Thunder Road

1 The tears dried on my cheeks somewhere outside Winslow, Arizona. By that point, it was a little past one in the morning, and I was just too tired to cry anymore. Instead, I clung to the steering wheel with grim determination, making myself drive past the small high-desert town…and past Holbrook, a half hour or so down the road from Winslow, just because I knew I was still in Wilcox territory and didn’t dare stop for fear that Jake had already discovered my absence and had put out the alert on my newfound witch family’s grapevine. Despite my exhaustion, I made it to Gallup, just over the border into New Mexico, at around two-thirty in the morning. I knew I couldn’t drive any farther than that; I’d already had a couple of scary moments when I started to nod off and jerked awake just as the car began to drift over toward the shoulder. If the interstate hadn’t been so empty at that hour, I could have gotten myself into a lot of trouble. So, I moved over to the right lane, knowing I needed to exit the highway. Although I had no idea who the witch clan was in that particular section of the world, I knew it wasn’t the Wilcoxes, and that was good enough for me. At the eastern end of Gallup, right off I-40, was a newish-looking Fairfield Inn and Suites. By that point, I was so tired that I probably would have checked into a total dive just to get some sleep, but luckily, such sacrifices weren’t necessary. The woman at the front desk, who looked like she was most likely Native American, didn’t appear that surprised to see a bleary-eyed girl around her own age stumble in at that hour of the night — probably because they got a lot of travelers who stopped there when they realized they couldn’t drive any farther. She handed me a plastic card key after I pushed a couple of fifty-dollar bills across the counter toward her. “My credit card was stolen, and I’m waiting for a replacement,” I told her, and luckily, she accepted the excuse and didn’t ask any questions I wouldn’t be able to answer. I barely remembered falling into bed. The next morning, I rolled over and gazed, bleary-eyed, at the clock and realized it was already almost ten. Honestly, I hadn’t expected to sleep that well, not when I was still agonizing over my decision to leave Flagstaff — and Jake Wilcox — behind. But it seemed my brain knew I needed the rest, and had left me alone for the remainder of the night. However, sleeping that late didn’t give me much time to get ready for the next stage of my road trip. I took a hurried shower, glad I’d washed my hair the day before and wouldn’t have to waste much time on it, then got dressed and put my bag of toiletries and other odds and ends back in the car. There was a Burger King a few blocks away from the hotel, so I got a breakfast sandwich, hash browns, and an extra-large coffee, and continued east. In my mind, I had fixed on Albuquerque as my destination. I didn’t know why for sure, except that was where all the signs on I-40 were pointing me. At the very least, I thought I could lie low there for a day or two while I decided where to go next. Staying in Gallup hadn’t seemed safe, not with the Wilcoxes just over the border ten miles or so away. Albuquerque, on the other hand, was buried right in the middle of New Mexico, and didn’t seem like the sort of place where I’d have to worry about running into anyone who might know me. Yes, I’d spent part of my childhood in New Mexico, but we’d never lived anywhere near Albuquerque, and the odds of encountering someone from my past seemed pretty slim. The whole drive, I kept my phone in airplane mode. It wasn’t as though I needed to call anyone, and since I’d seen some of the magic Jeremy, Jake’s younger brother, could perform with computers and tech, I was worried he might be able to track me through the cell phone’s signal. Once I got to Albuquerque, though, I stopped on the western outskirts of town to get gas, and also to use the Yelp app on my phone to guide me to a local hotel, since that was easier than trying to figure out how to make the Fiat’s fancy navigation system give me a hotel recommendation. It had been easy to find the Fairfield Inn over in Gallup because it was clearly visible from the highway, but Albuquerque was huge, probably the biggest city I’d ever been in. No way was I going to start driving around there without having a set destination in mind. Using my phone’s cellular data was a calculated risk, but one I had to take. I decided on a place called the Hotel Andaluz because it was right in the center of town, and also because it was offering a midweek special through TripAdvisor. Since I didn’t dare risk leaving my phone on the whole way, I manually programmed the address into the Fiat’s navigation system — I’d learned how to do that much, if not anything else — and then let it guide me downtown. The whole time, I maintained a death grip on the steering wheel and probably pissed off everyone around me by driving like an eighty-year-old granny. But I wasn’t used to big cities and I wasn’t used to traffic, and I figured it was better to annoy a bunch of strangers than get in an accident. Eventually, though, I reached the hotel and had to hand my car off to a valet. I wasn’t thrilled about that, but I gathered the mishmash of shopping bags that comprised my luggage and tried to look unconcerned as I headed into the lobby. Wow. The write-up had said the hotel was historic, and yet I supposed I hadn’t been expecting anything quite so elegant, like something out of a Moorish fantasy, with its high ceilings paneled in wood, and the graceful arches and grottoes that made up the enormous lobby. I gave the woman at the front desk the same story about my stolen credit card — along with a fake address — and was guided by one of the bellmen to a pretty room with a canopied bed, small sitting area, and a window that overlooked downtown. Once I was safely inside and the door locked behind me, I allowed myself a breath of relief and went over to sit down on one of the upholstered chairs in the sitting area. Because it was a warm day verging on hot, the air conditioning was going nearly full blast, and I leaned my head back and shut my eyes briefly. I was safe. I had made it. Of course, this was only the first step in my journey. I wished that I’d asked Jake more about the other American witch clans, that he’d given me more information to work with. Maybe then I’d know if there were any other “dead spots” in the U.S., places that witch families had avoided, for whatever reason. Yes, Utah was one of those dead spots, but I didn’t dare go back there. Not with Agent Lenz dumped in Kanab, Utah, and most likely going on a rampage as soon as he recovered from being struck by lightning. If he recovered. Eleanor, the Wilcox clan’s healer, had assured me he would be fine after a few days, but I didn’t know that for sure. I didn’t know how well he’d handled the trip from Flagstaff to Kanab, or whether Jake’s cousins Travis and Leland had been all that careful when they dropped him off in a motel there. I supposed it was all too possible that Agent Lenz had suffered a relapse and was quietly expiring in that anonymous motel room because no one who cared about him even knew where he was. Stop it, I told myself, and bent to pick up the bottled water that had been left in my hotel room as a courtesy. He’s going to be okay. Eleanor wouldn’t lie to me. At least, she didn’t seem like the kind of person who would tell pleasant lies just to make a situation look better. She’d appeared steady and calm and compassionate, all qualities you’d want in a healer. And then I realized I was obsessing about Randall Lenz because I didn’t want to think about Jake. I didn’t want to think about what I’d done to him, what must have passed through his mind when he woke up and realized I truly was gone. Tears burned in my eyes, and I made myself drink some more water. Losing it wasn’t going to help me…or help Jake. Sooner or later, he’d forget about me. Probably sooner, just because…what did we have to tie us together, really? A few kisses, that was all. Sure, those kisses had been mind-blowing, had shown me just a little of what it might be like to be with someone who seemed to be my perfect match in every way, but still. We hadn’t professed our undying love for each other or anything close to it. Jake would get over me. He had to. I’d just lifted the water bottle to my lips to take another sip when someone knocked at the door of my hotel room. The sound made me jump, started my heart thumping in my chest, even though I knew it had to be the bellman. Maybe I’d dropped something in the elevator, or maybe he’d decided the tip I’d given him wasn’t big enough and he’d come back to demand more. No, it didn’t work that way…did it? This was the first time I’d ever stayed in a hotel with valets and bellmen, so I supposed it was entirely possible that I’d unwittingly committed some kind of gaffe. For a second or two, I contemplated ignoring the knock. After all, whoever was out there couldn’t know for sure that I was even inside the room. I could have gone back out again — either to leave the hotel entirely, or to go upstairs to the rooftop bar I’d seen mentioned on the hotel’s website. Even in my current depressed state, I’d thought that a rooftop bar sounded pretty cool. But after the person outside knocked again, I decided I’d better go and see who it was. I put down the water bottle on the table in the sitting area, smoothed my hair as best I could, and headed over to the door. As soon as I opened it, I got a weird little tingle at the back of my neck, the one that Jake had said meant I was in the presence of a witch or warlock. The man outside was no one I knew, tall and good-looking, probably of Spanish descent, with his near-black hair and eyes, his warm-toned olive skin. “Hello,” he said pleasantly, although there was something about the way his deep brown eyes fixed on me that made a worried little shiver trail down my spine. “I am Gustavo Castillo. May I speak to you for a moment in private?” “About?” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, as though strange warlocks showed up on my doorstep every day. His brows drew together slightly. “I think you know what this is about,” he said, then added in an undertone, “You are a witch in another clan’s territory, and our prima hasn’t given you permission to be here.” Well, hell. I’d thought if I just kept moving, if I didn’t stay in any one place for very long, then there was a good chance my presence wouldn’t be detected. Obviously, that had been a false assumption. How the prima of the local clan had been able to divine that a strange witch was moving through her territory, I had no idea, but I supposed the “how” of the situation didn’t matter as much as what I intended to do about it. “I’m sorry — ” I began, but the stranger didn’t let me get any further than that. “I am not the one you should be apologizing to,” he broke in, although he uttered the rebuke in almost a kindly tone. “You can give your explanations to Genoveva Castillo. She wants to speak with you.” “She’s the prima?” Again, I saw the shadow of a frown cross his face before his expression smoothed itself once more. “You didn’t know this?” “No,” I replied, realizing even as I spoke the word that it probably sounded like the lamest excuse in the world, even if it was only the truth. But how was I supposed to explain to this handsome warlock, who looked as though he should be off shooting a tequila commercial or something, that up until a few days earlier, I hadn’t known anything about the witching world at all? “There is some mystery here, it seems,” he said. “But you can tell Genoveva about it when you speak with her.” “She’s here?” Even as the words left my lips, I realized it was probably stupid to think that the head of the local witch clan was cooling her heels in the lobby of the Hotel Andaluz. Wishful thinking on my part, I supposed, because the thought of going anywhere with this stranger wasn’t exactly appealing. A ghost of a smile touched his finely molded lips. “No. Her home is in Santa Fe. I will take you there.” Worry thrilled through me, and almost subconsciously, I sent a glance over my shoulder, back toward the windows in my hotel room. They still showed a serenely sunny blue sky, with absolutely no clouds overhead. If a stranger had confronted me like this just two days before, I was pretty sure storm clouds would have already been circling overhead. But, thanks to the insights Joanna, the Wilcox clan’s weather-worker, had given me only a few days earlier, I now knew how to keep my roiling emotions from interacting with the air currents high above. Yes, I could call the winds to me, or bring the lightning the way I had to protect myself from Randall Lenz, but if I did so, it would be because that was my conscious decision and not because of my emotions raging out of control. I owed the Wilcox clan that, if nothing else. “But — but I just got to Albuquerque,” I stammered, realizing that was probably a silly argument. Like the guy cared when I’d arrived, or that I’d paid for my hotel room in advance. “I will get you a refund,” Gustavo said. “Please…fetch your things.” I was running out of excuses, but I tried anyway. “What about my car?” “I will drive your car,” he said smoothly. “I had an Uber drop me off here against this eventuality.” Damn it. “So, I’m supposed to go off to Santa Fe with a complete stranger, just like that?” “Not ‘just like that.’” He pulled a sleek black iPhone from the pocket of his jeans, touched the screen, and then waited for a few seconds. “Genoveva?” A pause. “Yes, I’m with her now. She is reluctant to come, which is understandable, I suppose.” He took the phone away from his ear and handed it to me. I really didn’t want to take it, but I realized I didn’t have much choice. “H-hello?” “This is Genoveva Castillo,” came a woman’s voice, brisk and low-pitched, the voice of a woman who was used to being in charge…and getting her own way. “It is my right as prima of this clan to speak with any strange witches or warlocks who enter Castillo territory without my permission. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” “I’m — I’m Addie Grant,” I said. All right, technically I was a Wilcox, and I even had a fake Arizona driver’s license giving my last name as such, but it seemed strange to call myself Addie Wilcox when I still felt like Addie Grant. “I don’t know that clan. Where are you from?” “Everywhere,” I replied. That might have sounded like a non-answer to Genoveva Castillo, but it was only the truth. My mother and I had never stayed anywhere long enough for it to feel like home to me. Maybe Flagstaff could have become home…if Randall Lenz had left me alone to find out for myself. A long pause. “Are you being impertinent, Ms. Grant?” There was a word I hadn’t expected to hear in casual conversation. “Um…I don’t think so. It’s just kind of a long story.” “All the more reason for you to tell it to me in person. I will see you in an hour.” The call ended there, and I handed the phone back to Gustavo. He watched me carefully, as if waiting to hear my response to Genoveva’s demands before he decided what to say. And honestly, what could I do? Call down the lightning to defend myself? Being so overtly hostile would only have the wrath of the entire Castillo clan descend on my head, and I had enough problems as it was. No, the best thing to do would be to see this Genoveva, explain why I’d been traveling through Castillo territory without permission, and then — with any luck — either go on my way or be allowed to have a small breathing space there in New Mexico before being forced to confront my destiny. I managed a wan smile at Gustavo, who lifted an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. “Let me get my stuff,” I said wearily.