Her demon-self was also sitting at the table, looking bored. “Why do I have to be here?” she asked. “Your dreams are as dull as you are.”
Nobody paid her any attention. This was Amber’s special day, and Amber was beaming.
“Happy birthday, sweetie,” said Betty. She started cutting the cake. Blood spilled out but nobody cared.
“Our little girl has grown up,” said Bill. “This is a big day. A momentous day. An important day. A succulent day. A mouth-watering day. A big, juicy day.”
He talked on, and Amber’s smile failed and she turned to her demon-self. “Who are they?” she asked, indicating the boy and girl.
Her demon-self sighed. “Don’t you know anything?” she said. “It’s James and Carolyn. Your brother and sister.”
“Oh,” said Amber.
James sat at the table with his head down. He had a collar around his neck, with a chain attached to it that Bill held like a leash. “I live in the attic,” he said.
Carolyn sat with a faltering smile on her face. She was wearing a light summer dress, and white gloves. “I live in my head,” she said.
“Where’s Molly?” asked James.
“What did they do with Molly?” asked Carolyn.
Betty pushed a plate across to Amber, spilling blood on the tablecloth. The slice of cake had a heartbeat, and, with every beat, more blood pumped out.
“Are you ready for your present?” Betty asked. “I know you wanted a pony.”
Amber frowned. “I never wanted a pony.”
“So we got you a pony,” said Betty.
“I don’t want one.”
“Bill, go fetch the pony, would you?”
Amber’s father, who had shifted into his demon form without Amber noticing, let go of the chain and went into the kitchen to fetch the pony.
With their father gone, James tore off the collar and bolted for a door that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Amber got up, went to the door, glanced into the kitchen to see her father eating a dead pony. She stepped through. She wasn’t in Orlando anymore. She was outside. The sun was shining and it was pleasant, and Amber wasn’t sweating.
She found James sitting beneath a tree with a blonde girl wearing an old-fashioned dress. She was teaching him to read.
Amber’s demon-self stood beside her. “They found each other,” she said. “He escaped and hopped on a train and off he went, exploring the outside world, and they found each other. Do you think it’s love? I think it’s love.”
A voice drifted by on the wind, someone calling for Molly.
The girl got up quickly. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes, please,” said James, and held out the book for her to take.
“You keep it,” said the girl. “Practise.”
She smiled, then she ran off, and James smiled and looked at Amber.
“Her name’s Molly,” he said. “She likes me and I like her.”
“So I see,” said Amber.
“Tomorrow someone is going to snatch her,” said Amber’s demon-self.
James’s smile faded. “I know,” he said. “A tall man in black clothes. He drives a carriage for funerals.”
“A hearse?” Amber prompted.
“Yes,” said James. “A hearse. I’m going to help her. She’s the first person ever to be kind to me, and I like her so I’m going to help her.”
Amber nodded, and it was night and they were outside a wooden building with a sign that said STROMQUIST’S UNDERTAKERS & COFFIN MAKERS, and the undertaker, a tall man in black clothes, was walking towards them, his face twisted in anger.
Amber woke.
She thought about the dream, but her thoughts started to rebound in this quiet room. This unnaturally quiet room.
She got up, went to the window. Tapped it. Double-paned? Triple-paned? Something more? She went to each of the walls, rapped her knuckles against them. The sound was dull. Heavy. She stood in the middle of the room. So what? It was a motel beside a diner. Of course noise pollution would be a problem. Of course they’d have had to tackle it.
She clicked on the light and sat on the end of the bed, caught her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look convinced. She looked like there was something nudging at her thoughts.
Amber went over to the mirror. It was screwed to the wall. Okay. Made sense. Some people might want to steal a mirror. It could happen. It could even be a thing. Mirror-thieves, for example – that ever-growing threat to motel owners everywhere. Screwing the mirror in place was a perfectly acceptable thing to do and she accepted this. Although, by doing so, the motel owner did make it impossible to check behind the mirror. Not that there would be anything behind it. Nothing except more wall. Not a hole, that’s for sure. Definitely not a camera. Nope. This was just an ordinary mirror. Nothing two-way about it.
Amber sat back on the bed and looked at the mirror for another minute.
There was an ashtray on the nightstand, even though the motel was one big no-smoking area. It was heavy in her hand. Glass. Nice and thick. She threw it at the mirror and the mirror smashed.
“Yep,” she said softly to herself.
Behind the mirror was a hole in the wall. It was covered with more glass, and Amber had a pretty strong suspicion that it was glass as thick as the window. No camera, though, and no pervert standing there. She walked over and peered through. Beyond the hole was an unlit corridor.
She straightened. So the Catching Z’s manager liked to peep. Gross, an invasion of privacy, but okay. Probably liked to take pictures, too. Gross, gross, gross, but whatever. But there was still something more. Something extra.
Chasing a half-formed thought, she pulled back the sheets on the bed, exposing the mattress to the light. All the stains she would have expected, plus a whole bunch more. Darker too.
Dried blood. And lots of it.
AMBER COULDN’T SAY SHE was surprised. This was a motel on the Demon Road, after all. It was bound to have had the odd murder or two. Or three. Or whatever.
She pulled on a pair of jeans and sneakers
