They didn’t manage to travel light, since they had no idea how far they were going and how long it would take them. “I sincerely hope our quarry has remained in the country,” Charity said, piling a duffel bag full of clothes onto the backseat. They also had food, water, along with various forms of money, a longbow, a sword, several maps, a tent, two sleeping bags, and Sandi’s communication device. Charity couldn’t remember the name.

“He’s not the sort to move,” Kris said, smoking a ghost cigarette. Charity wondered how he managed to avoid smoking around her while he was alive; he was such a nicotine fiend. “Where will I sit if the backseat’s full?”

“You are incorporeal, big brother. You can sit anywhere.” Charity sighed and stroked the pendant around her neck, which shot out its sickly beam several feet forward. “How much do you know about him?”

Kris started shivering, and swallowed several times. “I-I…”

“Forgive me. I should not have asked.” Charity turned to the door and called, “Sandi, are you coming?”

“Yes, yes,” she replied, short blonde hair in a mess. She came out with Puffin in tow. “I need the keys.”

“I gave you the keys,” Puffin replied.

“No…”

“Yes…”

“I distinctly remember you didn’t give me the keys.”

Puffin smiled. "Empty your pockets, dear.”

Sandi did, and the first thing she removed was a car key. “Gaah. Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I would not dream of it.” He kissed her. “Enjoy those lights of L.A. County. I’ll call you every day.”

Charity gave him a hug. “We are not going all the way to California, I hope.”

“’Tis a song reference. Sandi will explain. I love you.”

The moment they pulled onto the main road, Sandi asked, “Is Kris here with us?”

“He is always with us; but he is currently not visible to me.” Charity fiddled with the radio. “What did Puffin mean?”

“There’s a country song by Lyle Lovett called ‘L.A. County’. A woman leaves Texas for California with some man, and he asks her to be his wife. Then the narrator also leaves Texas for California with a gun at his side. In between each verse, he rejoices in the beautiful lights of L.A. County. He reaches the wedding, reflecting on how he had dreamed of her being his wife. He shoots both the woman and the other man. Then he sings about how the lights of L.A. County are absolutely gorgeous.” Sandi said all this with a smile.

“You like this song?” Charity asked, perturbed.

“It’s the only country song I’ll listen to.”

“But this implies that Puffin thinks we should kill the man we are seeking.” They were out on the highway by now, zooming past trees and electricity posts. A billboard advertised a divorce lawyer’s services, which saddened her further.

Sandi pursed her lips, always chapped even in the most humid weather. She never seemed to worry about her appearance, which was just as well, since her face was not her best quality. It probably wasn’t even in the top five. “What are we going to do?”

“I prefer not to think about it.” Charity wished she wore more than a UNICEF t-shirt and jean shorts, since the air conditioner was too enthusiastic for her taste. Sandi seemed fine in her overalls and gray sleeveless top.

“It’s a thorny problem. Killing someone in revenge is never a good idea, even if they really deserve it. Killing changes you. I don’t want blood on your hands – or on mine, even. Hey, look, a limo.”

Charity turned her head. “It looks like a car that has been tortured on a rack.”

“Has Kris said anything about it?”

“The limo?”

“You know what I mean.” Charity could taste Sandi’s mixed emotions, mainly love and uncertainty with some streaks of anger at the unnamed villain.

“I thought I would have no empathy for a rapist, but then I met Demetrius, and I realized how sad and lost he was. What if this man brings out my pity? I know not how to handle that.” She watched a flock of birds fly above them, and hawk attempting to catch one. Then she looked at her pendant. “Oh, Sandi, we need to turn right at the next possible opportunity.”

Sandi nodded. “We have some time to think about it, and I don’t want to plunge you into ethical despair. Do you know what you want to do with Demetrius’ money? It’s enough for a mansion, lots of cars, and your own private island in the Pacific, but I doubt you’re the sort to want that.”

With a chuckle, Charity shook her head. “Do you know anything about investment? We spoke of it in Social Studies.”

“I could put some of the money into an interest-bearing fund, if that’s what you mean. What then?”

“I have thought on it, and, um, consulted with higher powers.”

“Higher powers?” Sandi raised an eyebrow.

“Allow me to finish, and I shall explain.” Charity spoke hesitantly, not wanting to say something foolish in front of the genius she had for a foster mother. “I am certain that Kris is not the only Enigma Person. We should call them that, for lack of a better name. Many people have fallen through the cracks and slipped away from all mortal memory. There are also the people who made the other choice, which was to keep their identity but lose their sanity. I wish to help them. Do we have anything to eat?”

Sandi reached in back and grabbed an apple, which she handed to Charity. Charity whispered a thank you and continued, “I will of course finish my education, but afterwards I wish to travel the world, finding Enigma People and putting them to rest. I could also help out in various causes. If there was an earthquake somewhere, I could go and give of my time and substance.”

“Like Mother Theresa,” Sandi murmured.

“I suppose. Do you think I am being too prideful?”

“Where’s the pride?”

Charity bit into the apple. “I am assuming that my help would improve matters.”

“All help given with pure intent and using the best knowledge available improves matters. Even if it doesn’t seem to make their lot better, it makes you better. So you would give some of the money away and keep the rest to fund the mercy missions, I take it.”

“There is some pride involved, and perhaps some blasphemy.” Charity pulled her limbs closer in, as if preparing for a blow from some source. “I…think I may be something more than a young Elf.”

Sandi thought about this, and took a right turn. “You know, I sort of do too.”

“You do?”

“Well, you weren’t really born to your previous parents, but found. You came from somewhere unknown. Your powers are unprecedented, and we still haven’t seen their full extent. You were able to project emotions, which only the Jangorals can do, and only to each other.”

“Who are the Jangorals?” Charity had forgotten to eat, she was so rapt in the conversation, but she took another bite.

“Family friends of ours. Taylor Jangoral is one of my mother’s best friends, and I grew up with Amaranth and Opal. They each have their own abilities, but the thing they share is reading each other’s minds. Derrick can read emotions almost as well as an Elf, even though he’s just a quarter, and Taylor – but that’s not important right now. You’ll meet them sometime.” Sandi looked at her gas meter and groaned. “Puffin forgot to fill up the tank. We need to find a station soon.”

“So what am I?” They came to a crossroads, and the pendant pointed to the left fork. Charity pointed. Sandi nodded and turned.

“This is going to be quite an interesting method of travel. I feel like the moment we stop being righteous, the pendant won’t work any more.”

“Like in the scriptures your church believes in,” Charity murmured. “That family in the beginning had a compass that depended on their virtue.”

Sandi snapped her fingers. “That’s it! I feel like we’re in scriptures. You could be a prophet. Taylor was one once.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in female prophets.”

“The Church doesn’t, but I have a vampire grandfather, a half-demon husband, and my acquaintances include a former tree and refugees from a parallel dimension. I believe in a lot of things other people don’t.” Sandi paused, then reached out a hand to pat Charity on the shoulder. “And anyone who’s known you for more than five minutes knows you’re special.”

“Thank you…” Charity stared at the dashboard.

“Look at me when you talk, sweetie.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know.”

They stopped only for bathroom breaks and to figure out where they were. Their food supplies would last a few days. As for rest stops, a gas station wasn’t strictly necessary. Sandi left the car in wolf form, and Charity spent much of her past in the woods with no plumbing.

“Are we going to find a hotel tonight?” Sandi asked as the sun started blushing. Following the charm faithfully as possible, they had ended up on a lonely highway in western Ohio.

“You are the adult here.”

“You are the one having visions and communicating with the dead, darling.” Sandi sighed and turned off the iPod. A band called “The Shins” had carried them through much of the day. “I wish we hadn’t seen those dead deer.”

“Yes.” Charity pitied the people who struck them, and hoped they hadn’t been injured too badly.

“I mean,” Sandi continued, “we don’t have room in the car for any extra food until we’ve eaten at least half of our current stash, but what if we run out and we’re somewhere without either grocery store or forest? I didn’t want to get my face and clothes all bloody with our water reserved for drinking and not for washing, so I couldn’t have had that for dinner –“

Charity squeezed Sandi’s arm. “I remember when a speech like that would disconcert me.”

“And I remember when I didn’t dare say such things. I can be myself now.”

“I think that is called love.”

Then the front right wheel collapsed, giving Charity a shock. “To state the obvious: flat tire,” she said when her heart resumed beating.

“This is the first time it’s happened to me.” She scratched her head and mumbled, “Do you know how to change a tire?”

Charity stared. “Eight months ago, I did not know how to use a brassiere.”

“This is extremely embarrassing.”

“I imagine it is.”

“I mean - I’m a Ph.D. I was a child prodigy, and now I’m a polymath.”

“What is a polymath?”

“Someone who possesses very specialized knowledge in many different fields. We could call a tow truck…” She tried her phone; then growled. “No reception. How are there places in this country, in this day and age, that don’t have cell phone reception?”

“Perhaps they did have it but then some calamity occurred.”

Kris waved from outside the car. “Elf-girl?”

Charity mouthed, “It’s Kris,” to Sandi, then addressed him. “Hi. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I have it on good authority that someone is coming to help you. You’re going to wait a while, though.”

“What authority is this?”

“I bet you could make a few guesses.” He sat on a rock, flicking his lighter on and off. “You haven’t asked, but it’s nicer.”

“What is nicer?” She wanted to open the car door and hold him, but he didn’t seem inclined. She didn’t know if she would feel him anyway.

“Even though I’m haunting you, and I haven’t moved on, and I can’t seem to talk to Mom until I do, it’s nicer…than it was before I jumped. Not that you should do the same.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Lots of things to do, lil’ sis. Lots of people need you.”

“I need you.”

“Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m still here.”

“What’s he saying?” Sandi asked.

“Help is coming. It will be a while. I think I shall brush my teeth.”

In half an hour, a bus came by, with an opulent banner proclaiming, CHURCH REVIVAL. Sandi blinked the emergency lights. The bus zoomed right by.

“Kris said it would be a while,” Charity reminded her, feeling inexplicably calm.

Then a truck full of Buddhist monks all in saffron robes passed them too.

They fell asleep with their seats reclined, nestled under layers of blankets. The night was quite cool for June, but they were well prepared. A honking horn blasted them awake. Sandi, in her surprise, sprouted fur and sharp teeth. The man looking in her window jumped. There were three men, all in shabby t-shirts, hole-filled pants, baseball caps, and layers of dirt and stubble.”

“Are you going to help us or hurt us?” Sandi asked.

The man nearest her shrugged in apology. “No habla ingles.”

“Dang it, and I don’t speak Spanish.”

Charity peeled off the blankets. “I do.”

“Be careful –“

“I can sense their intentions. They’re going to help.”

The men and Charity conversed in rapid Spanish, and they fell to work changing the tire, teaching Charity how to do it as they did so. Charity pointed at a deep scratch on one man’s leg and asked about it. He gave an answer, and she wet her fingers with her own tears and healed it. Their shook her hand, exchanged many thanks, and drove off.

“Who were they?”

Charity laughed. “Remember what you said about us being in scripture? Well, those were modern Samaritans.”

“Well, of course. They helped us.”

“You should examine your own beliefs more closely. When Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan, Samaritans were the lowest of the low in society. They were part Jew and part Gentile, so both the Jews and the Gentiles shunned them. The point of the story was not just that whoever needs you is your neighbor, but also that even someone you revile may prove kinder than someone of higher social status.”

“So how were they Samaritans?”

“Illegal immigrants. I promised not to tell the authorities.” She laughed again. “The one I healed was named Jesus – “ pronouncing it the Mexican way, “heh-zoose”.