Beautiful Chaos (Caster Chronicles 3)

Link wasn’t joking about not needing headlights. He left a few car lengths between the Beater and the pickup, but it wasn’t because he was concentrating on the road. He spent most of the ride complaining about Ridley, who he couldn’t seem to stop talking about, or playing me songs from his band’s new demo. The Holy Rollers sounded as bad as ever, but even way out here, the hum of the lubbers drowned them out. I couldn’t stand the hum.

The Holy Rollers hadn’t finished their fourth song when the truck reached the unmarked path that led to Wader’s Creek. It was the spot where Mr. Eaton had dropped Amma off the last time I had followed them. But tonight the truck didn’t stop.

“Dude, where’s he goin’?”

I had no idea, but it didn’t take long to figure it out.

Carlton Eaton’s truck practically coasted onto the mile-wide stretch of dust that had served as a parking lot only a few months before. The dusty expanse backed up to an enormous field, probably as dead and scorched as the grass in the rest of the county. But even without the heat wave, the grass here wouldn’t have recovered yet—from the carts and tent poles, cigarette butts, and the weight of the metal structures that had left black scars in the earth.

“The fairgrounds? Why’s he bringin’ Amma here?” Link pulled over near a clump of dead bushes.

“Why do you think?” There was only one thing out here now that the fair was gone. An Outer Door to the Caster Tunnels.

“I don’t get it. Why would Mr. Eaton take Amma into the Tunnels?”

“I don’t know.”

Mr. Eaton killed the engine and walked around to the passenger side to open the door for Amma. She swatted at him as he tried to help her down. He should’ve known better. Amma was barely five feet tall and a hundred pounds, but there was nothing frail about her. She followed him toward the field and the Outer Door, her white gloves glowing in the darkness.

I opened the door to the Beater as quietly as I could. “Hurry up, or we’ll lose them.”

“Are you kiddin’? I can hear them yappin’ all the way from here.”

“Seriously?” I knew Link had powers, but I guess I didn’t expect them to be so powerful.

“I’m not one a those lame superheroes like Aquaman.” Link wasn’t impressed with my abilities as a Wayward. Aside from being pretty good with a map and

the Arclight, it wasn’t too clear what I could do, or why. So, yeah, Aquaman was about right.

Link was still talking. “I’m thinkin’ Magneto or Wolverine.”

“Had any luck bending metal with your mind or shooting knives out of your knuckles?”

“No. But I’m workin’ on it.” Link stopped walking. “Hold on. They’re talkin’.”

“What are they saying?”

“Mr. Eaton’s lookin’ for his Caster key to open the door, and Amma’s givin’ him an earful about misplacin’ his stuff.” That sounded like Amma. “Wait. He found his key, and he’s openin’ the door. Now he’s helpin’ Amma down.” Link paused.

“What’s happening?”

Link took a few steps forward. “Mr. Eaton’s leavin’. Amma went down alone.”

I shouldn’t have been worried. Amma had been in the Tunnels by herself lots of times, usually to find me. But I had a bad feeling. We waited until Mr. Eaton was headed back to his truck, and then we bolted for the Outer Door.

Link was there first, which was hard not to notice, because he gave new meaning to fast. I bent down next to him, studying the outline of the door—one you’d never notice unless you were looking for it. “So, how do we get in? I’m guessing you don’t have your garden shears with you.” The last time we were here, Link had pried the door open with a gigantic pair of garden shears he’d stolen from the Jackson bio lab.

“Don’t need ’em. I’ve got a key.” I stared at the crescent-shaped key. Even Lena didn’t have one.

“Where did you steal that?”

Link punched me in the shoulder, lightly. I flew backward and landed in the dirt.

“Sorry, man. I don’t know my own strength.” He pulled me back up and worked the key into the lock. “Lena’s uncle gave it to me so I can meet him in his creepy study and learn how to be the good kind a Incubus.” It sounded like Macon, who had spent years teaching himself the restraint necessary to feed off Mortal dreams instead of blood.

I couldn’t help but think of the alternative—Hunting and his Blood Pack, and Abraham.

The key worked, and Link heaved the round door open proudly. “See—Magneto. Told you.”