Highway of Bones

Chapter Four

By the time the kid and Glaris are done eating, it's time for bed. I jump down from the mound and walk over to where my gear sits. The demon hunter watches me with those yellow eyes but says nothing. He tells Kayleigh "Good night", stands up, and begins walking around our campsite, conjuring a ward with his sword. The sharp blade glows a sickly yellow, like bile, as he drags it around us, chanting the Latin words in a low, growling voice.

We agreed that we would take turns making wards. I'm still not completely convinced that Glaris isn't playing some sort of long game, but I can't keep making blood wards night after night—especially since I'm almost out of Gatorade. Magic, particularly blood magic, takes a lot out of the wielder, so if I were the only one conjuring the wards, I'd be as useful as an infant in a fight.

The ward snaps together as I'm pulling out my sleeping bag. I glance up as everything within the dome is bathed in an ochre glow, before quickly fading into the ether. Wards made in the dark have the same effect as setting off a firecracker—a brief explosion of light that's easy to pinpoint. It's risky, especially being this close to the highway, but even I wouldn't suggest camping in the woods tonight.

I shake out the bag and lay it on the ground. Not bothering to undress—there's no point—I slip under the thin covers and pillow my head on Ray's saddle. Not the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements, but I've spent more time camping outside than laying on a bed indoors. I'll probably develop arthritis, but that's a problem for future-me to handle.

The fire flickers and a knot in the wood snaps, sending up a billow of sparks. I watch the embers float toward the star-strewn sky before they burn to ash and disappear from sight. On the other side of the fire, Glaris settles down, preferring to sleep sitting up with his back braced against a rock. His giant black Frisian and Kayleigh's black pony stand together nearby, heads lolling.

Egon snuffles around the kid before curling around her, blocking her from my view. I'm not sure if this is intentional or not.

Whatever.

I sigh and turn my back to them. As a matter of course, I try to fall asleep as quickly as possible; it keeps me from thinking about all the crap that swirls around me. However, I fail at doing just that, so my mind wanders into unpleasant territory.

Given the choice, I wouldn't traverse the Highway of Bones. If it were just Winston and me, I would take the long way around. But Winston is dead—slain by Ehtab in our bid to escape the City of Dust.

My beloved battle-elk, who also happened to be a vessel for an angel.

Angels.

I sigh and turn on my side, drawing the thin blanket over my face. Angels and demons, monsters and nephilim. The world was bad enough before the Turning, when all we had to fear was ourselves, but it's just as they say—the dark hides the worst of the horrors.

And those might be found on the Highway of Bones.

I can't even begin to imagine what might be out there. My knowledge of monsters is limited to the area around Eureka—I've studied them, I know their strengths and weaknesses. Everything in my bags is geared towards either killing them or getting away. But I don't know what lies on the Highway of Bones.

There are whispers, of course. Tales of everyone's favorite fantasy and horror creatures: vampires and gorgons, orcs and fae—and not the pretty or sexy kind, either. Very few creatures born from the Turning are cuddly like Egon; and if they exist in any sort of pack capacity, they've either been eaten or slaughtered for parts.

There's a shuffling and I open one eye to see Ray settle down beside me. The peryton's eyes are still their glamoured brown, so it's not quite as unsettling to be studied.