spaced out last night, so I saw no reason to keep operating under the hopes that Konstantin was hiding somewhere I could find him by logic.
“So what’s the plan?” Steph asked as she adjusted the seat and mirrors, then started the car.
“It’s a pretty lame one,” I admitted. “But I think we should just get on the Beltway and see what happens.”
The Beltway circles all the way around the city, and driving on it is easily tedious enough to put anyone on autopilot. Unless you hit traffic or there’s an accident, in which case it’s more suited to road rage, but I was going to pretend those possibilities didn’t exist.
Steph’s sidelong glance told me how enamored she was of my plan, but she didn’t argue. “Do you care which way I go when I get to the Beltway?”
“I don’t think it matters. Take whichever way seems to be moving fastest. Once we get on the Beltway, I’ll need you not to talk to me anymore. Just let me zone out.”
“If you’re zoned out, how are you going to tell me which way to go?”
I made a face. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is really just an experiment. I have no idea if it’ll work. It might be a waste of time.”
Steph shrugged. “Okay then. Only one way to find out.”
During the ride to the Beltway, Steph and I tried to concoct a plausible story about why I was living in the mansion. Preferably one that didn’t cause her parents— our parents—to ask too many questions. We didn’t have a whole lot of luck. Let’s face it, the situation was hard to explain. I could tell the Glasses I was working for Anderson, and they might almostbelieve that I’d spend a night or two there if I was working late for some reason. However, being there every night, as well as me moving an awful lot of my stuff from the condo to the mansion, was a lot harder. I was almost glad when we hit the Beltway and it was time to invoke radio silence, because thinking about it was making my head hurt.
It was full dark when we got to the Beltway, and there wasn’t any sign of the upcoming storm yet. The moon’s light was bright and clear even with the city lights doing their best to drown it out. I checked with my gut to see if I had any compulsion to go one way or another on the Beltway, but I felt nothing. There seemed to be a lot of brake lights going east, so Steph chose to go west, and I tried to let my mind drift.
As I’d already established numerous times, it’s hard to get your mind to drift on command, especially when a sense of urgency is riding you. I found myself overanalyzing every minute sensation, every stray thought, every person, place, or thing that caught my eye. My mind bounced around like a hyperactive toddler on a sugar high, and the more annoyed I got at myself for not being able to knuckle down and concentrate, the harder it got for me to knuckle down and concentrate. Or not concentrate. Whatever.
After a fruitless half hour of driving in silence, I was climbing the walls and squirming in my seat with frustration. And that was when we hit the traffic.
I didn’t know whether refraining from talking was necessary, especially since the silence didn’t seemto be helping me, but I bit back a couple of curse words as I caught sight of the brake lights ahead and our car slowed first to a crawl, then to a stop. It was six thirty on a Sunday night, but I’d run into traffic snarls on the Beltway at two in the morning, so I wasn’t entirely surprised. Irritated, yes, but not surprised.
Steph glanced over at me as the traffic eased forward about six inches before coming to a stop again. “Anything?”
I shook my head and wondered if we should just give up. We weren’t getting anywhere—literally or figuratively—and being stuck in stop-and-go traffic is about as much fun as having a root canal.
“Maybe we should just take the next exit and call it a night,” I said. To hell with my vow of silence.
Steph gave me a withering older-sister look. “You
“So what’s the plan?” Steph asked as she adjusted the seat and mirrors, then started the car.
“It’s a pretty lame one,” I admitted. “But I think we should just get on the Beltway and see what happens.”
The Beltway circles all the way around the city, and driving on it is easily tedious enough to put anyone on autopilot. Unless you hit traffic or there’s an accident, in which case it’s more suited to road rage, but I was going to pretend those possibilities didn’t exist.
Steph’s sidelong glance told me how enamored she was of my plan, but she didn’t argue. “Do you care which way I go when I get to the Beltway?”
“I don’t think it matters. Take whichever way seems to be moving fastest. Once we get on the Beltway, I’ll need you not to talk to me anymore. Just let me zone out.”
“If you’re zoned out, how are you going to tell me which way to go?”
I made a face. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “This is really just an experiment. I have no idea if it’ll work. It might be a waste of time.”
Steph shrugged. “Okay then. Only one way to find out.”
During the ride to the Beltway, Steph and I tried to concoct a plausible story about why I was living in the mansion. Preferably one that didn’t cause her parents— our parents—to ask too many questions. We didn’t have a whole lot of luck. Let’s face it, the situation was hard to explain. I could tell the Glasses I was working for Anderson, and they might almostbelieve that I’d spend a night or two there if I was working late for some reason. However, being there every night, as well as me moving an awful lot of my stuff from the condo to the mansion, was a lot harder. I was almost glad when we hit the Beltway and it was time to invoke radio silence, because thinking about it was making my head hurt.
It was full dark when we got to the Beltway, and there wasn’t any sign of the upcoming storm yet. The moon’s light was bright and clear even with the city lights doing their best to drown it out. I checked with my gut to see if I had any compulsion to go one way or another on the Beltway, but I felt nothing. There seemed to be a lot of brake lights going east, so Steph chose to go west, and I tried to let my mind drift.
As I’d already established numerous times, it’s hard to get your mind to drift on command, especially when a sense of urgency is riding you. I found myself overanalyzing every minute sensation, every stray thought, every person, place, or thing that caught my eye. My mind bounced around like a hyperactive toddler on a sugar high, and the more annoyed I got at myself for not being able to knuckle down and concentrate, the harder it got for me to knuckle down and concentrate. Or not concentrate. Whatever.
After a fruitless half hour of driving in silence, I was climbing the walls and squirming in my seat with frustration. And that was when we hit the traffic.
I didn’t know whether refraining from talking was necessary, especially since the silence didn’t seemto be helping me, but I bit back a couple of curse words as I caught sight of the brake lights ahead and our car slowed first to a crawl, then to a stop. It was six thirty on a Sunday night, but I’d run into traffic snarls on the Beltway at two in the morning, so I wasn’t entirely surprised. Irritated, yes, but not surprised.
Steph glanced over at me as the traffic eased forward about six inches before coming to a stop again. “Anything?”
I shook my head and wondered if we should just give up. We weren’t getting anywhere—literally or figuratively—and being stuck in stop-and-go traffic is about as much fun as having a root canal.
“Maybe we should just take the next exit and call it a night,” I said. To hell with my vow of silence.
Steph gave me a withering older-sister look. “You
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