“It’s commute-o’clock in Broome County. I’m Jasper Wainwright, reporting tonight from Pine Ridge, New York. It’s all smooth on I-81 right now, with no accidents in sight. If you’re rushing to dress the kiddies and take them around to collect their goodies, I can safely say that this is the perfect weather for trick-or-treating.”
“Thanks, Jasper. That’s Jasper Wainwright of our little sister station, WPNR. Jasper, before we turn it over to our eye in the sky, what are your plans? Taking your kiddies out tonight?
“No, no. No kiddies of my own, Robin, and you might not know this in Binghamton, but if you’re familiar with Pine Ridge, you’ll know we have trick-or-treating earlier in the day. With the parade ended, most of us will head home or to the magnificent ball at the White Pines Estate.”
There’s another zap and crackle of static, and the exit to the highway looms. The little blip I heard from some random station is gone.
The right lane heads south, or I can keep going for a bit and head northwest towards Rochester.
Broome County. That’s south. Pine Ridge. Never heard of it.
And having lived in New York all of my life, I thought I knew most towns, even the little ones like Worth and Turin, places that are hardly more than villages.
Ari sighs—and toots. She falls asleep just as I pull out my phone and ask the digital assistant for directions to Pine Ridge.
It’s a sign. A place I’ve never heard of in my home state? Matt, who grew up in Michigan, whose family only moved here when he was in high school, certainly won’t know about it. I know he’s only been to the big cities in the state, that, and our little city of North Lake. It’s a sign—a town so quiet that itdoesn’t even trick-or-treat at night? A town that I learn about when I’m desperately trying to get my baby to sleep so I can keep my shit together and save us?
“Pine Ridge is two hours and thirty-one minutes away. Calculating fastest route,” chirps the obnoxiously cheerful electronic voice.
I look at the time, then at the baby in the rearview mirror, using the backseat baby mirror to see her peaceful reflection. My eyes end up on the map, and my thumb scrolls through the directions as the phone rests in its black plastic mount on my dashboard.
“It’s near Binghamton. I know where that is.” My stomach feels loose and watery, and my skin is covered in goosebumps. I turn off the phone and put my foot down.
Matt can’t call me now. He can chase me, but I can outrun him. Ihaveto outrun him.
I can outsmart him.
All the senses that have been fogged over with postpartum hormones, sleep deprivation, and gaslighting are back online.
Tonight, he’s unmasked, and I’m done wearing my meek little Stepford wife costume, too.
I’m not sure this is a good idea, but the still, calm voice penetrating the panic tells me to trust it—and drive.
Chapter Two: Jasper
“Jasper. Are you leaving so soon?”
“Yeah, I’m... I’m tired.”
I’m an anchorman in a small town that feels larger during the academic year, thanks to an influx of a couple of thousand college kids. I’m also the community events reporter for the newspaper, the weatherman, the roving reporter, and the voice of the morning commute on the local radio station. I’m not supposed to admit I’m tired. I’m a werewolf, for one thing. We have a high energy level. I’m thirty-five, and I have the energy of a college kid.
And the skin firmness of one, too, not to brag. I flash a momentary smile at the glittering mirrored wall, glowing gold with the light of chandeliers and champagne flutes.
The smile can’t stick.
I’m the local charmer. I’m not supposed to drop my smile or lose my announcer voice, but...
“I understand. I like early nights, too, sometimes,” Mr. Minegold, our diplomatic and civic-minded local vampire, says. He claps my shoulder as couples swirl across the ballroom. “I’ll walk you out.”
“You wanna come with? Go split a beer?”
“I’m going to stay. Tonight is a good one. Another year with a safe Halloween, thank God...”
“I’ll drink to that.” I tip my champagne back and give a little nod to the Big Guy for keeping the dark and demonic on a leashand keeping paranormal-friendly Pine Ridge pretty chill for the most part.
“Why so glum?”
How am I supposed to tell the guy who sacrificed his life to save his wife and kids thatI’mlonely?
