Page 13 of The Staircase in the Woods

“Yeah,” Owen said.

“Yeah,” Hamish said.

“So, ahh. What do you do for a living now?”

“Mortgage broker. You?”

“Oh. Used bookstore. Clerk. Part-time.”

“Sorry.” He winced. “I mean, cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Another awkward smile.

Then Hamish looked out the window and Owen turned around and the car drove on, in silence. The only other thing anyone said during the whole drive was five minutes later, when Roman said, mostly to himself, “I think people are all big mess and the sooner we realize that, the better.Psh.”

9

This Is Not the Hotel

Lore knew how to sleep angry. Some people did not. Cedar certainly didn’t—you had a fight with Cedar, or gods, even a mild disagreement, they could not go to sleep until it was resolved. Lore was no such animal. The world was fucked up, everything was fundamentally broken, and she was upsetall of the time. As such, it was easy for her to simply disassociate—she disentangled herself from the world, freeing herself from its foul roots and grasping claws before falling into dreamless sleep like a vampire when the sun rose.

Being creative was the same way for her. She knew way too many artists and writers and game designers who couldn’t do shit if they were feeling anxious, so when the world or simply their small lives got them down, they were stuck in that place. Unable to do shit. Unable tomakeshit. Not Lore. For her, creativity was a door. She could simply walk right through it, close it behind her, and be in a different room, a room where her only impetus was to make, design, create, iterate, reiterate.

Point was, after her fight with Hamish—which she told herself was not a fight so much as it was just her challenging him, shaking him up, trying to find the Hamish That Once Was—she put on music (Love’s Secret Domainby Coil) and fell right the fuck to sleep.

She awoke when she felt the car slow. Idly, she reached up, eyes still closed, and turned off her headphones. The music and the hiss of the noise canceling ended, and the sounds of the world rushed back in—

Immediately, she heard a voice. Owen. “What is this? Where are we?”

At that, she drew a deep breath and sat up.

The Escalade had pulled off into a small gravel lot off what looked to be a local two-lane highway. Beyond it, a forest—dark evergreens and the brighter green of spring leaves popping. Not many cars going past.

“This is not the hotel,” she muttered.

“We are here,” was all Roman said, killing the Cadillac’s engine.

“It’s Nick!” Hamish said, happy as a Labrador retriever—and just as eager, since his next move was to pop open the door and bolt out.

Sure enough, out the open door, Lore saw him.

Nick Lobell.

Still rangy and lean, not tall exactly, but long like a fox. Older now, though. As they all were, she supposed. Still the fox, but one that had gone through too many rough fencerows, that had survived too many scrapes but had lost some fur along the way. But he still had that same chaotic spark—as if he was still the same kid who stole his neighbor’s lawn mower and drove it nine miles to the mall, then left it there and took a bus home. Everything for shits and giggles.

Lore shrugged at Owen, who shrugged back.

“I guess we get out?” he said.

“Are we picking him up?” she asked.

But there was no answer forthcoming for either of them.Guess we’re doing this,she thought, not wanting to get out—in part because that meant seeing Nick, and seeing Nick meant acknowledging what washappeningto Nick. But the ride was the ride and they were buckled into it.

She got out of the car.

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