AUTHOR’S NOTE: Didi Oviatt had a writing challenge I just couldn’t pass up. The theme was ‘ROAD TRIP’. The challenge was to write a scene/short story with the characters from your WIP (work in progress) going on a road trip to (fill in the blanks however you wish). So, of course, I just had to toss Ambrose and Hildreth into a car just to see what would happen.
Ambrose covered his face with his hands and slowly rubbed his eyes.
Maybe he’ll get sick.
Maybe he’ll twist his ankle.
Maybe he’ll get a spontaneously fractured vertebrae somewhere in his back. Doesn’t really matter where.
The passenger side door opened and Hildreth Mayhew’s distinctive scent flooded the car.
Ambrose sighed. “I guess I should be grateful that you don’t smell like a werewolf.”
Hildreth got into the car and closed the door. ‘Well, you smell lovely too.”
“Ha! As if you know.” Ambrose shook his head. “I just don’t understand why our wives want us to become friends.”
“Probably because they’re tired of us being enemies.”
Ambrose shrugged. “I can’t help it if you don’t know how to control yourself.”
Hildreth gaped. “What? You think this is all my fault? You know, if you didn’t mouth off every time we share breathing space—”
“Well, if you didn’t jump to the stupidest of conclusions every time—”
“You know what? If we keep this up, you’re going to wind up with a fist in your windpipe.”
Ambrose scoffed. “Such a charmer. Should I tell you what will wind up in your windpipe?”
“If you say your fangs, I swear I’ll laugh my head off. Because that just doesn’t make any sense. In order for your fangs to get into my windpipe, I’d have to swallow them. Why would I swallow them? Like, in what universe/alternate reality would that make sense?”
Ambrose chuckled. “You’d be surprised.” He turned the key. “Okay. Key’s turned. Engine is…uhh…engined.”
“Okay. Um.” He checked his rearview mirror. “Okay. No one’s behind us. At least, I don’t see anyone back there. We should be safe.”
Hildreth looked alarmed. “Wait. Have you driven a car before?”
Ambrose checked his mirror again. “Mm.”
“Mm? What kind of answer is that?”
“Don’t distract me. Okay. I’m pretty sure I have it in reverse. No. Wait. No. Um.” He pulled the lever down a couple of notches. “Okay. That should do it.”
“Maybe we should walk instead.”
“Be quiet. I’m thinking. Okay. Don’t slam on the accelerator. Light touch. Huh? It’s not moving. Maybe a little harder.”
The car shot backwards in a death dealing mission to the mailbox.
Ambrose swore a whole long passage of French curse words as he struggled to get the car under his control.
Hildreth’s hands flared out, grabbing onto whatever was available – the section of seatbelt above his shoulder and Ambrose’s arm. “Foot off the accelerator. Foot off the accelerator.” he repeated it over and over as if it were a magic spell.
Ambrose let up on the accelerator and slammed on the brake.
The car halted with a haunted house shriek.
“I don’t think you have this driving thing under control. Can I please drive?”
“I can do this.”
“No, you can’t.”
Ambrose gave him a belligerent look.
“Please. Let me drive. I would like to live to see my fortieth birthday. It would really disappoint me if I died before then.”
“I can do this.”
Ambrose thought about it.
He thought about his wife.
She really wants us to get along. Me and this hunter.
It isn’t easy. He doesn’t make it easy.
But neither do I.
“Fine.” Ambrose unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. “I’ll let you drive to the store.”
Ambrose smiled, baring his fangs. “But I get to drive home.”