Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Eighty-Two

After another moment of sitting in the relative safety of the car, watching as the activity around us slowly petered out, I opened my door. More and more people had started to drift toward us, staring hard at the strangers sitting in a familiar car. I supposed I could understand the feeling.

Shane murmured, "They're closing the gate."

An uneasy tremor—one I had become all too familiar with—shivered its way down my spine. My eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, my shoulders tightening. There was no other way out except through that gate.

We finally stepped out of the car, looking around warily. I could smell smoke along with something savory, and my stomach growled loudly enough for Cassidy to hear from where she stood beside me. 

Shane leaned heavily against the car watching me, Kyle hovering just at his shoulder. His suspicious green eyes darted from person to person, cataloguing everything I couldn't.

"Come on," you said, smiling in a friendly manner, "let's get ya'll settled."

"You and I need to talk first, Raleigh," Dad cut in, stepping ahead of you. 

Shane and I exchanged a knowing glance, and he sighed before I'd even opened my mouth. "No," I said evenly. "I'm going to take care of Shane first." My gaze hardened. "Then we'll see about talking." 

"You seem to have misheard me." Dad's voice took on a stubborn quality that was uncomfortably familiar. "We need to talk."

All that did was make me dig my heels in even more. Keeping my expression bored, I gestured to the people around us, raising my voice just loud enough for a handful of the bravest or most curious to hear. "If I don't treat him, someone else might catch it."

Of course... that wasn't strictly true. Actually, it probably wasn't true at all. If Shane really had bronchitis, or even if he had pneumonia, he wasn't contagious by that point. But I got the desired effect. People started murmuring, looking at Shane and Kyle uncertainly. The skin around Dad's eyes tightened minutely, and my mouth tugged toward a smirk.

That look generally meant I was about to get what I wanted, in spite of Dad.

His gaze darted around to the people who were still whispering, some even going so far as to draw a little farther back from us. My guess was, living as tight as you all were, you'd had your run with sickness before.

You all were already skittish because we were new, and probably pretty rough-looking, and that made you even more wary.

Which made sense. We were back in the Dark Ages where disease was concerned. They spread fast and hit hard. Maybe you lost some people that way, maybe it was just ugly and scary. I don't know, and I don't really care to, but either way it worked in my favor.

Dad pursed his lips, then motioned for us to follow him with a wave of his hand. Shane fell into step beside me, pressing his lips to my hair before he whispered, "Anyone ever tell you that you're pure evil when you want to be?"

"I remember something about being the devil," I murmured back, a half-smile playing around my mouth. Of course he'd seen right through what I'd just done.

"You're still awful pretty to be a devil." Shane draped his arm across my shoulders. Whether it was because he was feeling tired, sore and sick, or because of the people—including my father—watching us, I didn't know. I didn't particularly care.

I just wanted him to keep holding on to me. 

Dad and you led us into one of the buildings lined up along the wall. The interior was dim and a little stuffy. I blinked, trying to get my eyes to adjust.