Page 32 of Soothsayer

Number one thing on the agenda: get decent and get some food. Number two: get moving, but mindfully. I’d always hated that word—it was the sort of thing Marisol would throw out every now and then when she was in a particularly new-agey mindset, but right now, it seemed pretty cogent. I needed to be mindful of Sören most of all. I mean, yes, mindful of his vengeful relatives too, but if I couldn’t hang on to the landvættir on my own, all of my problems became purely academic because I’d probably be dead. So. Bathroom, clothes, find Sören, get us some food, and get out of here. We’d make it to Santa Rosa when we made it.

I put on jeans and a T-shirt, covered my more distinctive tattoos with my suit jacket, the only part of the getup that had mostly survived the carnage of yesterday, and headed for the office. I hadn’t looked too closely at the kid who’d checked us in last night, but I’d seen enough to get a glimpse of what he spent most of his time on.

My hunch was correct. Sören was there, sitting cross-legged on the grimy floor in yesterday’s clothes, dual-playing with thekid as they shot up purple aliens on a screen that was way too small to be good for this.

“The one on the left, the left. Switch guns!” the kid insisted.

Sören switched to something that shot grenades and fired.

“Better. You’ve gotta be ready to change things up, otherwise you’ll be overwhelmed. I can’t believe you’ve never played this before.”

“Me neither.” Sören seemed to be enjoying himself. He looked over at me as I approached and grinned. Apparently we were moving on from the trauma of last night without another word. I was absolutely fine with that. “You and I haven’t played this game. Why not?”

“I think it’s too new for us to have played it.”

“It came out last year,” the kid scoffed. “That’s not new. And by the way, if you’re not out by ten, we’re charging you for another day.”

It was already nine forty-five. Wow. We—at least, me—had slept a lot. “I’ll go load up the car and get the key.” I left with only a tiny sigh of relief at having found Sören safe and sound and headed back to the room. I stuffed my clothes into the duffel bag, silently promised myself I would get some new gear soon, made sure the weapons were secure, and then…

God, I wanted to use my phone. Apart from the fact that it had GPS and I could look up directions on it and a zillion other useful little things, I felt kind of naked without it. I was cut off from my network, my community. I couldn’t turn the thing on without worrying about it being traced by Papa Egilsson, though. So that meant I was stuck with finding a payphone, if those even existed anymore, or borrowing someone else’s phone, which came with a certain amount of risk attached for the person I was borrowing from. For all I knew, Egilsson could track Sören remotely with magic, no need for technology, but I didn’t have to make his job any easier on him.

Payphones it was. Which meant I needed a way to occupy Sören while I made some calls, which meant that I really hoped he ate food. I threw my stuff in the car and went back to the front desk, where the two of them were still playing.

“We’ve got to go,” I told Sören, who frowned at me. “I’ll buy you a Switch, okay?”

“When?”

“After we get something to eat.” I turned to look at the kid. “Is there a decent diner in this town?”

“There’s a Denny’s two blocks that way.” He pointed west. I felt my lips purse involuntarily.

“Is there anything better?”

The kid raised an eyebrow at me. “Have you seen this place?”

Good point. “Denny’s it is.” I expected an argument from Sören, but he stood up without any prompting and left the office without bothering to say good-bye.

“Weird guy,” the kid said.

“You have no idea.” I handed the key over. “If anyone asks, we were never here.”

“Who would ask?”

“Hopefully no one.”

“I was wrong,” the kid muttered. “You’re both equally weird.”

He had a point. I left and joined Sören in the Electra. It started smoothly enough, despite the hell we’d put it through in the past eighteen hours. “Are you a breakfast person?” I asked him as I backed out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“I don’t need to eat much.”

“Does that mean you don’t like Belgian waffles?” There was the Denny’s, yellow and red and gross all over. I tended not to like places like this because I’d eaten at way too many of them as a kid, and living with Marisol had spoiled me. On the other hand, they were cheap and plentiful and, more importantly, there was a payphone on the sidewalk just in front of it.

“I’ve never had a Belgian waffle.”

“You’re in for a treat, then.” I parked, and we got out. “Unless eating makes you sick, in which case, we should avoid this place.”

“It’s not a problem for me; it just isn’t a vital necessity like it is for you,” Sören said as we walked into the restaurant. There were probably twenty booths and tables, and only two of them were occupied. The hostess/waitress, a bored-looking woman with dark skin and bright red lipstick, showed us to a table and handed over menus.

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