“We could’ve tried!” Beast, who seemed to go by Luke, insisted. He towered well over six feet, with shoulders twice as broad as mine and muscles bulging obnoxiously under a plain white shirt. He had close-cropped brown hair and a chiseled face that might’ve been good-looking if he’d laid off the steroids. A bit too Neanderthal. He had a backpack, too, though in a much more practical, black style. Lucky them—Erebus hadn’t given me any time to pack luggage.
“You should trust me more. I know what I’m talking about,” Beauty replied. “This was quicker and more efficient, and we only made a little hole in the ground. No harm done.” She flashed a sweet smile, and I watched him basically melt into a puddle of adoration. For all his beef and brawn, it looked like this bizarre woman had him wrapped around her little finger.
“That was quite the entrance.” I stepped up to make my introductions. “My name’s Finch. Still in one piece, though your flying ball came pretty close to knocking off my pretty head.”
The girl stared at me before breaking into giggles. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t even see you through all the flames licking up the windshield!” She put out her hand. “I’m Melody Winchester, and this is my bodyguard, Luke Prescott.”
“Winchester, eh? As in—”
“As in the rifle inventor, yes,” she replied, shaking my hand with alarming vigor. I tried to let go, but she held on. “I’m his descendant. It’s a hard name to get away from. Everyone says, ‘Oh, are you related to the rifle guy?’ and I’m always like, ‘Yes, that’s the one!’ Or they say, ‘Oh, as in the ones who built that weird house with all the dead-ends and ghosts?’ and I’m like, ‘Yep, that’s me.’ Creepy house girl.” She laughed louder, practically ripping my hand off. This had to be the longest handshake in history. “I don’t mind, so don’t worry about asking. Everyone does. Besides, there are worse families to be from, right?”
Oh, sweet girl… if only you knew. “I suppose there are.”
“What have I told you about shaking hands with strangers?” Luke whispered. He hit me with a death stare.
“How am I supposed to say hello properly if I don’t shake hands? That would be plain rude,” she replied, finally releasing me. “My father always said a handshake is the best way to get an idea of a person. You can tell a lot from a handshake, you know?”
“Is that so?” What’s it say when you take forever to let go? Man, this girl talked a mile a minute. It sapped my energy just to listen.
“Yes, he always said that a person should have a strong, genuine handshake. Weak handshakes equal shifty people, and lack of eye contact means someone has something to hide, or that’s what he used to tell me.” She smiled proudly.
“Is that why you held on so long?” I teased. “What did you learn about me?”
She cocked her head. “You’ve got a good, honest grip, but you don’t like physical contact. It makes you uncomfortable.”
“Well, you’re not wrong. Judging by your handshake, you’re part boa constrictor.” I laughed, and so did she.
“I get a bit enthusiastic sometimes.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Pleased to meet you both.” I offered my hand to Luke, even though it throbbed from Melody’s ridiculous handshake, but he looked at it like my fingers were covered in oozing boils.
“My name is Blanche Dunham.” My first new chum shook Melody’s hand and wasn’t rebuffed when she went to shake Luke’s. Ah, it’s like that, is it? I’d been out of high school for years, but whenever I came across someone like him, it took me right back. He reminded me of Dylan, only less palatable.
“So, you’ve come to map-make?” I broke the ensuing silence.
Melody and Luke exchanged a secretive glance. “That’s right,” Luke answered. Simple and to the point. If Melody had answered, I could only imagine what might’ve poured out of her mouth. The way she rambled had a somewhat endearing quality. Like a hyperactive squirrel.
“You must’ve led an interesting life, being from the Winchester family?” I tried again. “Although, I thought the magical gene petered out of that line a long time ago.” If spending time in the Cult of Eris had taught me one useful thing, it was that knowledge was power. And the months I’d spent cooped up in stuffy study rooms, reading book after book on magical families, would soon pay off.
Luke frowned. “You seem to know a lot about the Winchesters… Finch, was it?”
“That’s right,” I replied, unfazed.
“He must be a bibliophile, like me!” Melody clapped her hands in excitement. “And you’re right. The famous Winchester, William Wirt, wasn’t a magical. If he had been, he might not have invented a rifle, am I right?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Who needs guns when they can spew magic from their hands?”
“Exactly! So, he wasn’t, and the last magical recorded, before me, was two generations before him. Was it two? Anyway, it skipped down the line until I came along, and—poof!—a magical was born. But I think that was mostly my mother’s doing. She’s a magical, but my father isn’t.” Luke nudged her, like she’d said too much, but she didn’t seem to notice. “They fought and fought about sending me to the San Jose Coven for my magical education. Instead, they brought the preceptors to our house to teach me. Homeschooled—guilty as charged.”
“They do that?” Blanche arched an eyebrow. “They never did in my day.”
Melody shook her head. “Oh no, it was a special arrangement. I think there must’ve been quite a lot of money involved, but I don’t really keep track of those things. My parents are really protective, and I think they were both relieved and panicked that I became a magical. It could’ve gone either way, I suppose. The Russian roulette of genetics.”
A few of the things she said hit me in a very fragile corner of my mind. Famous magical families, the genetic game of chance… I’d been affected by both. My mind gremlins stayed quiet for now, but they wouldn’t for long. My pills didn’t have the same edge under pressure and stress. This definitely qualified. If I had to spend a while here, unable to contact anyone, they’d probably wind up going haywire. This protective bubble might’ve seemed hard to escape from, but it would be much harder to escape my own mind while inside said bubble.
“No need to tell your whole life story, Melody.” Luke put a hand on her shoulder. Her cheeks reddened.
“Sorry, I have a habit of talking too much. I’m trying to work on it, but I’ve always been this way. As a kid, everyone always called me precocious, and I never knew if it was an insult or a compliment. I suppose that was where my love for words began, because I had so much curiosity about that word—precocious. I delved into the dictionary, and I’ve been addicted to reading ever since. I just have so many things racing through my head, and sometimes they all just come out at once, in a big torrent that I can’t control,” she said quietly.
“Well, I think it’s better to talk too much than say nothing at all,” I said encouragingly.