Page 10 of So Thirsty

“My victims,” she says, cackling.

5

A n hour later, we’re shivering in front of the cottage, waiting for the shuttle to take us into town.

“Let’s just go back inside,” I say. “It’s taking forever.”

“I never used to get cold,” Naomi says, ignoring me. “I used to be out in the middle of winter in fishnets and a leather jacket and I was fine.”

“You weren’t fine. You were drunk.”

“Offensive,” she says.

“Where is this shuttle? They said five minutes, and it’s been twelve minutes. No. Thirteen minutes.”

“Impatient,” she says. “It’ll get here. And it’s such a beautiful night. Look at the lake! The moon!”

“I can’t feel my toes.”

“When they thaw, you’ll appreciate them like you never have before.”

“I appreciate my toes all the time.”

She’s skeptical. Eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

“What? I do,” I say, though I can’t remember the last time I thought about my toes. “I should’ve kept my car.”

“If you drove, you couldn’t drink. This is better. Ah! That’s it,” she says, pointing to a white van bumbling toward us.

“Or we’re about to get kidnapped.”

“Relax. There’s resort branding on it.”

“Maybe that’s part of the ruse.”

“It’d be a good ruse,” she says as the van pulls up. The door slides open, and the driver greets us. I’m relieved that he appears to be in his sixties and that the entire resort isn’t staffed by college kids.

“Hello! Good evening! Heading into town?”

“Yes, thank you, Todd,” Naomi says, climbing into the van. Either he was her driver earlier or she’s spotted a name tag that I can’t see. Or she’s intuited his name through psychic clues, mind reading. Or his name isn’t Todd, and she’s testing to see if he’ll correct her. Hard to say.

“Any destination in particular, or…?” He’s got a thick Midwestern accent and it endears him to me.

“Anywhere on Main Street,” I say, getting in and scooching onto the seat beside Naomi. I press my hands to the heating vent. The door closes automatically, making a horrible whirring sound.

“How’s your night so far?” Naomi asks him.

“It’s good, thank you. Would you like some music?” he asks.

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “Sure.”

He presses a button, and a second later, it’s “Everyday” by Buddy Holly.

“I was just thinking about Buddy Holly,” I say.

“No, you weren’t,” Naomi says. “You were thinking about death.”

My mouth falls open as I eject a strange noise.