Free Sparrow Hill Road 2010 By Seanan by Seanan McGuire Page B

easily. "Only you couldn't stay
dead, could you, Rose? You couldn't rest in peace. That would have been too easy
for a spoiled bitch like you."
    I've been called a lot of things, and some of them I even deserved, but
"spoiled" has never been one of them. My eyes narrow, and I speak before I
think, spitting out my words: "You don't know anything about me."
    "I know you killed the only man I ever loved." The accusation is casual,
almost off-handed; there's no heat behind it. She's just reciting a fact. I
still freeze, rooted to the spot as she continues, "For a while, I thought I was
chasing a myth, looking for you, but once I had a name, you got a lot easier to
follow. Legends and ghost stories scattered across a country--you've been a busy
little girl, Rose. How many innocent men have you killed? How many have died for
your vanity, all because you couldn't bear to be the one left standing home
alone?"
    I've heard this accusation before. It doesn't get any easier. "I've never
killed anyone. You have the wrong girl."
    Candlelight glints off her glasses as she lifts her head and looks at me,
smile fading into memory, replaced by terrifying emptiness. "His name was
Tommy," she says, in a voice like a crypt door slamming shut. "His name was
Tommy, and he was going to marry me, and you killed him. And now I'm going to
kill you."
    ***
    Tommy is bleeding out fast, red blood mingling with the black oil that
drips from the car's shattered engine. At least they're not both suffering. She
loved him enough to wait for him on the ghostroads, and that's better than many
men will have. Still, I keep my hand against his cheek, feeling my solidity
waver a little more with every breath he struggles to take, and I wonder when,
if ever, the moments like this will stop hurting so damn bad.
    "I can't see."
    "It's all right, Tommy. Just keep on breathing. Help's on the way."
That's a lie, that's a goddamn lie--help isn't coming, help won't get here for
hours, not until the raceway is a road again and there's nothing left of Tommy
but an empty shell cradled in a steel and chrome coffin. I don't regret lying to
him. Sometimes lies are the only thing I have to give them.
    "Will you find my girl?" His voice is fading, losing strength. He'll find
it again on the other side, when he doesn't have to fight against failing lungs
and a broken spine. Somehow, that's cold comfort, even to me.
    "Yeah, Tommy, yeah. I'll find her." More lies, but they're the lies he
needs to hear. How could I find her, dead man's living lover? I'd have no way to
even start the search. "What do you want me to tell her?"
    The question seems to puzzle him for a moment, leave him fumbling for
words. Only the fact that the gravel still digs into my knees tells me that he's
still holding onto life; I'm slipping, but I haven't slipped, not all the way,
not yet. Finally, he says, "Tell her I love her. Tell her I did this because I
love her." A smile twists his lips upward, heartbreaking snapshot of a lover on
his way out the door. "I was going to marry her."
    "I know."
    "Just tell Laura..." His voice falters and fades in the middle of the
sentence, leaving him silent. One more hitching breath, two, three, and then no
more; his chest is still, his struggling heart finally finishing its fight.
    His blood falls through my fingers, leaving them clean and pale as I
rise. His jacket likewise falls, hitting the concrete with a soft,
anti-climactic rustle. I turn to face the racers still standing clustered behind
me. The ones who let me through before--the ones who've touched the twilight, or
been touched by it--take a step backward, faces going pale. They know what
they're seeing, they know what the fall of the jacket has to mean. The rest only
look at me, puzzled and afraid, boys mixed with men in almost equal numbers.
    "This race is over," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. "If you
must race, do it somewhere else. No more stupid kids who