“I think it’s ready,” Noah said.
“Stop that. Stop. It’s creepy.”
He shot a glance to Noah in the rearview mirror and regretted it; the dead boy was more frightening in reflections. Much less living.
Noah knew it; he ducked out of the mirror’s view.
From outside the car, Blue’s voice rose. “How would you feel if I reduced you to your legs?”
Adam and Noah craned to look out the back window.
Blue’s voice came again. “No. No. How about you see it my way? How about you don’t reduce me to a commodity and then, when I ask you not to, tell me it’s a compliment and I should be glad for it?”
Noah’s mouth made an oooo shape.
“Yeah,” Adam agreed, climbing out.
Blue stood a few feet away. She wore a big boxy T-shirt, teal shorts, combat boots, and socks that came up over her knees. Only four inches of bare skin were visible, but they were a really nice four inches.
An old man wearing a seed cap was saying, “Little lady, one day you’ll remember the days people told you that you had nice legs as a good memory.”
Adam braced for the explosion.
It was nails and dynamite. “Good — memory? Oh, I wish I were as ignorant as you! What happiness! There are girls who kill themselves over negative body image and you —”
“Is there a problem here?” Adam broke in.
The man seemed relieved. People were always pleased to see clean, muted Adam, the deferential Southern voice of reason. “Your girlfriend’s quite a firecracker.”
Adam stared at the man. Blue stared at Adam.
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t worth it — that he’d grown up with this sort of man and knew they were untrainable — but then she’d throw the thermos at Adam’s head and probably slap that guy in the mouth. It was amazing that she and Ronan didn’t get along better, because they were different brands of the same impossible stuff.
“Sir,” Adam started — Blue’s eyebrows spiked — “I think maybe your mama didn’t teach you how to talk to women.”
The old man shook his head at Adam, like in pity.
Adam added, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”
Blue flashed him a brilliant look of approval, and then she got into the car with a dramatic door slam Ronan would have approved of.
“Look, kid,” the old man started.
Adam interrupted, “Your fuel door’s open, by the way.”
He climbed back into his little, shitty car, the one Ronan called the Hondayota. He felt heroic for no good reason. Blue simmered righteously as they pulled out of the station. For a few moments, there was nothing but the labored sound of the little car’s breathing.
Then Noah said, “You do have nice legs, though.”
Blue swung at him. A helpless laugh escaped Adam, and she hit his shoulder, too.
“Did you get the water at least?” he asked.
She sloshed the thermos to demonstrate success. “I also brought some jet. It’s supposed to be good protection while you’re scrying.”
“We’re scrying?” Noah sat up straight.
Adam struggled to explain. “Cabeswater speaks one language, and I speak another. I can get the broad idea from reading the cards. But it’s harder to get the specifics of how to fix the alignment. So I’m scrying. I do it all the time. It’s just efficient, Noah.”
“An efficient way to get your naked soul stolen by forces of raw evil, maybe,” Noah said.
Blue exchanged a look with Adam. “I don’t believe in raw evil.”
Noah said, “It doesn’t care if you believe in it.”
She turned in her seat to face him. “I don’t normally like to point out when you’re being creepy. But you are.”
The dead boy retreated farther into the backseat; the air warmed marginally as he did. “He already called me creepy today.”
“Tell me more about the aligning stuff,” Blue said to Adam. “Tell me why it wants you to.”
“I don’t understand how it matters.”
She made a noise of profound exasperation. “Even putting aside every single spiritual consideration, or, or, mythological consideration, or anything that actually means anything, you’re manipulating this massive energy source that seems to communicate directly into your head in a different language, and that, to me, seems like something I would have a lot of questions about if I were you!”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But I do. You’re driving all the way out here, and you don’t even ask why?”
Adam didn’t reply, because his reply wouldn’t have been civil.
His silence, however, seemed to be worse. She snapped, “If you didn’t want to talk, I don’t know why you asked me if I wanted to come!”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“Right, who wants someone who thinks along with them!”
He reined himself in, with effort. With only a little barbed wire in his tone, he said, “I just want to get this done.”
“Just put me out here. I’ll walk back.”
He slammed on the brakes. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“Do it, then!” She already had her hand on the door handle.
“Guys,” Noah wailed.
The best and worst thing about Blue Sargent was that she meant what she said; she really would walk herself back to Henrietta if he stopped now. He grimaced at her. She grimaced back.
Don’t fight with Blue. Don’t fight with Gansey.
With a sigh, he sped up again.
Blue got herself back together and then turned on the radio.
Adam hadn’t even realized the ancient tape deck worked, but after a hissing few seconds, a tape inside jangled a tune. Noah began to sing along at once.
“Squash one, squash two —”
Adam pawed for the radio at the same time as Blue. The tape ejected with enough force that Noah stretched a hand to catch it.
“That song. What are you doing with that in your player?” demanded Blue. “Do you listen to that recreationally? How did that song escape from the Internet?”
Noah cackled and showed them the cassette. It boasted a handmade label marked with Ronan’s handwriting: PARRISH’S HONDAYOTA ALONE TIME. The other side was A SHITBOX SING-ALONG.
“Play it! Play it!” Noah said gaily, waving the tape.
“Noah. Noah! Take that away from him,” Adam said.
Ahead of them, the entrance for Skyline Drive loomed. Adam was ready this time; he opened his wallet as they coasted closer. Inside nestled precisely fifteen dollars.
Blue handed over a five. “My contribution.”
There was a pause.
He took it.
At the window, he exchanged their combined funds for a map, which he gave back to Blue. As he headed into a slanted parking area shortly beyond the entrance, he uncertainly examined his pride for damage and was surprised to find none.
“Is this the right place?” she asked. “Do you need our fifteen-dollar map?”
Adam said, “I’ll know in a second. We can get out.”
Before them, the ground dropped sharply into a bottomless ravine; behind them, the mountains ascended darkly. The air was clouded with the pleasant and dangerous scent of woodsmoke: Somewhere, one of these autumn mountains was on fire. Adam squinted until he found its source, smoke shrouding a distant peak. From this far away, it seemed more magical than threatening.