Kids These Days

Chapter 48: Ronan

"Step into the circle, Lockwood. I think we can both agree that I've waited long enough."

Rachel's words seem to come from a distance, as if through a thick fog. When I give my head a slight shake to clear my thoughts, I realize that isn't far from the truth -- while we've been talking, tendrils of mist have gathered around us, obscuring Harper's BMW and the rest of the valley from view. It reminds me of the dense fog that would unfurl like a blanket across the water at Lightlake. Nothing about it is natural.

I'm starting to think that maybe this wasn't a good idea.

You might be asking, Wow, really? Offering to sacrifice your soul isn't a great back-up plan? And I'll admit I deserve that. This idea seemed a lot more solid when I first thought of it. That's okay. I've always worked better under pressure.

I step into the circle.

Rachel smiles at me, blood still dripping from the gash on her hand. "A wise choice."

But I don't feel wise. Or brave. I just feel tired.

Here's the deal: I don't want to die. Not particularly. Definitely not at the hands of a real estate agent whose only goal in life is getting back at her ex-husband. Sure, my life is a total shitshow right now, and I've fucked up everything good that has ever happened to me, but it doesn't have to be this way forever.

Right?

Rachel flips the knife over and offers it to me, handle first. "Your turn."

I swear the golden light in the skull eye sockets glows even brighter as I accept the knife. I resist the urge to wipe it clean on my shirt.

"So, what do you want me to do?" I ask, my voice raspy. I've been awake for way too long, and my body is starting to beg for sleep. Or coffee. Or a cigarette.

Her gray eyes flare with impatience. Good. Impatient people are more likely to make mistakes. "I just showed you want to do, silly boy. This sacrifice requires your blood."

I angle the point of the knife over my palm. "How much blood are we talking about? A drop? A pint?"

"It doesn't matter! Just get it over with, we're running out of time."

"Geez, lady, it's not like it's your soul on the line," I mutter. This is the part I'm not so confident about. When I think about everything Dolores told me, I feel somewhat reassured, and my plan doesn't seem so crazy after all. Then I remember that this is Rachel I'm dealing with, and it seems even more crazy that I could've imagined.

Despite all of my misgivings, I know there's only one way forward, and I can only hope it's the right one. I drag the knife over my palm and wince at the sudden sting of pain.

"The circle," Rachel reminds me. As if I could ever forget her creepy deer graveyard.

I'm about to open my hand over the circle of skulls when two bright lights cut through the fog, blinding me for the second time that night. Then I hear Harper exclaim, "I'm sorry, I don't know how they found --"

Her voice is drowned out by the sound of car tires grinding to a halt in the sand. When I open my eyes, blinking into the light, I see a neon-yellow Corvette neatly parked next to the Joshua tree, the heat of the engine burning away the mist.

Becca climbs out of the driver's seat, slamming the door shut behind her. Of course. (She's probably the only one in our group of friends who knows how to park.) Her expression is worried, but not surprised, and her steps are deliberate as she strides over to the circle.

She stops about five feet away from Rachel as if she ran into an invisible wall. Frustration flashes across her face as she tries and fails to take another step forward, the fog thickening around her tennis shoes.