I glanced at him. “How can you tell?”
“You’re bouncing around in the seat like there are springs under your ass.”
Oh. Well then. I made an effort to sit still. “I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t even know if she’ll understand.”
His long fingers closed around the steering wheel as he squinted. A moment passed. “Do you need to say anything?”
At first that didn’t make sense, and then I got what he was saying. Turning my gaze to the side window as the SUV slowed, I knew I didn’t have to go into detail with her. I could just tell her that I knew, or I could just hug her and let her know that way that I understood.
“You’re a smart girl,” he said, turning down the narrow road that led to the house. I think I stopped breathing as I clenched the seatbelt. “You’ll roll with it and figure it out.”
My heart was pounding like a steel drum as the house came into view. The two-story home was well over a hundred years old and had to have been a beauty back in its glory days. Not that it was decrepit or anything, but the white paint was peeling off the exterior wooden slabs and the roof needed to be replaced, especially over the porch. But for me, it was home—beautiful in a sad, aging kind of way.
Aging? It struck me then as gravel crunched under the tires of the Porsche. Would I stop aging once my super-special powers were unleashed upon an unsuspecting world? I looked at Seth. “Do demigods age?”
His brows knit as he stopped the SUV near my granddaddy’s old Ford pickup truck. “Wow. Random. But no, they don’t. Back in the day, there was always some trial they went through, and then they were at full demigod status. Some are…they are made and they stop aging at that point.”
Whoa. I slumped back against the seat, staring at the swing on the porch that probably couldn’t hold my weight anymore. I would stop aging. Holy crap. I could be stuck between twenty and twenty-one forever. Like forever. “Do you age?”
There was a pause. “Yes, I age, but that’s not really going to be a problem.”
I looked at him sharply, not liking the way he said that. “Why?”
Seth hit the engine button, turning it off. His jaw was set as he tugged a leather band off his wrist and pulled his hair back into a short ponytail. “That is not something you need to be worried about right now, Joe. You’ve got to get inside. I hate to say this, but we don’t have a lot of time. We need to get back on the road, because we’re really pushing it stopping here. I need to get you to South Dakota.”
“So you can drop me off and leave?” The question came out before I could stop myself, and he looked at me sharply. I sucked in a breath, wondering why I had even asked that. “And stop calling me Joe.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. He had a point, but I was stalling. “When’s your birthday? You’re twenty-one, right?”
He looked at me, mouth curled at the corners, as if he didn’t know if he should smile or frown at me. “My birthday is May second. I’ll be twenty-two.”
“My birthday is October thirteenth. Sometimes it falls on Friday the thirteenth, and that’s kind of creepy, right? Like I’m a walking black cat or a living ladder no one wants to walk under.”
He sighed as he shook his head. “You want me to stay here and wait for you?”
Guess no more procrastinating. Reaching for the door, I started to tell him yes, but that wasn’t what came out of my dumb mouth. “No. I mean, can you come inside, too? My grandparents might think you’re my boyfriend or something, but I’ll introduce you as my friend, and they’ll be pretty cool. I think they were hippies back in the day.”
His lips were doing that curling thing again. “Why not your boyfriend?”
I stared at him. “Because you’re not my boyfriend.” That seemed obvious.
“I’m your friend?”
He’d sounded genuinely curious, and that made him more socially awkward than me, and I kind of liked him for that. “Yes, you’re my friend,” I decided, and he cocked a perfect, golden eyebrow. “I don’t know why. You’re moody, but you can be funny when you want. Kind of dirty-minded, though. Sometimes even nice, and I know we’ve only known each for a couple of days, but you saved my life earlier and I think…I think I know you just about as well as I knew Erin. So, yeah, friends.”
Seth stared at me for a moment, and then he chuckled deeply, shoulders shaking. “Get out of the car, Joe.”
I got out of the car. “Thanks, Sethie
He shot me a look that was full of amusement as he rounded the front of the Porsche. Gazing up at the front door, my heart leapt into my throat. I took a deep breath. “You sure I look okay?”
“Yes,” he said.
Then I dashed up the stairs, ignoring the aches and pains from taking a hard landing earlier, as the wooden boards creaking under my feet. Opening the screen door, I wasn’t surprised when I found the interior door unlocked. The only kind of crime around these parts was stolen cows. Walking into the narrow foyer, I called out. “Mom? Granny?”
Seth slipped in behind me, quiet as a freaking ninja, somehow closing the door behind him without causing it to make the annoying shriek it had when I’d opened it.
I started down the hall as my grandmother walked out from the kitchen. What had happened this morning with the daimons ceased to exist the moment I saw her. Granny wasn’t that old, only in her late fifties, more round than narrow, and even though her face was weathered, her brown eyes were always so bright and full of life.
“Honey, what are you doing here?” Wiping her hands on the front of her jeans, she charged forward and barreled into me before I could respond. Her hugs were always fierce and squishy. It hurt a little this time, but I didn’t care. I’d missed these hugs. She drew back, smiling broadly. “This is such a surprise!” Craning her neck, she yelled, “Jimmy! Josie’s here!”
I winced at the pain in my eardrums.
Granny stepped back, holding onto my hands as she looked over my shoulder. Her eyes widened. “Honey, who is this?”
Feeling my face heat, I turned to Seth. “This is, um, this is Seth…” And I realized I had no idea what his last name was. “He’s a friend.”
“A friend?” Granny sent me a look that clearly said I was doing something wrong, and I wanted to throw myself under the small table butted up against the wall. She winked, and not at me, and I swallowed a groan. “Well, come in. Both of you. I’ll get you two some sweet tea. It’s fresh, just like you like, honey. Jimmy’s in the kitchen, eating pie, even though the doctor told him he needed to start eating more vegetables and less sweets and meat because of his diabetes, but you know how he is. I swear he’s eaten half of the apple pie since I took it out of the oven last night, so if you two want a slice, I suggest finding a shotgun and threatening his life with it. Oh, and if you want, the coffee’s still warm.”
My lips pursed as Granny spun and disappeared through the doorway. Seth stopped beside me, knocking my shoulder with his. He was grinning as he lowered his chin, whispering in my ear. “I’m going to hazard a guess and say you take after your grandmother.”
“We’re not friends anymore,” I grumbled.
He chuckled as I walked through the large dining room. A vase of tulips, Mom’s favorite, sat in the middle of the oak table. Seth stayed slightly behind me as we made our way into the eat-in kitchen, and like Granny had said, my grandfather was at the table, a slice of pie the size of my head in front of him and a newspaper in the other hand. My grandfather had the most awesome head full of hair—great genes or something, because there wasn’t even a streak of gray among the brown strands. Or he was rocking some Clairol for Men.
Peering up over his dark-rimmed glasses, he lowered the paper as his hazel eyes shifted from me to Seth. “Who’s this?”
“Seth. No last name apparently, because I wasn’t given one,” Granny answered, grabbing two mugs and placing them next to two glasses. “He’s a friend
I opened my mouth, but my grandfather opened his first. “Do you like pie, boy?”
Oh God, did he seriously just call Seth “boy” and ask him if he liked pie? This conversation wasn’t going as planned.
There was something like a choked laugh from behind me. “I love pie, sir.”
His eyes narrowed on us as he sat back, folding his arms across the flannel shirt he’d had since I was a little girl. “Good. I don’t trust anyone in my house that don’t like pie.”
Before this conversation could continue, I jumped in. “I can’t stay really long, but I need to see Mom. Is she in her bedroom?”
Granny finished scooping at least the tenth spoonful of sugar into my grandfather’s cup, which made me frown, considering that wasn’t going to help with his diabetes. She placed the mug in front of him. “Hilary’s not here, honey.”
“Not here?” That was different. Mom didn’t leave the house without one of my grandparents. “Where is she?”
She smiled as she whirled toward the fridge, opening the door and yanking out a giant jug of tea. “She’s with a friend.”
The nervous knots from before were back, multiplying like mogwais fed after midnight. I shook my head. Mom didn’t have friends. “What friend?”
“A really nice one. They’re on a mini-vacation.” She glanced at my grandfather as she poured the tea. “Or something like that.”
Seth moved closer, a suddenly tense presence in the cozy kitchen. I took a breath, but it got stuck. “Okay. You guys are just being funny. Is she upstairs?”
“She’s gone,” my grandfather answered, picking up the newspaper. “When did she say they’d be back? Her and that nice young man who also liked pie?” His brows knitted. “I can’t. remember…”
Granny shrugged as she sat at the table, placing the glasses down. “It’s no concern of ours. Now, do you two want to drink this tea or not?”
I stared at them, sort of dumbstruck for a moment. There was no way in hell my grandparents would let my mom leave with anyone—especially a “him”—and think it was no concern of theirs. I watched them go about their business for a moment. Grandpa eating his pie. Granny arranging the glasses. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Taking a step back, I bumped into Seth.
“Josie,” he said quietly.
Spinning around, I tore out of the kitchen and ran back into the main hall. Hanging a left, I took the steps two at a time. “Mom?” I called, hitting the hallway that smelled vaguely of mothballs and apple-cinnamon. I flew past the framed photos, past my old bedroom and my grandparents’, to the last bedroom at the end of the hall.
The door was open.
I skidded into the room, breathing deeply as my frantic gaze ranged over the bedroom. The bed was empty and made. No pill bottles sat on the nightstand. Mom’s slippers weren’t on the floor beside the bed.
Hands shaking, I went to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. Empty. I moved to the next one and the next one. All of them were empty. Whipping around, I ran my hands through my hair, tugging the heavy strands back.
Mom wasn’t there.