Page 111 of American Hellhound
“You’re a minor.”
“But old enough not to be taken in by lies. Forgive me, Mrs. Davis, but this is the first time we’ve ever spoken, and anything you know about me you’ve learned from other people. People who have no idea what’s really happening. I guess I don’t understand why this conversation is about what’s been saidaboutme, rather than what I’ve said myself.”
The counselor sat staring, mouth open, flabbergasted.
“If there’s anything you’d like to ask me, I’ll be happy to answer your questions,” Maggie said, recognizing her mother’s imperial tone in her own voice. “Otherwise, I’m missing an important calculus lecture.”
Later, she would look back on this moment and realize that it was the end of Margarete Lowe: Very Nice Girl, and the beginning of Maggie Lowe: Not To Be Fucked With.
~*~
“I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll try to call when I’m on the way back – but, wait, that’ll wake you up.” He was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop. “Do you–”
“It’s fine,” Maggie assured, smiling. “Go do what you need to.”
Maggie had come home from school today…different. It wasn’t that she’d changed – she was the same gorgeous girl he’d kissed goodbye that morning – but she seemed…settled. More firmly present in her own skin. He hadn’t noticed that she was uneasy before, but now she wasn’t, all relaxed and loose-limbed, her smiles easy, and he noticedthat.
When he’d told her Duane needed him tonight, she hadn’t wrinkled her nose or made any unhappy remarks about dealing. She’d smiled and asked if he wanted dinner before he left. (She was making lasagna; his stomach was too nervous to handle something that heavy.)
“Keep the door locked,” he said, shrugging into his backpack. “And call Jackie if you need anything – number’s on the fridge.”
“Yes, I know.”
He frowned to himself. He needed to teach her how to shoot. Soon. He didn’t like the idea of her here alone with no way to defend herself.
“It’sfine,” she said, as if reading his mind, and moved into him, hands on his chest, eyes wide and full of affection. He didn’t deserve her.
“I don’t like leaving you alone after dark.”
“I know. But it’s just for tonight, not for forever.”
Wasn’t it, though? He couldn’t imagine a forever that didn’t involve nefarious night errands at Duane’s behest.
He flashed her a tight smile. “Don’t wait up.”
One kiss turned into two, to three, and not surprisingly, he was the last to arrive at the clubhouse. It was a moonless, overcast night, the property flat and featureless under a monochromatic sky. Light blazed in the clubhouse windows, casting Duane in a hellish light; he sat on a picnic table, face a shadow, cherry of his cigarette kicking sparks up into his eyes. For a brief moment, before he parked, Ghost was convinced he was looking at a real hellhound, that the Lean Dog on the back of their cuts wasn’t just a legend.
Then he told himself to quit being stupid and walked to meet the others.
“Nice of you to show up,” Roman said. He was already sitting astride his bike, backpack and helmet on, being the outlaw version of a suckup as usual.
Justin stood beside his own bike, looking less than sober.
“He okay to ride?” Ghost asked.
“He’s fine,” Duane said. “Go load up.”
As he passed through the common room on the way to the office, he spotted Duane’s new favorite groupie, Jasmine, sitting alone on one of the sofas, statue-still with her hands wrapped around a plastic cup, gaze fixed in the middle distance. Her lip was split, the corner of her mouth the grapefruit-pink of a fresh bruise.
Ghost paused. “Hey.” Again, when she didn’t respond, “Hey.”
She came to life with a startled jerk, head whipping toward him. “W-w-what?”
He hadn’t spent much time with her, but he didn’t remember her having a stutter. “You okay?”
Her eyes dropped to the floor. “Yeah. I’m okay.” Her voice thin and wavering.
“What happened to your face?”
