We started across the road, heading to the small windmill set a few feet back from the long, low wooden Midpoint of Route 66 sign (put there so people driving the Route could take photos of themselves in front of it).
They’d built a nice flat brick area for the sign, giving folks a place to walk around that wasn’t on the road or the farmer’s field behind it.
The small windmill was the old-fashioned kind with a wooden base and small metal blades. There wasn’t enough wind to turn the blades, not even with evening headed our way.
“There are a lot of windmills out here,” Abbi said. “How do we know which one he meant?”
“It’s the small one,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“It’s closest to the Route.”
I scanned the area. Other than the distant squat buildings and telephone poles, the only other structure was a billboard built on the ground next to the intersection. It currently advertised where to turn for the nearest gas station.
As we walked toward the small windmill, a figure moved out from behind the sign.
Hatcher. The hunter. The ghoul.
He’d gone back to the dark denim pants, white shirt, black vest and necklaces. He looked the same as he had when we’d first seen him.
I figured he had a gun somewhere handy. I would if I were him.
He moved our way, close enough to be heard, but not close enough to be in punching range.
“You’re early,” he said.
“Not by much,” I answered.
“Where’s the book?” Abbi asked. She was on my right, Lula on my left.
He nodded toward the windmill. “Buried there. I’ve dug it up.”
Lula strode toward the windmill. As soon as she was close enough to see the lump at the base of it, the hunter spoke. “Stop there.”
He drew a gun, but didn’t aim it at anything but the ground.
Lula stopped. “I need to touch it to know if it’s real or not.”
I didn’t like this bit of our plan, but Lula was right. She was the only one besides Hatcher who could touch the book. If we’d traded places and the book was the real thing, I’d be knocked out cold the moment I got a finger on it.
“Where’s the token?” he asked.
Abbi stuck her hand in her skirt pocket and pulled out the coin. “I have it. You know it’s real. You can feel it.”
He paused, as if testing her statement, then nodded. “Bring it to me.”
“Lula gets to touch the book first,” she said.
He swallowed and I thought for sure, he was going to argue. “Do it,” he ordered Lula.
She strode the remaining distance, her mostly healed ankle only slightly shortening her stride. She bent and pressed one finger into the shadow beneath the windmill.
The thrum of energy, of magic, of god power was sub-audible, rolling through the land beneath my boots and ringing through my bones like a strike of metal.
It wasn’t unpleasant. But it was god power, and I’d spent nearly a hundred years doing my best not to attract gods, or their power. I didn’t like it.
“Okay,” Abbi said simply. “I’m going to put this token on the bricks right here.” She pointed at her feet. “You should put the gun away. Remember how I melted the vampires? I can make ghouls into goo too.”
