Tainted Blood: A Generation V Novel (35 page)

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Scott.” He nodded to the rest of my family. “Mrs. Scott. Ms. Scott.” He looked at me and gave another long-suffering sigh. “Fortitude.” Then headed straight back to his truck.

I pulled two hundred dollars from my pocket and handed it to the slightly stunned owner, receiving the title in exchange. My siblings looked at me stone-faced, but my mother laughed and shook her head. “Have a safe drive home, darling.”

I kissed her lightly on one frail cheek, the skin so thin that it felt like waxed paper under my lips.

She reached one hand up to catch my chin, holding my face near her. I stared at her in the cold night. “My littlest baby,” she said, so softly that I could barely hear
her. “What a strange delight you are to us.” Then she gave my jaw a small, affectionate pat of dismissal, and turned, reaching for my brother’s strong arm and the support he would give her to the Rolls.

I got into my new car, feeling the ancient and cracked leather and every spot where it had been held together with duct tape, and drove away. The heat worked, in a certain petulant way. The radio was broken, but there was a
Born to Run
cassette in the ancient player, so I had music while I drove. I headed over the bridge, up to Providence, and didn’t stop until I’d pulled into Suzume’s driveway.

I honked the horn, and saw the face of a fox peep out from under her front curtains. A moment later, Suze came out the front door, pulling up the zipper to her parka. She was wearing sweatpants and a pair of slippers, but I wasn’t entirely certain that there was a shirt on under that lime green parka. She took a long look at the Scirocco and shook her head slowly, then crossed over to the driver side window.

I rolled the window down with the hand-crank and smiled at her. Bruce Springsteen was singing about love, and everything seemed magical. “So is this a car you’d be willing to be seen in?” I asked her.

She leaned into the open window, resting her elbows on the door, and said, “Absolutely not.” Then she leaned farther in and kissed me, her tongue sliding into my mouth and her scent filling my head. She pulled back and reached inside to open the door.

Climbing in, she straddled my lap, and her dark eyes gleamed under the flickering interior light. “But apparently I’m willing to make a few compromises, as long as you’re the guy driving it.”

M. L. Brennan
lives in Connecticut with her husband and three cats. Holding a master’s degree in fiction, she teaches basic composition to college students. Her house is more than a hundred years old, and is insulated mainly by overstuffed bookshelves. She is currently working on the fourth Fortitude Scott book.