Page 119 of Finders Reapers

Jamal reached forward and took my travel mug. “Get in the car.”

I let go of the mug but put my hand on my hip. “Fucking me doesn’t give you license to tell me what to do,” I warned.

Jamal’s lips parted to reveal every one of his pearly white teeth. “Wouldn’t dream of telling you what to do, love.”

“Though I’m happy to make a few suggestions.” Fletcher chimed in. “My car has a no clothes rule.”

“Are you trying to push me to go in Maddox’s car?” I asked pointedly.

“Doris. Day.” Fletcher reminded me.

I signed. “Point taken, but I get the Aux for the first hour.”

Fletcher reared back, stricken, but Jamal hopped forward and opened the back door to usher me inside the car. “Deal!” Jamal said as he pushed me into the seat.

The drive to Beatty was four hours, according to Google.

Four fricken hours—and everyone knows that sat navs are hilariously optimistic.

I was all about the road-tripping, and living in America meant that four hours was nothing in the grand scheme of it—but knowing that we could travel through a magical doorway and be there in seconds made using a car feel redundant.

When I made that point, with my arms crossed and my lip pouting, Jamal informed me that the doorways were tracked to an extent, and they didn’t want to draw any attention.

We did stop for breakfast about an hour in, but we went to the drive-thru and ate in the car.

Being in the car with Fletcher and Jamal was like watching two comedians riffing off each other. My sides hurt from laughing, and every so often, I caught Jamal looking at me with a soft expression or Fletcher glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.

I knew we needed to talk aboutus. About what had happened between us and whatever that meant.

My head was messed up, and I didn’t know how much of our relationship was between us and how much was the Grim bond.

We got Slurpees at the 7-Eleven in Amargosa Valley and checked out the Alien Center, filled to the brim with Area 51 gear.

Fletcher bought a lucid green hat that saidNo anal probing on the first date—with a picture of a little grey alien reclining on top of the text.

Jamal bought taffy, to which he explained that taffy didn’t exist in the UK, like, at all. It wasn’t a thing. As such, he liked to collect commemorative taffies whenever they went somewhere new.

The buildings began to morph into more of a wild west aesthetic than I was used to, but it was kitsch in its own way. The national parks were incredible, though we only viewed them from the road as we drove past.

Our phones didn’t go off at any point. No death alerts. When I asked, Fletcher had grinned and told me that we were on vacation.

It had just passed one in the afternoon when the phone rang, the car's Bluetooth interrupting Fletcher’s rendition of emo classics circa 2008.

“Yeppers,” Fletcher said by way of a greeting.

“Are you on the 95?” Maddox replied.

“Hello, everyone.” Jamal parroted. “How’s your drive going? Good, thanks for asking.”

Maddox sighed audibly. “We’re coming from the Amargosa Valley to Beatty, but according to the file, Mr. Reynolds lives on the outskirts of town. About an hour after you go through. We’ll stop by for lunch and get checked into the hotel before we go and pay him a visit.”

“Okay, Dokey, Smokie.” Fletcher chirped.

“I hope they aren’t giving you too much trouble, Valentina?” Maddox didn’t even stutter at Fletcher being Fletcher.

“We’re good,” I assured him.

“There’s a burger joint on Main Street that has good reviews. Meet you guys in the parking lot.” Maddox hung up without saying goodbye.