Hurt, I step back, but he catches my hands and holds them in his own. “It’s not because of you,” he says, squeezing my hands. “I just can’t imagine being with someone how I look now.”
“The way you look now?” I ask. “But I’ve told you, you’re—”
“I know what you’ve told me. That doesn’t change how I feel. You’re sweet for lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I retort.
Owen smiles. “Avery, if things had turned out differently … if I looked the way I did before …” He reaches up tentatively and touches a strand of my hair. “… I would be lucky to have you.” He squeezes my hand and drops it as he turns to head toward the door. He pauses before he opens it. “Besides, you’ve already got Cleaver. You don’t need another dog to look after, right?”
And then he grins like he used to, that smartass look he’d give shines on his face again, and I can’t help but laugh. When he leaves, I feel a little better. He might not want to admit it, but he’s healing.
“Why did you bring so many pillows?”
“Why did you bring so few?” Piers counters.
I glance over my shoulder into the backseat of our rental car, which has my small suitcase, our tent, and a veritable mountain of pillows, on top of which Cleaver is currently sleeping. I’m cranky and irritable after more than twenty hours of flying, and Piers even more so—he’s used to flying first class.
Thankfully, we planned for this. It’s a three-hour drive from Salem, Oregon to Crater Lake, but we booked a cheap motel on the outskirts of the city. I’m the one that drives us there. Piers’ GPS leads us easily to a run-down brick building surrounded by tall evergreen trees.
Since we’re only staying for the night, we don’t lug all our possessions inside the cramped room. I stare at the small twin bed, no bigger than the one I sleep on at Saint M. This will be the last bed I sleep in for weeks.
“That front desk guy was a jackass,” Piers says.
“He seemed fine.”
“He was giving us looks,” he snaps. “Are the walls supposed to be this yellow? Where’s the damn ice water? No snack bar?”
I sit down on my bed and pull out my cell phone. “It’s a cheap place, Piers. You get what you pay for.” I point to the ice bucket. “You want ice, you take that and go down to the ice machine around the corner.”
He mutters to himself and grabs it, tucking his room key into his back pocket as he slips out. I dial my aunt Trish’s number.
Aunt Trish was the one who took me in after my parents died. I was only a baby. She raised me, told me about my parents. For a long time, I just thought the stories she told me were fairy tales. Finding out they were true is what led me to Saint M in the first place.
“Avery!” she says happily, as soon as she picks up. She always has a way of sensing when it’s me on the other end of the line. “Are you back in the U.S.?”
“I am,” I tell her. “Off to my hunt tomorrow morning. I just thought I’d let you know that I’m safe.”
“Oregon’s cold this time of year, so make sure you wear a coat.”
“I will.”
“And you be careful. Your parents always said that just because they were only there to hunt one monster, that didn’t mean there weren’t others around.”
“Got it.”
“You staying somewhere nice?”
I glance at the floor, where a bug has been crawling around. I reach out and squish it with the toe of my boot. “Let’s just say I didn’t spend a lot of money on it.”
“Look out for dangerous people, too,” Aunt Trish says seriously.
I try not to laugh. “Do you know how many weapons I have?” If there’s anyone to be afraid of, it’s me.
“Still,” she says, “be careful. And good luck on your hunt.”
“Thanks, Aunt Trish. Bye.” I smile as I hang up. Maybe she really can get used to the idea of me being a hunter.
Piers bursts into the room, swearing about the poor quality of the motel’s ice. I decide against telling him about the bug I killed.