“That is very possible, yes.” The priest didn’t take his eyes off the ground in front of him, which did not resemble a road in any sense of the word. “If we do, we must try very hard not to get separated. It could be dangerous.”
“As dangerous as this?” Selena asked, burying her face against Copper’s ruff as the truck slalomed through another thicket.
“We’re much more likely to die here.” The truck slowed as it began to climb a hill. “But we’re much more likely to have our lost souls wander for eternity over there. I know which one I’d prefer.”
“That was not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He considered. “If we do get separated, be polite to whatever you meet, but don’t offer them your name. If they offer you anything—food or water or help or directions—ask what the price will be first.”
“Like fairyland?”
Father Aguirre frowned. “Not exactly. Most of the spirits here are not actively malicious. But they are also wild and don’t behave like humans expect them to behave.” He freed one hand from the steering wheel long enough to make a fierce gesture. “This is not a cash-and-carry world. You can’t buy your way out. But a debt or an obligation is a binding tie, and the echoes could go on for a long time.”
Just what I need,Selena thought miserably,another set of social rules.She slid down farther in the seat. Her tailbone complained.
“The man in black, everyone,” Raven said from the radio. “And now let’s keep it going for our travelers tonight, with ‘I’ve Been Everywhere.’”
The engine whined as the truck climbed higher, their forward motion converted into a series of upward lurches. They were in hilly country now, but they hadn’t gone straight up a hill before. Selena wondered if she should offer to get out and push. Then, quite suddenly, they were bouncing downhill, and then Father Aguirre put on the brakes and stopped. He clicked off the ignition, interrupting Johnny Cash’s recitation of states, and they sat together in the cab for a minute, in a silence at once companionable and terrified, listening to the engine ping as it cooled.
“Right,” Father Aguirre said. “Saint Christopher, holy patron of travelers, protect us and lead us safely to our destiny.”
He got out. Selena did not much like the sound of destiny—destiny sounded like a thing that would ultimately include death at some point—but she got out too.
“That,” said Father Aguirre, pointing downward, “is Jackrabbit Hole.”
Jackrabbit Hole didn’t look like a den of evil spirits. It didn’t look like much of anything. There was a steep slope downward, some large stones and a small copse of desert willow at the bottom, and a steep slope up the other side. The whole valley wasn’t more than a quarter mile across, if that.
“That’s it?” asked Selena.
Father Aguirre gave her a quick, puzzled look, then laughed. “Ah. Of course, you can’t see—well, never mind. That, down there, is Snake-Eater’s home ground. The place he is most powerful.”
“But why here?”
The priest spread his hands. “Perhaps he found it and liked it. Perhaps he was already here and people came along and found water at the bottom and gave thanks, and their gratitude strengthened him. Perhaps this area simply has a lot of roadrunners. As I’ve said, I really don’t know how this all works.”
Selena looked down into Jackrabbit Hole a moment longer, went to the car, and picked up Grandma Billy’s shotgun. She loaded it as the old woman had taught her, but kept it broken in half—there was a word for that but she’d forgotten it—and slung it over the crook of her arm. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Let’s goturned out to be somewhat optimistic. Parts of the slope were sheer rock walls, so they had to pick their way downward through narrow bands of scrub. Even though Selena’s eyes had adapted to the dark, it was a nerve-racking journey, made worse by carrying a gun and having Copper’s leash wrapped around her wrist. She grabbed for bushes to slow her descent, and lost track of the scrapes and gouges across her hands.
Copper, surefooted, kept looking back over her shoulder at Selena as if to see if this was some odd new game. “I wish I had four feet,” Selena muttered. She watched Father Aguirre skid down the slope below her. He could have had four feet if he wanted. She still didn’t know how to feel about that, or if she had any right to feel anything about it at all.
The priest held up a hand to call for a rest. Selena gladly halted. The shotgun was digging into her arm in a horribly uncomfortable fashion. She shifted it carefully to the other arm, secretly convinced that even broken in half, the gun would fire if she looked at it wrong.
“Stupid of you to come here,” said Snake-Eater’s voice in her ear. “This ismyplace. I will unmake even your bones.”
Selena jerked, sending an avalanche of grit down the slope. Father Aguirre looked up at her, startled.
“I heard him. Snake-Eater. Talking to me.” She waited for him to say that it wasn’t real and words couldn’t hurt her, and that she should just ignore it. She even knew what she’d say in response—“I’ll do my best.”
Instead the priest said, sounding resigned, “Only a matter of time, I suppose.”
“I’ll d—what?”
Father Aguirre negotiated a tricky bit of slope above a jojoba bush. “We are quite close now. Speaking should take him no effort at all.”
Snake-Eater’s laughter ran in her ears. Judging by Father Aguirre’s expression, he was hearing it too. “So close. What did you hope to achieve, coming here?”
“I hope to ask the other spirits to contain you,” said Father Aguirre to thin air. “Though if you don’t return our friend unharmed, we may have to take stronger measures.”
