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and cranked up the volume.
    Nine Inch Nails blasted Holly out of her book. She closed it, using a gum wrapper for a bookmark.
    â€œWhere are we?” she asked.
    Mad, bobbing her head to the music, said, “About fifty miles from Walsenburg.”
    Middle of nowhere, in other words. Holly looked out at flat plains dotted with sagebrush and juniper, then dug out the Colorado road map. Walsenburg was a pretty small dot.
    â€œIs there a gas station there?”
    â€œDon’t need gas.”
    â€œThat’s not why I’m asking.”
    Mad looked annoyed. “There’s a place we can stop.”
    â€œThanks.” Holly studied the map. “Where do you want to have lunch, Pueblo or Colorado Springs?”
    â€œC Springs has better restaurants.”
    â€œOK.”
    Getting there would take two or three hours, at least. Holly wanted to read some more, but the music kept her from concentrating. She figured that was a huge hint, and tried to think of something Mad would want to talk about.
    â€œWhat are your roommates like?”
    It was the best she could come up with. Madison had hated living in a dorm, and halfway through her first year of college she’d found a place just off campus to rent with three friends.
    â€œWell, you’ll meet them,” said Mad. “They’re cool. Sheila isn’t there much; she works all the time when she isn’t in classes. And Carla’s usually in some play, so she’s always out at rehearsal. It’s really not as crowded as you might think.”
    â€œAre there any good hikes close by? I mean, that you could walk to, like at home?”
    â€œSure. We’re real close to the mountains. You’ll see.”
    The conversation limped along like that, mile after mile. Holly scrounged up more questions, and Mad answered them, but without a lot of enthusiasm. They’d been pretty good friends all through grade school, but since Mad had gone off to college they’d grown apart.
    They reached the Interstate and turned north, after which Mad didn’t need Holly to keep her awake. There was plenty of traffic for that, and the farther north they went, and hence the closer they got to Denver, the hairier the traffic became.
    Holly took note of signs advertising Manitou Springs, and recalled some vague childhood memories of a visit there. A big drinking fountain; a street full of old-timey buildings, mostly shops. She remembered a candy shop. Was there a guardian spirit at that spring, or had humans driven it away with all their noise and bluster?
    â€œYou remember Manitou Springs?” she asked over burgers in Colorado Springs.
    â€œYeah. Kind of boring. You liked the North Pole better, kiddo.”
    Mad’s words recalled a stop at another place near Colorado Springs, with Santa’s workshop, open year round. Holly grinned.
    â€œFeeding deer.”
    â€œAnd goats,” said Mad. “And the horse that could do math.”
    â€œThat was a trick.”
    â€œYeah, but it was fun when we believed it.”
    Holly glanced at her sister, the perpetual skeptic. “Did you believe it, or were you just pretending for me?”
    Madison paused before answering, poking her straw into her shake. “I believed it, back then. You believe stuff when you’re little.”
    But shouldn’t when you’re grown. Holly looked out the restaurant window at the trees in the shopping mall, wishing she could share her wondrous discovery with Mad, knowing her sister would never accept that Ohlan was real.
    Maybe it was better to keep him to herself. She couldn’t picture Mom or Dad being happy about her hanging around with a supernatural being.
    â€œYou done, kiddo? I’d like to get rolling, get through Denver before the dinner rush.”
    Holly pushed the rest of her limp fries away. “Yeah. Just need a pit stop.”
    They washed up and climbed back in the car. Madison put on a different CD, much more