shifted into demon form and took a sip, merely a taste, of Astaroth’s blood. The warmth flooded her body and the pain went away, and she lay on the bed.
Her thoughts wouldn’t slow down. They careened through her synapses, pinging off the walls of her brain like overexcited children. She thought about the guy in the surgical mask, thought about catching him in a bear trap just to see how long he’d last. She’d quite enjoy seeing those metal teeth spring shut on his head.
Morning came without incident, the room gradually becoming brighter. A half-hour before she was due to get up, she fell asleep, which was just typical. The alarm on her phone went off and she muted it, grumbling. She reverted and examined her arm. The wounds had reduced to the lightest of scars, and most of the pain was gone.
She dressed in jeans and a loose top. She didn’t bother with the activewear today. It was too warm, and she wasn’t in the mood. She stood by the door and took a selfie, then checked the room to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind. Reassured, she picked up her bag and walked to the diner. Milo was finishing up his breakfast at the table at the back. She joined him, and the first thing she said was, “Where the hell were you last night?”
Milo took a sip of coffee. “In my room,” he said. “Sleeping. Where the hell were you?”
“You didn’t notice how quiet the rooms are here? You didn’t realise how everything is soundproofed?”
“I didn’t notice much of anything. I was, as I said, sleeping.”
“So you didn’t notice the mirror that was screwed to the wall, or you didn’t notice the mattress that was—”
“I’m just going to save us both some time here,” Milo said. “I didn’t notice anything. I got to my room and I fell on the bed and I went to sleep, pretty much immediately. So are you going to tell me what has you so angry, or are you going to let me drink my coffee?”
“I was stuck in a booby-trapped room last night.” Amber pulled up her sleeve, showing him her scars. “The manager and his nutcase friend like to watch people falling into their traps, apparently.”
Milo looked at her, his expression calm apart from the clenched jaw. “They did that to you?”
“Bear traps, trapdoors, lamps that give electric shocks … probably a lot more sick stuff that we never even got to experience.”
“We?”
“Clarissa was there. The girl from last night.”
“Did she make it?”
“She’s fine. And, before you ask, she had no interest in going to the cops. They’d probably just send her home, and that’s the last place she wants to be. I put her in a cab, gave her some money and a bonus as, I don’t know, hazard pay for meeting me. I’ll call the cops once we’re on the road, tell them what’s been happening here.”
“Where are they now?” Milo asked, signalling the waitress for the cheque.”
“The cops?”
“The manager and his nutcase friend.”
“Oh. The nutcase ran off.” She paused a moment. “The manager’s dead.”
Milo nodded. “How?”
Amber didn’t like the look on his face. She didn’t like the suspicion that she’d gone too far.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “They came at me with a chainsaw. The nutcase caught the manager in the neck. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Did you shift?”
She hesitated.
“Amber?”
She sat forward, angry but keeping her voice down. “What did you expect me to do? They had a chainsaw.”
“They both saw you shift, and one of them got away.”
“Now you’re telling me I should have killed them?”
“No. You’ve got to be more careful about who sees this stuff. What about the girl?”
“She didn’t see anything.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. My secret identity is secure.”
The waitress came over and Milo paid, gave her a smile that sent her away happy.
“That,” Milo said, once they were alone again, “was a hell of a night you had.”
“Thank you,” said Amber. “Yes, it was.”
“We should probably get going.”
She folded her arms. “I’d hate to make you rush your coffee.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not very good.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t. It’s really not very good.”
They left the diner and got in the Charger. As usual, despite the heat of the day, the inside of the car was cool, and it welcomed Amber as much as Amber welcomed it. They pulled out on to the street, drove towards the highway. When they neared it, Milo glanced at her. “Which way?”
Amber closed her eyes, focused on her parents. Bill and Betty Lamont swam into her thoughts in all their glorious perfection, with their bright smiles and trim frames and casual attitude to murdering their kids. It didn’t take long for the compass that had grown in Amber’s gut to start tugging her in their direction. She pointed.
“East,” said Milo.
She opened her eyes, sat back in her seat. “Apparently.”
“No actual address?”
“That’s not how it works.”
He shrugged. “Just thought this time might be different.”
“Why would it be?”
“I’m an optimist, Amber,” he said, taking one of the on-ramps. “I think every time will be different.”
They took the I-10 out of California. It was nice being able to use the highways and interstates again. They weren’t the ones being chased – not this time. Amber wondered if her parents were feeling the same kind of desperation she’d felt when they’d been the ones in pursuit. She hoped they were.
It took a little under six hours to get to Phoenix. They arrived in the early afternoon and had lunch at the House of Tricks, right on the patio. Amber had the cheesecake for dessert. It was astonishing. Milo stuck a candle in it while she ate, and lit it.
“Happy birthday,” he said.
“Do I get to make a wish?” she asked.
“So long as you don’t expect it to come true.”
She smiled, and blew the candle out. She didn’t bother making a wish.
Milo had a non-alcoholic beer and they sat there for a bit, enjoying the breeze and the trees, until Amber’s gut pulled them back to the car and on to the road.
While they drove, she slept, and dreamed, and in her dream she was back at Stromquist’s Undertakers and Coffin Makers. She found her brother sitting with his head down. “I went to the police,” he said. “I told them. I thought they could help.”
Amber heard gunshots, and she ran to the corner of the building, saw a police officer in an old-fashioned uniform stumbling back, trying to reload his revolver. The tall man in the undertaker clothes stalked after him, tossing away the lifeless body of the cop’s partner.
The cop managed to fire once more, straight into the undertaker’s chest, before the undertaker smacked the gun out of his grip. Then the undertaker held up his hand, and his palm opened, revealing teeth, and he clamped his hand round the cop’s