Verity Alice Price

An hour later, Verity, Liam, Rose and Jermaine staggered out of the bar and onto the suddenly silent sidewalk. Verity could dimly hear the parties still raging in the bars to either side of them, and there were people on the other side of the street, happy, laughing, living people with drinks in their hands and smiles on their happily drunken faces. There was no one else on their stretch of sidewalk. ( A black coach, drawn by two equally black horses, was parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. )

[And we're done! Adapted once more from Seanan McGuire's "The Ghosts of Bourbon Street" with the help and patience of firstofitskind, who I could NOT have done all of this without. NFI, NFB, and Verity and Liam are on their way back home, woo!]

They had left the main highway behind them easily an hour ago, and were now wending their way through dense forest, traveling along roads that could have used some serious repair, and maybe a few closures. The potholes were big enough to qualify as small ponds, at least when they were full of water, and this far into Michigan's Upper Peninsula, they were always filled with water. Michigan might not be on Portland's level when it came to being damp, but it was making a good effort, and Verity wasn't ready to count it out yet.

Liam was asleep in the passenger seat when they crossed the line into Buckley Township - they'd had a late night last night celebrating the new year and he'd taken the earlier shift driving while she'd napped. Verity pulled the SUV off to the side of the road and stared into the imposing tree line that surrounded them on what felt like all sides. The sky was a thin sliver of blue overhead, already trending toward sunset. Chicago and the Carmichael Hotel were eight hours of hard driving behind them. If they didn't want to spend the night in the SUV, she would need to push on, and soon.

She didn't move.

It was strange, being back in Buckley: it was like she was a compass, forever seeking magnetic north, and had just locked on to her target, no matter how much she wanted to go in a different direction. This was where her family's tenure in America had started. This was where, for better or for worse, the majority of their bodies were buried. Her grandparents had met here. Her great-grandparents had died here. It was impossible to understand the history of the Healy-Price family as it currently stood without also understanding Buckley - what had gone right there, what had gone wrong there, and what had gone unbearably weird there.

( Unbearably weird was part of the Price genetic makeup by now. )

[Adapted from "Swamp Bromeliad," by Seanan McGuire and preplayed (and coded, yay!) by the wonderful firstofitskind. NFI, NFB as per usual. Part 1]