His brother half scowled back at him, like it bothered him that Nick understood the shrug. "You coming up here or what?"

  "No, man, I got a lot of looking around to do here! This is amazing! Yeah, yeah, okay, fine. Pull out and I'll move the Dodge in and close the garage door." Nick climbed out the back of the van, closed the doors, and went to start the half-frozen Dodge so it could be parked inside until it could be repaired. A minute later he climbed into the passenger side of the shagmobile, muttering, "I'm gonna hafta give it another name. When did you do all this?"

  Chris shrugged again, stiffly. "Since I bought it. I still got a little left to do."

  Nick turned around, peering down the van's now-dark interior. "What's left? It looks great."

  "Working on a table that slides out from under the bed, for one, or changing the whole top to put a high roof on so the bed can go up there."

  "You'd have a shit ton more room on the floor if you did that. But you'd have to rearrange everything."

  "It's all modular anyway. Anyway, If I don't do that, I gotta figure out a solution for at least one permanent chair. The bed's fine as it is if it's just me, but sometimes it's not."

  "I bet not. This is, like, a non-terrifying shagmobile." Nick elbowed Chris, or at least made the motion, since he was about two feet away from him in the driver's seat.

  "Oh, shut up. Put some music on and shut up."

  "Yeah, okay. Got bluetooth in this thing?"

  "Dude, it's from 1973." Chris waited a beat. "Of course it's got bluetooth. Should be under—"

  "Shagmobile?" Nick asked hopefully.

  "Mystery Machine, you jackass."

  Nick cackled, turned the stereo on, and a few seconds later, Let's Get It On rolled through the speaker system. Chris bellowed incoherently and Nick, laughing, found a classic rock mix instead.

  "Thank you! Jesus! I do not need that playing when the only other person in my van is my brother!"

  "Shaaaaagmobiiiile!" Nick cackled again as Chris made a threatening gesture at him, then settled down in the seat to watch the miles creep past under their wheels. He fell asleep somewhere past the Wyoming border and didn't wake up again until they stopped for gas in Casper. "Shit." He sat up groggily, fumbling for a water bottle that Chris handed to him. "Sorry. You shoulda woken me up."

  "If I'd known you were gonna pass out like a four year old I'd have told you to take the bed. S'fine. You want coffee?"

  "No, I'm good. Lemme fill the tank, I gotta move." Nick got out to fill the tank and Chris, moving stiffly, went in to pay. "Lemme drive a while," Nick said when his brother got back. "You got less sleep than I did." Which was true, if not exactly the truth about why he thought he should drive.

  "You think I'm gonna let you drive—my van after all the time you spent insulting it?"

  Nick felt a slow grin creep across his face. "What's her name?"

  "What makes you think it's got a name?"

  "'Cause you almost said it. C'mon, what's her name?"

  Chris sighed. "Lucille."

  "Please don't you leave me, Lucille?" Nick half sang the words, and his brother looked pained.

  "First, those aren't the lyrics, and second, no, not that Lucille. She's not gonna leave me, are you, Lucy." He patted the van as he walked back toward the driver's seat.

  Nick marched out in front of the van and spread his arms, palms up. "Lucy, I'm sorry for all the jokes I made at your expense. I didn't know my dumb big brother was gonna treat you like a lady, and I shouldn't have been slut-shaming anyway, that was a dick move. If you don't mind, though, Chris needs sleep as bad as I did, so if you could see your way clear to forgiving me and letting me drive for a while, that'd probably be good for all of us."

  Chris hadn't yet opened the driver side door by the time Nick finished. He just stood there, giving him a hard look, before finally saying, "I can't tell if you're fucking with me."

  "I am not fucking with you," Nick said with genuine sincerity. "Seriously, man, I knew you worked on this thing—on Lucille—some in high school, but I had no idea she was, like, a passion project. She's amazing."

  Chris's shoulders hunched. "It's not that big a deal."

  Chris was obviously full of shit, but Nick doubted that argument would win him much ground. "Just go get some sleep, dude, okay? I promise not to drive past…" He rolled his eyes up, trying to figure how far they'd come and how much farther they had to go. "Billings, okay? That's about as far as Casper is from Sterling. I'll give your baby back in Billings. That sounds like a country song."

  "Number one hit in 1977," Chris agreed, but tossed Nick the keys and went around Lucille's back end to open the far side door. By the time Nick got in the driver's seat, his brother was sacked out across the van's bed with a muttered, "Drive carefully," before silence fell.

  Nick waited to queue up Let's Get It On until he was pretty sure Chris had fallen asleep.

  They'd both been awake for hours by the time they hit the outskirts of Maddock, not that there was much to Maddock, Montana except outskirts, anymore. It had been a gold rush town, big enough that they ran the train to it back in the late 19th century, but it had dried up with the rush and there wasn't much left except some tumbleweeds and a couple ghosts. Nick, watching the greyed out buildings go by, said, "I wonder what it was like here, back in the day."

  "You've wondered that every time we've come through here since you were five, Nick. You have the internet, look it up."

  "I dunno, I think maybe it's better to wonder. Y'know, like, that was the saloon, that was the whorehouse, that was the general store…."

  "That's still the general store, man." Which was true, although Nick didn't think it sold anything but tinned milk and a couple of souvenirs about the little town's long-ago glory days. Less than three minutes later they'd passed through the little town, leaving dust to hang on the faded boards and greyed-out signs. Their grandma lived another twenty miles out of town, on a ranch Nick remembered as having visibility for a good solid ten of those miles.

  Of course, he'd been a lot younger and smaller, the last time he was on Grandma's land. It probably wasn't really possible to see more than a couple miles in any direction, but when he'd been a kid, it seemed like the old lady had been able to see him get into mischief anywhere.

  Or trailing along behind Chris, watching him get into mischief, and then the both of them getting in trouble for it. Nick chuckled at the memory and Chris glanced at him. "Lemme guess, you're remembering when you fell in the creek."

  "I'm remembering when you pushed me in the creek."

  "Potato, potahto. I should've pushed you, since I got my hide tanned for it, anyway."

  "You really didn't?"

  "No, it was one of the other kids who grew up out there that Grandma let play on the land. I don't think she really meant to. The kid who pushed you, not Gramma, she knew what she was doing. You just didn't know how to walk on a wet log and she bumped into you. I almost caught your shirt trying to grab you when you went in, and you decided I'd pushed you."

  "In my defense, it sounds plausible."

  Chris cast him a brief look Nick couldn't read, then lifted his chin at the road in front of them and the distant house at the end of it. "Grandma's waiting for us."

  "Did you call, or will she have a shotgun?"

  "Why not both?"

  "Hah!" Nick grimaced at the laugh's sharpness, but Chris smiled briefly.

  "No, I called from Billings. She said we could come up and stay as long as we wanted."

  "Not too long," Nick said without thinking. "I mean…"

  "Yeah, no, we don't know if another frickin' angel is gonna come after you. Us. We'll stay overnight, maybe, and head out tomorrow. She'll be mad, but I'd rather she was mad than caught up in all this crap."

  "Maybe we shouldn't have…"

  "No, man, we can't explain what's going on over the phone. I mean, what’re we gonna do, text ‘hey gramma, know anything about killer fallen angels?’ If she doesn't know about it, it's too weird, and if she does, I don't wanna get, like, a text message about that."

  "Like y—" Nick bit his tongue on that and Chris shot him a glare.

  "Give it a rest. I said sorry."

  "You said you were an asshole."

  "All right so I'm sorry, fuck."

  Nick's shoulders hunched and he muttered, "Thanks," at the window.

  Chris said something under his breath, and a chill of cold anger slid up Nick's spine. He pressed his eyes shut, felt his jaw tightened, and looked for a way to shake it off. A couple of bumpy minutes later the van slowed as they reached the house, but the emotion wouldn't let go, and he didn't want to go see his grandma while he was still spitting fire. Especially with the grendel magic poking at him, looking for a chance to explode. Chris killed the engine and Nick heard him thump the heel of his hand against the steering wheel a couple of times before he said, "I'm sorry, Nicky," more quietly than before. “I should have called.”

  A knot untied itself under Nick's heart and he exhaled some of the anger away. Most of it, maybe. "Thanks."

  "Grandma's on the porch looking at us like we're a couple of idiots."

  A little grin fought its way up and Nick opened his eyes to see the old lady doing just that, standing cross-armed in her doorway with a shotgun leaning on her hip and a dog staring intently past it. "She might be on to something, you know."

  "I get that impression sometimes, yeah. You ready for this?"

  "I haven't been ready for a single goddamn thing that's happened in the last week, Chris."

  "Has it been a week?" Chris still had his hands on the steering wheel, his gaze locked forward like he was looking at their grandmother, but his eyes looked unfocused. "I guess so. Dad died a week ago yesterday, the funeral was a week ago tomorrow. I'm having a hard time with days right now."

  "Well, letting Grandma's house get cold 'cause she's standing there with the door open waiting for us isn't gonna help that."

  "Yeah. I guess not." Chris moved his hands like he'd turn the van off, discovered he'd already done it, and stared blankly at the keys for a couple seconds before removing them from the ignition. "All right. Let's go."

  Nick finally opened his own door, like he'd been waiting for permission. The dog shouldered past their grandma, hackles rising and a low warning growl echoing over the snowy landscape. Grandma said, "Calm down, Bill," and the dog eyed her, then lay down with its chin on its paws, tail brushing her feet warily. She stepped over him, leaving the shotgun in the doorway, and came down a short set of steps to crunch across the snow toward them. "Hello, boys."

  "Grandma." Nick felt a stupid smile crease his face, and stepped up to hug her. She'd gotten tiny since he'd seen her last, not just short like everybody else, tiny. Some of that was age peeling away everything extra, although she'd never had much extra to begin with, being one of those old ladies who got increasingly whip-like instead of softening into Mrs. Claus.

  She hadn't lost any strength, though, as she returned his hug and chuckled as he lifted her up. "You got tall, boy."

  "I guess you didn't sneak me enough coffee when I was little."

  "I still make it with all that milk and sugar you liked." She smiled as he put her down again, and turned to Chris, who folded her into an even longer hug. She murmured something into his hair after a long moment, and when he released her, it was to brusquely wipe his hand over his eyes.

  "'s good to see you too, Gramma. How's that cow?"

  "Learning that motherhood is no bed of roses. Come on inside, boys. You probably want something to eat."

  "It's been a while since the BLTs," Nick admitted.

  Chris looked at him crossly as they followed their grandmother into the house. "We ate in Billings and then again in Great Falls, Nick. Both of those were after the sandwiches."

  "So? It's still been a while since the BLTs."

  Chris muttered, "I swear to God," but crouched to let the dog sniff his hand while Nick passed the animal and went into the house, following the scent of meat loaf and baked potatoes.

  He guessed the decor was last-century, because nothing had changed since he'd been there last: a living room with over-stuffed couches and striped covers, low square coffee tables, table lamps that cast warm incandescent light over the room. The kitchen was brown wood and white counters and linoleum, although he guessed the table could have been a hundred years old, for all he knew. There were three bedrooms down the hall, and just the one bathroom, unless she'd had a new one put in, but she'd been living alone out there for a long time, so it didn't seem likely. "It looks just like I remember, Grandma. So do you."

  "Not shorter?"

  He ducked his head and smiled at his feet. "Everything seems smaller, yeah."

  "I'll let you in on a secret. I've been painting it all with shrinking dust for twenty years now. It's not you, it's everything else."

  Nick laughed. "Yeah? How come Chris got short, then?"

  "I did not." Chris, having apparently made friends with the dog, came inside with the dog on his heels, and pulled the door shut behind them.

  "Oh, I sneak down to Sterling once a year or so and give him a good dusting, too. Used to do it to you, but San Francisco's too far a drive for an old lady like me, so you escaped my wicked ways. And now look at you, too tall to hug unless you pick me up." Grandma clicked her tongue and pointed to the kitchen chairs. Nick slunk to one, almost feeling guilty for having gotten tall. Chris sat in another, and for a moment their grandmother stood and studied them.

  "What a couple of handsome boys you turns out to be," she finally said. "How are you, under the circumstances?" She turned away to open the oven, a wave of heat and stomach-rumbling scent rolling out as Nick exchanged glances with his brother.

  "We're okay," Chris said after that silent consultation. "Mostly. Um, Grandma, I hate to jump into the deep end—"

  "Then don't," she said briskly, putting the meat loaf on the table. "Eat dinner. Eat cookies."

  Nick, unable to help himself, brightened. "There are cookies?"

  "There will be after dinner. And then get a good night's sleep, Christopher. You can dive into the deep end tomorrow."

  "Grandma, I think we need to leave in the morning. There's—"

  "You're going to drive thirteen hours, stay for twelve, and leave an old woman alone in winter?" Grandma delivered half a dozen large baked potatoes to the table and Nick, belatedly, got up to help. "Sit back down," she told him. "Nothing's more tiring than sitting for a whole day. You can fuss over me tomorrow."

  "Grandma, some stuff has happened. It might be dangerous for us to stay," Chris protested as Nick, feeling like he was about nine, obediently sat again.

  A scowl passed over their grandma's face as she returned to the stove for a pot of vegetables. "What bullshit did your father leave you to deal with?"

  Chris, cautiously, said, "I'm not sure it's his bullshit," and for the first time since they'd arrived, Grandma stopped moving. Arrested, so fully that it looked like something external had grabbed hold of her, but so briefly that Nick almost wasn’t sure he’d seen it.

  Then she was back in action, draining the vegetables and bringing them to the set table, telling Nick he could get up after all, and get some drinks for everybody and put the butter on the table. He did, but not without glancing at Chris to see if he, too, had caught Grandma's momentary hesitation.

  Chris dropped his chin, barely a nod. Nick half wished he hadn't, that he'd imagined the whole thing, but they'd seen the same thing, and that meant maybe Grandma knew something after all. But she sat down, saying, "Tell me about college, Nicholas," and for a while, at least, they all pretended everything was normal. The dog put his head on the table and looked absolutely tragic when Grandma snapped at him. Nick was pretty sure she noticed, but ignored, Chris feeding the animal scraps off his plate. By the time dinner was over, the dog was Chris's best friend in the world, and followed him around the kitchen as he cleaned up.

  Grandma watched that with clear amusement. "You were always good with the animals, Christopher. You should come out here and help me on the ranch. Those cows don't have babies by themselves."

  "Pretty sure they do, Gramma."

  "Well, all right, most of the time, they do. Still, it's a better life up here than chasing bounties around, my boy. Your father never should have brought you up like that."

  "You're probably right." Chris went silent a minute, dishes clinking together as he washed them. "Nicky, you wanna dry these? How come you and Dad never got along, Gramma? I mean, was it…Mom?"

  Nick got up to help while their grandmother frowned at both of them. Then, like she couldn't talk without moving, she got up too, taking a bowl out to start cookies. "Not because she died, no. We never liked each other much before that, either. He was very handsome, your daddy, and girls came easy to him. I was raised not to trust a man like that."

  Chris grinned at the dishes. "You were raised not to trust a man like that because your mom was gay, Gramma. She didn't have time for any men."

  Grandma sniffed. "Having been married to a man for the better part of thirty years, I see her point."

  "Hey!" Both the brothers protested, and their grandmother laughed.

  "You boys don't seem too bad. Doing dishes and everything without even being told. Somebody raised you right, in the end."

  Nick said, "Chris did," without really meaning to, and his brother gave him a sharp, startled look.

  "Then I suppose if he has kids of his own, he'll do all right by them," Grandma said. "Turn the oven back on, will you, Nicky? Three fifty."

  "Yes, Gramma. Are those gonna be chocolate chip cookies?"

  "Are they still your favorite?"

  "Yeah…" Nick smiled sheepishly at his toes, then brightened as Grandma said, "Then I suppose that's what they'll be. Chris, what about you?"

  "What about me? Chocolate chip is fine. Nick eats more cookies than I do."

  "Nick eats more everything than you do," Nick said.

  "Nick eats more than an average moose."

  Nick made moose antlers with his wet hands and soapy water dripped down his temple and forearm. "Ew. Look what you did.”

 

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