the bed, and fished his keys out of the pocket. “If you return him with any scratches, or volcano goddess char marks for that matter, you’re going to be in big trouble.”
Ash caught the keys and curtsied to him medieval style. “I promise not to harm a hair on the head of your prized silvery steed, my liege.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he asked. “Room service? Rent a movie?”
Ash’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad you asked.” She pulled up a window on the laptop—a short little slide show presentation that she’d spent the morning putting together for him. “I’ve compiled all the information you need to know about Colt, Eve, Rose, and Proteus. Commit all this to memory like you’re studying for a final exam at MIT.”
Modo quickly tabbed through the pages. “You wrote out physical descriptions, but didn’t include any pictures? Don’t you think that would be helpful if I could, you know, recognize the gods that are trying to murder me?”
“Kind of hard to find pictures of homicidal gods when they tend not to have Facebook profiles,” Ash explained. “And Proteus is a shape-shifter, so he’d probably look different in every picture anyway.”
“Gods, shape-shifters, Native American tricksters trying to meld their past-life volcano goddess ex-girlfriends back into a single soul . . .” Modo rubbed his eyes. “If itturns out this is all some trippy hallucination from drinking bad mead at yesterday’s Renaissance fair, I’m going to make a book out of this.”
Ash paused on her way out the door, the car keys jangling in her hand. “Just pray that when this story is over, there will be someone left alive to read it.”
As Ash pulled Sir Revsalot around the circular driveway in front of the large ranch in Monterey, she couldn’t help but think: This is where Rose grew up?
The massive home was idyllic to say the least. Hidden toward the end of a narrow dirt road, the ranch had a front lawn that seemed to roll on for an acre and beautiful antique gas lights that lined the long driveway. Ash had admittedly grown up in luxury herself, but this was a different kind of wealth, more rustic and grounded. Of course, that “tethered to the earth” feeling was in part thanks to the horse stables off to the side and the unmistakable farmy smell wafting over from them.
Ash was plagued by all sorts of questions as she climbed out of the car. Had Rose really led the normal lifestyle of a suburban six-year-old here, under the unassuming name Penny Wallace? Climbing on a big yellow bus every morning, a brown-paper-bag lunch clutched tightly in her little hands? A cubby with her name on it waiting for her at school where she would tuck her galoshes and backpack before some patient, matronly kindergarten teacher wrote the alphabet on the chalkboard for her to mimic?And then she’d come home to a loving family who’d ask about her school day over dinner, take her out for ice cream, and host a slumber party for her birthday?
Ash couldn’t imagine that at all. The Rose she knew was a girl of few words, aloof and cerebral, who interacted with the people and the world around her like some alien beamed down to Earth.
But then there were her violent moments.
In the short time Ash had known about her little sister, she’d watched Rose tear out a man’s throat with her bare hands, sink a battleship like it was a milk-carton sailboat using only her mind, and create deadly explosions that killed the guilty and the innocent alike. So to imagine her taking piano lessons and parading around a ranch on the back of a pony . . . it just didn’t compute.
Ash paused in front of the grand double doors to the house, her finger hovering over the doorbell. What the hell was she supposed to say if the girl’s parents came to the door? Hi there. I’m your kidnapped adopted daughter’s biological sister. Our unhinged third sister kidnapped her with a band of other mythological
Ash caught the keys and curtsied to him medieval style. “I promise not to harm a hair on the head of your prized silvery steed, my liege.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he asked. “Room service? Rent a movie?”
Ash’s eyes lit up. “I’m so glad you asked.” She pulled up a window on the laptop—a short little slide show presentation that she’d spent the morning putting together for him. “I’ve compiled all the information you need to know about Colt, Eve, Rose, and Proteus. Commit all this to memory like you’re studying for a final exam at MIT.”
Modo quickly tabbed through the pages. “You wrote out physical descriptions, but didn’t include any pictures? Don’t you think that would be helpful if I could, you know, recognize the gods that are trying to murder me?”
“Kind of hard to find pictures of homicidal gods when they tend not to have Facebook profiles,” Ash explained. “And Proteus is a shape-shifter, so he’d probably look different in every picture anyway.”
“Gods, shape-shifters, Native American tricksters trying to meld their past-life volcano goddess ex-girlfriends back into a single soul . . .” Modo rubbed his eyes. “If itturns out this is all some trippy hallucination from drinking bad mead at yesterday’s Renaissance fair, I’m going to make a book out of this.”
Ash paused on her way out the door, the car keys jangling in her hand. “Just pray that when this story is over, there will be someone left alive to read it.”
As Ash pulled Sir Revsalot around the circular driveway in front of the large ranch in Monterey, she couldn’t help but think: This is where Rose grew up?
The massive home was idyllic to say the least. Hidden toward the end of a narrow dirt road, the ranch had a front lawn that seemed to roll on for an acre and beautiful antique gas lights that lined the long driveway. Ash had admittedly grown up in luxury herself, but this was a different kind of wealth, more rustic and grounded. Of course, that “tethered to the earth” feeling was in part thanks to the horse stables off to the side and the unmistakable farmy smell wafting over from them.
Ash was plagued by all sorts of questions as she climbed out of the car. Had Rose really led the normal lifestyle of a suburban six-year-old here, under the unassuming name Penny Wallace? Climbing on a big yellow bus every morning, a brown-paper-bag lunch clutched tightly in her little hands? A cubby with her name on it waiting for her at school where she would tuck her galoshes and backpack before some patient, matronly kindergarten teacher wrote the alphabet on the chalkboard for her to mimic?And then she’d come home to a loving family who’d ask about her school day over dinner, take her out for ice cream, and host a slumber party for her birthday?
Ash couldn’t imagine that at all. The Rose she knew was a girl of few words, aloof and cerebral, who interacted with the people and the world around her like some alien beamed down to Earth.
But then there were her violent moments.
In the short time Ash had known about her little sister, she’d watched Rose tear out a man’s throat with her bare hands, sink a battleship like it was a milk-carton sailboat using only her mind, and create deadly explosions that killed the guilty and the innocent alike. So to imagine her taking piano lessons and parading around a ranch on the back of a pony . . . it just didn’t compute.
Ash paused in front of the grand double doors to the house, her finger hovering over the doorbell. What the hell was she supposed to say if the girl’s parents came to the door? Hi there. I’m your kidnapped adopted daughter’s biological sister. Our unhinged third sister kidnapped her with a band of other mythological
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