The thing about sleeping in the back of an old truck under the Oklahoma sky was how the truck bed exactly fitted the five of us.
Lorde stretched across the back of the bed, her legs kicked out on the open tailgate, snoring away. Abbi curled into our brave, fuzzy dog, her arm across Lorde’s ribs. Tiny kitten Hado was curled up on Lorde’s neck.
Abbi breathed deeply and evenly, lost to whatever dreamland a Moon Rabbit dreamed.
I sat against the back of the cab, my legs stretched out, a pillow keeping the edge of the bed from digging in too hard.
Lula sat next to me, her head on my shoulder, face tipped to the stars, my arm relaxed around her and holding her close.
The wind smelled of weeds and bark and summer gone sweet and dry, crickets and other critters making a soft, steady racket, filling out the emptiness of the night.
We’d pulled off a ways into a field, red oak and black walnut trees keeping us mostly hidden from the worn path of Route 66.
“Cake was good,” I said.
Lula nodded. I’d mentioned the cake half a dozen times since we’d left Eunice’s place a day ago. Abbi had told Eunice it was the best cake she’d ever eaten in all her long life, and while that compliment had gotten her an extra slice, I didn’t think she was lying.
“Eunice is good people,” Lula said. “I think she wanted things to turn out this way.”
“What? Us sleeping in the truck?”
“That, and other things. Us pledging loyalty to Cupid. Finding the book, discovering Mad Mat was Atë, and Atë was the one who sent the monsters after us.”
She paused. Then, “Making a little family for Abbi.”
I hummed and stroked the curve of her arm.
The wind stirred, soft as an eddy in a stream harbored away from the swift current.
“She wanted the reed,” I said, “though she might have wanted to put her own spin on the future too.”
“Maybe.”
“Worth it, if we can get the book and end this.”
Lula made a small sound of agreement. “Not all of it,” she said after some time had slipped by, minutes like leaves on the slow-moving water.
“What?”
“You said end this. I don’t want all of this to end.” She tipped her face up, eyes full of starlit jewels.
“That so?” My heart beat strong and steady, like I’d hiked a day of hills and had settled down to rest my head on the soft grass.
“I want to keep doing this, here,” she said, “with you real in my arms.”
“Camping in an old truck in nowhere, Oklahoma?”
She squinted. “Holding on to each other,” she groused. Then, softer, “Talking, building our life. Our family. I want a hell of a lot of living years with you, Brogan Gauge. After we find that book, after we kill that god.”
“You’ll have them,” I said.
“That easy?”
“Always. There’s nowhere for me but with you, Lula Gauge. Your road is my road, your dreams my dreams.”
“And my nightmares?”
“Like I’d ever leave you to face them alone. You know me.”
