Also, definitely not. But if that’s what he thinks it could be, then I’m going to go with it.
For now.
“Well, whatever it was, let’s get in the car and get the fuck out of here.”
No argument there.
He bends down to pick up my suitcase and quickly walks it over to the car. We throw everything in the back and pull out of there.
I’m watching the rearview mirror as we exit onto the street.
The lights in the garage behind us flicker a few times.
Then go out.
Seven
The drive down from Seattle is blissfully unremarkable, and despite what I thought I saw (and heard) in the parking garage, the brandy I had with my coffee has a tranquilizing effect on me. It isn’t until we’re just about to cross the bridge from Vancouver, Washington into Portland that I wake up to find everything engulfed in fog, the green beams of the bridge above us barely visible.
“Well, this is ominous,” I say sleepily as I sit up in my seat, trying to get a glimpse of the Columbia River through the fog.
Dex side-eyes me. “That’s what you get for having a November birthday in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Better than rain, I guess,” I say. “Wonder if it’s going to be stormy by the ocean? That would be cool.”
“I’m sure it will be. I feel like all you have to do is just show up on the coast and the storms come right to you.”
He’s kind of right, but even so it makes a shiver run through me. I’ve heard time and time again that I have a strange type of energy, which probably accounts for all the paranormal supernatural stuff happening around me.
On the other hand, Dex has that same energy. It’s no wonder that weird shit goes down whenever we’re together.
I mull that over in a sleepy silence, thinking back to Max. He was Dex’s protector and guardian, his Jacob. For better or worse, they had a relationship that spanned a decade. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me why he wouldn’t be able to see or hear him. Max said that it was because we had sex that the connection between us was different, stronger maybe. Had I known that having sex would create a weird bond that lasts even after death, perhaps I wouldn’t have done it. It does make me think back to Mason, the poor guy I lost my virginity to. No wonder he flipped the fuck out after that and left.
“Dex,” I say carefully.
“Mmm?”
“Do you think I’m some sort of…sex witch?”
He blinks hard and slowly turns his head to look at me, brows to the heavens. “I’m sorry…a what?” He bites back a smile, trying not to laugh. “A sex witch?”
“You know all about sex magic, don’t you?”
More blinking. He moves his gaze back to the road just in time to avoid rear ending the car in front of us as traffic begins to crawl. “Sex magic? Not that I don’t like the sound of that, but baby, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, because other than the Chili Peppers’ album, I don’t even think I’ve heard the term sex magic until right this second, like it popped into my head. “I’m just thinking about sex.”
“Always a good thing.” He pauses. “Wait. With me, I hope.”
I nod uneasily. “You know I don’t have a ton of experience here but…I don’t know…” I press my lips together for a second. “You know what? Nevermind. It’s dumb.”
“It’s not dumb. What were you going to say? You can’t use a term like sex witch and not elaborate.”
I take a deep breath. “Don’t you think this connection we have gets stronger during sex? I know that’s normal for people, but sometimes it feels…more intense, more powerful, than it should be. Deeper somehow. In a really profound way.”
He switches lanes and then gives me a thoughtful glance. “I’m with you on that.”
“I mean, you’ve slept with half the country I’m sure.” He lets out a derisive snort. I continue. “And I’m not looking for compliments or anything, but what we have…it’s different, right?”
I watch him carefully, his brows knitting together, hoping we’re on the same page or else I’m going to feel extra ridiculous for bringing this up.
“Perry,” he says eventually, his voice low as his eyes go from the road to me. “It is different. It’s very different. And it’s not just because I know you inside and out, it’s not just because I’m madly in love with you, or that we’re married, or that we’ve been through a lot. There has always been some crazy energy when we have sex…hell, maybe it explains why I freaked out so fucking bad when we first slept together.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No. That was because you’re an idiot.”
“Was an idiot.” He licks his lips. “You have a way about you, you know that. I’m pretty much powerless when it comes to you. Whatever you want, you shall have.”
He pauses and I feel my cheeks go hot from the compliments.
“But I don’t want to talk too much about sex while I’m driving here,” he goes on. “And especially when we’re about to go see your father and sister.”
“Like that’s stopped us before,” I say under my breath.
“But,” he says, then he clears his throat. “Every time I’m inside you, I feel myself fuse to you a little more. Sounds corny as hell, but it’s almost spiritual. Having sex with you is the closest thing to worship that I know.”
Now my face is on fire.
I avert my eyes from the sincerity in his gaze and look out the window. A flock of birds, hundreds of them, swoops in the sky above like a single entity.
“Does that mean you’re a sex witch?” he continues. “I don’t know what a sex witch is, but I’m pretty sure you have to be conscious of it. Something you’re controlling. No baby, I think we’re both two very weird and fucked up people who are crazy in love with each other. We have a lot of power, a lot of wild energy, and when we’re together, well…I guess that’s where the magic happens.”
I don’t think Dex is being literal, but it feels good to know it’s not all in my head. I don’t even know if a sex witch is a thing, but if I have this crazy connection with Dex, there’s a chance that Max is right. Maybe that’s why I could see him and Dex couldn’t.
Then again, that whole encounter might have been in my head.
Luckily, by the time we roll down the street toward the house, and I spot the vintage beige Mercedes parked outside the Knightly’s house, I know Jacob is home. He’ll have all the answers I need…providing he gives them to me.
We park on the street, Dex taking both of our bags up to the house. Ada’s car is gone, which bugs me a little. I texted her when we left the apartment, and usually she’s at home when we get here.
Once inside the house, my dad greets us.
Drunk.
Well, not drunk but definitely tipsy. Not in a joyous way either. He gives me a tight hug, almost bruising, a splash of wine falling out of his glass and onto the floor, leaving a red puddle that reminds me of blood.
“Shit,” he swears, which is another unlike dad thing to do.
I glance at Dex over my father’s shoulder, like what the hell?
Dex nods. “Let me get that.” He disappears into the kitchen while my father stares at me, frowning.
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, noting the dark circles under his eyes, how pale and thin his face looks compared to two weeks ago.
“Just glad you’re here,” he says as Dex comes back and quickly wipes away the wine with paper towels. “Thank you, Dex. You don’t have to do that.”
Dex straightens up, giving him a quick smile. “It’s not a problem.”
“Where’s Ada?” I ask my dad as Dex goes back into the kitchen to throw the paper towels away.
“She went to get the food,” he says, a sheepish look coming across his eyes. He adjusts his glasses. “I forgot to defrost the pot roast. Silly me.” He sighs deeply. “Hope you’re okay with pizza.”
“Pizza!�
� Dex yells from the kitchen. He returns to us with a glass of wine for me. “Fuck yes to pizza.”
My dad shoots him a disgruntled look but for once doesn’t admonish him for swearing. We all raise our glasses in a toast to each other. I’m totally okay with pizza, but forgetting to defrost the pot roast, on my birthday of all days, is very unlike him. Plus, it’s four o’clock, which is pretty early for dinner.
“Pizza is great,” I tell him, giving him an appreciative smile. God, it makes my chest pinch to see him looking so out of it. I’ll have to talk with Ada later and figure out what’s really going on. I’m surprised she never mentioned anything to me.
Dex and I finish the glass of wine with my dad, making small talk, then we go upstairs to my old bedroom to put our bags away.
“He’s not well,” I tell Dex as soon as he closes the door, wringing my hands. “He doesn’t look well. And he’s drunk.”
“He’s just had a bit of wine,” Dex says softly, placing his duffel bag on the window bench.
“But he looks tired and, like, worn out. Why?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Yeah right,” I tell him, folding my arms. “He’ll say he’s fine. He always does. I need to talk to Ada. I just don’t understand why she hasn’t been keeping me updated about him.”
“Maybe because it’s not a big deal? Your dad is still grieving, too. It goes in cycles but it doesn’t just go away.”
I give him a sharp look, his words pricking me. “You think you have to tell me that?”
He sighs and comes over to me, pulling me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. “Just go easy on him, okay? And talk to Ada about it, but she’ll probably tell you that everything is pretty normal over here.” He pulls back to put his hand at my cheek, peering at me. “Maybe the better question is if you’re okay?”
“Me?” I blink. “I’m fine.”
He studies me for a moment and then nods. “It’s your birthday. Everyone here loves you and just wants you to have a good time. Let’s try not to worry about anything for today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. In fact, let’s just enjoy our little vacation and when we get back to Seattle, you can start worrying again.”
“Sounds great,” I mutter.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me out of the room.
We head downstairs just as Ada’s Mini Cooper comes to a screeching halt outside the house. My sister drives like a maniac.
She practically kicks the door open, proudly displaying two large pizzas in both hands, a bottle of champagne sticking out of her purse.
“Dinner’s ready!” she yells.
At least Ada looks normal—I mean relatively. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy topknot, and while her eye makeup is heavy-handed as always, green glitter smudged over black, she looks fresh-faced. She’s wearing a giant furry coat I’ve never seen before that swallows her lithe frame, pale pink with white trim, and I’m pretty sure that Dior tote she has is real. She gets so much free shit from her Instagram posts, it’s crazy.
She holds the pizzas out in front of me. “Happy birthday.”
I smile and take the boxes from her. “Thank you.”
She gives me a light hug, smelling like fancy perfume, but when I have the chance to look at her up close, she does look a little more tired than I first thought.
Are you okay? I ask her in my head, conscious of our dad nearby.
She gives me nothing in return but a quick smile and walks past me into the kitchen.
Great. So now both my dad and Ada are being weird.
Dex puts his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze in that remember to have fun and not worry way.
We all settle down around the kitchen table, my dad putting out the plates, cracking open yet another bottle of red wine.
“Don’t forget the champagne,” Ada tells him, nodding at the fridge.
He gives her a look, brow raised. “Dare I ask you how you managed to buy champagne when you’re only nineteen?”
She shrugs and gives Dex and me a conspiratorial smile. “I guess I look older than I am.”
Oh, that’s not true at all. She has a fake ID now, I bet on it. Either that or Jay bought it for her.
Speaking of which…
“Where’s Jay?” I ask.
The bit of light in her eyes goes out momentarily. She straightens up, raising her chin. “He’s not here.”
“Where is he?” Usually Jay is always here. That’s the convenience of dating the guy who lives next door to you.
“He’s away,” she says, taking a piece of pizza from the box.
“Jacob’s car is here.”
“Jay is away,” Ada says, her words with an edge now. The look on her face has one too. Yikes. “Jacob is here.”
Obviously there’s something going on with them but I’ll have to tackle that later, along with everything else. But if Ada and Jay are having problems, it might explain why she’s been texting me less lately. Though you usually can’t get Ada to shut up, she tends to get quiet when she’s going through something.
My dad clears his throat. “How about a toast,” he says, raising his glass of red wine. We all do the same, including Ada, which surprises me since he’s been very strict about underage drinking. Then again, she just bought liquor and he doesn’t seem too fazed by that.
“To the birthday girl,” Dex says as he smiles proudly at me.
“To always being the oldest,” Ada says, and I kick her under the table, causing her wine to almost spill.
We drink, then eat, and despite everything, things feel kind of normal. The pizza is good, even though I’m mentally planning an extra spin class for next week, and the wine is even better. Even my dad seems to relax a bit.
SMASH!
There’s a loud echoing crash from the living room, shaking the whole house. I let out a scream, jumping in my seat, my heart in free fall, while Ada yelps.
“What the fuck was that?” Dex cries out, getting to his feet. It sounded like a bird hitting the window, multiplied by a million.
We all get up and hurry through the living room to the sliding doors that open to the deck and the backyard.
The sun has already set at four-thirty, but the sky is still lit by the endless twilight, showcasing absolute carnage.
Ada gasps loudly beside me, reaching for my hand. The noise I make gets choked in my throat.
The glass doors and windows are a mess of smudges, feathers, and spots of blood. On the deck below are at least fifty birds, all dead.
“Good heavens,” my dad says softly. “A whole flock. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
I walk closer, peering down. It feels like I have an icy finger running down my spine as I stare at their lifeless bodies, heads bent at an unnatural angle, white beaks speckled with blood. They’re Oregon Juncos, my favorite kind.
“God this is awful,” Ada cries out, quickly turning around and walking away, shaking out her arms.
“At least they all died together,” Dex says. “Doesn’t seem like any of them made it.”
“I’ve seen the flocks around here doing their thing,” my dad says, running his hand over his face. “Making these marvelous patterns in the sky, all moving as a single unit. So strange that they would all fly into the windows. I guess they thought they could fly right through.”
But I know that’s not it. Juncos don’t fly in those kind of swarms, and while they’re jumpy birds, I don’t think they’d all go for the window at once, especially after the sun has set. Naturally, I’m thinking about the seagull who crashed into the window the other day.
“Dex, want to help me bury the poor things?” my dad asks him.
Dex agrees, and they go to the garage to get a shovel.
I quickly walk over to Ada, who is in the kitchen, pouring herself more wine, looking about as shaken as I feel.
“That was fucking weird, right?” I ask her, picking up my glass, leaning against the table. She nods, her eye
s swimming with tears.
“Ada, are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says through a sniffle. “Just the birds, you know. It’s so sad. I hate when they fly into the windows like that. And all of them at once, I…” She takes a large gulp of her wine.
Ada does have a soft spot for animals, but she’s not overly emotional, not in a sad way. So the tears make me think even more that there’s something else going on.
“Hey,” I say, going over to her. She eyes me warily. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” she says, flicking her manicured nails against the stem of the wine glass. “All those dead birds have me spooked.”
“Anything else have you spooked?” I ask.
I swear I see her flinch.
Then her eyes go past me to the window.
I turn and see the lights from the Mercedes go on outside.
Jacob.
Eight
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Ada, quickly putting down the wine and running to the hall, throwing on my coat before heading outside, hearing her go, “Perry?” before I close the door on her.
I’m not about to miss this opportunity.
I run right in front of the Mercedes before it has a chance to pull away, and though the headlights are blinding me, I can tell Jacob is probably cursing me under his breath.
Satisfied that he’s not going to drive off, I head to the driver’s side where he manually rolls down the window and eyes me.
“Miss Palomino,” he says to me in his dry British accent, his thick red hair and amber eyes glowing in the street lamp, the scars on his face looking craggy in the shadows.
“Mrs. Foray,” I correct him. “And hi. Sorry to flag you down like this but I was hoping I could speak with you.”
He presses his lips together for a moment, squinting at me with distaste. Then he sighs. “I figured you would at some point. Why don’t you hop on in?”
“Where are you going?” I ask, feeling a bit uneasy about getting in the car with him, though I don’t really know why.
“To get a pack of smokes,” he says. “Old habits die hard, don’t they?”
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