Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan (34 page)

The music goes briefly silent before clicking over to a modern station, where
the song informs me that losing me is like living in a world with no air.

"Okay." I have to laugh at that, just a little, and laughing even a little
makes me feel enough better that I can sit up, wiping the phantom tears from my
cheeks. "Maybe this is what you signed up for after all. Come on, baby. Let's go
kick a dead guy's ass."

The engine turns over, and then we're rolling through the midnight, heading
for the night's designated drag strip...heading for the future. Whatever that
future is going to be.

***

I set the challenge, so Bobby chose the raceway. It shouldn't be a surprise
when we follow the markers to the makeshift starting line and find ourselves
idling at the base of Sparrow Hill, where the road winds its way into the even
deeper dark beneath the trees. Bobby is already there, standing next to his car.
So is Bethany, standing off to one side with a starter flag in her hand. We're
really going to do this.

It's hard to strut confidently in a green silk prom dress, but I've had years
to practice, and I almost manage it as I get out of the car and cross the dusty
pavement to where Bobby stands. "Emma," I say. "Where is she?"

"You'll get her if you win," replies Bobby. "You won't win."

"My hostage is present," I say, indicating Gary with a wave of my hand. "Now
show me yours, or this doesn't happen."

"The terms are fair," says Bethany.

Bobby scowls like a storm rolling in, and stalks around to the back of his
car, where he unlocks the trunk and hauls a rumpled, bound and gagged Emma into
the questionable light. Her eyes are closed and her head is lolling forward, but
she's breathing. I don't know how hard it is to kill a bean sidhe. Hopefully,
tonight is not the night when I find out. "Happy now?" he demands.

"Not by a long shot," I say. "Leave her here."

"Why would I do a silly thing like that?" He runs a fingertip lecherously
down the curve of Emma's cheek, smirking at me. "Your hostage is going on the
race with you. So's mine."

"The terms are fair," says Bethany again, sadly this time, like she'd rather
be saying something else. "But you can't keep her in the trunk. If your hostage
is damaged, the entire contest is invalidated."

"Fine," snaps Bobby. He wrenches open the passenger-side door and all but
tosses Emma inside, slamming the door behind her. "Now can we get started?"

Bethany nods. "You are to cross the hill and return. First one here wins. If
you cheat, I'll know. Is everyone in agreement?"

"Yes," says Bobby, and "Yes," I say, and then we're walking back to our
respective cars, Gary's engine already live and running, his own dark machine
roaring into bitter wakefulness. I have to wonder if Bobby's car is self-aware;
I have to wonder if it understands what its driver is doing.

But there isn't time for lengthy contemplation. Bethany is standing at our ad
hoc starting line, a checkered flag in one hand—and there's no point in
wondering where she got it; she's a crossroad guardian now, and I guess that
comes with a few party tricks of its own. She watches with calm, sad eyes as we
roll up to either side of her, our idling engines like dragons in the quiet
midnight. Then the flag comes down and there's nothing to do but drive.

***

I haven't been on Sparrow Hill since the night I died there. I used to drive
it all the time, but that was decades ago, and even ghosts can forget the little
things, like how sharp the first curve is, or how fast the trees block out all
the light. Even during the middle of the day, it's always dark on certain parts
of the road, and this is a long way from the middle of the day.

The little things only distract me for a few seconds. A few seconds is all
that it takes for Bobby to snare the lead, his taillights burning bloody through
the darkness. I swear and slam my foot down on the gas, sending Gary leaping
forward. The gap between us is still narrow, and we haven't lost this yet.

Bobby's car has a better engine, but my car has a better soul, and that can
count for a lot once you're on the ghostroads. Gary and I slide through the gap
between Bobby and the side of the hill, tires chewing dirt for a few seconds
before we're back on solid pavement and blasting our way through the night. Now
it's Bobby's turn to come racing up behind me. I hit the gas a little harder,
hauling on the steering wheel, not allowing him to pass. Everything depends on
this. I can't lose.

We're the first ones over the hill, the first ones to hit the marker that
says it's time to turn around again. Gary takes the turn smoothly, and we pass
Bobby as we drive back into the shadows of the hill.

The pass is easy. That should bother me, but I'm too focused on the road
ahead, too focused on winning—for Emma's sake, for Gary's sake, for the sake of
my own soul. I don't realize just how wrong it was for Bobby to let me pass him
like that until his car comes blazing out of the darkness behind us like some
dark avenging angel, and his bumper slams into mine.

The impact is hard enough to slam me into the steering wheel, Gary going
briefly out of my control. He wobbles on the road, and I swear, scrambling to
get us back on track. Bobby slams into us again and again, making it impossible
for me to do anything but hang on. I've been here before. Terror is racing
through my veins like a drug, because I have
been here before
, and I
didn't survive it last time, either.

He hits us one last time, and this time, I can't keep control of the wheel,
and Gary's tires can't keep their contact with the road, and we go tumbling
down, down, down into the dark, falling into the endless shadows on the side of
Sparrow Hill.

***

The first time I took this fall, I was alive, and the trauma of it knocked me
out. This time, I'm dead, and so is my car. That makes a bit of a difference. So
does the fact that is the Sparrow Hill of the past—the one where my first car
has already gone over the edge. I grab the wheel, shouting, "Trust me!" and
steer us through the wreckage created by my crash. It's hard. The ground is
broken and filled with dangers, and my teeth rattle with every impact. Gary's
bearing the worst of it, and he doesn't complain, although his radio flickers
wildly, a dozen songs in a second, none lasting more than a single note.

There, up ahead of us: there's the light of the road, dim by any other
measure, but a beacon when viewed from the absolute darkness of the trees. We
burst through the last barrier, and we're out, tires screeching as we skid to a
stop just past the finish line. Panting, I slump back in my seat. "You okay,
honey?"

Gary's radio spins; "Back in Black" blasts briefly through the cabin.

"Oh, good." I sigh deeply, unfastening my belt. "I'll be back. I hope."

Gary doesn't have an answer for that. The radio clicks off just before I shut
the door.

***

Bobby Cross is pulling up as I walk back over to Bethany. His car has barely
stopped before he's out, striding toward us, grinning to beat the band. "Hand
over that pink slip, missy, and then we'll see about what you can do for me to
get it back," he says.

"No," says Bethany.

"No?" echoes Bobby, disbelieving. I share his sentiment, but don't say
anything; I just turn to her, and stare.

"No, she won't be giving you her pink slip, but you'll be giving her your
hostage." Bethany's smile is cold and cruel. "You lose."

"Now, hold on a moment, missy," he snaps. "She didn't finish the race."

"Distance was never stated. Only cross the hill and back again. She finished
the race. She just took an alternate route." Bethany points to the shattered
underbrush marking the scene of my first crash. "Rose Marshall is today's
victor. Return the bean sidhe, and go."

"You little—"

"I speak for the crossroads, Bobby," says Bethany. Her voice is soft, and
louder than thunder, all at the same time. "Do you truly wish to argue with us?
We did not forbid you to cheat and drive her off the road, but neither did we
forbid her to survive being driven. If you break this bargain with us, you break
them all. Are you willing to live with the consequences of that choice?"

A look of utter terror flashes over Bobby's face. He's been in the dark for a
long time, and all to stay young and beautiful forever. "No," he says,
hurriedly.

"Then return the
bean sidhe
, and do not test our patience in this
way again. You can still claim the girl, if you can catch her fairly. You will
not take her tonight."

Still ashen, Bobby pulls Emma from his car and drops her to the pavement. He
doesn't look back as he climbs into the driver's seat and blasts away, leaving
the four of us alone.

Make that the three of us. When I turn to thank Bethany, she's gone. I look
at the place where she'd been for a moment. Then I nod, and make my way to Emma.

She's still gagged, her hands tied behind her back, but her eyes are open,
and focus on me as I kneel to pull the gag away. She coughs, weakly. "You didn't
have to do this," she whispers.

"Hush," I reply, and start working on the rope that binds her wrists. "You're
my friend. Besides, I couldn't let you die before you met my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" asks Emma, blinking.

"He's the hot guy behind me. The one with the smokin' wheels."

Emma's eyes flick past me, and widen as she sees Gary—the only possible "hot
guy" on the road. Then she starts to laugh, punctuating her amusement with more
coughs. "You have to be kidding me."

"Nope." I straighten, helping her to her feet. "I'm getting a malted for
this, right?"

"You're getting all the malteds you can drink," she says, fiercely, and pulls
me into a hug. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" I pat her back with one hand and turn to smile at
Gary. He flashes his headlights at me. "Let's go home."

***

Last Dance Diner
says the neon sign, glowing through the darkness
like a lighthouse guiding us safely into port. The lights are on, and there are
people inside, being waited on by Emma's staff. After the midnight, this level
of the twilight seems almost bright enough to be the day.

We slide into the parking lot, and Emma pats Gary's dashboard, saying, "I'll
send Dinah out with some fresh oil. Thanks again. For everything."

His radio spins, and the Beatles tell her that they get by with a little help
from their friends.

"Don't we all?" Emma turns her smile toward me, only the weariness at the
corner of her mouth betraying what she's been through tonight. "You coming?"

"Yeah," I say, and kiss Gary's steering wheel before sliding out of my seat.
He closes the door behind me, and my feet crunch in the gravel as I follow Emma
toward the warm and welcoming light of home.

I won't tell you this is how it ends. I won't tell you this is where it
ended. Those things would be lies. But I'll tell you this: the road is as long
as you want it to be, and every accident can be a blessing, if you're willing to
look past the bad parts and find the good ones, like the friends who wait for
you on the other side. I won't tell you this is my whole story, but it's as much
as I'm going to share right now.

If you ever need me, I'll be there to get you home. And in all the Americas,
from midnight to noon and in-between, the truckers roll out, and the diners
stand like cathedrals of the road, and the beat...the beat goes on.