Cora That evening, our car rumbles down the road towards the archive, Roger steady at the wheel. Another car with two guards follows behind us, keeping a steady eye out for anything strange. I sigh, already exhausted, even though I got more sleep than Ella or Roger or Sinclair last night. Still –
“Yup,” Roger says. “Are you ready to go in? Do you need a minute?” I stretch in my seat, my eyes closed, and take a mental inventory of myself. Body? Stiff, but all right. Mind? Thoroughly shaken. Heart? …best left uninvestigated, for the moment. “Yup,” I say, turning a sunny smile Roger’s way. H
Cora About three hours later I am…over books. As a genre, in their entirety. My hands are dusty, and I’m sick of the smell of musty old pages, and they’re just so boring – Page after page of history regarding shifter worship practices – who genuflected to this god, and how, and where, and for how
I turn the page, seeking more, but am shocked and disappointed to find that that’s the end. “That’s it?” I gasp. “It’s enough,” Roger says, his hand flattening against my back. I turn to him, not knowing what to do. “Are you sure, Cora?” he asks me, turning the page back and pointing to the picture
Cora The weather, bizarrely, gets worse as we drive. I’m usually not skittish about driving in bad weather, by as the miles pass I feel myself getting more and more anxious. The water pounds against the windshield and thunder booms around us, lightening flashing through the forests through which we
And I do. I know it, deep down in my gut, that I trust him to get us out of this. But instead of telling him that, I just nod, sitting back tensely in my seat as we retrace the ground we’ve already crossed. Even as we drive back down the road, though, the storm does not let up. Lightening crashes ar
Cora I’m gasping as we burst through the door of the motel, Roger quickly turning to force it closed behind us as the wind batters us, making his job hard. I pant, looking around, my eyes settling on the startled eyes of the gnarled little man sitting behind the front desk. I work hard to give him
“This is…not sanitary,” I murmur, grasping the very corner of the blanket between my fingers and then quickly whipping it off the bed and tossing it to the floor, revealing what actually looks like a set of crisp white sheets beneath. “That’s better,” I say, surprised and standing up straight. “So