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Authors: eden Hudson
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and stood up. “I’m telling everybody.
This place is going to be double capacity. See you later?”
Yep,
I’ll be the one wishing I was singing instead of you.
Desty
Bub’s
Diner didn’t have wireless, but the air conditioning felt like heaven on my
sunburn, and the waiter kept my water full, even during the lunch rush. I sat
at a two-top by myself, nibbling at a cheese sandwich and pickles and trying to
drown my dehydration in ice water.
Maybe
I could head back over to that bar again and ask around some more. This time
I’d be ready for Schoolgirl. If she gave me any trouble, I’d tell her I wasn’t
interested in Tough anyway, and that she could shove her attitude problem up
her butt next to whatever else she had wedged in there.
While
I was daydreaming about having enough attitude and guts to defend myself, a
group of faeries came in and sat at the big family table in the center of the
room. I’d seen faeries in person before, but the shimmering always took me by
surprise. They were so sparkly.
One
faerie said something that made the rest of her friends laugh. Then she touched
the tabletop and a blue rose with glowing orange veins blossomed from the
laminate. The spikey-haired faerie sitting across from her scooped the rose up
and popped it in his mouth. He burped and a puff of blue smoke drifted out.
I
ducked my head and took a drink of water so the faeries wouldn’t see me smiling
and realize I had been watching. The last thing I needed was to get trapped in
some eternal dance party or made into faerie wine.
Pretty
soon the waiter would probably tell me to order some more food or get out and I
would go because I didn’t want to spend any more of my blood money and I didn’t
have anyone to sit and talk with.
I
flicked a sandwich crumb into the green pool of pickle juice on my plate.
Twins
weren’t made to be alone. If I’d learned anything from the last eight months,
it was that.
Tough
I
expected it to hurt worse, but the truth is, I was gone halfway through the
first song. Not being able to sing was kind of how I imagine losing your sense
of taste would be—it blew like a hundred dollar hooker, but my other senses
overcompensated. Sometimes before, my picking would get a little sloppy or I’d
drag my fingers, but that first night back at Rowdy’s, I was on, all the way.
Figure in the packed house, the energy flying off the crowd, the music hitting
that sweet spot between the real world and something higher… It was like being
free again. Like I could hit the highway out of Halo and never have to look
over my shoulder for the Tracker.
Near
the end of the second set, I saw Desty squeeze through the crowd to the bar. I
hadn’t been very drunk last night—at least not while I was talking to
her—because the way I remembered her was pretty much the way she looked. Short
hair, cute nose, big eyes, worn-out boots. Her legs didn’t go on forever, but
they went far enough in those shorts.
I
kept an eye on her through the last song of the set, “Flirting with Disaster.”
She talked to a few different people—a couple tourists and Beth Anne Hicks, the
rip who runs the pharmacy. Whatever Desty was asking them always got a negative
answer. Maybe she wanted to know about Finn, whether he had come in, where
dumbass vamps spent their time so she could find him. That happened sometimes.
Girls got hung up on guys too retarded to appreciate them. Whatever she was
asking, she didn’t see me.
“Hey,
Tough, you in there?” Dodge was setting his bass on its stand.
Willow
was already gone, probably on her way back to Rowdy’s office to call and check
on her little girl, and Owen was halfway off the stage, his fiddle laying in
its case.
I
hung up my Gibson and followed Dodge and Owen to the bar. Desty could go
chasing after whatever asshole she wanted. I’d been around her one time when I
was about three shots in. I barely knew her, couldn’t
This place is going to be double capacity. See you later?”
Yep,
I’ll be the one wishing I was singing instead of you.
Desty
Bub’s
Diner didn’t have wireless, but the air conditioning felt like heaven on my
sunburn, and the waiter kept my water full, even during the lunch rush. I sat
at a two-top by myself, nibbling at a cheese sandwich and pickles and trying to
drown my dehydration in ice water.
Maybe
I could head back over to that bar again and ask around some more. This time
I’d be ready for Schoolgirl. If she gave me any trouble, I’d tell her I wasn’t
interested in Tough anyway, and that she could shove her attitude problem up
her butt next to whatever else she had wedged in there.
While
I was daydreaming about having enough attitude and guts to defend myself, a
group of faeries came in and sat at the big family table in the center of the
room. I’d seen faeries in person before, but the shimmering always took me by
surprise. They were so sparkly.
One
faerie said something that made the rest of her friends laugh. Then she touched
the tabletop and a blue rose with glowing orange veins blossomed from the
laminate. The spikey-haired faerie sitting across from her scooped the rose up
and popped it in his mouth. He burped and a puff of blue smoke drifted out.
I
ducked my head and took a drink of water so the faeries wouldn’t see me smiling
and realize I had been watching. The last thing I needed was to get trapped in
some eternal dance party or made into faerie wine.
Pretty
soon the waiter would probably tell me to order some more food or get out and I
would go because I didn’t want to spend any more of my blood money and I didn’t
have anyone to sit and talk with.
I
flicked a sandwich crumb into the green pool of pickle juice on my plate.
Twins
weren’t made to be alone. If I’d learned anything from the last eight months,
it was that.
Tough
I
expected it to hurt worse, but the truth is, I was gone halfway through the
first song. Not being able to sing was kind of how I imagine losing your sense
of taste would be—it blew like a hundred dollar hooker, but my other senses
overcompensated. Sometimes before, my picking would get a little sloppy or I’d
drag my fingers, but that first night back at Rowdy’s, I was on, all the way.
Figure in the packed house, the energy flying off the crowd, the music hitting
that sweet spot between the real world and something higher… It was like being
free again. Like I could hit the highway out of Halo and never have to look
over my shoulder for the Tracker.
Near
the end of the second set, I saw Desty squeeze through the crowd to the bar. I
hadn’t been very drunk last night—at least not while I was talking to
her—because the way I remembered her was pretty much the way she looked. Short
hair, cute nose, big eyes, worn-out boots. Her legs didn’t go on forever, but
they went far enough in those shorts.
I
kept an eye on her through the last song of the set, “Flirting with Disaster.”
She talked to a few different people—a couple tourists and Beth Anne Hicks, the
rip who runs the pharmacy. Whatever Desty was asking them always got a negative
answer. Maybe she wanted to know about Finn, whether he had come in, where
dumbass vamps spent their time so she could find him. That happened sometimes.
Girls got hung up on guys too retarded to appreciate them. Whatever she was
asking, she didn’t see me.
“Hey,
Tough, you in there?” Dodge was setting his bass on its stand.
Willow
was already gone, probably on her way back to Rowdy’s office to call and check
on her little girl, and Owen was halfway off the stage, his fiddle laying in
its case.
I
hung up my Gibson and followed Dodge and Owen to the bar. Desty could go
chasing after whatever asshole she wanted. I’d been around her one time when I
was about three shots in. I barely knew her, couldn’t
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