The Degenerate (Mythics Book One)

3

We hit a bump in the road and the faded Harry Potter figurine on the dash wobbled. Strings of seashells from each coastline we'd visited hung from the rearview mirror, clacking every now and then. The Suburban's baked green exterior made one automatically think of boiled spinach, so naturally, Theo had pasted the trunk door and back windows with all sorts of stickers and inside jokes. We'd been on the road for the past six months since he'd busted me out of the prison I'd been living in. Once I was snagged by Child Protective Services--- dear old mom had sent out an amber alert, how sweet--- I had been shuffled between various foster homes. All of which had been easily paid off to turn me in to the government. It had taken me a long, long time to settle down even remotely without looking over my shoulder every five seconds.

This awful van, no matter how much it smelled like fast-food wrappers and old mothballs, courtesy of its previous owner, was home. It had grown on me.

After a nice meal of luke-warm McDonalds and diet Coke, we set off to the nearest hotel, regardless of rating. Actually, from experience, I had learned that the lower the stars the better the chances that any oddities you brought along were overlooked. Theo always made sure to pay a few bucks extra, as a bribe of some sort. How a few dollars made any difference was lost on me.

Our hotel was practically a shack, I happily noted. The ceilings were yellowed and caved dangerously low. Faint stains decorated the carpet, which was the color of TV static and pressed flat from thousands of footsteps. The lobby was small and smelled like cigarette smoke and a set of stairs led off on one side. The receptionist was a sturdy old man with receding salt-and-pepper hair.

I stood beside Theo as he gave the man some money and flashed the IDs we procured so long ago. As far as the world knew, our names were Katherine Smith and John Miller. Basic names for not so basic people.

The receptionist adjusted his smudged bifocals and shuffled through the money, seeming pleased. He licked his parched lips. "You're not from around these parts, are you?" he asked.

My hackles were raised and I could already feel the walls closing in, hear the police sirens. While I was panicking, Theo just smiled, because of course the old man was only making conversation.

Of course.

"That obvious, huh?" Theo said with a tight laugh.

The receptionist nodded gravely. "I'd be careful, if I were you."

"Excuse me?" Theo paused, our room key dangling in his fingers.

"You're not the only ones that aren't from around here, boy." The man's leathered face was smooth as stone. "Call the front desk if you happen to feel..." He pressed his mouth into a thin line. "---unwelcome, at all."

Theo's gaze was heavy as he gave a single nod and grabbed my hand, towing me toward the stairs. I craned my neck to watch the receptionist before we turned a corner. Something about him got under my skin, made me uneasy.

In a flash, his solid gold gaze met my own, pupils expanding into vertical slits. He gave me a quick nod. His face was narrow, almost flat like a snake's. I jerked my head back around so fast my neck hurt.

The key flashed dirty copper in the sparse light as we climbed. Our footsteps seemed muffled, dulled around us. Dust filled my lungs if I breathed too deeply. I trailed a hand along the metal banister and kept my gaze off the narrow cream colored walls that looked more gray than white.

Theo's voice was louder in the stairwell. "I guess this is a common sanctuary."

I nodded, before belatedly realizing that he wasn't looking at me and I should probably say something. "Yeah," I replied, mouth dry. His fingers shifted in mine and I realized we were still holding hands. "That man down there---" I started.

"He's one of us, isn't he?" he asked.

"A gorgon," I explained, brows furrowed. I bit my lip. "Are we really safe here?"

Theo paused. "You know we're not safe anywhere, Ivy."

"I know," I sighed. Something still nagged me. "Can we really trust a gorgon, though?" Immediately after asking it, my stomach twisted with guilt and I blanched. Gorgons were infamous for their two-faced attitudes and lack of loyalty. More than one had turned over their own kind, but that didn't justify a thing. I was no better than the rest of the world, judging people based solely on their DNA. I'd been on the receiving end of that nastiness more times than I could count. I should've been better than that. "That's not what I mean---"

He squeezed my hand. "I know what you meant." His voice was soft. "I think we'll be okay. He didn't have to warn us like that."

We crested the stairs and made it to our room, which was just as run-down as the rest of the building. A rickety nightstand carried a worn Bible in its drawers and an old-fashioned landline rested on top. A boxy TV sat on a table at the far end of the room, screen blank and remote sitting beside it. The smoke got stronger once we were inside and the queen-sized bed was rumpled and a yellowy-white color, like stained teeth. Suspicious marks littered it. I didn't have the stomach to look much closer than that.

I dumped my duffle by the door and set my backpack nearby. Theo set to his usual routine and took out a folded black tarp, spreading it out and covering the bed with it. The noise filled the room as I helped him straighten it. I took out the only luxury item I could afford to have--- a blue fleece blanket--- and set it on my side of the bed. We didn't need pillows since they took up so much packing space. Theo carried a blanket as well and draped it on his side, then set to work with powering the TV.

Already my body was drooping with exhaustion. My hair was greasy and my clothes stiff with rain, but I ached to collapse on the bed and drift away. Theo finally got the TV working and slightly fuzzy sports announcers filled the silence. The picture was grainy, but you could see the basketball players shuffling across the gym floor, hear the squeak of their shoes. I knew Theo didn't really have a thing for sports, but we needed the background noise. Me especially.

Without a word, I grabbed my duffle and locked myself in the tiny bathroom. I dropped the bag on the countertop, unzipping it and pulling out a pair of pajamas, my toothbrush, and toothpaste. I shucked off my clothes, taking a deep breath. The sounds of scuffling and cheering crowds were mild through the bathroom door. As always, my privacy was complete. It was just a matter of gathering my nerves.

When I stepped into the steaming stream of water, I immediately hissed at the contact, my entire body recoiling. I was on fire and yet freezing, chills skating across my entire body. I could scarcely move, hardly breathe. My eyes were kept screwed shut as I tilted my head back, letting the liquid fall over my face, leaving no part of my body untouched. It felt like being boiled alive, and I suddenly had the absurd thought that I would never eat lobster again. Slowly, the agony ebbed away, but I stood still, focusing on the sound of water crashing at my feet. Something about it steadied my heart, calmed my breathing. I was stiff, like freshly starched clothes. Eyes remaining firmly shut, I rolled my joints and set to work at scrubbing myself clean.