Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan(91)

Emma is here, somewhere. Bobby's not going to let me walk away without a fight, and I won't go without Emma. "A race," I say abruptly, taking a step forward. "Him and me, there and back. Winner takes all."

"Done and done," says Bethany, before Bobby can object. "You each have something you can wager."

"I won't cede my claim to her," says Bobby.

"No one can make you. But if she beats you here, today, she takes the bean sidhe and leaves unhindered. If you win..." Bethany glances my way, looking almost regretful. I brace myself for what comes next. "You get her pink slip. The boy's soul is yours."

"What?" The word bursts forth unbidden. "Gary isn't part of this!"

"He is now," says Bethany. "What you do after losing is up to you. Do you accept my terms, Bobby Cross, Rose Marshall?"

I want to refuse them. Bobby must see that in my face, because he smiles, slow and poisonous, and says, "I do."

"Rose?"

I close my eyes, unable to shake the feeling that this, all of this, is nothing more than wrong. "I do," I whisper, and silence falls.

***

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I whisper for what feels like the thousandth time, resting my cheek against the warm leather of Gary's steering wheel. "I didn't know what else to do. I'm so, so sorry."

The radio spins, flicking through half a dozen songs from our brief earthly time together before stopping on a song I don't recognize, one that entreats me to "gamble everything for love." The volume stays low, soothing, not blaring in my ear.

I sigh, closing my eyes. "I'm still sorry. This isn't what you signed up for."

The music goes briefly silent before clicking over to a modern station, where the song informs me that losing me is like living in a world with no air.

"Okay." I have to laugh at that, just a little, and laughing even a little makes me feel enough better that I can sit up, wiping the phantom tears from my cheeks. "Maybe this is what you signed up for after all. Come on, baby. Let's go kick a dead guy's ass."

The engine turns over, and then we're rolling through the midnight, heading for the night's designated drag strip...heading for the future. Whatever that future is going to be.

***

I set the challenge, so Bobby chose the raceway. It shouldn't be a surprise when we follow the markers to the makeshift starting line and find ourselves idling at the base of Sparrow Hill, where the road winds its way into the even deeper dark beneath the trees. Bobby is already there, standing next to his car. So is Bethany, standing off to one side with a starter flag in her hand. We're really going to do this.

It's hard to strut confidently in a green silk prom dress, but I've had years to practice, and I almost manage it as I get out of the car and cross the dusty pavement to where Bobby stands. "Emma," I say. "Where is she?"

"You'll get her if you win," replies Bobby. "You won't win."

"My hostage is present," I say, indicating Gary with a wave of my hand. "Now show me yours, or this doesn't happen."

"The terms are fair," says Bethany.

Bobby scowls like a storm rolling in, and stalks around to the back of his car, where he unlocks the trunk and hauls a rumpled, bound and gagged Emma into the questionable light. Her eyes are closed and her head is lolling forward, but she's breathing. I don't know how hard it is to kill a bean sidhe. Hopefully, tonight is not the night when I find out. "Happy now?" he demands.

"Not by a long shot," I say. "Leave her here."

"Why would I do a silly thing like that?" He runs a fingertip lecherously down the curve of Emma's cheek, smirking at me. "Your hostage is going on the race with you. So's mine."

"The terms are fair," says Bethany again, sadly this time, like she'd rather be saying something else. "But you can't keep her in the trunk. If your hostage is damaged, the entire contest is invalidated."

"Fine," snaps Bobby. He wrenches open the passenger-side door and all but tosses Emma inside, slamming the door behind her. "Now can we get started?"

Bethany nods. "You are to cross the hill and return. First one here wins. If you cheat, I'll know. Is everyone in agreement?"

"Yes," says Bobby, and "Yes," I say, and then we're walking back to our respective cars, Gary's engine already live and running, his own dark machine roaring into bitter wakefulness. I have to wonder if Bobby's car is self-aware; I have to wonder if it understands what its driver is doing.

But there isn't time for lengthy contemplation. Bethany is standing at our ad hoc starting line, a checkered flag in one hand—and there's no point in wondering where she got it; she's a crossroad guardian now, and I guess that comes with a few party tricks of its own. She watches with calm, sad eyes as we roll up to either side of her, our idling engines like dragons in the quiet midnight. Then the flag comes down and there's nothing to do but drive.