Page 76 of Dead & Breakfast
Above, the distinctive sound of cheap wood hitting flesh came, and McMartin shouted a curse. Salvatore joined Arthur in the clover patch, landing with much more dignified grace than Arthur had managed.
“Thanks for the distraction,” Sal said, grinning. “Now, this next part is essential to any daring escape.”
“What is it?”
“We run!” Sal took Arthur’s hand and pulled him along. The sheriff’s yells faded, but then the sound of his car’s obnoxiously loud engine filled the air. He wouldn’t be far behind, unless he couldn’t find them.
Vampires weren’t particularly fast during the day, but the upside to being dead was their muscles didn’t tire. Arthur ran with Salvatore, following his directions without paying much attention towhere they were going. He could count on his fingers the number of times Salvatore had actually given Arthur orders, let alone the times Arthur had acquiesced. Control was his comfort, and now, without it, he had only Salvatore to guide him through the chaos.
“Can’t believe we’re doing this hike again,” Salvatore said as he steered Arthur toward a secluded trail. “I swore I’d never let you convince me to come back here, but then I suppose my promises have never been all that reliable.”
Arthur glanced at the trailhead sign as they passed.Trident Falls Trail. It would take them to the waterfall that gave the town its name. Annoyance filtered through his numb mind, at last breaking the repeating loop of Lore saying Arthur’s fangs were a match to Brody’s wound.
“Oh no,” Arthur said under his breath.
They’d hiked this trail once before. It had been the end of summer, a warm and muggy night after a hot and blistering day shortly after moving to town. The bugs hadn’t seemed to mind that he and Salvatore were undead. Sal, of course, waxed poetic about mosquitoes while they buzzed annoyingly around Arthur’s head, not biting him but seeming intent on making pests of themselves nonetheless.
Now the cool air beneath the trees was free of bugs. Little purple and orange wildflowers bloomed along the path between patches of sorrel, harkening the arrival of spring. When Arthur had visited this place when he was young, his father had told him the leaves tasted like sour apples, and he’d chewed them all day until he got sick. Now he was sick just looking at them. This would be the last chance he had to see any of this. Even now, the sheriff must be searching for them—for Arthur—and tomorrow the FPI would add their resources to the effort. They’d need to be more than out of town by then; they’d need to be out of the country.
“Where will we go?” Arthur asked, snapping his head up to focus on the trail ahead. “We’ll have to get out of the States.”
“I’ve got some ideas.” Sal looped his fingers through Arthur’s. “Of course, it will have to be a country with legalized gay marriage. But not Canada—I’m still wanted for that little misunderstanding in the seventies, I expect. We might try somewhere in Europe. Amsterdam is quite nice, though people are so very tall there.” He frowned, no doubt thinking of the staircases and bicycles that were all made for people much taller than him. “I like the idea of Belgium as well, though I’ll need to brush up on my Flemish. They just have such delectable chocolates.”
As Salvatore rambled on, listing the pros and cons of different locales, Arthur couldn’t help but drag his feet. Salvatore was so worldly—such was the way of things, he supposed, when one survived for multiple centuries. But despite their jet-setting ways, Arthur had never dreamed of travel. Instead, he’d hoped only for a quiet life running a bed-and-breakfast in the country with his love. He didn’t want to drink expensive wine or climb the Eiffel Tower or see the Great Wall. He just wanted to settle down somewhere quiet where he could plant hydrangeas and stay long enough to see them bloom.
But perhaps Trident Falls wasn’t meant to be.
The hike passed quickly. Salvatore became a silent presence by Arthur’s side, which was the most unusual thing about the experience. When the path opened up to reveal the falls, Arthur took a long moment to admire them. The sun was at the perfect angle, sending rainbows through the mist at their base, making the tumbling water sparkle like Salvatore on his way to a drag show as Miss Keto Bite.
“What are we doing here?” Arthur asked at last, as they stoodwatching the falls split into three near the bottom, giving them their trident shape, which looked rather more like a pitchfork now.
“They’ll be searching for you in town or back home. You hate hiking, so this is the last place people will think to look.” Salvatore sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m going to run back to the inn and get Rumble and some necessities.”
“What if they catch you?” A spark of anxiety flared in Arthur’s stomach.
“Contrary to popular belief, Icanbe quiet. And it’s not me they’ll be after. Don’t worry, my love. Wait here. Soak in all this dreadful nature. I’ll return before you know it.”
Sal pecked him on the cheek and turned to head down the trail. He paused, though, one foot raised in a forward march, before doubling back to kiss Arthur properly. Sal was a solid presence against Arthur’s chest, one hand clenched around the fabric of Arthur’s jacket, the other threaded through Arthur’s short hair. The embrace was long enough to make Arthur’s heart hurt, but short enough that he knew there’d be another. It was a promise, the sort that made Arthur as sick as a handful of wood sorrel. When Sal returned, it would mean the end of their life here in Trident Falls.
“It’s going to be okay. You’ll see,” Sal said in a remarkably Arthur-ish manner when he pulled away, then vanished into the trees.
Arthur stared after him a moment, the wheels of his mind spinning without gaining traction. Arthur had spent well over half his existence—and nearly all his undeath—traveling around with Salvatore. He’d enjoyed it, but moving was more fun when it was a choice. Salvatore would breeze into whatever château or villa or atmospheric, creaking old house they were staying in and start chattering on about some new locale where one of his manyacquaintances was, and before Arthur knew it they’d be off. Arthur often joked that he and Salvatore had spent decades on their honeymoon.
Trident Falls was supposed to be the end of the honeymoon and the beginning of their life together. A home. A business. A future. If only Arthur had been smarter, more observant, he could’ve solved George Roth’s murder before everything fell apart.
His hand twitched toward his pocket where his detective notebook rested, full of clues. But there was no point. It was over. This wasn’t a clever book or TV show where the hero was as beefy as he was smart and had an arsenal of legal knowledge as powerful as his weapons. Arthur didn’t have guns—of any variety—and he wasn’t sure it would help the situation if he did. No, this was not the time to fight. It was the time to flee.
Arthur sat down on the overlook, dangling his legs over the ledge and letting the roar of the waterfall fill his brain. This close to the water, the air was humid enough to make his clothes and skin feel damp, but for once he didn’t mind. It made his outsides match his insides, he supposed, weighed down and ragged.
True to his word, Salvatore returned, several bags and no complaints in hand. Salvatore was always the first to grumble about alleged blisters on his feet or a misty brow, so his silence spoke volumes about the seriousness of the situation. Rumble poked her head from the fuchsia bag on Sal’s back. Her ears were perked at attention, as if she could sense the axis of the world shifting.
“It’s okay, little one,” Arthur said, more for his own benefit than the cat’s, but still Rumble settled at his words. Arthur reached for the largest of the bags in Sal’s arms. “Here, let me help.”
“Careful. It’s heavy.”
Arthur nearly buckled under the weight. “What did you bring? Your entire shoe collection?”
“Ice packs.” Sal didn’t even acknowledge Arthur’s jab. “And all the blood we had on hand.”
