City of Dust

Chapter Twelve

After breakfast the next morning, we check out of the motel. I pay an extra hundred dollars to take care of the mess the kid created in the bathroom.

Winston eyes the larger, fatter Egon with interest when we retrieve our mounts from the stables. I pat his shoulder reassuringly. God only knows how much larger the beast is going to get with regular meals.

The tanker truck and its security detail are gone from the parking lot. In its place are three battered SUVs, all lined up to fill their cars with precious gasoline.

To my displeasure, the Strikers are leaving at the same time, too. Two of them are mounted on Friesian stallions who are as tall in the shoulder as Winston; the other four are on criosphinxes. While not my first or even tenth choice for a mount, the criosphinxes have an imposing presence despite being shorter than Winston and the Friesians. A heavy ram's head sits atop a lion's body; massive, curling horns adorn each beast's head, the tips capped with steel. Two smaller horns protrude upwards from their brows. Interestingly enough, two of the criosphinxes have vestigial wings, like Egon.

There's variation in color with the beasts: two are golden, one has rosettes like a leopard, and the other is a dark, mahogany brown. Heavy armor covers their bodies, even their faces—although, with horns like that, I wonder why it's even necessary.

Striker Glaris pulls his Friesian next to me but stays out of reach. Wise, wise man.

"Where are you ladies headed?" he asks, yellow demon eyes staring at me from behind his black mask.

"None of your business," I reply, tugging up my veils as the dust begins to swirl. "Let's go, Kayleigh," I tell the girl, pressing a heel into Winston's side. The battle-elk obliges and turns his head towards the on-ramp.

"Nice to meet you!" she calls out, giving the Striker a little wave. "Thanks for dinner!"

"You're welcome ..." he replies, voice fading as Winston takes me away from the waystation.

"You're really not friendly, are you?" Kayleigh asks me as we head up the ramp.

I purse my lips behind the veils. "Nope."

"So, you don't like people, but you like Winston."

I look at her out of the corner of my eye. "Where are you going with this?"

The girl shrugs and smooths a section of her mare's mane with one hand. "That you're not as mean as you make yourself out to be."

God. I sigh and roll my eyes. "Listen, kid, we're not going to end this trip being best friends, okay? I'm just a mean, depressed bitch who wants to get the hell out of this ... hell."

Kayleigh's eyes light up as I unwittingly spill some personal information. "No," I snap, raising a finger. "No more questions. Ever. Got it?"

By the way she shrugs and smiles, I can tell that I've given the kid some unintentional ammunition; right now, she's trying to work out how to crack my armor. Good luck, kid, I think. Get in line behind the four guys who thought that they were going to be "the one" to melt Raine Barlow's cold, dark heart.

Fools, all of them.

Winston snorts and shakes his head, rolling one brown eye back to look at me. "Not you, too," I warn, shaking a finger at the battle-elk. Winston whuffs and turns his attention to the road ahead.

"On a dark, desert highway, cool wind in my hair ..."

Oh, God, the kid is singing.

I should've let the cockatrices kill me.