After showing our papers to the border guards, I angle Winston's head towards the on-ramp of the old 101. The highway hugs the California coastline and provides us with a straight shot to the City of Dust. While not half as busy as it was pre-Turning, you still have to watch out for the occasional lone vehicle, armed convoy or rogue monster.

Unlike Eureka's streets, the 101 is more or less regularly maintained, as evidenced by the large patch of blacktop Winston steps over. Nearby, the crushed bones of some animal lay in a pile against the guard rail. My eyes flick over the bones in a cursory glance; if they were anything other than a rare member of the native fauna, not even the broken bones would have remained. The Turning has made hunters out of some of us, scavengers out of others. Everything has a price if you know where to look.

"You don't talk a lot do you?"

I glance over my shoulder at the girl. Winston and her mare walk in single-file per my instructions.

"No."

"That's okay. I know that you're being paid to protect me, not to be my friend." She shrugs.

"Excellent observation," I reply dryly. She's smarter than I give her credit for. I might not have to babysit her as much as I expected.

There's not much to look at by way of scenery. A decade of Ehtab's dust storms has scoured the landscape, grinding nearly all plant life to the ground. Trees are stripped bare, bark flayed from their trunks; hillsides are nothing more than large mounds of dirt; sharp rocks have been worn deceptively smooth by heightened erosion. When the dust allows the sun to peek through the clouds, the temperature soars to near-oppressive highs. Any animals that managed to survive the initial destruction have fled further inland, hiding in protective faerie circles or pushing towards the center of the country.

The ocean lies to our left. Soon, the waters will be filled with boats as fishermen attempt to haul in what little fish have escaped the clutches of kraken and capricorns that call the coastline home. The boats used to sail out in the pre-dawn hours, but now they must wait until the monsters sleep in order to avoid being attacked.

"So, you're not going to talk—ever?"

I twist around in the saddle. "Talking draws attention," I tell her. "This whole area?" I make a large, sweeping gesture to encompass the highway and surrounding landscape. "This is cockatrice territory. See those hills?" I point off to our right, at what used to be a winery's rolling fields. "Dozens of those bastards live there, digging dens between the roots of dead grape vines. They're drawn to sound, like many monsters. The less you talk, the more likely you are to survive."

Kayleigh's hands tighten on the reins, causing her chestnut mare to toss her head.

"Have you seen a cockatrice?" I press.

"No." Her voice is softer, almost a whisper. Good, she's learning.

"Well, you'll probably see one before the day's over. The most important thing that you need to know is that there are always more around. If you see one, chances are high that there's more hiding, waiting. And if you do see one—kill it immediately. The lurkers will generally swarm the dead one and eat it, giving us the chance to escape."

Kayleigh swallows hard and tugs at the veils, loosening them around her neck.

"It ain't pretty out here," I tell her bluntly. "Now, is that enough conversation for you?"

Quietly, the mayor's daughter nods.

------------

An hour later, an on-coming car forces us off the highway. I direct Kayleigh to jump her mare over the barrier and onto the berm. Winston makes the jump easily—more like a high step for the big bull—but the chestnut mare needs more coaxing.

"Hurry up," I hiss, drawing Winston's head around. The sound of the car's combustion engine grows louder, like a constant dragon's roar.

With a little shout, Kayleigh finally gets her mare to leap the barrier. The Arabian prances and tosses her dished head, banner tail snapping back and forth. I watch the car pass as the girl gets her horse under control.

Panting, Kayleigh draws up next to me, one hand on the mare's crested neck, fingers woven in her flaxen mane. "What are you waiting for?"

I glance at her sidelong. "Until I can't hear it anymore." Jae-Seong trained me how to differentiate between the sound of a car fading into the distance and an engine cutting off.

"Oh."

Most people just want to get from point A to point B; it's the small percentage that has other plans that worry me. Not even my magic can protect us from a hailstorm of bullets.

Once I'm assured that no one is coming back to attack us, I gesture for the girl to get on the highway. The mare doesn't put up much fight this time, probably because Winston is standing behind her providing "encouragement".

Suddenly, the wind stops blowing. Billions and billions of dust particles that have just seconds before blown merrily around our faces like sharp pixies drop like a rock. I brace for impact as what amounts to an upturned children's sandbox is dumped over our heads.

Ow.

Red-brown dust is everywhere—on the highway, in the folds of my clothes, layered on Winston's back like dry snow. Ugh, I hate it when that happens.

The girl and her mare squeal at the same time. I twist in the saddle just in time to see the mare rear, head shaking back and forth. Kayleigh slides from the saddle and lands in a puff of dust. For a split second, my heart stops as my six-thousand dollar payday simply lies in the middle of the highway, unmoving.

By the time my feet touch the road, the girl is sitting up.

"Are you all right?" I ask, stooping down by her side. I'm not completely heartless.

Two thin trails mark the girl's cheeks, but she doesn't cry out loud. She pulls her knees up to her chest and cups her head in both hands, rubbing her temples.

"Yeah ... I guess so."

My ears catch the sound of hooves racing on pavement. I look up to see the chestnut Arabian spin around and run back towards Eureka.

"Winston!" I call out. "Get her!"

Part of Winston's training included fetching wayward horses and returning them to their riders. I don't know why the magical augmentation worked on elks and not horses, but I've come to accept that nothing will ever truly make sense anymore.

Winston takes off after the mare, shedding dust in sheets. A nearly two-thousand-pound bull elk is slow off the start, but once he gets going, he can easily keep up with a horse. And it also hurts like a bitch if he hits you.

"I—I'm sorry," the girl stammers, pushing the blue veil off of her thick curls. "I should have held on better."

"Keep that on," I order, pulling it back down over her head. "You never know when it'll start up again."

Kayleigh sniffs and drags her sleeve under her nose, leaving a thin line of mud on the blue fabric.

I sigh. If He exists, God help me. She's making me feel like an asshole. "Now you know what to expect when the wind stops," I say, haltingly patting her shoulder.

The girl sniffs again. To our left, Winston grunts. I look up to see the bull elk dragging an unhappy Arabian by her reins.

"Winston found her," I say, getting to my feet. "Check her out and then we'll get going." I pause. "You do know what to look for, right?"

For the first time, the girl's face hardens. Well, it's good to know that she has some sort of backbone. All the better to walk into a demon lord's den, I suppose.

"Yes," she replies bluntly.

"Good." I grab the Arabian's reins from Winston's mouth and hand them over. As the girl checks over the mare, running her hands along the chestnut's sweat-soaked, muddy sides, I idly brush the dust from Winston's coat. He looks more red than brown right now—a right old monster if you caught him out of the corner of your eye.

"How does she look?" I ask after a moment. Winston shakes his head, loosening more dust.

"Fine," the girl replies, one foot already in the stirrup.

Nodding, I turn to Winston's side. Just as my foot lifts, I hear it.

Shit.