Page 122 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Gurlien twists to glance at their packed belongings, then back at the table, at the gutted laptop, then up at Chloe. “See, knew you could do that. The electronics didn’t have a chance against you.”

Maison exhales, then shakes out his hands, and Delina catches a glimpse of red in his eyes.

Chloe scrubs her hand through her hair, and she’s sweaty. “That fucking sucked.”

“Any surveillance?” Gurlien asks, and Maison nods his head. “The demon trap still there?”

Delina thinks of the burning, warping trap of red through the white snow. “Still pretty vivid.”

“If we’re going to leave, it should be tonight,” Maison says, and despite the command in his voice, his jaw tightens and he shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s saying. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

“Yes,” Delina interrupts, almost before he’s finished talking.

Gurlien and Chloe look at each other, having another one of their long conversations with just glances.

“It’ll take more planning,” Chloe says, finally, her face twisted. “I know it like the back of my hand, I can get us through most of the traps.”

“And I’ll be able to identify and explain the ones you don’t know,” Gurlien says, before he sighs. “Yeah, fuck them. Let’s figure out how to do this.”

34

They leave the cabin in the middle of the night, piling half the research into the ratty little sedan and half into Chloe’s car.

Delina brews enough espresso shots for them to stay awake all night, and shoves the photo book into the trunk of the car, even though they’re short on space.

She puts the dead bug in her pocket, still in the plastic pill container, breathing past the sensation.

If that demon is waiting for them on the other side of the barrier, she wants to be prepared.

Chance the cat jumps into Gurlien’s lap in the car, curling up like it’s the couch, so Chloe runs back in and grabs the remaining cat food before they’re all off, the tires crunching through the snow.

Delina twists to watch the cabin disappear between the trees, her heart caught in her throat.

“You’ll be able to go back,” Maison says, even without looking at her as he drives away.

Delina swallows that down, but doesn’t look away until even the gravel driveway is away from her view.

“This is gonna be bright,” Maison mutters, cranking down his window, staring at the drone sitting idle on one stone.

Delina twists back in her chair, just in time to see him clench his fist and yank, before the drone explodes into a million sparks.

She blinks at it, and in a moment they’re past.

“They’ll know that was one of us,” she says dumbly.

“And now they’ll have no footage,” Maison says, succinct. “I’m fine with that.”

Halfway down the street to the main highway, Maison leans across her and pulls out her burner cell phone from the glove compartment, not breaking his eye contact with the road.

“Wanna text your dad?” he asks, and Delina perks up. “We’re leaving here, you can throw the phone out the window afterwards, they won’t know where we’re going.”

“He’s gonna be asleep,” Delina warns, but cradles the phone anyways. “He’s gotta be worried out of his mind.”

She clicks on her phone as they drive through the dark, and the silence gets filled with beeps.

DAD (10:21 AM): Maison stopped by.

DAD (10:39 AM): I told him you were helping a friend, tried to get him to stay a few hours, he wouldn’t. Stressed out of his mind, he will definitely track you down. Stay safe.

---