A Fae's Blood Debt

Chapter 2

Nicole

Two thousand two hundred fourteen dollars and fifty-three cents.

Impossible. I counted it twice more just to be sure.

Two thousand two hundred fourteen dollars and fifty-three cents.

That's all I had left.

My heart sank as I tipped my head back against the driver's seat headrest.

Where did it all go? I snorted to myself. I knew exactly where it went.

Six thousand dollars to the sketchy man selling the beat-up 2008 SUV. One hundred and eighty thousand miles, rust around the wheel wells, and a lingering cat smell. But it started and came without too many questions.

A thousand to the man who made Nicole Hawthorn disappear and Nikki Miller exist. A steep price, but I was desperate and he knew it.

Sixty for a burner phone.

Three hundred fifteen dollars and twenty-two cents for gas and gas station snacks.

Two-hundred seventy dollars on motels.

Ninety-eight dollars and ten cents on fast food.

And forty-two dollars and fifteen cents on food and tampons. Because of course, it was just my luck.

That left me with two thousand two hundred fourteen dollars and fifty-three cents, a junker vehicle, constipation, and a letter with instructions I didn't understand.

I was so screwed.

Maybe it would have been better to stay in Bellhaven. To cooperate with the police. I didn't do anything wrong, surely they would figure it out. Too late now though. I burned all the evidence.

For three days, I drove until I could barely keep my eyes open. Rented rooms from motels that charged by the hour. Kept my head down and my nose clean. All while swallowing my grief and keeping one eye over my shoulder.

Reaching for the back seat, I grabbed the lock box left for me. I pulled out my father's note again.

Nicole,

If you are reading this, something has happened to me.

Take the money. Leave your phone, your car, anything that can be traced back to you. Change your name. Do not speak to anyone you know. Burn this house and everything in it and don't look back.

Go to Blackthorn. You will find help there.

I'm sorry . . . for everything.

Dad

I folded it back up and stuck it in its envelope, letting out a long breath through my nose.

"I made it to Blackthorn, Dad." I murmured to the roof of my car, to the cigarette burn marks that mysteriously found their way up so high. "I just wish I knew what to do next."

Blackthorn, I learned, was a small town, but by no means a cheap town. It was filled with designer cars and small boutiques. The kind that you would take one look at and cringe wondering what the price tags would ring up at the register. My family wasn't poor — weren't poor. Now it is a different story. But even so, I wouldn't have dared step foot in such a shop.

Now it might be my only option.

Even the supermarket was built differently. People came dressed in fine clothes to grab their overpriced organic produce. Even the guy who couldn't pick out his cousin's tampons without assistance had been wearing a suit, for God's sake. I could feel his eyes and everyone else's on me as I trudged to my car with my rain-soaked jeans and hoodie.

To make things even worse, the only motel or hotel I could find was the one I was currently parked outside. The one with warm lights that had been placed in meticulously crafted fixtures that probably cost several hundred dollars apiece. Stone walls with wood accents and presumably a doorman who would be waiting to greet me. Sheets that cost more than my entire wardrobe. It looked like a place where a celebrity would go to escape the media while still living in luxury. A place you only knew by word of mouth.

Go to Blackthorn. You will find help.

I could only hope that was true.

With a deep breath, I made up my mind. One night. I would allow myself to stay here for one night. One night to absorb everything that happened in the past week. One night to grieve. One night to lose it before I'm forced to get my s**t together.

One night wouldn't hurt.

I slammed my car door shut, remembering to jiggle the handle, so the lock would catch. Not that I had anything to steal besides fast food wrappers. The lock box and my backpack came with me. It was all I had left.

With a heavy sigh, I headed for the front doors. As expected, a well-dressed man opened the door for me before I could even reach for the handle. He gave me a small dip of the chin as I hurried past him, hair still damp. It was a miracle he even let me in. I didn't need a mirror to tell me I looked like a stray alley cat that someone tried to drown.

"Welcome to Blackthorn Inn!" A cheery voice greeted me from behind the counter. She was tall and had long blond hair with a slight curl to it. Her makeup was subtle, but done flawlessly. An all-black knee-length dress hugged her curves, making her features pop. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Uh, no." I said, tucking my hair behind my ears. "I was hoping to rent a room for the night."

"Of course," she smiled, clicking away at her keyboard. "You're in luck, I do have one room available. Our Ivory suite."

"How much is that?"

"Four twenty-five a night, before tax and fees," she said without blinking. "After, it comes to four eighty-nine a night."

Four eighty-nine a night . . . that would leave me with . . . oh god . . .

I schooled my features, reminding myself to breathe. One night. It was one night.

"I'll take it." I nodded.

"Wonderful." She smiled. "What brought you to Blackthorn? Just passing through or here to visit?"

I opened my mouth to speak, my words floundering.

"You," a man's voice said from behind me.

Not just any man, the man from the market. He held a briefcase in one hand, his jacket in the other. A scowl on his face as he scanned me from head to toe. I frowned right back, straightening my spine.

"Silas, you know this woman?" The woman behind the desk asked.

"I - well - no." He shook his head, finally breaking eye contact with me. "We spoke in the market not long ago."

"He needed help picking out tampons." I blurted out, smiling a bit too sweetly as his condescending eyes narrowed on me.

"Ah, so it's you I have to thank!" She chuckled, clicking away. "In that case, friends and family discount coming right up."

"Lydia."

"You're the cousin?" I raised a brow.

"Regrettably so." She shrugged, swiping a key card. "Don't let his bitter mood ruin your good time. Your new total will be two seventy-five, after taxes and fees."

"Do you take cash?" I asked, pulling out three one-hundred dollar bills.

"A card is required for the deposit," Silas said. "In case there is any damage done to the room."

"Oh don't be such a killjoy," Lydia said, waving him off. "Cash is fine."

She took my money and handed me the card and my change while Silas watched. I could feel my cheeks heating at his ruthless stare.

"At the very end of the hall there is an elevator. Take it to the third floor. Your room will be on the left."

"Thank you." I murmured.

I all but ran to the elevator, grateful it opened within seconds of me touching the button. When I turned to face the doors, Silas was still standing there watching. The doors couldn't close soon enough.

On the third floor, I quickly swiped the card for my room and let myself in. The Ivory suite, she called it. And I quickly understood why. Everything was a lovely ivory color. From the walls, to the carpet, to the furniture. Subtle accent pieces broke up the neutral colors. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, ornate wrought iron chandeliers hanging from them and casting a warm glow. The bathroom had stone flooring and a deep cast iron tub. Complimentary soaps and lotions were on the counter. And the pillows on the king-sized bed had to have been the softest thing I had ever touched.

It was everything a person could hope for.

And none of it meant anything to me.

Not now.

Not when the past week was finally catching up to me. I felt mechanical as I stripped down and quickly rinsed off in the connected shower. I was sitting at the desk in my room not ten minutes later counting out my remaining funds.

One thousand nine hundred thirty-nine dollars and fifty-three cents.

I let out a shaky breath. That wasn't much. Not when I had nothing else to my name. My fake name anyway.

But it was fine. Other people could do it. I see videos of them online all the time. Maybe I'd become an extreme couponer and get items for free, or or maybe I'd live off the land — catch my own fish and cook it up by the water. At least there would be a great view.

Some people lived in tiny houses . . . maybe I could put a small deposit down on one . . . Of course, I'd need to find land to park it on . . . and a vehicle capable of moving it. A job to pay for it. Not to mention a hundred other things I'm probably lacking knowledge of.

God, who was I kidding? A fly in the house drove me to madness. There was no way I'd be able to live remotely, or even gut my own fish.

First things first — I needed a job. I hardly cared what I'd be doing or what it paid, so as long as it was consistent and didn't require me to sacrifice any personal morals.

I could do that. I could get a job. I never needed one before. Mom and Dad pushed me towards academics more than anything, and outside of that, sports and music. College was just the same.

But I was smart. I could do it. I didn't have another choice.

There was no one I had to turn to. Dad's family was never in the picture, and Mom only had an older brother who passed from a heart attack just last summer. I couldn't use my own name, couldn't call my friends back home. My safety net was gone.

They were gone.

Fat ugly tears began streaming down my face. I quickly wiped them away and put away my money, my eyes catching on the cold cuts I bought at the market earlier that day. I shoved my deli meat and cheese into the mini fridge next to the small wine bottles, taking two out for myself. I downed them both in only a few big gulps, praying I would wake from this nightmare.

I never did.