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Perry believed Mexico was their best bet, and Maysun pushed for Canada. Amara was ambivalent about their destination. Every strategy tossed around only seemed as if it postponed her unavoidable capture by Charles Dunning, she said. Perry continued on Highway 20 west without a destination to head for, hoping they’d reach a resolution soon. In the meantime, they kept moving.
A silence descended over the Dodge until they crossed the South Carolina border into Georgia. Nobody seemed to want to be the first to chat. Conversation came in fits and stops, always nonconfrontational and simple. After they’d passed through Augusta, Perry, unable to stand the quiet any longer, broke the stillness.
“So, Maysun, tell us where you’ve been, and what brought you into Amara’s life now.”
“You mean now that everything’s going to hell?”
Perry met Maysun’s gaze in the rearview. Her expression revealed little. “Yeah, that.”
Over the next three hours, Amara and Maysun spoke more frankly to one another than Perry suspected they had to anyone. Maysun explained her work as the Balance, about Joseph Cartephilus, the Shévet ha Dam, and Amara’s father, Eoghan. She described how Charles probably now knew about Amara, and how, thanks to David, he learned about where she was. She ended her story with her suspicion that Charles would want to find out how she might be turned into a weapon to turn the world in his favor.
“That’s ridiculous,” Amara said, “I’m nobody.”
“That’s not true,” Maysun said.
“Not true at all,” Perry murmured. Amara didn’t show any sign she’d heard him.
Amara told Maysun about the voices she’d heard for so long, her nightmares, Thom’s death, and how she’d learned that what she’d thought was schizophrenia was much worse. She wrapped her history up with the tale of how Perry had helped her out of her bonds.
The talk grew easy as the women discovered how similar they were. Perry wondered if they noticed how their mannerisms echoed one another, the way they each pushed their hair back behind their neck with the same smooth motion, or that their eyes averted contact as they recalled the sadder memories. Their laughs sounded identical as well—a womanly sound, pleasant, not quite a chuckle.
Their conversation continued with hardly a break until mid-afternoon. Only the pit stop Amara demanded because she needed a bathroom gave them a moment’s rest from their flight westward. When they neared Birmingham, Amara asked if they could pause for a moment and eat.
“Although I guess you two don’t need to,” she laughed.
“Food is good,” Perry said. “And no, it might not be the same, but it’s still a good idea. We wouldn’t want Maysun to lose her strength.”
They walked together to the truck stop, and Maysun laid a hand on Perry’s arm.
“Amara, why don’t you go ahead while we...?” Maysun nodded toward a place where a trucker slept upright in his rig. Perry saw him so clearly, he could read the Peterbilt logo on his hat, saw his arms crossed on his ample stomach, the red and white pattern of his flannel shirt.
“But why?” Amara said.
She sounds heartbroken, Perry thought. Or was it wishful thinking that she didn’t want to separate from him for a moment? He wanted to tell Maysun he’d be OK with no sustenance, go ahead, I’ll join you next time, but his strength was waning, and today was not a day to be caught with old blood in his veins. How long before he risked a burn, or worse? The sunlight on his skin felt hot as they stood outside the door and waited.
“Maysun’s right,” he said. “Oh, and don’t use your debit card. Here...” He took out his wallet and handed Amara money. “We’ll be in shortly.”
He knew she wanted to argue. A word or two formed at her mouth. She took a breath to utter them, but didn’t.
“You have to eat too, huh?” she asked, noting people wending their way through the door behind her.
“We’ll be careful. I promise,” Perry said, adding an emphasis to the final syllables he hoped she recognized. With her eyes, she measured the distance from where they stood to the truck and back before heading inside.
He and Maysun stepped away from the doorway. “You see him?” Maysun asked.
“I see him.”
“What are your gifts?”
The question caught him off guard. “Oh, uh... telepathy. Flight. Uh...”
“Mist?”
“Come again?”
“Can you evaporate? Become a mist?”
“Not—uh, no. That is, I’ve never tried.”
“It’ll look less suspicious if you’re walking alone. I’ll meet you there.” And she was gone.
Impressive. He wondered if he had that talent. Maysun might be older than he, but he had Jude’s blood in his veins. He considered trying it.
A carload of vacationers, judging from the suitcases strapped to the roof of their car, pulled in a few yards away.
Maybe later. He noted Maysun at the semi where she had pulled open the passenger’s side door. The driver didn’t stir. He picked up his gait, eager to feed.
Maysun had already sunk her teeth into the vulnerable skin at the man’s neck as Perry eased the door nearest their victim open. The heady smell of blood filled the cabin, and his eyes closed as he sucked in the delicious aroma.
Maysun detached herself.
“Be careful,” she warned him. “Don’t take too much.”
That’s right, I don’t have to kill him! His delight at denying himself the Death Rush, what had become such a central part of his life, surprised him. This one would live. He didn’t have to worry about what David and Angelo thought anymore.
“No problem.” He leaned in.
Moments later, after lying the man down for the rest of his nap, they walked together to the restaurant where Amara waited. The few sips of stolen blood left Perry barely revived, but it was a gratifying sort of deprivation. The man lived.
The noises of the hash-slinging joint resonated in Perry’s refueled system. The fluorescent lights made him wince, and the smells, although appetizing, made him feel as if he’d thrown dessert and drinks on top of a meal. He saw where Amara sat at a red vinyl booth near the kitchen, and he felt like dancing to her table.
Maysun slid in next to her daughter, leaving Perry on the opposite side of the booth.
Amara had ordered an enormous plate of smothered hash browns and sausage with a side of toast and orange juice and a cup of coffee. “I’m so hungry, and I couldn’t decide,” she gushed.
“That’s all right,” Perry said. “Eat all you want. That’s why we’re here. If you don’t finish, we can take the rest to go.”
Amara looked up and smiled. Leaning in, she brushed a drop of blood off Perry’s lip. “Missed some,” she said. Her cheeks were bright, and Perry smelled the blood in them.
