Page 116 of The Rut in the Road

I nodded. “It’ll be fine. I’m not there to actually do anything with them—the idea is that Beck is essentially working security in case the spirits become agitated by the presence of too many living for too long.” I glanced over at Ward. “Right?”

“Exactly. She’s the dead-people bouncer.”

“Huh. I mean. That’s still pretty cool,” Vi insisted, popping the rest of her bagel sandwich into her mouth, then wiping her fingers on a napkin. “I’m okay doing that.”

“Rayn?” Ward asked.

It took me a second to realize he wanted to know if I’d be okay going to the haunted estate, too. “Yes, of course. Whatever you need me to do.”

Ward nodded. “Good.”

A nurse came in then, and proceeded to run through the discharge paperwork for both Ward and me, and I realized that Vi and I were going to have a problem—Ward didn’t have a chair anymore, since his was very, very broken. It was in the back of the truck, but it was completely useless. And I couldn’t carry him—I probably didn’t have the muscle to carry him on a good day, and not only was I essentially one-armed, but also exhausted.

“Ward—” I began.

“Yeah?” he asked, still skimming down the paperwork.

“How are we going to get you out of here and into the truck?” I asked.

He looked up, and I could see he didn’t exactly have an answer.

“I can help with that,” came Mason’s deep voice as he pushed aside the curtain. He immediately crossed over to Ward, wrapping the much smaller man in his arms. “Are you okay?” he murmured into Ward’s curls.

“I’m fine,” came the answer as Ward hugged him back, and I suddenly understood why Ward had asked if Raj and I were okay.

Because Raj hadn’t asked me if I was okay. Hadn’t asked about my prognosis or the cast on my arm. He’d just been angry. Yes, he’d kissed me before he left and asked me to be careful, but Mason’s reaction was almost the opposite. Concern first, not last.

It made me wonder—were we okay?

21

She loveddía de muertos.Loved the bright orange and yellow, the glow of candles in the darkness, the smells of rich drinking chocolate, the burn of tequila in her throat, and the smells of rich cooking. She loved the stories of family—her mother, her grandfather, her great-great grandfather who still spoke the Old Language.

She loved knowing that her family was around her going back for generations, and that she would be there for her children, when she had them, and their children, and their children’s children…

I setthe picture frame back down and smiled at the woman whoseofrendaI was helping to organize. She patted my arm in return, then turned and said something in Spanish to Taavi Camal, Hart’s fiancé. Taavi was a genuinely very nice person and was volunteering at the Latine Community Center with the families who had members who were Arc-humans or Arcanids, including this woman’s grandson. Taavi smiled at her, then turned to me.

“She wants you to know that the photograph is of her grandmother, and the frame belonged first to that same grandmother, who loved music anddía de muertoscelebrations—they were her favorite time of year.”

I smiled at the woman, then over at the ghost of the woman in the photograph. “Tell her that her grandmother is a lovely woman, and that she still very much enjoysdía de muertos.” I did my best not to butcher the Spanish pronunciation.

Taavi’s eyes—one brown, one a milky sort of grey from an old injury—widened. “She’s here?” he asked, slightly breathy.

I nodded.

He turned to, presumably, explain this to the woman, who let out a sound that I thought was probably happy, because she first hugged Taavi, then threw her arms around me. Before she let go, she kissed my cheek, and I decided that the tears on her cheeks were probably happy ones.

The first year I’d workeddía de muertosat the LCC, I hadn’t been prepared for the number of complete strangers who were going to hug me, shake my hand, pat my shoulder, and otherwise continuously invade my personal space. I was used to it now, even if I was occasionally startled by specific spontaneous hugs.

There were hundreds of tables winding their way through the LCC, a labyrinth of families celebrating the love they had for each other and their progenitors, some of whom had been assigned the same tables next to the same other families for years.

There was one set that was extra-celebratory because the daughter of one family had just gotten engaged to the son of the other, and there was a full-swing party happening by their now-joint double-sizedofrenda.

I was too exhausted to really enjoy any of it, despite the fact that everyone from Beyond the Veil was taking turns getting coffee for everyone else.

There were another eighteen hours to go before we hit dawn after the Day of the Dead, and I wasn’t sure that any of us were going to make it.

It was me, Beck, Mason, Ward, and Vi. Jackson usually helped, but not this year—because there was yet another protest outside the LCC, although they’d been kept across the street from the center, rather than being allowed to congregate on the sidewalk or in the parking lot.