Highway to Hell by Rosemary Clement-Moore
With his arm still around me, we climbed down the hill. In the circle, Zeke caught Lisa in a laughing embrace. I saw Hector say something to Doña Isabel that made her unbend enough to smile, and—despite their extreme age—I was a little disappointed there wasn't any hugging going on there, too.
The rest of us made up for it. Justin slung his other arm around Henry's shoulders, slapping him on the back, the way guys do. “So. Are you disowning me after all of this?”
Henry gave a snort. “No. But I will pray for you twice a day instead of just once.”
I tucked my filthy wet hair behind my ear. “What about me?”
“You, I'll pray for three times.”
Zeke came over, shook both guys' hands, and scooped me up in a tight, grateful hug. “I'm sorry,” he whispered in my ear.
“For what?” He set me back on my feet and I grinned my forgiveness up at him. “I would say a lot worse things to anyone who messed with my— Oh my God. Gran will be flipping out.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, slightly amazed it was still there, and saw that there was no signal at all. I'd managed to wipe out the cell tower, too. Oops.
Hector had helped Doña Isabel down from the hill, and the guys went to share their giddy relief with them. Lisa stayed by me, asking when they were out of earshot, “How did you know the fire would go out by itself?”
“I didn't.” I grimaced guiltily. “The idea just came to me and I went for it.”
“Divine inspiration, huh?”
“Not really. It was a John Wayne movie. About this guy that puts out oil-well fires. You know the name of it?”
“Can't guess.”
I grinned up at her. “Hellfighters.”
32
In the end, the chupacabra was responsible for four hospitalized cowboys, six transfusions, the deaths of eighteen cows, twenty-six calves, a dozen chickens, two dogs, and three goats. Plus one Jeep suspension and eight punctured tires.
Zeke didn't have to call for assistance once we discovered the extent of the vehicular sabotage; there was no shortage of folks already on their way to check out the Cecil B. DeMille spectacular and its equally amazing disappearance.
Dave was the one who filled me in on the events back at the corral. The cowboys who had gone out with Zeke made it back okay, but their calves were lost, after all that effort. A couple of chupies had tested the defenses, seeming to get stronger and more daring, until suddenly they fell back into the night and didn't return. Not long after, they'd seen the pillar of flame, and designated some guys to stay with the cows, and some to go check it out.
Oil well blowouts were bad news. They never put themselves out. By the time we got back to Dulcina to pick up the Escort and our luggage, word was spreading that nothing short of a miracle had occurred at Lady Acre. Our Lady of Perpetual Aid had done it again.
No matter who, or what, gets the credit, the way I figure it, there were a number of forces at work, maybe more than even my freaky brain will ever know. If my vision was to be believed, Team Evil had an infinite number of forms and faces. Why shouldn't Team Good?
Since I had to wait for all new tires, the four of us—Lisa, Henry, Justin and I—ended up spending the rest of the week at the Big House. When I'd called my parents to tell them about the change of residence, Dad had an intense relief in his voice that meant Gran had told him something was up. He'd even looked the Velasquez Ranch (and family) up on the Internet. Mom, rather than being suitably impressed by my new associations, despaired that I was never going to have a normal coming-of-age experience.
She did not ask about the dispensation of the bedrooms. Despite the copious space in the Big House, Connie, the housekeeper, had doubled us up: Justin and Henry in one room, near Zeke, and Lisa and I way down the hall by ourselves. Not that I was much of a chaperone, because the second night we were there—the first night was solely about making up for forty-eight hours without sleep—I hinted very broadly that I wasn't doing bed checks.
Our room was decorated in a kind of Spanish colonial style—heavy wood furniture and opulent covers on the twin beds. Lisa was brushing her hair upside down, and turned her head to look at me through the strands.
“Thanks for enabling me in sin, Mags. But Zeke's got this old-fashioned code about respecting his grandmother's values while in her house or something.”
Which seemed about right for Zeke. “She is a Seer, after all. There wouldn't be any hiding it from her.”
Lisa flipped her hair over and sat on her bed. Her gaze rested on a painting of a lone cowboy riding through the snow. “He said he'd like to come up to Georgetown to visit me.”
That he wanted to see her again was not a surprise to me, since I had a working pair of eyeballs. “What did you say?”
“That I'd think about it.”
“Lisa, for a supergenius, you can really be an idiot.”
Her jaw clenched mulishly. “He doesn't even know me, Mags. I mean, jeez. I'm a lot to handle. And not in a good way.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed so I could face her. “Sooner or later, you're going to have to let someone in. It may be Zeke, it may not. But everyone deserves to be loved.”
“Even Hellbound novice sorcerers?”
I came to a sudden decision and stood up. “Even psychic girl detectives who seem to be demon magnets.”
Slipping on my flip-flops, I zipped up my hoodie and headed for the door. Lisa called after me, “I won't leave the light on.”
Thanks a lot for making me blush. Fortunately the hall was long enough for it to subside. I knocked on the guys' door, but when Henry's bass voice said, “Come in,” I found him alone, reading a book.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was looking for Justin.”
He gave me a “duh” look. “He went for a walk. We thought you girls were going to bed early.”
“Not yet.” I was wearing my pj's, but if he thought I always wore pants with purple hearts all over them, I wasn't going to correct him.
“Hey, Maggie.” His voice stopped me as I was about to close the door. “What did you see, when you were unconscious the other day at the shrine?”
I tried to look nonchalant and not wary. “Why do you ask?”
“Indiana Jones.” At my baffled expression, he explained. “When Indy is going through the traps at the end of Last Crusade, his dad says he has to pass through the ‘breath of God.’ He never uses the Hebrew word.”
My stomach seemed to sink, and my hand tightened on the doorknob. “You're sure?”
He smiled. “I wanted to be an archaeologist when I grew up, until I found out they don't really carry bullwhips.”
Then his expression grew sober and rather kind. For the first time, I could see the future priest in him. “Look. Justin's got the anthropological background. Lisa seems to have the practical end of things. But if you ever need to talk out the spiritual ramifications …” He cleared his throat. “I know I'm still just a theology major, but at least you can talk to me without getting excommunicated.”
I was hugely touched. “What changed your mind? Besides the big chupacabra teeth, I mean.”
“Oh, I still think you're living dangerously. But I've seen now that you really do have a gift, and you really don't have a choice but to use it. To paraphrase Saint Paul, ‘To whom much is given, much will be required.’”
I did him one better. “‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ Spider-Man.”
Justin had gone all the way out to the garden behind the chapel, where he sat on the wooden railing, looking over a marshy inlet. The air was cool coming off the water, and I zipped up my jacket as I leaned on the rail beside him.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.
He dropped his arm over my shoulders. “Just the opposite. I was sending you psychic messages to come out and meet me.”
“I haven't seen you much today.”
“Sorry. I guess after near-death experiences, it would have been more boyfriendly to spend some
“Nah.” I turned and jumped up to sit on the rail, too, my back to the water so I could face him. “I interviewed Doña Isabel today. It's going to make a great article.”
“I asked Hector a ton of questions about brujería. It's rare that an outsider gets so much insight.”
“Productive day.” I swung my legs, gazing at the moon-silvered garden. Darn it if I wasn't going to miss this place a little.
“Justin.” I said his name without looking at him, but I could see from the corner of my eye that my tone had caught his attention. “Do you help me with all this weird stuff because of some kind of Bruce Wayne need to avenge your parents, or absolve your survivor guilt, or something like that?”
He blinked. “I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do. But even if it wasn't, I'd brave Hellfire and more for you, Maggie.”
Something twisted pleasantly in my chest, as if my heart were doing a happy little dance. But I had at least one more thing that needed saying.
“You should know, I don't think this is the last time this is going to happen.”
The corner of his mouth turned up in that crooked smile that I loved. He slipped his arm around my waist, resting his fingers on my hip. “You say that like you think it makes a difference to me.”
“That just proves you're as crazy as I am.”
His arm tightened, and my balance became very precarious. “No, that just proves I'm crazy about you.”
Right then, a normal life seemed way overrated.
Eventually, I did make it back to my room, but it was long after Lisa had turned off the light.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'd like to thank the folks at the Kenedy Ranch Museum in Sarita, Texas, for their work preserving the heritage of South Texas ranching, in particular the lives and legacy of the vaquero, and the King Ranch Museum in Kingsville for insight into the cattle industry, past and present. Dulcina and the Velasquez family are completely fictional, but I was inspired by the rugged and hardworking people who fed America as it manifested its destiny across the West. All mistakes made and liberties taken are my own.
My thanks, also, to the great folks at Random House, who have been so supportive of the books, and to my editor, Krista Marino, for her insight, patience, and general awesome-ness. Also awesome is my agent, Lucienne Diver, who gives me advice and encouragement and doesn't laugh too hard when I say something dorky.
Thank you, also, to all the readers who have written or stopped by my blog. Not to mention the librarians, booksellers, and bloggers who have stocked, recommended, and reviewed my books.
Finally, to my mom, and everyone who supported me with infusions of coffee, words of encouragement, and kicks to the rear. Most especially: Cheryl Smyth, Candace Havens, Shannon Canard, Marion Smith, Peter Clement, Delilah Peeler, and K. Hudson Price.
And, best for last, my husband, Tim. You rock, babe, and not just at Guitar Hero.
ROSEMARY CLEMENT-MOORE loves ancient and modern history, Jane Austen and Madeleine L'Engle, the Food Network, the SciFi Channel, and Guitar Hero. She used to live on a South Texas ranch with horses, cows, coyotes, skunks, and mosquitoes of hellish origin. Since moving back to civilization with her husband and dogs, she is most grateful that there is a Starbucks within walking distance and she no longer has to shoot rattlesnakes from her front porch.
Highway to Hell is her third book featuring Maggie Quinn. You can visit Rosemary at www.rosemaryclementmoore.com.
Published by Delacorte Press
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Rosemary Clement-Moore
All rights reserved.
Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/teens
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at
www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Clement-Moore, Rosemary.
Highway to hell / Rosemary Clement-Moore. — 1st ed.
p. cm.—(Maggie Quinn : girl vs. evil)
Summary: On their way to spend spring break on a Texas beach, college freshmen Maggie Quinn and D&D Lisa are stranded in a town where some believe a chupacabra is killing animals, and as the girls investigate they get help from diverse and unexpected sources.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89193-9
[1. Chupacabras—Fiction. 2. Monsters—Fiction. 3. Psychic ability—Fiction. 4. Witchcraft—Fiction. 5. Demonology—Fiction. 6. Journalism—Fiction. 7. Texas-Fiction. 8. Mystery and detective stories. 9. Horror stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.C59117Hig 2009 [Fic]—dc22 008005304
v3.0
Rosemary Clement-Moore, Highway to Hell
(Series: # )