I had no idea what or where South Station was, but if Chicken Neck thought it was where I was supposed to go, I was willing to run with it. Smiling warmly, I said, “Aren’t you the nicest neighbor a girl could have?”
His blush deepened. “Say, let me help you with that,” he stammered, walking over to me and taking the suitcase. He did something to the handle, a quick push in and out, and the thing worked perfectly for him. Huh. Must be a mortal thing. With a thick newspaper tucked under his armpit, his briefcase in one hand and the suitcase’s handle in the other, he looked ridiculously comical…and rather sweet.
Ugh, it had to be the milk. I couldn’t be this nice in real life.
Next to his large, blue minivan, he released my suitcase to rummage through his jacket pocket. Removing a set of keys, he pointed a device at the car and pressed a button. The minivan beeped twice, and the back door slid open.
Unholy Hell, these mortals were amazing. Such nifty little gadgets! The Almighty really did make humans in His own image, didn’t He? Mortals definitely had the creation bug in their genes, whether making babies or making gizmos.
But they also had other genes in them too, didn’t they? Darker genes that ate at them like a cancer…
Quit it, Jezebel. That’s what got you in trouble in the first place. Just leave it alone.
“Say, Cait—you okay?”
I glanced over at Chicken Neck, who threw my suitcase onto the backseat. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”
He smiled at me, then shut the door. “You look way too serious for such a nice morning. I know that look. You’re thinking about the business part of the trip instead of the pleasure part, aren’t you?”
“You could say that.” Feeling the weight of my new body pressing down on me, I tried to smile, but suddenly I felt completely drained.
“Try not to think about business. Think of it as a grand adventure!” He shrugged, looking embarrassed and proud at the same time. “That’s what I like to do. Who wants to go to a convention for dentists? That’s boring. But if I think that I’m on my way to someplace new, someplace where I could escape from my life and start over new if I wanted to…well, that makes me feel like I’m doing something fun.” He lowered his voice. “Actually, I pretend I’m doing something dangerous.”
His brown eyes sparkled with joy as he revealed this tidbit, and I couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. He was so endearing, like a pet. I resisted the urge to pat him on his balding head. “Sounds like you make the best of it.”
“Exactly!” He opened the passenger door for me, and I slid onto the seat. “Say, you never told me where you’re headed. What’s your destination?”
“Someplace fun,” I said. “Fun, but dangerous.”
He barked out a laugh. “Let me guess—New York City, right?”
Why not? I needed somewhere to go. “You got it.”
“New York, New York,” he sang, “it’s a hell of a town.”
Perfect.
A harrowing ride later—bless me, if all Boston drivers don’t have death wishes, then they’re certifiably insane—Chicken Neck deposited me in front of a sprawling building laden with Ionic columns, topped by a huge clock tower. South Station, I presumed. The granite structure seemed to take up the entire city block—it curved, as if it were either circular or oval, looking more like an amphitheater than a place that harbored trains. Looking up at the clock mechanism, complete with a massive bird spreading its stone wings as if ready to take flight, I was struck by just how small I was.
How did mortals reach such heights without wings? Or at least a decent levitation spell?
The sculpture atop the clock seemed to look down at me. An eagle, maybe—or an owl. For a dizzying moment, I saw superimposed over the building’s façade the towering mountain complex of Pandemonium, home to all creatures of the Pit. The stone bird launched itself off the clock and spiraled down at me, its talons spread wide, murder shining in its black eyes. I bit back a scream as the creature transformed into the half-owl, half-woman shape of Queen Lyssa, goddess of madness and fury, her beak opened as she released a piercing hunter’s cry.
Screwing my eyes shut, I told myself that I wasn’t in Hell. Even in the deepest part of the Abyss, it didn’t smell this bad. Risking a look, I opened my eyes. Once more, the bird was trapped in its stone prison.
Minor panic attack successfully averted. Get going, Jezebel.
Herds of people marched into and out of the massive doorway, all wrapped up in their lives, trying to make their way to their destinations. Gripping my suitcase handle tightly, I joined the flow and allowed myself to be swept inside, caught in the current of human commuters. People swerved around one another as if their feet knew choreographed steps; I, new to the dance, tripped over my own feet and stumbled into fellow travelers. Bags and valises and backpacks and other assorted carrying cases surrounded me, crushed me as we moved forward into a grand concourse.
And there I stopped, too flabbergasted to move. Storefronts and signs and tables and, above all, people milling about, filling almost every available space with color and movement and sound. And the stench! Body odor mingled with perfumes and colognes and deodorants and other camouflages…and that was just from the humans. From the building itself wafted ammonia, soap, and other cleansers, barely dampening the deeper, richer smell of dirt and decay, buried within the structure’s foundation. I inhaled, trying to focus on the earthy scent—something to ground me, help me through the assault on my senses. Someone jostled me from behind, yelling something unintelligible at me as I got shoved to the side.
Glaring, I tried to find the person who’d bumped me, but I would have had an easier time picking a specific grain of sand from an hourglass. Bless me, I knew there were billions of humans on the Earth, but did the better part of that number have to loiter in one building?
I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked forward. Now that the initial shock of the place had worn off, I felt amazed instead of overwhelmed. So many stores! Food sellers—many of which seemed closed, but McDonald’s and the Boston Coffee Exchange were open and, from the look of the lines of people waiting for service, they must have been giving away free samples. A place called Au Bon Pain also had a lot of business, and as I saw rows of muffins, bagels, and other assorted pastries lying on display, my stomach lurched and rumbled. Saliva pooled in my mouth, and I swallowed it down. It took me a moment to identify the sensation I was experiencing.
I was hungry! And not for sex. Wow…that was a first.
Ambling inside the pseudo-French boulangerie, I paused in front of the baked goodies. My stomach growled again. I grabbed two large muffins, considered the sounds my belly made, and took a third. Following the cues of the humans around me, I stood in a line until it was my turn. The key to blending in, I discovered, was acting as if I knew what I was doing. Apparently, maneuvering through real life was just like sex: When all else fails, fake it.
I showed the cashier my selection. Taking my pastries and putting them into a paper bag, she asked me, “That all? Any coffee today?”
I’d never tried it before, although I’d heard mortals talk about coffee like it was an exquisite pleasure. I could use a bit of pleasure. Maybe the coffee came with a side order of Cabin Boy to watch me drink it. “Sure, coffee would be great.”
“Large?”
“Um, okay.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“No milk,” I said quickly.
She pushed a covered, wax-coated paper cup my way, along with the bag of muffins. “That’ll be seven twenty-nine.”
Right, payment. I opened Caitlin’s bag and produced her wallet. Inside the billfold were three tens, a twenty, and a few ones. I handed the cashier a ten, took my change