I didn’t wait for an answer, getting out and heading around to the back of the Escalade. Nathan got there before me and popped the trunk, reaching in and hauling my bike out before I could.
He set it on the ground, his hands hesitating on the handlebars. He frowned at me, his eyebrows pulling together. It was clear he was second-guessing the decision to drop me here.
I stepped forward and took the bike from him.
He sighed.“Liam is going to have my ass for this.”
“You could always not tell him.”
He shook his head.“He’d know. He always knows. You’re the only oneI’ve ever seen challenge him and not get punished for it.”
I pulled the bike onto the sidewalk.“It’s part of my charm.”
“That’s one word for it,” he said, running his hand through his hair.
I stood on the curb, my bike propped against me and gave him an expectant look. He waited, staring back at me blankly.
I shifted my eyes to the vehicle, a silent signal he could go now.
He folded his arms over his well-defined chest, the muscles bulging under the thin fabric of his shirt.“You’re kidding.”
I shook my head, my expression not quite making it to regret.
He grunted in frustration before he headed back to the car. I watched him, waiting as he started the car and drove off. Even then I remained in place, knowing he’d most likely have to double back if he wanted to return to the highway.
Sure enough, minutes later he cruised past me, glaring out the window.
I gave him a cheery wave and waited as he pulled onto the entrance ramp. Only then did I throw my leg over the bike and ride it across the street into the neighborhood.
My route was not direct. It would have been simpler to head to High Street and use the straight shot it would have given me, but I liked the peace of the neighborhood. I liked seeing the old houses, big half a million-dollar homes side by side with their smaller companions, cottages that were probably not much bigger than my apartment, where the yards were as unique and distinct as the houses they led to.
This was an old neighborhood, the streets not laid out in neat grid patterns. They dipped and swerved, with hidden ravines and wooded paths popping up out of nowhere, only known and frequented by locals familiar with the neighborhood.
I approached a charming bridge, one that looked like it belonged on a postcard—the stonemasonry more fitting for a European countryside than a suburb of Columbus.
I got off my bike and walked it over the bridge. I stopped halfway across and stared down at the small creek below and the slate stones it ran across.
There was a slight groan beneath me, like wind rushing through a small opening. I knew better though. Only a fool dismissed what their senses told them, especially when they were a spook.
I laid a penny on one of the bridge’s sides. The penny was oneI’d been carrying for several weeks now, just for this purpose.
It wasn’t anything special. Just a 1969 Lincoln penny. Not common, but not rare either. Better yet, I knew it was one my friend under the bridge had been seeking for almost a year now.
Next to the penny I laid a green apple Chupa Chup sucker. He had a sweet tooth and he was limited to what people tossed over the side of the bridge.
My toll paid, I grabbed the bike and wheeled it across, glancing back in time to see a dark green hand the size of my head reach up and gently lift the penny and sucker off the bridge.
“Night, Hector,” I called.
“Safe travels, Aileen,” a deep rumble responded.
The bridge troll was one of my first clients. They weren’t usually violent, unless they felt their bridge was being disrespected or imperiled. Hector was pretty easygoing, but shy until he’d known you awhile. It was almost two years before he let me get my first glimpse of him.
I usually walked my bike over his bridge. He told me once he preferred the days when people walked. Riding over a bridge on wheels was considered disrespectful among his race. Today, most of the traffic he saw was cars and the odd bike. It was a simple act of kindness to walk and it cost me nothing.
My destination wasn’t much farther. A small, unkempt building edging up to High Street, the Blue Pepper appeared as if it had never seen a good day, while the bright and festive sign out front looked like it belonged somewhere else.
Despite that, the Blue Pepper had no problem bringing in repeat business. The parking lot was pretty full for a weeknight, which seemed to be the case every time I visited.
