We pull off at the next rest stop, a little shack that houses a restaurant and a small store. Despite the weathered appearance of the yellow outer walls, the indoors are clean and smell of frying meat and limes. A bell jangles overhead as we enter, a woman at the register looking up.

“Whoa… do you smell that? Mmm, am I drooling? I am, aren’t I?” Casper is already scanning the menu. “Could I get three- no, let’s do four; yeah, four is good- four of the tacos, please?  With the tamale and the burrito bowl- no, let’s do tamales too, and then we can-”

The floors themselves are freshly mopped, the clientele is small but cheerful, and somewhere in the background, a lazy song winds its way through to our ears. Murals surround us on orange walls. I bring Casper to a hot pink table, letting Mace settle in at my feet.

“But maybe I should try the torta-“

“He’ll have a number two, the five, and a seven.”  I pluck the menu from his hands and hand it over to the woman, who I’m reasonably sure was ready to beat him with it.

“Thank you,” The woman shoots another glare in Casper’s direction, but he’s already off and rambling about some Clan“delicacies,” I think I should have let her hit him.

“You know, I think she liked me,” He remarks thoughtfully, studying the hand-painted flowers on our table’s surface.

“You think everyone likes you.”

His eyes flick upward, and he smiles; he lets his teeth tug at his lower lip before he sits back.

“Stop it.” I try to distract myself with a saltshaker, and his response is to prop his chin up in his hand.

 He offers another smile, which makes your stomach do flip flops, and your chest tightens just a bit—his lips curve, only at the corner.

“They usually do, Toren,” He purrs. I hate that coaxing tone, intimate. Made for him and whoever he speaks with to share. I think about how long he worked on perfecting it, how much we practiced cultivating the right look, and how much it’s the opposite of everything Casper is.

“Stop it,” I repeat. I won’t let my friend get the better of me. I won’t let fear get the better of me.

“My apologies. Does it bother you?” He murmurs. His head tilts, one more disarming glint. I’m hoping Mace bites him, but the traitor dog only sighs and gets his head comfy on my feet.

“Shut up, Casper.”

He grins again, a real one that contorts his face and shows all his teeth. That wasn’t Casper; that was a stranger in a charming mask. One he’ll be putting on all too soon.

“So.” This time, he slides the saltshaker back and forth between his hands, almost shooting it off the table. “Have you thought about how you’ll introduce yourself to dream girl?”

I start at the ludicrous idea.

“That would be incredibly forward, don’t you think?”

He rolls his eyes but pauses to give our waitress the same smile I was “treated to” moments earlier. The waitress’s demeanor switches from cold indifference to a double-take and blushing. She puts down our drinks, stammers something about the kitchen making fresh chips, and asks if we would like a basket. We’re definitely in trouble.

“You can’t go up to a girl and say, ‘Hey, I dream about you; let’s check compatibility rates,” He continues when she’s hurried away. “You’ve got to sweep her off her feet, make her feel like the most special girl in the world.”

“That would be lying and displaying insincerity. I know nothing concrete about her.” I remind him.

He huffs at me and opens the little packet of crayons he swiped from one of the tables when we arrived.

“Look here.” He begins to make a list on one of our napkins. I can always appreciate a good list. “We need to make a list of what you know and how you can use it to make a good impression. Otherwise, you’ll turn into a crow and grunt at her or something,” he says, creating sections and headings—physical attributes, personality quirks, feelings, and miscellaneous.

“I do NOT grunt,” I grunt.

“You make a variety of noises without saying a word. And while I happen to be fluent in Finch, she is not. SO. What do we know?” He looks up at me and waits expectantly. I sip my cola and try to think.  I see how her smile is wide and laughing, I know that my feet feel lighter when I see her, and my sickness worsens.

“She makes me sick. That is- I think she has something to do with how I’ve been feeling,” I amend it. He writes that down under feelings, sighing heavily.

“Right, tip one, pal: don’t tell a girl she makes you sick. That’s usually the opposite of what you should be saying. What else?”

“She has brown eyes.” They’re always what I see first. They remind me of something, someone that I can’t place.

“Nice.”

He adds this observation to the list and looks up to ask another question when the door is thrown open, slamming up against the wall hard enough that the knob leaves a dent.

“What’s it take to get service around here?!” A booming voice demands. Our waitress hurries forward, neither her attitude nor shyness showing itself now. She has a notepad in her hands and the paper trembles. I’m already making myself fade into the background as unimposing as possible. So long as we aren’t confrontational, it stands to reason the ruffians won’t bother trying to make an example of us.

“Hello, sir. Sirs. How many can I seat today?” The waitress peers up at the trio, brutes with hands torn by work and stone and tracking mud on the floors that, seconds ago, were shining. Their leader is a redhead with a sneer that seems permanently etched into his features and a pug nose that reminds me of a boar. He grins wide and lecherous, and the silence is almost deafening as everyone holds their breath.

“Three. Long as you’ll be taking care of us. Aren’t you a beauty? Come sit down, have a drink with us, pretty girl.” The waitress cringes away as he pulls her to him, laughing at her discomfort. “Aww, come on now, little lady. I ain’t gonna bite, nuh-uh. Not ‘less you want me to.” His companion’s snort and guffaw, even while she tries to remove herself from his hold.

“That won’t be necessary, sir. Why don’t you have a seat, and I can bring some drinks out?” His countenance turns from dumb to calculated cruelty in an instant. His hand on her wrist tightens, he pins it behind her back, and I can almost feel his hot, wretched breath on my own neck when he hisses,

“How about you don’t act like I’m an idiot and have a seat yourself? Hmm?”

Her eyes are wide with fear while his men are whooping and hollering. They fire off warning shots and put a few holes in the roof anytime someone tries to speak out in her defense.

“S-sir. Please, if you would allow me to get your Food-”

“You said that exactly right, sweetheart. I’m allowing you to get my meal. But mind you, if I don’t like what your chef prepares, I'll need to be satisfied somehow.” The leer he gives her leaves nothing to the imagination, and my stomach drops. His friends laugh, grab at her and make catcalls, kiss the air, and try to kiss her neck. The woman is crying, begging to be let off, for them to please go away. Her name tag comes off.

Ally. Her name is Ally. There is one singular thought pushing me forward:

Make them go away.

 I think my legs move on their own, and then the ground itself is ripped in half, quaking from its force and sending the men flying. People attempt to flee; Mace howls and snarls, but the tremors go nowhere near anyone but the three of them. They’re shoved out of the restaurant. The leader tries to stand, and a gush of water from one of the now broken pipes douses him in sewage water.

There goes the restroom. I blink, and then my friend is there, helping me up off the ground.

“Finch? Finch! Can you hear me?” Maybe I blacked out. Casper is helping me up with my arm around his shoulders, and my knees are knocking together.

“What-what happened?” I nearly tip over, but Casper manages to keep me upright.

“It was another one of those earthquakes. Come on, we’ll eat somewhere else. I think you need some rest.”

I try to protest, but he’s already taking the keys and getting me set up on the passenger’s side.

“Do your pal a favor and stay here. I’ll be back.” He orders. This done, he returns to the shack to see about assisting with the cleanup. I see Ally talking to him; briefly, she kisses his cheek and hands over a large bag before sending him on his way. He climbs in, starts the engine, and dumps the bag in my lap.

“Food for our trip. Ally wanted to make certain we didn’t leave with the belief that we weren’t welcome,” He explains with a grin, pulling out. “But next time, let me handle the bad guys, huh?”

“She- it was an attack. They were attacking her person-” My eyes close of their own accord, and I’m out before I realize it.

***

I’m not sure how long I sleep, though when I wake, it’s nighttime.

“There you are. I was starting to think I’d have to stop off for a healer somewhere,” Casper teases with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Here.” He hands over the bag, prodding and poking at me until I bat off his hands and reach in, pulling out a taco. “I saved it for you. I figured you would be hungry.” My stomach rumbles loudly before I can reply.

He watches me inhale one taco and start on the next. “It’s been about six hours. And your color is only just coming back. I thought you were sick. I couldn’t wake you up,” He trails off, taking a curving road a little too fast and letting our tires screech in protest.

“And you didn’t think you should stop?” I ought to have ensured Caspian was current on standard healthcare practices while on the road…

“Sure, because you would have woken up in such an obliging manner and been completely fine with me sending you into one of these ‘backward Clan healers,’ " He snorts, pulling up the holo map on the dash to check directions. “I’ve been watching your vitals; I got a monitor from one of the emergency kits in the trunk. Everything was steady, so I figured you probably just needed the rest.”

“I never called them backward,” I protest, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin from the bag. It smells like lime.

“You’ve implied it repeatedly, Finch. Which you might want to be careful of in front of your lady friend if we find her out in these parts. She might actually BE one of them.” His voice drops to a whisper. “A real Clan member... oh my gosh, how mag would that be? He pounds the dashboard lightly with a fist.

I don’t know whether to laugh at him or demand he stop talking instead of focusing on the wheel.

“Yeah. I bet you the Clans people all have cool handshakes. Hey, why don’t we have a secret best-friend handshake, huh?” He whips around another corner, his cheerful chatter barely audible over the impending storm.

“Casper! Eyes on the road!” I think I preferred being unconscious to the continual heart attack that is Caspian Brooks driving. “My eyes are on the road, yah silly little nugget. It’s not my fault the road goes where it wants!” Mace barks when the tires skid and my heart leaps into my throat.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m driving.”

“Aww, but I was just getting into a groove!” He drums the steering wheel in time to whatever awful noise he thinks of as music coming out of the sound system and stomps on the brakes for a woodland animal skittering across the road.

“Yes, but you were also about to get into an early grave by killing us with your driving!” A crack of thunder sounds, lightning, and the smell of burnt wood fills the car as a tree falls directly into our path. At the last second, I yank the wheel to the left, narrowly missing the trunk and sending us spinning in circles. Casper screams. Mace is barking like a maniac, and I hear someone else shouting in fear. I think it’s me, or maybe it’s still Casper, I don’t know-

The car flips.