Ill Wind by Rachel Caine Page A

window.
    â€œYou okay?” he asked, and adjusted a backpack on his shoulder. Oh. I got it. He was a road dude, somebody who walked for a living, hitching when possible. Homeless by choice, maybe, instead of circumstance. A guy in search of adventure.
    Well, he’d sure as hell found it this time.
    â€œFine. I’m fine,” I croaked, and dragged lank, oily hair back from my face. “You’re okay? I didn’t hit you? No tire tracks on you or anything?”
    He shook his head. An earring glinted. I tried to remember which ear meant he was gay, and then doubted myself; the earring thing might be an urban legend. I concluded it was either bullshit or the glint was in the heterosexual ear, because he smiled at me in a warmly nonacademic way.
    â€œSo, can you believe this weather? Some crazy stuff going on,” he said. I could imagine . . . a cloud levitating with the speed of a freight train, straight up,then blowing apart like God himself had smashed it to pieces. Plus Delilah roaring along at top speed and spinning out like NASCAR roadkill. Not something you see every day, even if you are a road dude. “Thought we were really in for it.”
    I hoped the we was a generic kind of thing, not a hello-I’ll-be-your-stalker-this-evening warning sign. “Gee, bad weather? I didn’t notice.”
    He hitched the backpack again, as if it were giving him some trouble, and nodded as he straightened up. “Well, be careful. Too nice a car to end up in some ditch. Not to mention too nice a lady.”
    Gallant, but he was a genuine guy—he’d put the car first. Somehow, that won me over. I wasn’t getting any weird vibes from him, and even the company of some dude smoking grass and getting as one with nature might be better than talking to my car on a hell-drive like this. He even had a nice smile.
    I looked at him in Oversight, just to be sure, but there was nothing special about him, nothing dark, nothing bright, nothing but plain old Joe Normal. I opened the passenger door and said, “Need a ride?”
    He stopped walking away and looked at me. He had really dark eyes, but dark in a warm, earthy kind of way. If he were a season, he’d be fall.
    â€œMaybe,” he said. “Pack’s getting kind of heavy. What’s the price?”
    â€œNothing.”
    His eyebrows twitched like he thought about raising them. “Nothing’s for nothing.”
    â€œPleasure of your company.”
    â€œ That can be taken a couple of ways,” he said, and shrugged off the pack. It fit into the backseat like asecond passenger. He didn’t need as much leg room as Paul. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”
    I felt strongly that that should offend me. “You really think I look like a chick who’d pick up some skanky guy on the side of the road?”
    â€œNo,” he said with a sly, Zen-like calm. “And just for clarification, I take exception to the skanky. I have had a bath.”
    I waited until he’d strapped himself in safely before Delilah rolled again. Sunlight flickered through trees, tiger-striping the road. A gentle west-to-east breeze rustled leaves. I hadn’t closed my window, and the smooth, cool scented air blew my hair back from my face. It felt good on my flushed skin.
    â€œNot skanky,” I agreed finally. “Rough?”
    â€œYou think I look rough?”
    â€œMaybe a little grubby.”
    â€œI’ll accept grubby.”
    When I looked over, he chuckled. I laughed, caught the edge of my hysteria, and blamed it on exhaustion and fear. I caught my breath and wiped my face.
    He said, “My name’s David, by the way.”
    â€œJoanne.”
    â€œHow long have you been on the road?”
    â€œIsn’t that my line?” I asked him. “I think it’s been about thirty-six hours, but I’m really not too sure anymore.”
    â€œAny sleep?”
    â€œNot so