Page 79 of Creeping Lily

I don’t move until the bus eases away from the curb, its brakes sighing as if it knows we’re settling in for a long run. There’s no point in rushing. I head to the parking lot, slide behind the wheel, and pull out at a leisurely pace.

The destination sign on the back of the bus tells me exactly where we’re headed. It’s not nowhereville.

It’s somewhere else entirely.

And I’ll be right behind her the whole way.

It’s beenhours since she boarded that bus. Hours of staring at the back of her head from a distance, keeping my pace steady, waiting. She’s gotten off a handful of times—just long enough to stretch her legs when the bus pulls into gas stations or highway diners. She doesn’t talk to anyone. Doesn’t even really look at them.

She hardly eats, only picking at a bag of chips she bought at one stop. But she moves—slow, deliberate laps around the parking lot, like her mind is somewhere far away. Every time Iglance her way, I catch the same expression. That far-off look that tells me she’s not here with us at all—she’s somewhere inside her own head, chasing a thought she’s not ready to share.

I keep my distance. Stay invisible. My black SUV doesn’t stand out, and today, that’s a blessing.

When she finally reaches her stop, I’m not surprised. Annoyed? Yeah. But not surprised. The intel I had was wrong—or maybe she flat-out lied about where she was going. Wouldn’t be the first time. Hard to tell her friends she’s taking a detour to visit a ghost from her past. Most people spend spring break with family, not digging up old scars.

I watch from my car as she steps to the curb and stares across the street. She’s not just looking—she’s fixed, locked in. And then I see it. The Walker house.

Of course.

She doesn’t move for a long moment, just stands there with her arms hanging loose at her sides, shoulders hunched against the summer heat. Her face is unreadable from here, but I know her. She’s studying it like it’s going to answer questions no one else can.

I should have known she’d come here. Warning her off the Walkers was like striking a match and tossing it into gasoline. Her curiosity is the fire, Bentley Walker the fuel. I knew this was going to happen.

When she finally does move, her steps are slow, like she’s wading through wet cement. She crosses the street, climbs the front walk, and pauses at the door. She hesitates only for a heartbeat before lifting her hand and ringing the doorbell.

The door opens to a middle-aged blonde with a toddler on her hip. The woman smiles, warm and open, like she knows Lily—or at least recognizes her. I can’t see Lily’s face, but her body tilts forward, and she hooks a finger gently under the child’s chin. The little boy reaches for her, squirming in his mother’sarms, and I watch as the woman’s brows lift in surprise. She says something, steps back, and Lily lifts the boy against her chest like she’s done it a hundred times before.

Seconds later, the woman opens the door wider, and Lily steps inside, still holding the toddler. The door shuts.

I exhale hard, my jaw ticking. Not much gets under my skin, but this? This does. She just walked into the home of a stranger without a second thought. Too trusting. Too reckless. It’s like she doesn’t realize how fragile she is in a world that eats people alive. And maybe she doesn’t care—but I do.

I know she’s safe. The Walkers are long gone, and the people living here now are as squeaky clean as they come. That doesn’t matter. What matters is she didn’t think twice about her own safety, which means she didn’t think about what it would do to me if something happened to her. She doesn’t care.

Half an hour. I’ll give her thirty minutes before I storm up there and drag her out by her hair if I have to.

I get out of the car, light a cigarette, and take a long drag. No way am I stinking up my SUV with smoke, but the nicotine keeps my hands from curling into fists.

I don’t even make it to the halfway mark. Fifteen minutes later, the door opens, and she steps out. She’s smiling—actually smiling—at the woman in the doorway, waving as she heads down the steps. There’s a lightness to her walk now, like whatever she came here for gave her exactly what she needed.

I slide back into my car, engine purring, and creep after her down the street, far enough back to stay invisible. She doesn’t notice me as she turns the corner. I already know where she’s headed.

I wait a few minutes, letting her get some distance. Then I gun the engine, pull out of my spot, and drive toward her next stop.

I’ll get there first, and I’ll be waiting.

41

LILY

Maybe Iamcrazy.

Clothes pile into my bag in no real order—shirts twisted, jeans shoved down like they wronged me somehow. My hands won’t stop trembling, the zipper fighting me until I yank it shut with enough force to make my shoulder jolt. It feels lighter than it should when I sling it over my arm, like adrenaline is carrying the weight for me. My chest is tight, breaths clipped and shallow. I need out.

Spring break makes for the perfect excuse, and I grab it like a lifeline. Before I can vanish, Justin and Bethany block my path in the hallway, both of them wearing matching looks of suspicion wrapped in concern.

“Going somewhere?” Justin asks.

“Home,” I lie, the word tasting too smooth to be anything but practiced. “My mom and grandmother… need me.”