Page 1 of The Nightmare's Kiss

1

Chapter One

Stepping off the plane and back into Ash Valley doesn’t feel like coming home. It feels like retreating with my tail between my legs. Or—since I’m feeling especially dramatic today—maybe more like limping home from a lost war with nothing but the scars to show for it. Except in this case, the war is college and the scars are a useless degree and a whole lot of student debt.

It’s humiliating, returning to the tiny town I swore I’d never return to. I worked so hard to get out of here. When I first received my acceptance letter from USC, I cried from happiness. I was even a little smug about it, to be honest; no one had expected much from little Mara with the wild hair and skinned knees.

Now, here I am. Back to the dust and the heat of small-town Arizona.

Coming from LAX, the Ash Valley airport is stiflingly quiet and empty. Half of the restaurant options are shuttered even though it’s midday, leaving a single, sad coffee stand and a booth selling some incredible looking nachos. But even that only makes me think of all the Los Angeles food I’m going to miss.

The fact that one of my suitcase’s wheels is sticking feels like being kicked while I’m already down. I grumble as I yank it along, already starting to sweat even though I haven’t stepped out of the airport and into the sweltering glare of the sun yet. I eventually give up and lift the bag in my arms, waddling ungracefully until I reach the escalator.

It eases the sting when I look down and see my parents waiting for me near the luggage pick-up area. I haven’t seen them in person in almost a year. I had convinced myself that video calls were enough, but the pang in my chest right now is an argument to the contrary. God, I missed them.

My dad is stoic beneath his mustache, as usual, but he’s craning his neck to look for me in a way he probably thinks is subtle. And my mom, standing next to him, looks ecstatic. When she sees me, she jumps and waves her hands like I might not notice her in the almost-empty airport.

I manage a small smile, and cradle my bag awkwardly with one arm so I can wave. There’s a very short list of things I love about my hometown, but my parents are on it.

And they look good. I worried that my leaving would be hard for them, but it seems like they’ve adapted well to the empty nest. As I reach the end of the escalator, I notice that they both have new lines on their faces and streaks of gray in their hair, but they look happier, too.

“Sweetie,” my mom says, throwing her arms around my neck and hugging me around the bulk of my suitcase. “Oh, honey, welcome home.”

It doesn’t feel like home.Home,for the last few years, has been a tiny studio apartment with walls full of horror movie posters and a neighbor who plays soft jazz every evening. Friday nights with my friends and cheap wine. Quiet Sundays spent lounging in bed, enjoying my solitude. But I don’t tell her that.

“I missed you,” I say, because it’s kinder and still true. Once she releases me, I set down my suitcase, step over to my dad, and hug him as well. He pats me on the back, clearing his throat; it feels lackluster, but I know he’s just not very good with emotional moments. My mom, meanwhile, is sniffling quietly at his side. “You both look great.”

“I’ve been getting your dad to join me on my morning walks,” my mom says, dabbing at her eyes. “And yoga, occasionally.”

I raise my eyebrows at him as I pull back from the hug. I’m trying to imagine him doing yoga, with his mustache and his stern expression, but I just can’t wrap my head around it.

“Lies and slander,” he says, stone-faced.

“Maybe you can join us next time,” my mom says, perking up.

My lips curve into a smile. Early morning walks and yoga do not sound like a good time to me, but it’d be worth it to witness my dad participating. “As long as he’s there.”

My mom continues chattering as I go to retrieve my luggage, giving me updates on her garden and the neighbors and the changes to the school board. I nod like I’m listening while a quiet devastation grows in my chest. God, this is what I’ve definitelynotmissed about living in a small town: the sleepiness that gives people nothing better to do than gossip. Everybody sticking their noses into each other’s business. My return will likely be the talk of the town in a place like this, and I’m not eager to face the judging eyes and probing questions.

The moment we step outside, the heat hits me like a physical weight. Away, it was easy to forget quite how this feels—like the very air is oppressive, so hot and dry it seems to suck the moisture out of me with every breath. My feet drag, every step taking extra energy, the heat of the asphalt radiating through the soles of my sneakers. I imagine I can feel my skin sizzling on the short walk to the car.

My dad insists on grabbing everything other than my carry-on suitcase himself, despite my protests. He huffs and puffs his way through the parking lot, his face beet red and increasingly sweaty as we make our way out. But I can barely handle my suitcase with its faulty wheel, so I can’t offer much assistance, and he’d rather die than “make” me or my mom carry anything anyway. My mother, oblivious, trails behind us and continues talking.

“Oh, and Ethan Mayhew is back in town,” she says, a sentence that cuts through the blur of other noise.

I jerk to a stop, and then pretend it was just to adjust my sweaty grip on my carry-on. “Oh? I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t you keep up with him on the internet?” she asks, blinking blithely.

“I don’t go on social media much,” I lie. “It’s for old people now, Mom.” The truth is that I have him blocked on all platforms, but she doesn’t need to know that. Nobody needs to know the truth about what happened between me and Ethan—especially since I doubt they’d believe me over Mr. Oh-so-Perfect.

“Oh, well,” she says, flapping a hand. “Anyway. He moved back… a year or two ago, I think? Not sure what he’s doing here, a smart boy like that, but rumor has it that he’s working at theFacility.”

She speaks the moniker in hushed tones, as people tend to do. And that bit of news catches my interest more than the stinging comment abouta smart boy like him, as if I’m not stuck in this small town too. “I didn’t know they hired locals.”

“Me neither. But then again, there aren’t many locals with a college degree, huh?”

“Hmm.” I turn and look off into the distance, though the Facility she named is currently hidden beyond the buildings of the town proper. “Interesting.”Veryinteresting. I resent my own curiosity, but I can’t fight it. The Facility is the best—and only—mystery this town has, and I’ve never had such a personal connection to it before.

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