Page 57 of Waysider
“And no one drives Betty except for me,” Webster added as she turned away.
Everyone in the hallway started walking toward the back exit. Cass found herself behind Wolfgang, and she thought of that fiver she’d seen Frenchie give him.
“So what was the bet?” Cass asked, keeping her voice low.
Frenchie still heard her. “Oh, you saw that, did you? Good eye you’ve got there.”
Down the hall, slightly ahead of them, Chad was talking to the Shadowrippers. His voice bounced off the walls, loud enough to disguise any other conversations that might be happening. Wolfgang didn’t look at Cass as he answered. “I told Frenchie that Crane wouldn’t show, because he never shows when he’s assigned to a Haunting. Something always comes up for the pretty little rich boy. The first time it was a fever, poor thing. He missed the next one because he was out of town and never saw the slip. Once, he sprained his ankle during practice, delicate flower.”
Cass frowned. “If Teddy never makes it to a Haunting, how is he at the top of the scoreboard?”
“There’s more than one way to gain points,” Frenchie told her.
“Good thing, too, or the pretty boy wouldn’t even be on the board,” Wolfgang put in. “But Frenchie is a hopeless optimist, so he made a bad bet.”
“And what is so terrible about believing the best in people?” Frenchie shrugged his slender shoulders. “Sometimes, they actually come through, and that feels really good.”
“Optimism gets you killed.” Wolfgang’s voice was flat. As the other half of the group reached the doors, and the sound echoed back to them, Cass glanced at him sidelong. She couldn’t help but wonder what Wolfgang’s NDE had been—he had the same emptiness in his eyes that she saw every time she looked into the mirror.
“Agreed,” Cass said softly. Wolfgang’s gaze flicked to hers, and she got the distinct impression she’d startled him. A moment later, he opened the door for her. Cass shot the boy a brief smile as she passed.
“Hey now. I had dibs,” she heard Frenchie say. Wolfgang didn’t answer.
One by one, they piled into Webster’s van. Or Betty, as she was apparently called. Webster and Sinister sat in the front. Cass and Camille ended up in the middle, and the three boys crowded in the backseat. The engine turned over with a worrying sputter.
“Don’t worry,” Webster shouted, smacking the dashboard. “It always sounds like that!”
Cass looked over at Camila with raised brows. The other girl’s eyes shone with amusement, and Cass chose that moment to remember what Finch had said about Dreamwalkers. Space cadets. Maybe Camila just wasn’t afraid of dying in a fiery crash. If they did, at least it would be quick, unlike the first time Cass had croaked—but she wasn’t sure what came afterward. That was the part she was most afraid of. Finding out about ghosts and a place in between worlds had only created more questions. What if she didn’t end up in the same place as Cal? What if she left him all alone?
As Webster changed the radio station and changed gears, Cass put on her seatbelt. A second later, the van lurched from the curb. Sinister grabbed hold of his armrests. “Jesus, Webs,” he muttered.
“We’ve been over this. I’ll get the new parts on my birthday. My grandma always sends me a check.”
“I told you, I can loan you the goddamn money, it’s not a—”
“Not now, Sin.”
The Shadowrippers went quiet. “Sweet Dreams” floated past Cass’s ears, carried on a breeze that slipped through the open window. She rested her temple against her fist and gazed out at the California landscape, marveling at how different it was from New York. She wished she’d been able to talk to her brother before she left, but Cal had never reappeared after their argument.
The drive took forty-five minutes. For most of it, Cass just listened to the voyants around her. They talked about everything from lacrosse to Reagan. At one point Sinister gave Camila a manila folder, which made its way around the van. Then Cass felt someone lean over the seat, and a burst of cologne overpowered her senses.
“There it is,” Chad said, squeezing her shoulder, as if she’d been asleep or something. Cass was already looking out the window, so of course she saw it. A mansion rested on the dark hill above them. There wasn’t a single light on, and the only reason the house was discernible amongst the dark landscape was because of the moonlight.
At first, there was nothing creepy about it. The family obviously had money—like, a lot of money. These were the kind of people who played tennis and owned a fleet of Porsches, and the house looked new. New houses usually meant no ghosts, so something must’ve happened here pretty recently. The thought made Cass’s skin crawl.
The van climbed up a winding driveway. They hadn’t gotten very far when a gate appeared, framed by two brick columns. On the left side, there was a piece of white machinery, shaped like a small tower. As Webster pulled alongside it, Cass noted the smattering of holes in the center. It looked like the speaker on a boombox. Sinister leaned over his girlfriend to get closer to the window. Cass noted the place where his chest touched Webster’s shoulder.
“We’re from the Else & Bellows Institute,” he said, and Cass twitched with surprise. It was jarring to hear him talk like that. Sinister had a soft voice; a kind voice. This was the voice of a trained Shadowripper.
No response came from the speaker. They waited for several seconds.
“Perhaps he’s taking a shit,” Frenchie whispered loudly, shrugging. Muffled laughter floated through the van. Sinister twisted in his seat and shot them a glare. Before he could tell everyone to shut the hell up, a sound floated through the night, and then there was movement in front of them. Cass had never seen electric gates before. She watched them slide open with raised brows, and then Webster drove through. Cass’s stomach twisted in a rush of dread.
Wait, she wanted to say. Stop. Go back.
But she didn’t say a word. Cass prayed she wouldn’t remember this moment later and regret it.
The house was even bigger than she’d thought. It loomed over them like a sleeping giant. During the daytime, or when every light was on, Cass could imagine it differently. Elegant and beautiful, with its sandstone walls and huge windows. But in its current state, it looked like a hulking shape, emanating a silent warning to stay away. There was a fountain directly in front of the wooden doors, and despite this place’s size, there was only one car parked in the circular driveway.
