The Chronicles of a Public Bus (part 3.14)

Monday, 23:00, route 42

Everett almost doesn’t want to drive back down the hill.

The winding road and sparse, grand houses allow for a drive scenic enough to be listed as a tourist attraction, which would be impressive if there were many tourist-ey things in Franklin City to begin with. The expanse of rippled, drab land below is hardly impressive, though on a good side of the hill, Everett can see the twinkling city lights and the chasm of empty land between Franklin’s two sides. He can also spot the peninsula leftover from the Talisman estate, and from so high up, the forest of picket signs is invisible.

The giant blue coyote standing amongst the signs, however, is not invisible, hence why Everett does not want to drive down. He can literally see a giant predator, and after the fight on Friday night, he doesn’t want to face it.

“Where is the weird rabbit girl when you need her?” Everett mutters, pausing a little too long at a stop sign. He crawls forward and checks the intersection again for pedestrians dressed in black before tapping the gas and keeping the bus a touch under the speed limit.

In the black of night, the coyote spirit glows. It stalks the length of the Talisman peninsula in under a minute, tail sweeping the ground, and Everett wonders if the signs he knows are there will still stand upright in the morning. At each end of the area, the coyote lifts its head into the air to sniff the air before shaking its head and pacing to the other side. At least, Everett assumes the spirit is sniffing, because he can’t hear any howling, and a canine that size could probably send tremors past Franklin City limits.

He glances at his speedometer and notices with a twinge of guilt that he’s far more than a touch below the speed limit. Pressing the gas pedal, Everett tears his gaze from the panoramic view and admires the darkened mansions on his left instead. They range from castle-like to abstract, and each one has at least an acre of space sprawling from the house.

Eventually, the mansions make way for an organized neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses, each one lit by the street lights. Enough people grow trees in this neighborhood that Everett can’t see beyond two rows of houses, and the gridded streets make driving up and down the hill treacherous in the dark. He can’t spare attention for his surroundings.

When he emerges from the rich neighborhood, Everett sends a tentative glance at the empty lot on his right. Without his brights or any street lights, the protest sign grassland melts into the darkness. Ahead, the yellow windows and neons in the old downtown are cheerful, and several of the signs wink with age. On the left, the coyote spirit sits in hungry electric blue, looming over the buildings. It wipes a slow tongue over its snout, and Everett shivers at the sight of its knife-like teeth.

Then, like a heron snapping up a fish, the coyote jabs its face at Everett’s bus. Like a ghost, it wears intelligence in its eyes.

Everett slams the brakes, and a scream drips from his mouth. The coyote rises from its haunches, slow as a yoga instructor stretching into the downward dog, and pads onto the road.

“Do not freak out,” Everett orders himself. “Do not scream anymore. Do not let it see you’re scared witless.”

As if it hasn’t a care in the world, the spirit strolls towards Everett’s bus. It plops onto the asphalt, bottom half invisible in the beams of the bus’s headlights, and lowers its head to stare at Everett. A blue blob the size of a man’s torso sparkles where the coyote’s nose juts through the front window.

“Witless,” Everett babbles. “Witless witness. White. What.” He hopes he hasn’t wet himself, but he’s too scared to smell anything. He can’t focus on his own nose with the giant coyote snout stuck through his bus.

“Hello there, driver,” the coyote drawls. Its voice is scratchy, but in that sensual, femme fatale way.

Everett shrieks.

“I do hope you’re not too delayed by my little interruption. You see, I was about to search for a few spirits from my own culture, but just as I was leaving, I smelled the most scrumptious thing.”

Quaking, Everett nods for the spirit to go on.

“Now, there seems to be a fair amount of spirit residue lying around this city, and tasty as it all is, it’s confusing my poor nose, so I was wondering if you might point me in the direction of my little snack.” The coyote’s tail snaps around it’s feet, whacking the bus’s tires in the journey. “Surely even a normal person like yourself would have heard of a spirit aggregation.”

“Erm,” Everett musters. He can smell his sweat now, which means he probably hasn’t done anything really embarrassing.

“Oh come now,” the coyote murmurs. “There’s no need to be scared.” It brings its head in closer, lips curling back in a terrifying mix of smile and snarl.

Everett’s hand shoots forward. He is pointing straight ahead. “That way,” he stammers. “Red brick building. You can’t miss it.”

The coyote lets out a rumble, probably chuckling, and lifts its nose out of the bus window. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” It shifts its muscles to stand, but thinks better of it and gives Everett another knowing stare. “Oh, and driver? Before you try anything, know that I’ll eat your spirit if you get in my way. I can tell you’re planning something.”

Asking Mr. Bartram to warn the rabbit girl had definitely not been on Everett’s mind. Of course not. He shakes his head and gulps down the dryness in his mouth.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” says the coyote. And then, with a flick of its tail, it leaps over the bus and circles back onto the old Talisman estate.

Everett waits until the coyote is past the old downtown before he even thinks about putting his foot on the gas pedal.