“Unclear,” I say with a laugh. “There is a guy that the people of Haven go to with aches and pains, but I’d be shocked if he actually has a degree. Luckily Graylin took good care of Marcus.”
“And what about you?” From across the counter, Dad’s eyes zero in on me, narrowing in good-natured suspicion. “Have you been studying for your SATs like I asked? Are you still dating that guy Brock?”
“Yes to studying. And his name’s Brekken.” I feel my cheeks redden, not knowing how to answer his other question. It’s not like I could go on normal teenager dates with Brekken, being that he’s a soldier from another world. And there’s no way I’m telling my dad about the kissing. Anxious to change the subject, I ask Dad, “How’s Marla?”
Marla is one of Dad’s favorite subjects, so the question is enough to set him off on a long, adoring tangent about how Marla is up for a promotion at the hospital. And just like that, things feel normal again. Well, almost normal.
The thing with Dad is, I once tried to tell him about Havenfall’s magic and the Adjacent Realms. It was when I was a little kid, and he nodded along with me, asked questions, seemed to take me seriously. But then I overheard him on the phone with Grandma Ellen later, laughing. You should hear the stories she tells, Ma. The imagination on her, I can’t believe it sometimes.
He didn’t really believe me. He was just pretending.
While I know Dad didn’t mean anything bad by it, the wounded betrayal I felt at that moment is still burned into my mind. Yet even so, I still find myself wanting to tell him what’s going on with me, or at least as close to the truth as I can. So I do, picking my words carefully and twisting the story a little: how Marcus came down with a horrible flu and I had to run the inn in his absence, how reports of a mountain lion on the grounds were freaking everyone out. How Brekken’s soldier training—in my story, he’s started basic training in Wyoming—kept him distant, but a new friend, Taya, helped distract me. And that she had to leave the inn early for a gap year.
Dad follows along with bright eyes, nodding and hmm-ing and asking questions that I then have to improvise answers to. I don’t know why I don’t just outright lie to him—that would be a lot easier—but the truth is, Dad is my best friend outside of Havenfall, lame as that may be. I want him to know what’s going on with me, even if it’s a simplified, watered-down version of the truth.
In turn he tells me of the drama among his neighbors in the home park (debate over the same leaf blower I can hear in the distance now), my grandma’s insurance company (it’s doing well), and Marla’s problems at work (an overbearing new fellow nurse who’s competing with her for the promotion). Normal, everyday problems, and hearing about them makes me feel more normal. It’s not that they’re simple or unimportant—just that no one will die if the other nurse rubs Marla the wrong way, no worlds will be closed off if someone’s leaf blower is too loud. This is what life is supposed to be like, where not every moment is a balancing act on a tightrope, and not every moment can lead to catastrophe.
So why do I miss the inn so fiercely? Why, even as I speak, do my eyes stray out the westward-facing kitchen window, as if I might be able to make out the mountaintops beyond the orderly slopes of our neighbors’ roofs?
Here, life—at least my life—is safe and predictable and lonely. No one expects anything of me except to stay out of trouble. Dad and Marla love me, but they spend most of their time at work, and I don’t have any other friends to speak of (perks of being the Murder Girl). It’s easy to let the days pass, but each one is more and more stifling, and I’m terrified that if I can’t have Havenfall, this is all that my future will hold.
It’s an uneasy reminder that Marcus has a point. As much as I want to drop everything to hunt down the soul traders and bring them to justice, if the Silver Prince takes Havenfall, I’ll have nothing at all left.
“Got something for you,” Dad says, breaking into my spiraling thoughts.
I look up at him, trying not to let my alarm show in my eyes, the darkness of my thoughts. “What’s that?”
“Follow me.” He pushes back from the table and leads me outside. I follow, trying not to let my sudden panic show.
We head around back, where Dad’s usual handful of car projects shelter under a plastic roof. He stops by his old green Toyota Camry—the one he used to drive before the engine gave out a couple of years ago. It’s a little rusty around the edges, but clean, the paint shining under the late morning sun. The car has been fitted with new tires.
He tosses something at me, and I catch it before realizing to my surprise that it’s keys.
“What is this?” I ask dumbly.
Dad shrugs modestly, but he can’t help but grin. “I fixed ’er up. I was planning to sell her, but … when I heard you were coming home, I figured you could use it more.”
“Wow. This is amazing!”
I stare at the Camry in shock, wondering what made my dad give up on his long-held rule-slash-bribe that I could get a car when I went to college. What expectations will counterbalance the gift? But whatever they might be, I’m not going to turn down a car. I grin and give Dad a hug. “Thanks so much, Dad.”
“My pleasure,” he says, beaming. Then the smile dims a bit. “I figured you could use it tomorrow, so you don’t have to take that early bus. You know how I hate you riding when it’s still dark.”
Dad knows that I’m planning to see Mom. I told him when I originally called from Havenfall to arrange the visit. Just like he doesn’t like my going to Havenfall, I know he’s not a fan of the fact that after all these years I’m still going to see Mom at Sterling Correctional Center. He doesn’t understand why I’d even want to—after all, he thinks she’s the one who killed Nate. But he’s never tried to stop me or talk me out of it. He’s respected my choice. And now …
Unexpectedly, a gust of emotion hits me and my eyes fill with tears. Dad doesn’t know why it’s more important than ever that I talk to Mom. He doesn’t know about Solaria or the soul trade. And yet, somehow, whether through sheer luck or some kind of fatherly intuition, he still came through for me right when I needed it most. Overcome, I wrap my arms around him in another tight hug, one that he’s not expecting judging by the oof he emits.
“Thank you, Dad,” I whisper, letting myself feel hopeful for the first time since the meeting in Havenfall’s kitchen. “Thank you so much.”
5
Sterling Women’s Correctional Facility is familiar in the worst way. I have been here so many times for so many years, and yet it never changes. The parking lot feels as flat and endless as purgatory. The guards at the gate all wear the same mirrored sunglasses that hide their faces and show you yours instead, small and warped and scared when you drive through the checkpoint. The barbed wire along the top of the fence curls high and even, stretching as far as I can see. Everything is gray—the ground, the walls, the uniforms—and rather than making the blue of the sky pop, all that gray seems to leach the color out of it, like the earth is infecting the heavens, or feeding off it. This place is enough to make you forget that magic exists. Enough to scrub all the individuality out of you. Here, I’m just another inmate’s kid, scared and lost and desperate.