Page 25

S omewhere along the stretch of pampas fields, and me being fully zoned out, Ryder announced, “I need to make a pit stop.”

Despite my restless night—the conversation with Javi and the crushing anxiety thrusting my eyelids open anytime a tendril of sleep attempted to coax them shut—I’d thrown on a pair of faded lilac Levi’s, buttoned a capped gingham shirt, sprayed a couple pumps of surf spritz in my hair, and met my…

friend? enemy? chauffer?

at ten AM sharp at my curb.

We’d diverted from the Pacific Coast Highway for halcyon pastures, foxtail valleys, and grazing cows, and soon the coastline was all but covered by the rolling golden hillside.

Forcing myself back to the moment, to our mission, I figured Ryder’s declaration didn’t mean for gas or sandwiches, as my upper body bounced over the sandy potholes.

“And what are we stopping for, may I ask?”

“Munitions,” he said under his breath.

“Weapons?!” I clarified, hoping I’d misheard him.

He dipped his chin as he chuckled, then put his eyes back on the road.

“Don’t worry, we likely won’t need them. But it’s better to be prepared.”

For demons?

Werewolves? Vampires?

Some other kind of monster that surely existed but I hadn’t had the pleasure of being introduced to yet?

I sank into my seat, crossing my arms. “Do I even want to know?”

The flare of mischief in his eyes told me enough.

The unpaved road got bumpier and bumpier, the dirt puffing up behind us, dusting the briny air in a drifting cloud.

Boulders and oak trees wavered in the stretches of dried meadow before us, outlines fuzzy like a mirage in the heat.

A soft hum erupted above the tires’ crunch—a low, almost infrasonic, vibration that ran from the grass’s tips to the dash gauges.

Scanning the horizon, I saw no source.

In fact, the windless fields and cloudless blue sky painted the picture of a perfect day.

Totally innocuous, yet the skin on my arms rose in anticipation.

“Do you hear that?” I couldn’t be the only one.

But Ryder didn’t respond, he didn’t even smirk , he just repositioned himself into a lazy lean and kept his eyes on the road.

The sound grew heavier, impossible to ignore, so intense it shook the windows, rumbling my seat and spiraling to my core.

I shifted my gaze to the side mirror, ready to breeze over my reflection, when something stopped me.

Twisting in my seat, I craned my neck towards the road behind us and saw the source of the hum: a cloud of dust—not the spray of pebbles from the rotating rubber, but a small tempest made of soil, earth, and rock.

It grew behind us, spinning larger and larger, hazing the air within the truck.

Coughing, I rolled up my window.

“Ryder, how long before we get those weapons of yours?” I didn’t take my eyes off the mirror.

He joined the surveillance in his own sideview, then put his focus back on the wheel.

And that was that. No stiffening posture, no nervous tap of his fingers, no reaching for his arrows.

“They’ll catch up before we get there.” There wasn’t a hint of fear in his voice.

“Uh…” I don’t know what worried me more, the dust devil’s increasing momentum or Ryder’s clear lack of concern.

“Well, they’re gaining on us,” I attempted to say, but by then the thunderous whirling drowned out my words and overtook the car.

Pebbles flung against the truck, so unbearably sharp and distinct they might as well have been impaling my skin.

A bone-rumbling sound, like the rev of an engine, did just that, and my hands went straight to my ears.

The air, thick with dust and panic, stung each inadequate breath.

I brought my knees to my chest, praising myself for each attempted inhale and exhale while the noises blew out my senses and scrambled my thoughts.

To my right, a flash of silver and piercing spotlight penetrated the chalky vapor.

They, whatever they were, trailed us so closely they rode our bumper, shrouding the glass in a beige film.

The dust coated the sleek black hood and scratched my eyes, despite the windows being rolled up.

Two bulky chunks of metal escaped from the cloud and whizzed to the sides of the truck.

Motorcycles. That’s what overtook us.

Then all hell broke loose.

Dozens of bikers hightailed past us, mocking us with cranking engines, head to pointed toe in leather, moustaches flapping in the wind, rocking braided tresses under their skull caps, riding so low their polarized lenses barely reached past the bases of the tall, arched handlebars.

I tried to ignore the catcalls from the riders next to me, but their hoots and hollers outdid the mufflers.

Scrunched into a near-fetal position, I turned to Ryder for some affirmation, but he was too busy returning a gesture to a red-bearded, spiky-shouldered biker.

The rest of the gang roared past the Chevy, popping wheelies and blowing kisses.

The dirt storm followed like a living, breathing thing, drifting where its rogue choppers took it.

Soon the sun’s rays flooded the windshield as the last of the gang brought up the rear and passed us, taking the last of the swirling dust with them.

My hands dropped, one splayed above my chest. “What. The hell. Was that?”

“Dwarves.” There it was again, that matter-of-factness.

And his stupid, dimpled smirk.

“There’s the information I could have used five minutes ago.” I smacked his arm.

“Your friends almost gave me a heart attack.”

He played a smile and flinched away, like it actually hurt, but I was in no mood.

“I can’t—” I sucked in a frazzled sigh, forcing myself to remain calm.

“I can’t do sudden, unexpected chaos like that. It overwhelms me.” I massaged my temples.

“I thought the engines might shatter my eardrums.”

“Sorry,” he cooed, trying to be cutesy.

I didn’t need to be babied.

I just needed him to get it.

“Well, I told you I can get sensory overload,” I snapped.

“If we’re going into something gnarly that I haven’t seen before, you need to tell me first.”

“I’m sorry.” The teasing was gone from his tone.

“Truly, River. I am.”

I faced forward, sensing every time he looked at me.

I’d counted twelve in the last two minutes.

“Did any of the noises speak to you?” he asked finally.

“No.” I scowled. “That hasn’t happened in a while.”

We rode in silence.

I continued to stare ahead at the picturesque fields, left undisturbed by the dwarves’ magic.

Ryder finally decided to speak after what may have been his hundredth glance at me.

“You can roll your window back down. They don’t leave any stragglers.”

He took his own advice and let his arm meet the air, twirling his fingers in the breeze.

I didn’t do the same, my mind caught on what I’d just experienced.

“What is…what is even going on here?” A harsh laugh escaped me.

“Like, what are all these species doing? Sprites, dwarves, werewolves, vampires…Are they all off fighting their own holy wars?”

“No, they’re not.” His gaze swept my cheek.

“They’re just collateral beings.”

My palms rose with my shoulders.

“See—what does that mean?”

“Humans and angels weren’t meant to mix, at least romantically. It went against every law of nature when the first Nephilim were created. It literally altered time and space—ripped it apart, creating a secondary dimension that almost perfectly overlaps with this one, in what we call the Great Cataclysm.”

My finger pulsed against my lips as I took it in.

I hadn’t expected him to tell me all this, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to interrupt him.

“Even if the fabric of life is cut and reshaped with precision and purpose, it’s impossible to predict all the trickle-down effects it will have on creation.” Not ready to meet his eyes, I stole a glance at his hand atop the braided steering wheel—the tattooed one with the N and S stenciled between his thumb and pointer.

My gaze shifted lower, to the fluid twist of his wrist, to the slight bend of his elbow.

His body was lax, like his joints had been unlocked, like he might actually be enjoying this.

Talking. “The other species? They were born of the Great Cataclysm. Born of two Earths. Like us.”

Us .

My heart skipped a beat.

“And humans aren’t affected because they…”

“Already live in the world that was created for them. How their Creator intended,” he finished for me.

“We may be part of them…but they are not part of us.”

“So, instead of supernatural creatures, what do all these people see?”

“They see what you do. But, instead of taking it as truth, their mental filter kind of waters down the experience, and their brain spits up an excuse.”

“Like extremely hairy men of shorter stature going for a joyride on their Harleys?” My mouth creased into an unwitting smile.

If they hadn’t been trailing us, I might not have looked twice or been attuned to their key, otherworldly differences—like how their helmets had thin slats for their pointy ears, or the way the dust around them twirled and twisted like a northern light.

“Yep.” A soft chuckle slipped out with the word.

“You won’t catch them in the city very often, though. Mental filters or not, if their appearances became more frequent, sooner or later mortals would figure it out. Most supernatural beings want to keep their existence secret, so they live on the outskirts of society or blend in—harder to do with some species more than others.”

The bonfire from a couple nights before flashed in my mind.

I could say without a doubt there were humans there.

I mean, Shanley had invited me before she knew I wasn’t mortal.

What had everyone running when Chet was turning into a werewolf—the cops?

A belligerent dude? A stray wolf?

And was it the same for them all, or dependent on the person?

Then I had another thought.

“What about demons?”

“Demons are from another dimension that doesn’t overlap with either of ours. In order to come here, they need to be called forth.” The veins in the back of his hands popped as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter.

“They need a leash from the underworld and a tether on earth.”

I remembered his brother saying something similar.

It froze my blood then just as much as it did now.

“Who would do that?”

“Many people, River. More than you think.”

One side of my lips curled up, scrunching my nose.

“That’s…pretty horrifying.” Almost as bad as when he’d told me demons were really the tortured souls of corrupted angels.

I found myself back at a question I’d asked a couple days before, but I hadn’t been totally satisfied with the answer.

“What happened to those angels and humans—the ones that fell in love?”

He breathed in a sigh.

“Well, a human can’t join the angels because then they’d surpass Judgement. To be together, the angel would have to abandon their place among the Empyrean Throne and come to Earth, where they’d lose Source and immortality and essentially become mortal.” And apparently raise little Nephilim babies.

“ In theory . We don’t actually know if it went down that easy or if the lovers were ever rejoined.”

Something about that last part didn’t sit right with me.

I gulped, the saliva burning my throat the entire way down.

“What’s the Empyrean Throne?”

“Empyrea’s where the angels reside. They serve the Court of the Creator, who rules from the Empyrean Throne.”

Wild.

Utterly wild. “And…demons?”

“Chthonia, where they serve the Court of the Cursed.”

“Who does everyone else serve?”

A muscle flexed in his jaw.

“No one.”

Ryder slowed the Chevrolet as we approached the base of the foothills, the pale slopes cratered and brittle.

The pinnacles emitted an almost metallic glow against the conifers and pines that grew sporadically on the peaks.

I squinted to try and make out the forms carved into the sandstone outcroppings: aliens, peace signs, a symbol that looked like a cross between a sun and a compass, and…

phallic doodles. I rolled my eyes.

In the fields below, scorched wood and broken billboards piled into mini pyramids, and rusty pipes littered the berm.

The area no longer served as a grazing, golden field for cows but a graveyard of unwanted junk.

Ahead, the trash was laid into a semicircle, marking the end of our dirt road.

Nestled within the juts of the cratered rocks and the stacks of crushed cars was a run-down autobody shop.

It could have been abandoned—then I caught a flicker of movement as we crossed the threshold and the bustle of the yard enveloped me: the clink of a wrench, the hum of a lift, the whistled song of the mechanics.

Dwarves serviced the vehicles with the rote of a hive, their bushy brows furrowing, blistered hands hammering, stocky arms hauling, bearded lips singing.

Half the roof’s sign was hanging off, but that didn’t stop its emerald flicker.

The Wizard of Auto was rundown but reigned, and it was anything but deserted.

Ryder looped around the front of the working garage and pulled into a makeshift parking spot near where his leather-vested buddies posted up.

Their motorcycles perched on kickstands, in a neat line like dominos, the inky metals glistening in the sun.

His hand met mine as I went to unlatch my seatbelt.

“Wait for me here.”

My face shot to his, the first time I’d looked at him straight on since my episode in the car.

“No way, I’m coming with.”

Hazel eyes flared, gold specks sifting against the green.

“I don’t have time to assess the situation.” A tightness to his voice stopped me from what I was doing, and his fingers squeezed mine, hovering over the buckle.

I took in the dwarves, their facial hair mimicking the colors of a changing autumn: rich chestnut, mahogany, ginger.

Singing and shuffling and hyperfocused on their tinkering—nothing about this screamed danger.

But Ryder did get reamed for blasting my senses, maybe he didn’t want to make that mistake twice.

“Okay fine.” I released the strap, scooting to the passenger door and propping my back against it.

“But I’m going to get comfortable.” He tracked the cross of my legs as I kicked my feet up, stilling as my shoes met his thigh.

I wiggled my toes against his dark jeans.

Too soon they met the air as he hopped out, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Ryder strode to the pack of biker dwarves, a dark object in the shape of a crescent strapped to his waistband.

It moved rigidly against his left leg’s long, sweeping movements.

Thin slits lined the edges, and through them I caught a flash of silvery white—it was so quick that if I blinked, I’d miss it.

I narrowed my eyes. It was a sheath.

For a knife. I sighed.

Of course, he was armed.

As he strode by, each dwarf held out a fist and Ryder went knuckle-to-knuckle down a half-formed line, turning grimaces into chuckles, scowls into sweet talk, and curled lips into broad smiles with obvious comradery.

These were his friends.

Another person hung with the crowd, perched atop a splintered table, his shadow folding over his triceps.

Boots on the seat, tatted elbows on knees, hunched in discreet conversation with two dwarves.

It was Ryder’s brother, Leif.

The first time I’d met Leif, he was less than thrilled to have me at their house.

What would he think of me being here, at their weapons depot?

Oof. I sunk into the leather, hoping the dashboard would shield my cheeks flaring with heat.

I watched him while he watched Ryder with their shared wild green stare, Leif’s made even sharper with his dirty-blonde hair pulled into a tight bun.

The small group parted, and the chatter ceased as Ryder ambled closer to his brother.

He wasn’t greeted as warmly by his kin.

No hints of enthusiasm softened Leif’s tightened jaw.

No dimples marked his clean-shaven cheeks.

His gaze didn’t waver from his younger brother’s face.

For a second, I was convinced he wouldn’t notice me.

Then something in their exchange had them flicking their eyes towards the Chevy.

Towards me.

I mustered a motion that resembled a wave.

It didn’t get returned.

Could a demon just come and get me, like now?

Leif’s attention didn’t linger on me long enough to catch the fifty shades of red I was turning.

When Ryder set foot towards the washed-out emerald building, Leif jumped down to join him, thank the freaking lord.

They were off to see the Wizard, one that dealt weapons instead of spells, under the guise of an autobody shop.

A path laden not with yellow brick but crushed sand and oil slicks.

They snaked around the side of an empty lobby, out of view from the yard.

The minutes ticked upwards as I waited for them to come back.

I didn’t know how many more times I’d be able to retrace the doodles, swear words, serpents, and random N’s and S’s in thick block letters that were sprayed onto the corner of the garage’s wall with my eyes.

My boredom rose with the temperature.

I should’ve rolled my window down when I had the chance.

Now it was locked. I fanned myself until it felt like my wrist might fall off.

A lonesome picnic table sat outside my door, the fresh air calling my name.

Wait here, he’d said.

That didn’t mean I had to hotbox myself, I thought as I opened the door and stepped out.

I welcomed the wind’s immediate relief even if it carried dust, noise, and watching eyes.

With a sigh, I gathered my hair off my sweaty neck, the strands knotty from the heat, curling it around my fingers and draping it over my shoulder.

Situating myself beside the abandoned engines and the mounds of scrapped car parts, their bare edges sparkling like the tips of sharpened swords ready to slash anyone unlucky enough to graze them.

“We meet again—River, is it?”

Was it an inherited thing, this constant popping out of the fringes and scaring the bejesus out of their conversational targets?

“H-hi,” I said with the little breath I had left as Leif sidled up next to me.

He smiled, a first, revealing his top row of teeth that were brilliant white and straight.

But with the vein popping in his forehead and the unnatural squint to his eyes, I’m pretty sure it was intended to disarm, not reassure me.

Leif drummed the tabletop.

“What do you and Ryder got going on today?”

Oh, just tracking down a potentially senile tarot reader in hopes she can fill me in on the unfiltered, half-angel version of my past. A poke of intuition, sharper than the aluminum scraps, told me not to divulge that.

So, I thought of the next-best thing—a lie.

“Uhhhh, going for a drive to…Ano Nuevo. To see the elephant seals.”

“Ghastly buggers.” He shook his head, the Cheshire grin still plastered to his face.

“You really wonder who they pissed off to end up with a dick on their face, stuck in a karmic cycle of blubber.”

My patience wore thin in the heat, but I kept my expression bored.

“What’s with the small talk, Leif?”

He snickered.

“That kind of outing sounds way too wholesome for my brother.”

I rolled my eyes.

The chitchat was just a facade.

I knew exactly what he was doing here, curating his words to try and get a rise out of me to see what might trigger a response he could catalog and exploit.

“So, why are you hanging out with him? You in it for a fake ID or a passport? A hit of cosmic acid? A mini chimeric pet?” He motioned his thumb towards the defaced edifice that I was beginning to think served as some sort of black market.

“Really though, what’s a girl like you doing with a guy like him?”

Valid question, Leif.

What was I doing with Ryder?

I’d asked myself that on more than one occasion over the past week.

In fact, I’d tried to walk away, but it seemed like the more I resisted the more tangled our lives became.

Plus…there was no one else on this planet I could drop the words werewolf or demon or Voices in front of and be taken seriously.

But I wouldn’t admit that to his brother.

I just shrugged. “He’s not so bad.”

“That’s what they all say.” Leif barked out a condescending laugh.

“Hey, I’ve been searching for a necklace like that. Where did you get it?”

My hand flew to my chest, and in that mindless impulse I knew I had exposed my weakness.

The shell he’d tried to crack with the dark humor, the obvious digs, the not-so-subtle manipulation—I had chiseled it myself with that telling flinch.

I sensed a shift in the energy, a prickle of eyes on the back of my neck.

I pivoted and shot a look at the eavesdropping dwarves.

They averted their stares, and as they turned away from me, I noticed a motif on the patches of their sleeves, one that also appeared on the web of Leif’s and Ryder’s thumbs.

“What does NS stand for?” I blurted out.

“Nephilim Society, or something?”

“Ohhh,” he crooned.

“Ryder didn’t tell you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“What, like it’s a big deal or something?” He smirked, and it wasn’t cute or sexy or highlight any adorable freckles like Ryder’s.

Leif leaned back on his elbows, stretching himself in a show of lean muscle that I was sure drove plenty of people mad.

A cultivated ease meant to unsettle me—but it just made me want to punch him.

“How about this: I’ll fill you in on my little secret if you fill me in on yours?”

Tired of looking at his stupidly sculpted face cut like a damn Disney prince’s, I crossed my arms and nodded.

Maybe then he’d leave me alone.

“Fine. It was my mom’s.”

His raised brows told me to go on.

“She died and she wanted me to have it, so my dad gave it to me for my birthday. It’s a family heirloom.” There.

My hands rose then quickly plopped into my lap like it was no big deal.

Leif dipped his chin.

His finger moved in lazy swirls across the top of the bench.

“I’m sure Ryder told you we lost our parents, too.”

More like I had to pry it out of him, but yes.

I knew.

He peeled a piece of flaky paint.

“How’d she die?”

“Nope, your turn.” I didn’t bother trying to hide the ice in my words.

“Fair enough.” His silver dog tags clinked against the chain around his neck as he sat up.

“It’s somewhat of a society. More of a syndicate, really. You got peddlers, thieves, and assa?—”

And then, at the literal worst time, someone called out, “What’s going on?”

The sun funneled through the loops of the rooftop’s sign, setting the Wizard of Auto’s curved edges ablaze in an emerald light.

From this angle, it caressed Ryder’s frame and cast a wavering, horizontal shadow, spreading out from behind him like wings.

“Seems we’ve been interrupted,” Leif muttered, his tone flat with annoyance.

A hard pat landed on my back as he hopped down to his feet.

I grimaced to avoid wincing.

“Just getting to know your friend here, brother. Let me know when you’re done with your escapades,” I heard him whisper in his ear as he left to reunite with his gang, arm-wrestling by the assembly line of Harley’s.

Ryder didn’t so much as blink at his parting words.

“You ready?” he asked me, a black duffel slung over his shoulder.

Stocked with weapons, I presumed.

I nodded. Sensing goodbyes were futile around this joint, I saved myself the effort and went straight to his truck.

We drove off, the dwarfdom sinking into the moonrocks, becoming nothing but a speck in the valley as we got farther away.

The distance felt shorter, the highway came faster than it had when traveling in.

I blinked and missed the boneyard of scraps and car parts, although it was miles long, and quicker than I could say Wizard of Auto , we straddled the line to the 1.

Perspiration slicked my palms and my hairline, even though both windows were down, and a cool ocean breeze filled the cab.

I thought I’d been ready for this, to address where I came from, but I was moments from screaming Stop!

Or Turn left! Or some inarticulate version of Let’s not go through with this .

The blinker was like an ice pick chipping into my skull; every click had me closer to the edge.

I let out a gust of breath, squinching my eyes shut, when rough, heated skin slid over my hand and snaked between my clammy fingers.

“Hey.” The low drawl of an accent.

“You ready to do this?”

No.

But I couldn’t turn back now, or I’d never go through with it.

Unclenching my eyelids, I met his wary, green stare.

It gave me the courage to say yes, and we turned right, towards our next destination, Madame Myrian’s.