Page 53 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
Liv huffed and kicked the helmet. A loud clang rang out. My eyes widened, and even Dove’s mouth dropped open.
“What the—!” Greg gasped, grabbing his friend by the scruff. “You hear that, Tuck? This statue is a hotbed of—”
Liv kicked the helmet again.
Greg whooped. “Hot damn! We’ve gotintelligentenergy, people!”
“My tenth-grade teacher didn’t think so,” Liv called down, a satisfied smirk on her face.
People were beginning to gather now. The few stragglers who had originally stopped for a photo with the giant were slowly forming a crowd around Greg and Tuck, who was spinning in a circle muttering something about ley lines. I pulled off my aviators and rubbed my face.
“I’m going,” I said loudly to Dove, and loud enough for Liv to hear. “Be in the car or don’t.”
She sighed, clearly disappointed. “All right. Let’s go.”
We trudged back to the car in silence. I found myself running my fingernail along the inside of my palm, trying to ground the rising frustration in my chest.
We were officially, at minimum, an hour and a half behind schedule.
DOVE
Tip #8: Check the wind before getting sentimental. Nobody wants Grandma as a setting powder.
The Motel 6 looked exactly how I felt as we rolled up in the early afternoon. Tired, gray around the edges, and in desperate need of something greasy and fried. It was just after 2 p.m., an hour behind schedule, according to the terrifying file in my lap, but we had made it. I was looking forward to freshening up and eating.
My legs ached from being seated so long, and the tension in the car had grown so thick I was dying to escape it, too.
Ellis had barely said a word since we left the Gemini Giant, and Liv, miraculously, wasn’t offering her usual running commentary either. She sat silent in the back seat, eyes closed as if she were sleeping. Maybe she was. I didn’t know enough about the afterlife to say she wasn’t, but the fact that her chest didn’t rise or fall kind of freaked me out.
I eyed the tote bag strapped into the backseat beside her, Margaret’s ashes snug and safe.
Ellis pulled the car into a parking spot out front of the main building, her jaw set and hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing holding her to Earth. The second the engine cut off, she got out, muttering, “I’ll check us in,” before heading toward the reception door faster than I could blink.
“She’s a real treat,” Liv said from behind me.
“I think she’s just a little tired,” I murmured, then opened my door, groaning softly as I stretched my legs and cracked my back.
Liv floated out of the car and made her way toward reception, and I hurried to follow. I doubted Ellis would appreciate any more Liv-inspired interruptions right now.
The door dragged hard across the old carpet, making a horrible screech as the scent of cigarette smoke and dust filled my nostrils. The aluminum blinds on the door clattered, and I grimaced, my eyes drifting toward the front desk where Ellis stood, watching me with incredulous eyes.
Behind the counter stood a woman who looked like she’d lived through several wars and lost all of them. Short gray hair, a no-nonsense, weathered face, and lips that probably hadn’t smiled since Reagan was president.
“… as I was saying,” Ellis continued, turning back to the woman, “I need two rooms, please.”
The woman clicked around her screen slowly, typing with two long, pointed fingers. The machine looked older than I was. It reminded me of the computer Margaret had when I was a toddler. I only knew it existed because of the photos of me, her, and the boxy monitor in the background.
“Only got the one room, sweetheart,” the woman croaked, her voice rough from years of smoking. “Two twin beds, though. Other than that, we’re booked.”
“Okay,” Ellis said coolly.
She took the keys without another word and turned on her heel, brushing past me and ignoring Liv, who was currently inspecting a plastic plant coated in dust. Ellis yanked the door open and disappeared back into the afternoon.
A grim smile tugged at my lips as I nodded to the woman, then hurried after Ellis, slipping through the open door before it could shut, avoiding the ordeal of dragging it open again.
Ellis was already at the Mustang, unloading her two bags. I grabbed my duffel from the footwell on the passenger side, along with the binder, and wordlessly watched as she locked the car and headed toward the rooms. She inspected the key as she walked, her shuffling steps growing more confident until she strode forward with purpose.
“Did you guys prebook anything?” I asked tentatively as she halted outside a white wooden door and jammed the key into the lock.
