Enchanting Wilder (4 page)

The sun begins to rise over the skyline and Sherwood stirs. He rubs his tired, blue eyes and stretches his limbs. His long dirty blonde hair falls onto his forehead and he groggily pushes it away. Looking over with heavy lids, he mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Hey, Wood,” I say, using his nickname, pulling my sunglasses out of the glove compartment and sliding them onto my face. “How’d you sleep?”

He clears his throat and sits up straight. “Good. Let me take over.” He reaches for the coffee I stopped to get about an hour ago at a truck stop just outside of Lexington, Nebraska. “Where are we?”

“We just passed Kearney.”

He nods. “So we have about seven hours until we get to Iowa City. Pull over, I’ll drive. You need sleep.”

I swallow and look in my rearview mirror, my exhausted green eyes begging me for some rest. “Yeah. Okay.”

Pulling The Sting to a halt against the gravel road, I hop out, making my way to the passenger side. Wood slaps my shoulder as he passes me and I grin.

Once we’re settled in, Sherwood pulls back onto the highway and, before I know it, my lids fall heavy.

The first thing I notice is her hair. The fiery redness entrances me. I can’t pull my eyes away. The second thing is her sunlight-yellow dress. It flows in the breeze against her ivory legs. Her mouth opens as if she’s saying something and she outstretches her hands toward me.

I cup my ear with my hand. “What?”

She opens her mouth again, her eyes in panic. I can’t hear her and she knows it.

I shake my head. “What did you say?” This time I yell. Why can’t I hear her?

I will my legs to move. Get closer to her. Help her.

It’s as if there’s wet cement under my feet, I’m only able move a few inches. I stop short, her hands telling me to keep my distance. Her eyes narrow and she tilts her head with inquisitiveness. No longer worried about talking.

Gold.

Her eyes are the most hypnotic honey I’ve ever seen. Even though her eyes are only small slits, the gold shines through.

Holy hell, she’s gorgeous.

Her full, supple, pink lips purse as she watches me assess her.

More like gawk at her.

She shakes her head, not happy that I’m looking so deeply.

I know it’s wrong to stare. It’s impolite and rude but I can’t stop myself. Her beauty engrosses me.

Out of nowhere, the woman’s eyes widen in surprise and she fitfully points behind me. With the worry etched on her face, my body immediately whips around.

I’m faced with a red-eyed demon, inches from my face, sneering a hateful grin.

That’s when I finally hear her voice. “No!” she screams, stretching her hand to pull me back.

I jolt, sitting up in the seat, drenched in sweat.

“Whoa,” Wood says, giving me a quizzical look from the driver’s side. He straightens the wheel, apparently surprised by my odd wake-up. “What’s the deal?” He pushes his dusty blonde hair back and turns his eyes to the road.

I let all of the air out of my lungs and wipe away the moisture covering my forehead. “Holy shit.”

Wood’s nostrils flare. “What?”

I take another breath and look out the window. What the hell was that about? I haven’t dreamt in years. Odd thing, I know, but I haven’t had a dream—that I remember—in quite some time. I’ve never dwelled on that too much because I figured it was just another one of my many quirks. I’ve always been the odd ball of the family. But the dream I just had? I can remember every little thing. Every minuscule detail. I’m not sure if I should be worried or relieved to finally be dreaming again.

And the woman. Her beauty. Her inquisitiveness. Her worry. Shit. The demon. What the hell does it all mean? This is going to be a bitch to decipher.

“I had a dream,” I begin.

Wood snorts. “Okay, Mr. King.”

I backhand him, not really in the mood for his jokes when I’m having an internal freak out.

His eyes take in my information more seriously this time and he looks to me. “Wait, you did?”

I nod slowly, watching the orange and yellow trees outside of the car pass us by.

“Holy crap. That’s a big deal.”

Again, I nod, looking straight ahead. Beating at an unhealthy speed, my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

A red-eyed demon?
I shake my head. Do they even exist? I thought they were myths dad told us about as kids to scare us in to going to sleep.
Such a crappy tactic.
That logic is a bunch of shit—scaring kids. Telling them there’s monsters in the closet. It’s sick.

“And?” Wood asks, his expression alarmed, snapping me from my muddled thoughts.

“And…” I trail off. He’s going to think I’m some kind of freak. He probably thought that anyway. I haven’t had a dream in almost three years
.
Throwing caution to the wind, I continue,
“I saw a red-eyed demon.”

“What?” he asks, stunned. I guess even he thinks that’s not a good thing.

“And a woman.”

His head snaps to me. “What woman?”

I shrug and run my hand through my short hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize her.”

“Did she say anything?” His eyebrows furrow and my stomach begins to ache as I think about all the crap going through his head right now. He’s a never-ending encyclopedia of information. He probably knows what she is and it’s
probably
not good.

Sighing, I shake my head. “No. Not really. She pointed to the demon behind me and screamed.”

“What did she look like?”

“I don’t know,” I grunt. I don’t understand why her looks are so important. “She had red, curly hair and light honey eyes.” Why does this matter?

“Did you see any birds in the dream?”

“What? No. Why are you asking me about birds?”

Wood looks over his right shoulder, signaling and exits off the freeway. “I don’t know. It just seems weird, doesn’t it? You haven’t had a dream in forever and now all the sudden you’re dreaming about some random red-eyed demon.” He clears his throat. “There’s all sorts of lore on dreaming about demons. Some say angels come to you to warn you – help you.”

I scoff. “Angels, Wood? Not likely. We’ve never come across one. We don’t even know if they exist.”

Wood’s mouth turns down and he shrugs his shoulders, mumbling, “That doesn’t mean anything and you know it. Just because we haven’t seen one doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

I cross my arms and try not to roll my eyes at the absurdity. When it comes to religion, I don’t have a full grasp on what’s real and what’s not. There’s never been any evidence of Heaven and so I can’t bring myself to believe in it. That might make me blind or faithless or whatever, but why do I have to put my feet into one belief? Can’t I believe in a higher power and leave it at that? Sure, I’d like to think we go somewhere better than this place after we die, but I have no proof. There’s something hardwired inside me that questions everything I can’t see or touch. Wood and my dad would argue miracles and faith push us to believe in God and Heaven, but I’m not so sure. I’ve always been pushed to believe in God because dad said so. Maybe it’s me being defiant, but I believe in what’s right in front of me, and all I see is hell. Monsters, demons and everything else that’s bad with the world. That’s what I believe in.

Rubbing the back of my head, I decide to go with it. “So, angels. What else do you think it could be?” Now that I think of it, the only plausible explanation as to why I’m finally dreaming would be because of something supernatural. I hate to admit it, but that does makes sense. I grew up in this life. Things don’t just happen on accident. Everything happens for a reason.

Wood turns north on a busy street, shifting The Sting into a higher gear. “I actually came across a book a few years back and supposedly there are beings that come to you in dreams as birds…or sometimes other animals, though birds are the most common. They warn you of your impending death.”

My forehead and nose crinkle and I give him a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about glance. Is that why he was asking me about birds earlier?

He rolls his eyes. “You need to read a book, Declan.”

I pop him on the shoulder with the back of my hand. “Shut up.”

He laughs, sufficiently satisfied with pulling my chain. “Legend has it that Strix—that’s what they’re called—are able to move about in the dreams of humans to let them know their death is near. And then the dreamer is given a choice. Either make the good choice, or the wrong choice. If the bad choice is made, the books say the soul goes straight into Limbo—or oblivion or something—and gets pulled and manipulated until its turn into something sinister.”

I adjust in my seat, not liking where this conversation is heading. “Something sinister? Like a demon?”

“Something like that.”

“Dammit,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

Wood pulls into a restaurant and puts the car in park. “But you didn’t see a bird. You saw a woman. It couldn’t have been a Strix. You aren’t supposed to be able to see them in their human form.”

Oh. Makes sense. “I guess. But,” I say, getting out of the car, “who supposedly tampers with the souls that go rogue, or bad?”

Wood slams the door to The Sting and walks next to me as we make our way inside the chain restaurant. “Mara. Think of them as the complete opposite of Strix. They’re evil sons of bitches. Once Mara get hold of a soul, there’s no telling what they’ll do to it.”

Maybe I do need to do some more research. I’m supposed to be at the top of my game. “What are they? The Strix and Mara, I mean?”

Wood pulls the heavy glass door open, giving me an apprehensive glance. “Witches.”

My shoulders slump. And now the odd side look he gave me makes sense.

I’m not particularly fond of witches. With their spewing of bodily fluids and dead animal carcasses to cast spells, they give me the creeps. My body shudders. “Witches, man.” I shake my head.

Wood sits down in a huff at a booth and I do the same on the opposite side of him. The orange fabric clings to my jacket and I quickly pull it off my shoulders.

“There are some good ones out there.”

I level my eyes at him over the laminated menu. “Not any we’ve met.”

Wood shrugs a shoulder and chews on the inside of his lip. “True, but we’ve never met a Strix. They’re supposed to be the most kind of all the covens.”

“Supposed to be,” I scoff. “I thought they weren’t real.”

Wood sets his menu down and tugs at his hair. “Dude, ghosts are real. Demons are real. Damn werewolves,” he whispers, “are real. A coven of nice witches is completely possible.”

Spinning the ring on my left pointer finger, I decide it’s best not to dwell on probably isn’t real. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t a Strix in my dream. Just some girl and a douchebag demon. It was nothing.”