Wild Side (Dark Side Series: Book 2)

Fifteen

While I knew where we had to shop and why we had to shop there, rolling into the thrift store lot was still disappointing. In Brazil I could be a little more careless when I browsed the colorful markets and more expensive stores, but it had been nearly a year since I could truly relax. I missed going on Saturday morning trips to Westfarms with Lisa,  wandering two stories' worth of shops in search of nothing in particular. And just the thought of Lisa, happily ignoring attention from guys there because she had the best one back home...

The passenger door opened. Caelan ducked his head under the frame. "You alright?" he asked.

"Sorry," I said, unbuckling. "Was just thinking of how far we've fallen."

He moved aside to let me out and pat my shoulder as I passed. "Keep your head in the game, Miss Davins. There's a long way to the bottom yet."

The thrift store was situated on a lonely stretch of road in a wooded section of northern New York. It was a cramped, tiny house-turned-shop with the stock and selection you'd expect in the middle of nowhere exciting. There was a lot of fabric jammed onto racks, and most of it seemed as if it'd hung there for years of humid summers and stuffy winters.

"Whatever you like," Caelan teased as we perused narrow aisles. "My wallet is wide open."

Fingers on a bedazzled sweater sleeve, I turned back toward him. "Sure you want to let me run wild?"

He nodded. His attention flicked briefly to the door, where an elderly woman had entered and made a fuss about greeting the shopkeeper. The tension in his shoulders relaxed as they began to talk. Still wary, he smiled at me and mumbled a short, "Of course, sweetheart."

In no time at all I'd had the makings of a relatively decent wardrobe. Some jeans, a couple shirts, sweater and jacket: all the basics plus a reasonably flattering dress and leggings. Apart from the dress, which I got mainly in the hope that I wouldn't need to be outrunning zombies and werewolves every day, I didn't think too long about the clothes; there weren't many options and, as the ex-sheriff pointed out more than once while he waited, I was probably going to bust 'em up by this time next week.

We checked out. Caelan took the receipt from the girl with a clipped "thanks" and away we went.

"Why weren't you your usual charming self?" I asked him on the drive back, settling the bag on my lap.

His eyes stayed focused on the gray road ahead. Fog swirled across the road, mixing with the warmth of sunlight. "We can't be leaving an impression on folks here. There's more than August to worry about, Marcy. There's a sheriff for each state. We-they coordinate like a pack, if packs had extensive networks in law enforcement. Wouldn't be surprised if they've already tracked you to the point you started hitchhiking."

"If it weren't for Cal, I'm sure August would've caught me," I agreed.  Until last year, my life course had been devoted to restoring paintings. I was still learning, still miles behind people like Calico and Caelan who'd grown up in this bloody, shadowed world while I swirled my brush across a canvas and browsed malls with Lisa. "I'm still at that point where luck plays a big role in my survival."

He looked askance to me, golden eyes warm. "Zakar would prefer to call you charmed, wouldn't he?"

"We'll find out soon," I said, staring down the length of the road. In a few hour's time, we'd have a sit down with the monster himself. Even now in the daylight with Caelan at my side, I couldn't help but feel that devil on my shoulder, a sinister presence hovering just out of sight. And that feeling came with the nagging suspicion that I really shouldn't be asking for a visit. I didn't know Rowtag, and the locks and spells he'd used in the graveyard to keep the dead at rest had been broken in one easy moment. How well could I trust him to help me get rid of Zakar?