We're almost there when I realize that we're about to have another problem. Bethany is still alive, and I, by definition almost, am not. Which wouldn't be a problem if I had a coat, but my most recent coat is lying discarded in the bed of a pickup truck a lot of layers of reality away from here. "Shit," I mutter.
"Shit?" demands Bethany. "What do you mean, shit?"
My fingers are already turning hazy in hers. She'd have noticed already, if she wasn't so busy freaking out. "Just hold on!" I command, and try to pull us through the layers even faster, anything to build up enough momentum that Bethany will be carried with me when holding on ceases to be possible.
I've never tried anything like this before. I guess I shouldn't be surprised when there's a blinding burst of light and everything goes away, replaced by darkness. Darkness, and the distinct feeling that I've just screwed something up. "Shit," I mutter again...and the world is gone.
***
I come to slowly. I'm sprawled in a nest of crushed corn stalks, scenting the air all around me with the rich green perfume of harvest coming. That's the first thing. The second is that I'm deeply—disturbingly—solid. I shouldn't have been able to crush the corn. I sit up, and only an instinctive grab at the fabric sliding down my chest keeps Bethany's coat from tumbling to the ground beside me.
"Are you awake yet?" Bethany demands. I turn, still clutching the coat, to see her standing next to me. "This cold is killing my joints."
"I hadn't noticed." I shrug into the coat as I stand, tugging it tight around me. The feeling of solidity tightens with it. Back among the living once again. "How long was I out?"
"Too long. I don't remember giving you permission to pass out."
"Well, since I don't remember giving you permission to ransom me to Bobby Cross, I guess we're essentially even. Come on. We're burning moonlight." I turn once to get my bearings—it's easier to get lost in a cornfield than it is to get lost almost anywhere else in the world—and start walking briskly across the uneven ground. At least we don't need to hold hands anymore.
Bethany swears and sputters as she stumbles after me. For all that she grew up in Michigan, same as I did, she doesn't seem to have done much walking in cornfields. Or maybe it's just her abruptly advanced age. It must be hard to grow old gracefully when you do it overnight. "Slow down!"
"Speed up!" I shout back. "We're on a pretty tight schedule here."
"Why?" She's panting as she staggers to my side. I take pity and slow down slightly. My debt to the Queen probably won't count as paid if Bethany drops dead before I can get her to the crossroad. "I want this taken care of more than you do, but doesn't midnight happen every night? If we miss it tonight, can't we just try again tomorrow?"
"Nope." I can see from her expression that she doesn't understand. This seems to be my night for taking pity. I sigh, and explain, "Once you start looking for the crossroad, you're on one of the crossing roads. It's some sort of symbolic thing, since you still need to find the roads in a physical sense, and I don't really understand it, but them's the rules. We have until midnight."
"Or what?"
"We wait a year."
Bethany's eyes widen in undisguised alarm. "What? I can't wait a year like this!"
"That's true. You may not have a year like this." I'm being nasty—Bethany doesn't look that old—but it's difficult to really care. This isn't how I planned to spend my evening. "So you'd better keep up."
"Bitch," Bethany mutters, picking up her pace a little more in order to draw a step ahead of me.
"Guess it runs in the family," I say, and keep on walking.
***
The cornfield extends for what feels like miles. We eventually come out on a wide dirt semi-road beaten into the corn, worn by years of farmers' footsteps as they checked their harvests. I know the road as soon as I step onto it, feel the electric tingle in the soles of my feet; I've never been here before, and I've been here dozens and dozens of times, because this is the first spoke on the crossroad wheel. If it isn't the first road, it's the road that will lead us to the first road. The first road will lead to the second road—they have to cross, after all—and then Bethany can make her bargain. Whatever that bargain might be.
Bethany steps onto the road behind me, and stops, letting out a deep sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. This is the right road."
"This is part of the right road. Don't get too excited."
She shoots me a glare that reminds me that of the two of us, I'm the one who looks like a teenager, but she's the one who actually is a teenager. "Why are you like that?"