way

say anything, and when Tannim asked her if she wanted to go back to town, she just nodded and let him lead the way back to his car.
They were both silent on the way back to the city; it was as if they had forgotten how to talk to each other, or that they didn’t know what to say. The silence was as awkward as the earlier conversation had been free. When Tannim asked her where she wanted to be dropped off, she replied, vaguely, “Wheaton Street, near Bee,” and hardly noticed his wince.
But she did notice the worried look he wore when he pulled over to the curb and she got out.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said, and she didn’t have to ask what he meant. She shoved her hands in her pockets, unable to look him in the eye—
And discovered that there was paper in there, paper that hadn’t been there before.
She pulled it out. It was money, cash; several twenties. She wasn’t sure how many, because she shoved it hastily back into her pocket before someone could see that she had it. “You believe in magic?” he asked. And before she could reply, continued, “Don’t. It’s unreliable. Make your own luck.”
He smiled, reached over, and closed the door, then pulled out into traffic, leaving her standing on the corner.
With a pocket full of cash.
Make your own luck, he’d said. What was that supposed to mean? Or was it supposed to mean anything at all?
She turned to head down the street, pausing once in the shelter of a doorway to remove the cash again, and count it.
Five soft, old twenties. One hundred dollars. Exactly what he’d given her the last time.
Make your own luck.
Well, there was one thing she could do. She could get off the street for another night. Maybe