Aspen Read Free Page B

life in a plume of exhaust and a rattle that shook the cab. The transmission clacked, the brakes hissed and they were off again, crawling across the lot and accelerating onto the highway. Once they were up to travel speed, Mack fished a donut out of the bag and handed the rest to Aspen, who retrieved her own snack and placed the bag on the console between them. She nibbled on the donut and watched Mack, who for the most part ignored her, his attention on the task of eating and driving without crushing any of the other vehicles around them.
    “The side of my head is starting to burn, kid,” he said.
    Aspen looked away. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
    Mack licked jelly off one of his fingers. “Thinking what?”
    “That you weren’t always a truck driver.”
    Mack glanced at her. “Nobody is born behind the wheel.”
    Aspen laughed. “You know what I mean, you used to do something else. Maybe even still do. Something important.”
    Mack finished his donut and pulled the chewed end of his cigar out of his pocket. He lit it with the lighter stud on the console and took a drag before looking back at Aspen. “You’re a very observant girl, Aspen. You remind me of one of my daughters. No, I wasn’t always a driver. I used to be a cop, back in the day.”
    Aspen leaned back in her seat, which was more like a recliner than anything else. “Why did you quit?”
    Mack exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I didn’t quit, I moved on. It’s a long story.”
    “We have a long road ahead,” Aspen replied.
    Mack chuckled and flicked ash out the window. “Maybe later. Get some sleep and let me drive.”
    Aspen curled up in her seat and drifted into a fitful sleep. Though they would part in just a few hours, Aspen would see him again in seven years’ time.

CHAPTER TWO
    St. Louis, Missouri, Smokin’ Guns Diner, Five Years Later
    Smokin’ Guns Diner had once been a truck stop on Route 66 back when the 66 was the main thoroughfare from Chicago to California. It had become a diner and motel in the 80s and later been adopted as a refuge for those eager to avoid the prying eyes of the law. Everyone from down on their luck gamblers to so-called ‘monster hunters’ gravitated to it for the food, comfort and sense of safety found within its old chrome walls and battered but clean rooms.
    It wasn’t much to look at. The chrome had seen better days and was now stained and pitted with age, the windows had turned yellow in the Missouri heat and the old neon sign sputtered and sparked in the rain, sometimes so bad it shorted out.
    The inside wasn’t much better, just a dozen cracked red vinyl booths flanking a long counter and another twenty red vinyl stools. An antique jukebox sat at one end, a payphone and restrooms at the other.
    Aspen hummed to herself and rubbed down the scarred Formica countertop with a rag that smelled of an odd mix of soap and egg. No matter what she did, the dishrags at Smokin’ Guns always smelled like fried eggs.
    The diner had once required waitresses to wear yellow dresses with white aprons, but the current owner, Creek Jackson, had come to his senses and Aspen was dressed in a pair of jeans and a white camisole. The cross Raven had given her hung from a chain around her neck as did the amulet that protected her from prying Fae eyes. The cross was identical to Raven’s save that the name Aspen was engraved in the back; the amulet was a simple pentacle of silver with a purple stone in the center. It was plain and that was how Aspen preferred it. Curiosity meant prying eyes, which was the last thing she wanted.
    She scrubbed at a wad of egg and cheese stuck to the counter and sighed. What she wanted was to go home. She missed Raven terribly and the longer she was away, the stronger the ache in her heart became. She imagined she could feel their link growing weaker with each day, but she knew that was impossible.
    “Why did I even leave?”
    A customer sitting nearby, a retired hunter named Clay, looked up from