Kill Switch (Devil's Night 3)

“I bought a first-class ticket,” I told her. “I’m not taking the bus.”

And I spun around, heading back down the stairwell.

People were priceless. The things we told ourselves to justify giving up and falling in line like we had to accept anything less than what we wanted. Like fighting for your dream was a bad thing.

I would tour, and people would pay to watch me.

Heading into the ticket booth, I gathered up my school bag and phone, and switched off the light, heading back into the lobby and out the front doors. I called my driver to check if she was almost here, but there was no answer, so I left a voicemail. Since Arion was away studying abroad this semester for college, and my parents had schedules to keep, my mother arranged a car service in town to pick me up and drop me off to and from work. It probably cost more than I was making, but since our town didn’t have a public transportation system, I couldn’t manage any other way. I tried to give them my paychecks to cover the cost, but my mom wouldn’t take it.

I stood out on the town sidewalk, hearing the cars drive by and music coming from Sticks across the square, but I stayed close to the theater doors, just to be on the safe side, until my ride showed. The concession staff was still in there cleaning, so I had help if I needed it.

“Hey, Winter,” someone said across the street. “Want a ride?”

Sara. She’d worked the booth with me tonight, and trained me when I started the job. She must just be leaving, too.

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” I told her. “My driver should be here soon.”

“My driver…” someone repeated, chuckling.

I didn’t recognize the voice. Did I just sound pretentious?

“I can’t leave you standing there,” Sara joked. “Come on. Cancel your car. We’ll take you.”

We?

I pondered for a moment, not really having a good reason to say no. The driver wouldn’t care. She’d still get paid and get in bed earlier tonight.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

Car doors slammed, an engine started, and tires skidded, the car coming around to my side of the street.

Sara got out and took my hand, leading me to the car. I gently pulled my hand out and placed it on her arm.

“Do you know Astrid Colby?” she asked, holding the back door open for me. “And her boyfriend, Miles Anderson? They’re both seniors. This is his car.” And then, “You guys, this is Winter Ashby.”

I stopped. “Oh, I don’t want to cause any inconvenience.” I thought she was driving. “I have a ride coming. It’s fine.”

I didn’t know Astrid and Miles, but I knew of them. I definitely got the impression they were trouble.

“Relax.” Sara nudged me. “We’ll have you home in no time.”

Fine. As long as she was here, it should be okay, I guess.

I pulled my bag off and climbed into the car, smelling cigarette smoke and sucking in a breath as the cold leather seats hit the backs of my thighs. I still wore my theater uniform—pleated skirt, button down, and bow tie—but as soon as I was settled, I sent a message to the driver.

After Sara got in and shut the door, we sped off. I felt the car turning, so I assumed we were rounding the square, and next probably cutting through the neighborhood toward the highway.

Judging from the deep rumble of the engine, the leather bench seat I sat on, and the heavy sound of the door closing a moment ago, it was an old car. Classic American muscle, maybe? I didn’t want to be a traitor or anything, because the spaciousness was nice, but I preferred the sound and feel of another car. His car. The only car I’d ever driven and probably would ever drive. Agile, fast, quick to respond…. It drove like slicing butter.

And him underneath me. That might’ve had something to do with my loyalty to that car, too.

I thought it was a BMW. My sister got one for graduation, and I sat in it, damn near falling into a trance when I felt the exact same circular emblem in the middle of the steering wheel as he had in his car.

“Turn off your brights, asshole,” the guy driving said.

“He’s like right on our ass, too,” Astrid commented.

“Yeah, you’re being followed, Miles,” Sara added, teasing. “It’s almost Devil’s Night. Let the pranks begin.”