Chapter 7: Friends in Strange Places

Sorry about the looong wait between chapters, mes amis… I… am a terrible excuse for a writer. But I love you! So review!!!! Also, thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, because I really live for you all. (Do you sense a theme here?) And heyyy, new character alert… Oh, on the bright side, I have successfully mapped out where I want this story to go, so updates should not be ridiculously long spaces apart. Hopefully.

Best, you've got to be the best.
You've got to change the world
and use this chance to be heard.
Your time is now.

-from 'Butterflies and Hurricanes', by Muse (one of the most amazing bands ever)

Regina Mason was not familiar with the roadways of America. Her father, the American science teacher who'd moved to France for the sole purpose of escaping his small-town upbringing (and who, in fact, had thrust everything the US had ever taught him aside, including the language itself), had never even told her the name of the town he'd spent his first two decades in. Now, stranded in the States, she wondered again why exactly she'd chosen to come here after graduation.

She'd spent a few days with Aunt Leigh in Boston, and then had decided to spend the remaining three weeks of her vacation wandering around the East Coast. Her funds wouldn't quite pay for a three-week jaunt across the USA… Regina had, however, refused to even entertain the thought of calling across the Atlantic to ask for more money. The Ward would not only laugh at her, but they would say… They would say…

We told you so.

Still, part of her whispered, they would be right. She'd decided to come to her father's homeland before completing her initiation into the Ward against both his wishes and those of her mother. Not enough money to see everything. Not enough relatives to stay everywhere. Not enough anything to keep the boredom at bay. Besides, they'd said, Massachusetts is… dangerous. She'd laughed, Regina remembered, at that. How the hell could a state be dangerous? They'd just pointed at the map on the wall, where certain spots were marked with bright red push pins. There were four pins on Massachusetts. Still, even with the danger presented by the unstable power located there, Regina had wanted to go. C'est pas un problem, she'd thought. Whoever the power sources were, the four boys the Ward had known about since their birth eighteen years before, she could handle them. Besides, she wouldn't even run into any of them. They were in… what was that little town called, anyway? Ip-something. Ipson?

So she'd been completely ready for an uneventful few weeks across the pond, before returning to the interesting, if not really active, job that awaited her entire family.

And then, of course, had come the gas station. The Snickers bar she'd been about to buy.

The blond boy who brushed past her, whose face rang one hell of a bell.

After seeing him, she'd immediately called her Aunt Leigh.

"You're not going to believe this, but…"

"But what?" Regina's mouth hung there, open, waiting for her tongue to generate the words… but they wouldn't come.

"But I think," she said, after a long moment, "that the East Coast is just as boring as Dad made it out to be. Oh, sorry, traffic light is green. Gotta go." She hung up on the confused Aunt Leigh, snapping her phone shut with a kind of wild, almost scared, excitement. She could barely believe what she'd just done. One of the garçons her grandfather's book featured was here, most definitely not in Ipson, alone, looking decidedly freaked out, and she had lied about it to her conduit to the Ward.

Not lied, exactly. More like… omitted.

Regina swallowed a bit. Her father's voice echoed in her head.

"Regina, cherie, n'oublies pas… si tu voix quelqu'un que t'interesse, dis-moi. Tu sais sur quoi je dis."

"Oui, Papa, je sais, je sais."

She had promised. Anything interesting interesting, and she was to call home immediately.

Or not.

I can use this, she thought, the excitement growing. I'll prove to them that I can take care of myself, and I'll find something they didn't know. I'll figure out what's going on with this guy before any of the others, and then they'll have to let me make my own way. Regina glanced out the wide glass window of the gas station, and saw the sleek, fancy car peel away onto the road, the blond head bent as if against the wind. Dropping the Snickers bar back onto the shelf, the brunette walked quickly out of the station and to her own rented car.

Game on.

888888888888888888

Reid glanced over his shoulder, preparing to swing back onto the highway, and noticed something he hadn't seen before. A few hundred yards back, someone else was doing the same thing he'd done: a fairly old Taurus was parked alongside the road, headlights off. He shook his head.

"Hope you had a better night than I did, man," he grunted, eyes darting to the fast traffic. "Come on, you bastards, let me in," Reid muttered. Finally, he spotted an opening… and almost drove right into an 18-wheeler going 80 miles per hour. The truck blared out a honk as Reid slammed on his brakes and hit the back of his seat with a jolt. The front of his car was inches away from speeding traffic. His heart pounded.

"Jesus Christ," Reid gasped, feeling like his eyes were going to burst out of his head. His breathing was erratic and panicked, and inside, the Other snickered.

Good nerves, boyo.

A few minutes later, there was a lull that allowed him to slip into the flow of cars heading west, and Reid did so smoothly, his heart still thudding heavily. He breathed in deeply, letting his nerves calm themselves. Behind him, the Taurus was also pulling into traffic as the light broke across the sky.

About half an hour later, Reid was again forced off the road, this time by his stomach. He pulled into one of the ubiquitous rest stops scattered across America, parking outside the nameless food court and attached gift shop. Reid got out of the car, checking his wallet as he walked. He still had his credit card, and about thirty bucks in cash. He was fine.

Nice, being rich.

Returning with a muffin and a cup of steaming coffee, Reid was about to set the coffee on the hood and open the driver-side door when a voice from behind him called his name. There was an instant of shock, where, in between suddenly slowed heartbeats, Reid thought it was Kat's voice calling him. But no, of course not, of course not her. The voice was higher-pitched than hers, and tinged with an accent.

"Reid Garwin," it came again. The 'r' in 'Reid' was thicker than he was used to hearing it, and the last syllable of his last name drawn out oddly. He turned slowly, the cup and muffin still in his hands. A girl with a vaguely familiar face and light brown hair was standing a few feet away, in front of the reddish Taurus he'd seen earlier.

"Hey, are you following me," he began to ask, but she held up a hand.

"My name is Regina Mason," the girl said, and her accent became clear to him: French. "From… from the Ward." Reid stared blankly. She looked like he should know what she was talking about. Reid furrowed his brow. He felt torn between wanting to laugh at the crazy girl and leave, and hearing her out. The Other was strangely quiet, which was nice, and she'd known his name…

"And…"

"You do not know of the Ward?" She sighed shortly. "The descendents of John Hale." Another blank look. The French girl, Regina Mason, stared at him incredulously.

Reid curled his lip in disgust, and felt a curl of pride when she (almost invisibly, true) tilted slightly away from him. Still, the girl rallied, and gave him the final clue.

"The Reverend John Hale, imbécile. As in, the witchfinder who convicted most of those women in Salem four hundred years ago."

Before his body tensed in an automatic fighting stance, Reid almost dropped his coffee.

C'est pas un problem: It's not a problem

Garçons: boys

"Regina, cherie, n'oublies pas… si tu voix quelqu'un que t'interesse, dis-moi. Tu sais sur quoi je dis.": "Regina, dear, don't forget… if you see something that interests you, tell me. You know what I'm talking about."

"Oui, Papa, je sais, je sais.": "Yes, Papa, I know, I know."

Imbécile: imbecile (come on, you knew that one…)