Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan(54)

Only one word in that sentence really stands out to me, and I'm repeating it before I take the time to think, voice going a little shrill as I demand, "Us?"

"Us," she agrees, and slants a smile my way, a wicked gleam in her eye that I remember seeing, too many times, in the eyes of my big brother. "Hi, Aunt Rose. I'm Bethany. I'm your brother Arthur's granddaughter."

"Of course you are." I slump in my seat, feeling the prom coming closer by the second, while this girl who is blood of my blood drives us toward the high school.

Prom night in Buckley Township. Not exactly the most wonderful night of the year.

***

The high school hasn't changed nearly as much as the rest of the town. The squat brick buildings seem to huddle in the middle of their parking lots and athletic fields, glowering out over the students who dare to approach. Some people say schools are cathedrals to learning. Not Buckley High. Buckley High is a prison, and the only way to get parole is to keep your grades up, keep your head down, and pray.

Bethany pulls into a spot near the street, using the spreading leaves of the sycamore trees to conceal the car from casual view. "We have about two hours before the dance starts," she says, as she unclasps her seatbelt. "I'm on the decorating committee, so I can get us inside now without raising suspicion."

"And the fact that nobody knows me won't be a problem because—?"

"I'll tell them you're my cousin from downstate, and that your folks made me bring you along." She slants a half-amused glance in my direction. "It's not like it's totally a lie. We are related, and you're from downstate. It's just that you're coming from underground, not points south."

"Dead girl jokes. Oh, yeah, those are my favorite." I'm still grumbling as I unclasp my belt and climb out of the car, feeling the hot mugginess of the summer air settle across my skin. Michigan summers. I used to measure my life in Michigan summers. Now I just use them to measure out my death. "Then what? I help you hang streamers, pretend I'm not looking when somebody spikes the punch, and wait to see if some unnamed doom falls on the senior prom?"

"Something like that." Bethany starts walking across the parking lot, cocky little routewitch too young to know how hard the world can hit. I hurry to catch up. "Whatever it is, it's going to be bad. I don't think we'll be able to miss it once it starts."

"You are way too vague to be a Marshall."

"And you're way too dead to criticize." She doesn't sound annoyed; more amused, like my complaints are meaningless. In a way, I guess they are. She's a routewitch, and this is her territory now, not mine. It's prom night in Buckley, which means running away isn't an option for me, and the fact that she's alive means the shots are hers to call. That doesn't mean I have to like it. So I glower at her as we walk across the sun-bleached blacktop, faded white lines that delineate one parking spot from the next criss-crossing like railway tracks under our feet. She thinks we have two hours before the start of prom. I could tell her things about time, the way it bends and twists around the holy moments in your life, but I won't. I don't have the words, and I don't think Bethany has the ears to listen.

"How is Arthur?" I ask, just to break the silence. I'm solid as ever, but the hair that tickles the back of my neck is longer than it was when I got into the car. Prom night is rushing me on, and as all the other girls get ready, I'm getting ready, too. Whether I want it or not.

"Old. Crotchety. Mean as a snake when he thinks you've crossed him." Bethany's smile is sweet and distant. Maybe I could like her after all. "He took Mom and me in when nobody else wanted anything to do with us. I owe him a lot."

And he's still in Buckley, still breathing. That explains why she's here, little routewitch running a fixed route, like a hamster running in a wheel. She'll strike out on the open road one of these days, but even routewitches know the worth of family. She'll stay until my brother goes.

"And does he know...?" I wave a hand, jade beads rattling against each other as the bracelet on my wrist slides a few inches down my forearm. I wonder what my clothes look like now, whether anyone who happens to be passing by will see a transparent dress sketched over T-shirt and jeans...or whether the reality is already turned the other way around.

"No." Bethany shakes her head, quick, decisive, with no pause for thought. "I tried to tell him once, but he wouldn't let himself hear me. He didn't want to know. I think...I think he knew, deep down, that if he listened when I told him about the way the road can sing, if he believed, he'd have to believe all those stories about the ghost of Sparrow Hill Road."