Page 34 of Road Trip with a Vampire

I paused when my eyes landed on Chicago. The place where Reginald still lived and the last place I’d lived before leaving Grizelda the Terrible behind.

I hadn’t called Reggie yet to tell him we might be crashing at his place on our way to Indiana. Now seemed like as good a time as any.

Paying the city a visit would be good for me, I realized. So would seeing my old friend.

Before I could talk myself out of doing it, I grabbed my phone and started texting.

Zelda: Hey Reg. It’s me

Zelda: Can I ask a favor?

Reg: A favor??? Sure!

Reg: Actually, wait. It depends what it is

Fair enough. This needed to be a phone call, I decided, not a text exchange where tone and intentions could get lost.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Can I assume that since you’re asking for a favor that you are no longer mad at me?”

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“Good,” he said, his smile evident in his tone. “Now. What’s the favor?”

I hesitated, thinking about how Lindsay and Becky had reacted to my going on this trip. How could I explain what Peter and I were doing without Reggie thinking I was a lunatic?

In the end, I decided to just lay it all out for him.

“About a week ago, Peter got a nastygram from somebody in Blossomtown, Indiana, who threatened to come get him in Redwoodsville if he didn’t return right away,” I said.

“Peter has amnesia, so he obviously can’t remember what’s so important about Indiana or who sent the note.

So now we’re on a road trip to visit places he mentioned in his journal in case it jogs his memory before he gets there.

I’m calling because I was hoping we could crash at your place since Chicago is on the way. ”

There. That wasn’t so hard.

A couple of moments passed as Reginald processed what I’d told him.

And then he began to laugh.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, still laughing. “You’re on a cross-country road trip with a stranger with no memory? Who, as of one week ago, you were still furious with me for sending your way?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling sheepish.

“And who apparently has someone waiting for him at his final destination who’s threatening him?”

When he put it that way…

I speared a tomato with more force than necessary and popped it into my mouth. Then grimaced. It wasn’t nearly as tasty as it looked.

“Yes?” I said awkwardly.

“Grizzy. Why are you doing this?” All humor was gone from his voice. “You know how much I enjoy adventure. Or at least you know how much I enjoyed adventure back in the day. But what you’re doing seems beyond foolish. Even for past-us.”

He was right.

Could I tell him the truth about my motives? About my magic and the problems I was dealing with?

Yes , I decided. Perhaps the truth was ten years overdue.

But not now. Later, when we were together, I’d tell him everything. I didn’t have the energy to go into it again so soon after baring my soul to Peter.

“I have my reasons,” I said. “I’ll explain when I see you. It’ll all make sense when I do.”

“Grizz—”

“Just give me a few days to work up to it. Okay?”

He sighed. “I’m not gonna argue with you. Not after finally hearing from you again. Just promise you’ll stay safe, okay? And not do anything foolish beyond, well—the obvious?”

“I promise,” I said, grateful he was willing to drop it for now.

“And of course you can stay with me,” he continued. “You’re owed at least one place where you can be sure the bad guys chasing Peter won’t maim or kill you, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Still a drama queen, huh?”

“It’s one of the things Amelia loves most about me.”

From Reggie’s end, I heard a woman say something I couldn’t make out. Then Reggie’s laughter.

“Amelia just said I’m full of it.” My friend’s voice was bright. Lighter than I’d ever heard it. “Don’t believe a word she says.”

I couldn’t help but smile at how happy he sounded. He deserved happiness. Even if his happiness was taking a form I never would’ve expected.

“I already know you’re full of it,” I said innocently.

“Hey, now.”

I laughed. “I’ll keep you posted on our progress. We should be there in another day or so.”

“I can’t wait,” he said sincerely.

“Neither can I,” I said. And meant it.

When I got back to our room, Peter was waiting for me in the bedroom, perched on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

If he wanted to hit the road at a reasonable hour and not take another tumble before we left, it was the wrong move. My eyes trailed over his washboard abs as I remembered what they had felt like beneath my fingertips the night before.

“When I woke up, you were gone,” he said, sounding petulant.

I patted my stomach. “The quasi-human was hungry,” I explained. “I was only gone for forty-five minutes.”

“Mm,” Peter said, not sounding mollified in the slightest. “Do you have my map?”

The impatience in his voice surprised me. “I do. Why?”

“There’s something I need to see.”

I reached into my bag and fished it out.

He took it from my hands before I could even hold it out to him and spread it open on the bed.

His towel slid down his body just enough to show his hipbones and the V that arrowed down from his waist. My eyes lingered on the newly exposed expanse of skin, but Peter was clearly in no mood for sex.

His fingers moved with purpose along the same interstates mine had over breakfast. Except whereas mine had stopped in Chicago, his took a slight detour north of the Windy City, not stopping until he reached a small town in Michigan along the Lake Michigan coast.

“There,” Peter said. He grabbed a pen from the nightstand and circled a town called South Harbor, about a hundred miles northwest of Chicago, with so much force he tore a hole in the paper in the process.

He set the pen to the side, then looked at me, eyes bright.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I was watching television while waiting for you to come back. A commercial for Michigan tourism came on.” He was smiling now, so big it nearly split his face in two.

“Could we visit South Harbor next, after the bowling alley? It’s not on our itinerary—when I saw it in my journal, I eliminated it because it’s a detour, but—”

“Of course,” I said. “But what’s so important there?”

Peter pulled his journal from his duffel bag, then riffled through its pages until he found what he was looking for.

It was a detailed pencil sketch of a cottage. I wasn’t familiar with architectural designs, but given the level of detail included, it looked like something a construction team might use to build a home.

“South Harbor is where I lived when I was still human,” he said, eyes shining. “I remembered that, clear as day, when I saw the ad on television.”

“Peter,” I breathed. This was tremendous. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, then pointed at the drawing in his journal. “I lived in this house. I designed it.” He took both of my hands in his. “I think it would be good for me to see it.”