I had faith it would all work out.
Not really, but that’s what the last six songs had been about, so I gave in to the not-at-all subliminal messaging and focused on having faith that everything would be okay.
I also sent a little prayer of thanks up to Gran. Just in case I wasn’t delusional and she really was sending down advice from above, I didn’t want to be rude. I was asking, she was (quite possibly) answering, and I had at least a few manners left.
Bain pulled off the main highway and into a rural neighborhood before I could spend too much time contemplating my mental state—or how far we’d driven from town.
Another few minutes and we hit the end of the neighborhood and turned down a driveway.
A very, very long driveway. It was gravel with the odd rut or ten, so Bain kept the SUV to a crawl.
“So, this is it, huh?” I asked, trying not to dwell on the fact that I’d allowed a relative stranger to drive me to the back of beyond.
A stranger with demon-possessed eyes.
And a dragon for a buddy.
A flying, flower-crushing, scale-covered, talking dragon.
Nope. Not dwelling. I was going with the flow.
I was having faith that it would all work out. Besides, Bain wasn’t a complete stranger. I knew where he worked. His parts and my parts had been intimate. Not a stranger.
And Bain had promised me in the parking lot of the distillery that he’d explain once we got to his cabin.
So an explanation was just ahead.
“The driveway is over a mile, but as soon as we round that bend up ahead, you’ll be able to see the cabin.”
I looked ahead to the curve in the road and couldn’t help thinking it was sort of symbolic. That the future was an unknown, revealed in fits and starts with each curve in the road. I’d rounded a curve when I’d gone to a dive bar on my own looking for a hookup. Another when I’d ignored every indication that Bain was out of my league and decided to have sex with him anyway, and yet another when I’d listened to my gut and turned to him after my run-in with Sal.
Which made me realize that my road had been notably lacking curves over the last year. Ever since I’d found my ex screwing Susie and broken off my engagement, losing a fiancé and most of my friends in the process.
Except it wasn’t actually the road that had no curves. It was just me refusing to see them. Me continuing straight on, head down, taking no risks.
Maybe some of the curves I was choosing were a little…risky. Like hopping in Bain’s SUV, meeting his mythological buddy, and traveling to his horror-flick “cabin in the woods.” But I was done with the straight (rigid) path I’d been on forever.
Thom would lecture me about my choices. Dad would try to ground me, forgetting the fact that I didn’t live with him and was an adult woman.
But I was putting my trust in Gran and the messages I wanted to believe she was sending me. Also, I was trusting my gut.
We rounded the sharp curve, and— “Huh. It’s just a house.”
Bain shot me a curious look, and I realized my words, taken out of the context of my weirdly philosophical thoughts, probably sounded rude.
“It’s pretty.” But then I felt the need to explain. “Not at all like a creepy cabin in the woods where an ax murderer is lurking, ready to kill all the unsuspecting college students in a five-mile radius.”
“You watch a lot of horror movies?” he asked, still politely curious.
At least he hadn’t taken offense. And really, Bain’s “cabin in the woods” was more of a house in the country.
For one, there was no proper woods, just an assortment of trees and scrub that were typical of central Texas. Also, the house was well-maintained, an epic fail for any respectable horror film.
Bain glanced at me, waiting for an answer.
“Uh, no to horror films. They scare me too much and give me creepy dreams.”
“Huh.” He looked thoughtful. Not sure why, because a lot of people had bad dreams when they watched scary movies. Okay, mostly people under the age of twelve.
He came to a stop in front of the house. “No ax murderers here.”
It was an old house, made of big blocks of warm-toned stone, ranging from beige to brown and orange. The kind used in the century-old structures that peppered the roadside from Austin to Lubbock.
It had a rustic feel but still managed to be pretty. Probably the hint of filmy curtains in the windows and the flowers planted around the house. From all appearances, the house was well-loved.
And apparently functional as a dragon perch.
“Is that normal?” I pointed at his roof. “Dex, ah, landing on top of your house.”
“It’s the best vantage point outside of flying.” He pulled the SUV up to a spot near the front door, and then I’d swear his lips quirked. “Besides hovering.”
He could laugh all he wanted, but a dragon hovering was extra-special freaky.
A dragon was freaky. A talking dragon, especially the variety that didn’t move its mouths in the process, was even freakier. But a hovering dragon was by far the freakiest.
All of a sudden, I remembered why Dex needed a good view of the area surrounding the cabin.
I groaned. “We don’t want anyone sneaking up on us, and that’s the best spot to keep an eye on all approaches to the house.”
“Correct.” He shut off the engine then turned to me. “Are you okay?”
Best not to answer that extremely complex question. Instead, I went on the offensive. “Would you say we have arrived at the cabin?”
He looked at me, then Dex atop his house. “You want an explanation, and you’ve been more than patient. Give me five more minutes. Let’s get inside and give Dex a chance to join Asher in the air, so we have some privacy.”
Join Asher?
But before I could consider the implications of Bain’s statement, I was hit by a vivid memory.
I’d never had a memory smack me upside the head before, but this one came along so suddenly and with such clarity that it felt like a blow.
Another house with warm stone. A dark teal door. Yellow roses.
Not some stranger’s house I’d spotted on a road trip.
Mabel’s house.
Gran’s cousin Mabel, the crazy one who used to tell us all about the funny dreams she had that supposedly predicted the future and the conversations she had with her mother and ex-husband, both deceased.
Which I’d always thought was crazy.
Until now.
This time it was Mabel who got a quick prayer. Mabel, if you can hear me, I’m awfully sorry about all those times I doubted you.
I still wasn’t so sure about her dream interpretations, but the conversations with people who’d passed on were seeming a lot less looney.
A song about forgiving oneself poured from the speakers.
“Oh my gosh,” I muttered. “Thank you, but that really wasn’t necessary. Wait a second.” I looked at the radio, which had been off until that song came on.
The radio turned itself on. Or Mabel turned it on? Or my gran?
Or the same demon who was possessing Bain and making his eyes glow. Yeah, mental eye roll for that one. No way was some demon sending me messages about going with the flow and having faith. And definitely not about forgiveness.
But someone was. Of that I was now certain. Because it was one thing to think I was getting messages via the radio, another entirely for the radio to turn itself on and then offer up a message.
Bain looked at me, but his expression only reflected mild curiosity. He didn’t seem worried about either the radio having its own mind or me talking to myself.
Maybe he saw my confusion, or perhaps he was just happy not to be responsible for at least one bizarre thing happening, because he said, “That wasn’t me.”
If he had nothing to do with it, how was he not shocked?
Then again, the man’s eyes did glow and his friend (who was a flipping dragon) defied the laws of physics by hovering earlier, so radios with opinions probably didn’t seem all that odd.
Bain was much too comfortable with all the unexplainable things happening around us. He was involved in all of it up to his eyeballs.
“I think it’s time for that explanation you promised me.”
Fingers crossed that what Bain had to say would make sense of everything.
But honestly? I figured whatever he had to say was going to make my family’s history of unicorn, alien, and cat hallucinations look absolutely normal.
How had I gotten tangled up in all this weird? I was supposed to be the practical, grounded one in my family.