Page 16 of Road Trip with a Vampire

After ten years, it still amazed me how tiny some of California’s microclimates were.

The Sacramento suburbs were less than two hundred miles from where I now lived, and yet the Central Valley’s geography and climate had always reminded me more of a hot, dry plains state than it did my adopted hometown.

The scenery would only get worse from here, though. To get to Indiana efficiently, we’d agreed to drive along I-80, which I vaguely remembered as being one of the most boring stretches of road in the entire country once you got east of the Sierra Nevadas.

Peter was oblivious to the changing scenery, though. All his attention was on his road map, now wrinkled from frequent handling.

“Our first stop is another few hours east from here,” he said, without looking up. “Right off Interstate 80.”

“What’s the place called? I want to plug it into my phone.” I knew that the first stop Peter wanted to make was in the middle of nowhere in Nevada. But beyond telling me it was a restaurant, he hadn’t said anything about it.

There was a long pause before Peter responded. “Big Earl’s Singing Chicken Emporium,” he said weakly.

I nearly burst out laughing. “What?”

“I have no idea why I would have ever gone to a place called… that ,” he admitted. “But apparently I did. It’s on the way to Indiana. So…”

He trailed off, shrugging.

“What is a singing chicken emporium ?” I asked.

“I’m afraid to guess.”

I huffed a laugh. “Me, too.”

“Well, whatever it is, if we follow this itinerary, we should be in Blossomtown in about six days.” He drew circles and made other notations on his road map with a red Sharpie as he spoke, then folded it up and slid it back into his duffel bag. “This country is big.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

“Have you explored much of it?”

His question brought me up short. This was the first time he’d ever asked me a personal question that felt aimed at simply getting to know me.

“I have,” I said. The landscape was changing again as we moved out of the Central Valley and into the Sierra Nevada foothills.

Traffic was thinning out the farther east we went.

Soon we’d be in the mountains. I thought back to the first time I’d camped in those mountains, a century and a lifetime ago.

Sometimes, when I closed my eyes at night, I could still smell that clean pine air. “A lot of it’s pretty amazing.”

Peter nodded but said nothing. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat.

Just when I thought he’d fallen asleep, he spoke again.

“I feel like I’ve explored a lot of this country, too,” he murmured. “I only wish I could remember what I’ve seen.”

When we reached a rest stop near Donner Pass, just west of the California-Nevada border, I decided I needed a break from driving.

I also needed to let off some magical steam.

My hands were beginning to shake, the levels of anxiety strumming through my bloodstream becoming uncomfortable and difficult to ignore.

If the signs were to be believed, the next rest stop was nearly a hundred miles away. If we didn’t stop here, it would be a while before I’d get another chance.

Peter had nodded off about twenty miles ago but woke up when I pulled into the parking lot.

“We’re stopping?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Just for a bit,” I said. “I need a break.”

Peter nodded, then peered suspiciously at the sky. “It’s sunny here,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” I said. “The forecast says we’ll have a lot of sun until we get east of the Wasatch Front. Will you be okay?”

“The sun won’t kill me,” he said. That was true. Stories of vampires burning to a crisp in the sunshine were myths. For most of them, the sun just didn’t feel very good. “I’ll survive.”

I got out of the car, arching my back and raising my arms over my head. After hours of driving, with only a fifteen-minute gas and bathroom break, I was feeling stiff in a way I hadn’t experienced in a while.

It only added to the tension swirling through my bloodstream.

The passenger-side door opened and then snicked shut. “If we’re stopping,” Peter said as he approached me, “I should find something to eat.”

“ Find something to eat?” I asked.

He nodded.

“You didn’t bring any blood bank supplies?”

He looked sheepish. “I hate drinking from bags.”

I looked around at our surroundings. On summer weekends, this place would be packed with tourists en route to Lake Tahoe or other destinations in the Sierra Nevadas.

But it was midweek in October, and the rest stop was nearly deserted.

It was just our car and a pickup truck in the parking lot, its owner a stocky man making his way to the squat brick building that housed the restrooms.

“This is the perfect place for me to find something to eat,” Peter continued. He pointed to the man, who disappeared into the brick building as we watched him. “He’s the only other person here. No witnesses. Glamouring him so he forgets anything even happened will be easy.”

“Be careful,” I warned. “Only take what you need.” The last thing we wanted was to end up as suspects in the man’s death.

“I will be,” he said. A moment later, he was off like a shot in the direction of the restrooms. He moved like the predator he was, all grace and stealth and shadow.

I was transfixed despite myself, unable to look away as he silently entered the bathrooms and let the door close quietly behind him.

While Peter was occupied, I strolled to the wooden railing separating the picnic area from the vista below. It was a cloudless day, and at this altitude the sun was stronger than I was used to. I raised my hand to the level of my eyes to shade them as I took in the magnificent view.

The sign by the exit had said the elevation here was more than seven thousand feet.

I could feel that not only in the too-bright sun overhead but in the way I had to work harder than usual to take in air as I moved.

Worth it, though. Whichever gods had been responsible for making this part of the world had done an excellent job.

My view looked out across a canopy of fir trees, the air so quiet and still I almost could have believed I was the only person in the universe.

I took a deep breath, savoring the way the mountain air felt in my lungs.

The way it tasted—like pine and blissful solitude.

It was at least fifteen degrees cooler here than it had been back at home. It was delicious after too many consecutive days of sweltering heat. I scooped up my hair and piled it on top of my head, luxuriating in the cool breeze on the back of my neck.

As much as I wished I could spend another hour enjoying the sunshine and cool weather, it was time to get started.

I looked over my shoulder to confirm I was alone.

Still no sign of either Peter or the man he’d decided would be his lunch.

Satisfied, I closed my eyes, letting my power flow out from my center.

I gathered up a small pinch of it, only slightly more than what I used in my candle rituals.

After I cast this small spell and analyzed how I felt, I would likely graduate to larger uses of power. But for now…

I pointed my right hand at a nearby pine tree, the barest slip of my energy spilling out towards it through the tips of my fingers. There was no naturally occurring wind that afternoon, but within an instant, the branch closest to me swayed gently as though touched by a light breeze.

I could have taken down the entire tree if I’d wanted to. But there was no need. I swayed right along with the branch, the relief from this modest release of my power welcome and immediate.

“It would be beautiful here if it wasn’t for the sun.”

I whirled around. Peter stood beside me, still as a statue. His gaze was fixed on the gorgeous scenery.

“When did you get here?” I asked. “I didn’t even hear you.”

He shrugged. “A few moments ago. And of course you didn’t hear me.” He smirked. “Tricks of the trade.”

Smug bastard. I cleared my throat. “Everything go okay with the…” I nodded meaningfully towards the restrooms.

“The man felt little and remembers even less,” Peter said.

As if on cue, the man in question walked out of the restrooms and strode directly to his truck. He pressed a button on his keys, and his truck beeped as its doors unlocked.

He didn’t spare even a glance in our direction before getting into his truck and driving off.

The man had a few inches on Peter and probably thirty or forty pounds. If Peter were human, he’d likely have been no match for him in a fight. But vampires had a strength that belied their size.

What had Peter done to lure him close enough to bite him?

I told myself I didn’t want to know.

“I don’t like the flavor of people at rest stops,” Peter mused. “He tasted like beef jerky.”

I made a face. “You aren’t serious.”

A smile touched the corners of his lips. “No. I’m not.”

I snorted, amused at his dry humor. His smile grew at my reaction, and his eyes—the brown of his irises somehow richer now that he’d fed—twinkled with pleasure.

He really did have lovely eyes. They were the sort of eyes I could get lost in if I let myself.

It was the first time I’d seen him smile fully, I realized.

Not one of his reluctant half smiles that seemed pulled from him against his will but an actual grin that lit up his face.

Beautiful . The thought flitted across my mind as he stepped closer. This man is beautiful.

He was also aroused, if what was going on at the front of his jeans was any guide.

I tore my gaze from him and made a point of studying my shoes.

Feeding from the source had this effect on vampires. This was one reason why many vampires balked at blood bank dinners. I’d been a fool to forget it.

A caravan of cars chose that moment to pull into the parking lot, taking up several of the spots beside my car. This felt like our cue to get moving.

“Shall we?” Peter asked, clearly having the same thought I did.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“We still have a few more hours of driving before we get to the Chicken Emporium,” Peter said. “I can drive this next leg.”

“Your shift doesn’t start until sundown,” I said. “Are you that eager to pick the music?”

“You’ve been driving for hours,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he fought another smile. “I’m being a good traveling companion. It has nothing to do with your music being awful.”

“I’ll turn you into a Chappell Roan fan if it’s the last thing I do,” I vowed. But I was smiling, too.

Peter sat in the driver’s seat, clutching the steering wheel in both hands as if worried it might vanish if he let go. His wide eyes were everywhere, shifting rapidly between the windshield wiper controls, the turn signal—anything and everything but the parking lot we still needed to pull out of.

“You all right?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, jaw tight. He began fiddling with the dials on my ancient radio with his right hand before giving up and returning both hands to the steering wheel.

My stomach lurched. “Do you think you’ve ever done this before?”

A long pause. “I think so,” he said, not sounding convinced. He scratched at his chin, then resumed his double-handed death grip on the steering wheel. “Sitting in a driver’s seat and holding a steering wheel feels familiar.”

I nearly pointed out that he could just as easily have driven bumper cars at some point, but now wasn’t the time. Peter had already missed a half dozen opportunities to merge onto the road during this conversation. His anxiety as he stared wide-eyed at the stream of traffic ahead was palpable.

“Maybe I should handle all the driving on this trip,” I offered. Dying in an avoidable car crash because of an amnesiac vampire seemed like it would be awfully annoying.

“No,” Peter said. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“But—”

“I also won’t get to listen to good music if you do all the driving.”

I couldn’t tell whether Peter was joking or not but decided to take him seriously. “I’ll make a deal with you,” I said. “We’ll split the music selections fifty-fifty if you promise to never try to drive my car again.”

“Zelda.” He turned to look at me. “Please. Let me try.”

This was important to him, I realized.

“Okay,” I reluctantly agreed, trying to convince myself this wouldn’t turn out to be a big mistake. “Just be careful.”

“I always am,” he said.

Before I could ask whether he’d said that because he’d just remembered something about how he used to be, he inched the car forward—and he was driving.