hand. “Yeah. I gave her the holy water and silver nitrate treatment, she isn’t going to start howling any time soon. But she lost a lot of blood and needs time to heal.”

“I’m sure she will be fine,” Aspen said.

She turned away at Creek’s muttered, “Order up.” The plate she placed in front of the girl was heavy with a half-pound cheeseburger and a mountain of fries. The girl smothered the fries in ketchup and dove into the food like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Aspen watched her a moment then moved down the counter to where Clay was still sopping up blood with the remains of his fries.

“Do you know her?” she asked.

Clay kept shoveling fries into his mouth with two fingers. “Yeah. She an’ her sister is hunters like their pappy. Showed up a couple years ago with ol’ Solly, now they’s flying solo.”

Aspen glanced back at the girl, who was chewing slowly and reading a comic book.

“She can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen!” Aspen hissed.

“Nineteen,” the girl said without looking up.

Clay guffawed around a mouthful of bloody fries. “Good hearin’ on ya, Jynxie!”

Aspen moved back down the counter. “No offense, you just seem kind of young to be hunting the bogeyman.”

Jynx shrugged. “Nobody in this life gets out alive, we may as well enjoy it. And I enjoy hunting.”

She raised her eyes, which Aspen realized were the same color as her own. “What about you? Aren’t you a little young to be slinging burgers in a hunter dive?”

Aspen smiled. “It’s a long story. I’m older than I look.”

Jynx cocked her head. “Fae usually are.”

Aspen felt the blood drain out of her face. “Fae?”

Jynx smiled and set her burger aside. “You’re part Fae, at least. Your hair color is natural, not a cheesy dye job, and you have the smell of a caster about you. Something with more oomph than your average witch.”

Aspen ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it along the side of her jaw as if she could make the color change. “How could you tell?”

“Our great-grandma was part Fae, which makes my sister and I part Fae. Not as much as you, though. You’re what, once removed?” Jynx asked.

Aspen nodded. “My mother was Fae.”

“It looks good on you,” Jynx said. “My name is Jynx, by the way.”

Aspen extended her hand. “Aspen.”

Jynx shook it and returned to her burger. Aspen watched her for another moment then went back to washing the counter. It was something to do.

II

Two hours, three milkshakes, a pot of coffee, and a plate of fries later Aspen stood alone at the windows overlooking the dirt lot and highway. The old grey blacktop vanished just a few yards beyond the diner’s lights as did everything else in the little town. Rain was falling in sheets so thick it was almost snow and the rumble of thunder had become a continuous low echo; it was like the storm had stopped directly overhead.

Lights appeared to the west and Aspen watched them with mild annoyance. She’d been hoping to head home at midnight, but customers were customers and Creek’s philosophy was that the diner stayed open as long as there was someone to feed. She watched, hoping the car would pass them by as so many did, but instead it pulled into the lot and stopped in the spot nearest the door. The vehicle was an old Chevrolet of some kind, white with chrome trim. The single occupant sat behind the wheel for a moment like he was watching the diner then slid out and splashed through the puddles and through the diner’s double glass doors. He was a tall man wearing a beige rain coat that reminded Aspen of Rupert Levac, but where Rupert was average in almost every way, this man was tall. Close-cropped black hair peeked out from beneath a fedora so wet it was plastered to his skull and his grey suit was soaked through. Everything looked at least one size too big.

The man wrung his hat out in the breeze way then tossed it onto the counter and took a seat on one of the old stools.

Aspen woke Jynx, who had curled up in one of the booths, and moved behind the counter. A menu, silverware, and napkins were placed in front of the newcomer, who was still dripping with rain.

“Coffee?” Aspen asked.

“Please,” the man said. “And could I trouble you for—”

Aspen dropped a clean dish towel beside the menu and turned to get a fresh cup.

“Thank you,” the man said with a laugh.

Aspen poured a generous cup of coffee and offered it to him. “You’re welcome. That storm is a beast.”

The man gave a small smile. “Indeed. I’ve been driving in it for what seems forever. Just driving…”

He sipped at the coffee then perused the menu with the air of a man who was looking for something in particular. After a few minutes, he set it aside and Aspen took his order. She handed it through to Creek, who appeared at the window as always, then walked back down the counter to where Jynx was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Want me to ask Creek if any of the rooms out back are clean?” Aspen asked.

Jynx flicked something out of her eye. “Yeah, I don’t feel like going out in that to find a room.”

Creek shuffled into view with an old green keychain. The number four was written on the chain in gold glitter.

“Nummer fo’ is all yers, Jynxie,” he rumbled.

Creek was a mountain of a man, the kind who might have once been mistaken for a bridge troll. He stood almost seven feet tall, with lanky arms and legs that made him seem even taller. His head seemed slightly too big for the rest of him and one tooth stuck out against his upper lip like a tusk. But he was one of the kindest souls Aspen had ever met.

Jynx took the key and stuffed it into her pocket. “Thanks, Creek.”

He bowed his head and shuffled back into the kitchen.

“There are clean towels in the hallway closet, your key will—”

Jynx cut her off. “I know the drill, Asp, I’ve been here before. Catch you in the morning.”

Aspen watched Jynx run through the rain to the small building behind the diner, which was the sort of run-down hotel below the standards of even the most strung-out meth addict. But it was clean and safe, which was more than enough for most hunters. When the door had closed on the storm, Aspen looked back at the stranger, who was looking out the window at the rain. He looked haunted, with sunken eyes that hadn’t slept in days and a slight stubble around his chin that indicated he’d shaved in a hurry. His knuckles were bruised and scabbed and he moved stiffly, as if he was sore. He caught Aspen looking and smiled.