Fire's Last Descendant

Chapter 17

               ••• Chapter 17 ••• 

               This chapter is dedicated to KFRkit_katKFR, 'cause she seems to be the only one of my  fans that isn't one of my RL buds who reads my stories. Thanks so much, gurlie!

       We all go through six quick rounds of the alphabet game, skipping "q" and "x", when we stop at a Chick-fil-a for dinner (apparently I'd been out cold when they stopped for a late lunch). Because I'm sooooo hungry, I buy more food than usual, which isn't ever a lot. I get a chicken sandwich, fruit salad, a 12-pack kid's meal (I am not ashamed), a large lemonade, and a milkshake. I swear, I am going to get fat!

       The tiny restaurant is crammed with people, so we all hop back in Callan's car and keep going. For over two more hours, I find out some other stuff about the group I travel with. Like, Sam falls asleep. A lot. Callan stole the car we all ride in, and Chase had never had a girlfriend (Info about that little bit given to me by his sister). For some reason, I laughed at that.

      I also learned that if I'm trapped in a car long enough, I'll fall asleep. I dozed off for a minimum of ten minutes and a maximum of thirty minutes. I fall asleep for the fourth time, this time on Chase's shoulder (I so did not mean to do that), to be woken up to a dark blue sky speckled with stars. 

       "Hey, Gabby," Chase whispers. "We've finally stopped for today."

       I nod sleepily at his words and sit up. I yawn and rub my eyes as Sam opens her door to pick up a duffel bag in the trunk. When she comes back around to get the gorgon's blood, I find that the weapons she managed to save are hidden in the bag.

       It'd be impossible to say that there isn't anything metal or iron or glass in there (all of the weapons are metal or iron, because society apparantly isn't ready for shiny glass swords). The contents cling together too much.

       Sam hands us all swords and cloths damp with what seemed to be the blood. She informs me to not let a single drop touch my skin; even that little bit could cause excruciating pain that would lead to a slow death. I ask Sam why we couldn't do this in a hotel room.

       "Well, what if a maid came in, or passed by and happened to find four teenagers rubbing some blood that could kill you if it touched your skin on the tips, edges, and surfaces of weapons that hadn't been used since either the Greek and Roman times or the Dark Ages? Would you like to be sent to federal prison, or be watched over in the loony bin like an experiment, or have your little lineage secret spilled out for the tabloids?"

       I mutter "No" softly to myself. Honestly, though, like there's a difference from doing so in a hotel room from a hotel parking lot doing the same thing.

       We all wipe down the weapons with the blood, some weapons taking up more time than others, for about thirty minutes. They don't have to be completely covered in the blood, just a small coating should be enough to kill monsters. Once Callan finishes the spikes on a mace, we all carefully shove the weapons back in the duffel bag.

       When we enter the hotel, the clerk looks like she'd rather be working at a fancier hotel. Personally, I wouldn't. Having to deal with a bunch of snooty rich people and not getting paid nearly enough? No thanks. She gives us a look that makes me think, Oh no, get away, filthy street trash! This certain Best Western is much to good for you!

       I look at my traveling buddies. We do look pretty bad off. Soot stains our clothes and our hair looks like a mess, especially Sam's, who has the longest and palest hair out of all of us. Scorch marks decorate our sleeves, more so mine then theirs.