She closed her eyes.
No. It wasn’t a Cast. It wasn’t even a Charm. It wasn’t the same as a cherry lollipop or a piece of gum or anything she could chew on or suck on or sweeten up her Siren powers with.
It was a wish.
But as she wished, she felt a strange pull—as if something was giving way in the deepest part of her own mind, the way it did when she was Kelting with a Caster or Charming her way past some unsuspecting Boy Scout.
I wish this Beater could Travel. If John were here, he’d be able to figure out a way to do it. We’d Rip from here to New York City in a heartbeat.
Ridley’s heart pounded and she opened her eyes just in time to see the Beater crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, over the water from Manhattan into Brooklyn.
“Wait,” she said, turning to Link. “Did you see that?”
“It’s kinda hard to miss the Brooklyn Bridge, Rid. Even for a boy from Gatlin.” Link grinned. He was back to his old self. Something about the city always charmed Link as completely as anything Rid could do to him.
“You didn’t notice anything weird just now? Between New Jersey and here?”
“You mean, aside from the license plates bein’ the wrong color and the radio stations bein’ all jacked up? And how you gotta pay money just to drive on the highway? Everything’s weird, Babe. This is the North.” Then “Stairway to Heaven” came on and all conversation came to a mandatory stop. It was one of the only rules in the Beater. You had to respect the Stairway.
Rid held up her hand in the moonlight, staring at the ring. What were the words of that Binding Cast? Something send us? Did the ring do it?
It had faded back to blue again, and now it didn’t look any more powerful than the other pieces of jewelry she was wearing.
Link didn’t make the Beater Travel. He didn’t even notice it. And I didn’t imagine it. I couldn’t have.
Because they were in New York.
She didn’t know how or why, or even who was responsible—but at least nothing bad had happened. She had gotten her wish. There was no turning back from New York now.
Ridley couldn’t tell if it was because of the ring, but as they crossed through the darkness from one stretch of sparkling lights to the next, the Brooklyn Bridge seemed like the most magical place in the world, or the second most magical. It reminded Ridley of the Caster bridge that led to the seam, the great boundary between the Mortal world and the Otherworld. Except where that bridge had been a splintery old dock, this one was almost a monument to Mortals. She wondered why she’d never noticed it before. The immense scale of everything—the cables rising high into the night sky overhead, the support beams striping them with shadow and light as the Beater sped by—it wasn’t like anything either of them was used to seeing around Gatlin.
It was Mortal and breathtaking, and Ridley couldn’t imagine ever getting used to the idea that the pathetic, broken-down human race could pull off something this beautiful.
Just when you think they can’t surprise you, she thought. Then you have to start worrying that they can.
CHAPTER 7
Another Brick in the Wall
We’re not lost. How big can Brooklyn be? And I got a nose like a houndog, remember?”
“Hound dog is two words,” Ridley said. “And you mean bloodhound.”
“Whatever.” He took a swig from the Coke can wedged between his seat and the door. Cars as old as the Beater didn’t have luxury amenities like cup holders or windshield wiper fluid, let alone both headlights.
“You sure you even know where you’re going? Where your apartment is?” Ridley looked at him suspiciously.
He spat the Coke back into the can with a sigh. It was as close as he could come to drinking one; like any Incubus, Link didn’t need food, or even want it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it.
Link sighed, rattling the can. “It’s not an apartment. Not exactly.”
“What is it, exactly?”
“A parking lot.” He stole a sideways look at her.
“Excellent.” She tried to look annoyed, but really, she wasn’t that surprised.
“I figured I’d sleep in the Beater. Seems to me we had some pretty good times in this old girl.” He patted the dashboard affectionately.
“Your plan was to move to New York until you made it big and you were going to sleep in your car the whole time?”
Link shrugged. “How long could it take? I’m a talented guy.”
Ridley pulled a slip of paper out of her bag and grabbed Link’s ancient and not-at-all-smart phone off the dashboard. She found the keypad and slowly typed in letters with the tips of her long red nails. “Never mind. I’ve got this.”
It was time for the next phase of her plan—time to meet the band, and Link couldn’t have made things any easier. The roadie at Suffer had given her the lead guitarist’s number and told her to call when they got to town. Here we are.
on our way address pls—Rid frm Suffer
“You have? Got what?” Link frowned.
“I know some people.” She patted his arm. “I always do.”
“Since when?” Now it was Link’s turn to be suspicious.
The next text was almost instantaneous, and incomprehensible.
puking clown myrtle duane
Ridley tried to decipher the message. “It seems like we’re staying with this guy named Duane,” she said. “And maybe a girl named Myrtle.”
“How come I never heard a these people?”
Ridley scrambled. “They’re friends of John’s. I texted him, and he hooked us up.”
“John’s supposed to be on a plane all night, remember?” Link said. “Who is this Duane guy for real?”
“They have Wi-Fi now on planes,” Ridley said smoothly. The lies are starting to come so easily. Even more quickly than usual. “Which you’d know, if you’d ever been on one.”
“Hey, I’ve been places.”
“The Greyhound bus to Myrtle Beach doesn’t count.” Rid didn’t even look up. “Speaking of Myrtle.” She kept typing.
what puking clown
The response came just as quickly.
puke on myrtle
What?
Link scoffed, and Rid forced herself to stop looking at the phone. He glanced away from the street signs long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. “Why do I need a plane? John’s stupid for not Traveling.”
“That’s funny, because last time I checked we were sitting in a car for ten thousand hours driving all the way from South Carolina to New York City. Instead of Traveling.” Except for the part when we were, Ridley thought.
“That’s different. I couldn’t leave this sweet old girl home. She’d kill me.” Link patted the dashboard. “Isn’t that right, Sugarpie?”
“We have a place to crash with Duane and Myrtle. That’s the important thing. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Ridley almost believed herself as she said it. She tried the phone once more.
puking clown what the hell who is myrtle
This time, there was no response at all.
“She’s a street, not a person.” Ridley stood under the sign that said MYRTLE AVE. It was a miracle they’d found it, considering that it was the middle of the night and pitch-dark and every conceivable surrounding sign, wall, and surface was covered in layers of graffiti.
“I kinda picked up on that about Myrtle.” Link sighed. “Let’s get back in the car. That dude’s place has to be around here somewhere.”
Ridley shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? Duane’s screwing with us.”
“Actually, he’s not.” Link pointed, with a laugh. “But Duane really wants you to come in for your flu shot. Because he’s also not a person.” There it was, the sign announcing two-for-one vaccination day at Duane Reade.
Duane Reade, the drugstore.
Damn, she thought. They are screwing with me. Of course. Devil’s Hairspray. This band already sucks worse than Meatstik.
Link looked down a
t Ridley. “There’s no Duane, Babe. And no Myrtle. Do you have any idea where we’re goin’, or who we’re goin’ to see?”
“A puking clown.” She sat down on the curb. It was true, and all she had left to go on. Ridley was so frustrated she felt like crying. It didn’t help that the people they were looking for still wouldn’t answer her texts.
“Of course. Why didn’t you say so?” Link exhaled, trying not to lose it.
“That’s all the guy said. I’m so stupid for listening to some idiotic Caster I don’t even know and thinking he would help.” She caught herself. “Even if he is John’s friend.” Right. It wasn’t that far off. There were lots of idiotic Casters she never should have listened to in her life.
Damn Casters.
And damn that one Mortal roadie. If she’d never met him, she would never have gotten into the game of Liar’s Trade that landed her in this mess in the first place.
Damn Mortals.
“So who is this Not Duane guy? Dark Caster?” Link sat down on the curb next to her.
“Probably.” She shrugged, improvising. “If he’s one of John’s friends. He didn’t have the Lightest childhood.”
“Come on. John never had any friends, Rid. We both know that. Who is this guy, really?”
“Well…” Ridley took a breath and looked up at Link. “He’s in a band.”