Jo pulled the door handle, face wrinkled, as she pushed up and out of her seat. Trying to picture it. America.

Her whole life in America. With her mom, and the Roadhouse. The way it was supposed to be before she got her letter, even though her mother was very much American, and not a witch. It didn't seem the people who knew what her Dad could do, and she had already been doing since early childhood, cared at all either about her rough and tumble, middle of nowhere, half-American-ness.

"All of you." She stepped back by him. "In only America." It sounds ludicrous on her tongue.

She grabbed the door to the place to slip inside it, odd puzzle pieces everywhere. "Why were they fighting?"