by Brea Viragh
The goddess Bast, or so she claimed to be, had hijacked her dream. Radiated authority. Given her a quest. Why now? Why her?
It made no sense.
At last her mother told her the identity of the man who sired her and Bast made contact for the first time, asking Nasira to find him. How serendipitous.
Watching the day break through the window, she wondered what she could possibly do to make the situation any less odd. She was supposed to drive up to Chicago, look up a name in a phone book and knock on a door?
Hi, nice to meet you, I’m the daughter you never knew existed and probably wouldn’t want because I’m physical proof you were unfaithful to your wife. Can I come inside for a little chat?
Didn’t seem like the best thing but, if the goddess were correct, she had little choice in the matter.
Thoroughly confused, Nasira sat alone in her bed and tried to decide her first steps. She would have to call in the associate vet who oftentimes came in to assist her with surgeries. There was no way she could leave the clinic without an attending physician for however long she’d be gone. There were people and pets who needed her.
She hoped Dr. Specvick would be available to cover the rounds on such short notice.
With a grumble in her throat, Nasira finally roused enough energy to throw back the covers and slide her feet to the floor.
“Damn, this is ridiculous,” she said to herself. She rubbed at the light throbbing below her clavicle. A crack resounded when she twisted her torso first to the left, then the right, a pseudo morning stretch to work out the kinks.
She could not deny the sliver of excitement, no matter how small. It would be an adventure, something she had not allowed herself in the longest time. As a general rule, Nasira liked her life to flow in a linear and controlled fashion. There were no bumps in the road, no detours along her path to what she considered the perfect future.
Now the routine was shattered, the normalness of what she’d built shaken. The worst part was, she was willing to go along with it. Like a happy little sheep led to the slaughter house. She shook away the image.
What if nothing she dreamed was true? Perhaps she’d fabricated the dream as a way to deal with Brock being back in her life and Bast was a figment of her imagination?
Of course, if that were true then what she was about to do would either not matter or go to the complete opposite end of the spectrum and nosedive into insane.
Nasira chose the better part of valor and walked to her closet. She kept her luggage on the top shelf with the rarely used business attire and a few odd boxes of Christmas decorations. After rooting around for a moment, she selected a sturdy brown traveling case and brought it to the floor amidst clouds of dust.
First thing upon her homecoming, she’d need to hire a house cleaner. This was getting ridiculous.
She adored the little house on the main street in town for everything it represented historically and for herself personally. It had come on the market for rock bottom pricing due to the amount of work necessary to make it livable. With a penchant for penny pinching that would make her grandmother proud, Nasira scraped and saved up the cash to purchase the property. The renovations came later, more frequent with each drop of cash in her saving bucket once her business began to thrive.
Every inch of it was hers alone. Something she’d worked hard to build from nothing. Something she’d done without her father, or Brock, or any other man.
And she was about to leave the safety of her home for the great unknown.
She threw open the window to let the soft breeze inside. The wind carried with it the scent of the oncoming day, the sweet scent of flowers soon to bloom and the possibilities of dawn.
It smelled like home. How could she ever want to leave? The breeze shifted then and brought her another smell, of candles, spice, dark things that belonged in a different realm. Rogue magic. Wild magic. Her insides tingled and for a moment she felt the pull of it.
She looked away sharply and broke the spell.
Bast called on her to act. It meant something. Could it be possible that she was meant for bigger things, things outside of her all-important list? Was she brave enough to venture away from the neat box she’d built around herself to embrace her future? Her destiny?
Nasira was many things, and not all of them positive. Stubborn, cynical, bored yes. Maybe even a little judgmental. But she was not one to run from the call to action.
She made contact with Dr. Specvick and arranged for him to come in for the next week with his assistants. Surely a week would be adequate.
Resolutely, she crossed to her bed and began piling things in her suitcase.
“I wonder if it’s cold in Chicago,” she spoke to herself as she considered her clothes. Still, it would be better to pack too much than not enough. She tried to console herself with the thought, stuffing the baggage until it was full and the seams stretching to their limit.
The knock sounding at her front door was no surprise.
She took her time traversing the stairs and made sure to slow her steps when another resounding boom shook the picture frames on the wall.
The lock turned slowly and the door creaked open inch by inch until she could peep a single eye through the crack. Light filled the foyer.
“Go the hell home.” She mentally chided herself for the briskness in her voice even as she kept her face stern.
Brock, if anything, looked the opposite of pleased, her emotions echoed on his face. “Open the damn door,” he demanded in response. “I just woke up and I didn’t get much sleep last night. Needless to say, I’m not in the best of moods.”
Nasira kept her hand steady on the wood and wrinkled her nose at the sight of him. It was evident he’d gotten out of bed earlier than his normal time. Lines still radiated from the left side of his face where it had been buried in a pillow moment before. Heavy lidded eyes glared at her.
“I would rather not, thank you very much.”
“I don’t like this any more than you do. I have a feeling you know why I’m here and you know why I can’t go home. There are things we both have to do. Let’s try to act adult about this.”
“You don’t even know what this is.”
“I have a feeling you don’t either, yet here we both are.” Brock pushed past her, and only then did Nasira note the bag he had slung over his shoulder. “Sorry for the intrusion. Are you ready to leave yet?”
She stalked after him. “What do you think you’re doing? I didn’t say you could come inside. And why do you have a satchel?”
“I have a satchel because I am coming with you. Wherever you’re going. I’m leaving my kid with my senile grandmother and her full-time nurse because she told me to go and there was nothing I could say or do to talk her out of it. She kept spouting about destiny and fate and other shit.” Brock stopped at the counter, grabbing a cup from the rack, filling it, and slinging back an entire glass of water. “Sorry, I’m not a morning person,” he finished sourly.
“I can see.” Nasira put her hands on her hips and wondered how he managed to handle a baby. “Beyond your oh so lovely greeting, can you kindly explain to me why you are here?”
He stared at her as though the answer were obvious. “I believe I did. My grandmother.”
“Odessa?”
“Communing with the spirits or something.” Brock chuckled like he was remembering a private joke. “She said it was important for me to get here early and catch you before you left. Which, from the looks of it, she was right. You’re obviously going somewhere.”
“How did she know I was leaving? I didn’t even know myself until I passed out last night and woke up in a room talking to a goddess.” Nasira cringed when she heard herself say the words. Brock would probably think she’d gone insane.
He stared at her with equal parts fascination and confusion. “You know what? How about we both go forward with a don’t ask, don’t tell thing. At least until I’ve gotten a few cups of coffee under my belt.”
He discretely handed her the cell phone from his pocket. “Well, here you go. I’ll start a pot of the good stuff while you give her a ring. We’ll get in the car right after. Either way, I’m not going anywhere until you do.”
“You’re unbelievable.” She snatched the gadget from his hand.
“I’ve been told.”
Brock searched her face as she punched in the number. Kept his own expression unreadable and listened to her punch in the numbers. He doubted she left anything up to chance despite the nature of her trip and the self-imposed timeline.
While Nasira went through the routine of trying to explain, Brock took the opportunity to route through her cupboards for a morning snack.
He’d spent the night with his daughter halfway between sleep and wake in the rocking chair next to her bed. She’d slept fitfully. Which meant Dad rose to attention every time she tossed or turned over. It had been torturous handing her over once again to the prehistoric yet caring hands of Odessa before the sun even came over the horizon.
He knew enough to trust in what she said even though he hated it. He bristled at the thought of someone else controlling his movements. Choosing his path for him.
At least there was someone else who hated the arrangement even more. Despite himself, he was pleased with the thought. Good. Maybe this way she’d be distracted. It would give her less opportunity to jump on his ass and argue.
Brock tried not to listen to the conversation. Did his utmost best not to eavesdrop. Nasira came into the kitchen, her movements brisk and mechanical, and slapped the phone down on the counter next to him.
“I take it things did not go well?”
“Who expected them to go well?” She sighed, suppressing a grumble at her mother’s behavior. “She doesn’t understand why I have to do this, and there was no explaining things to her. I tried to say it was the will of her goddess, the same one who told her it was time I know about my father, but she seemed to think I was mocking her and using her own words as an excuse. I don’t even understand this myself.”
She stalked around the kitchen staring at different odds and ends. Wondering what her next move should be. There was stiffness in her shoulders. Agitation evident in the way she carried herself. When she slinked over to the fridge and shoved several pieces of fruit into a sack, her nerves showed.
Brock had the strange feeling the worst was yet to arrive. Her tensions did not bode well for the rest of their trip. Surely, he mused, things between them would reach a breaking point at some point, and he hated to be around to see it.
“I don’t know about you,” he began, “but I didn’t sleep well. I was too worried.”
Nasira continued to grab food from her fridge and pantry so she would not need to stop on the drive north.
“What? You have nothing to say, or you’re ignoring me?”
“Yes, and yes.”
“At least let me help you finish packing the trunk,” Brock put in smoothly. “I’ve become quite the expert at luggage Jenga.”
“I’m sure you have but I can handle everything myself.”
“I have something else you can handle.” He reached out to capture her free hand, unsurprised when she whirled away.
“If you’re trying to take my mind off of the trip,” she said, then paused. “Okay, it’s working. I admit it!” She let out a groan, shook her arms and tried not to feel like she was tying herself into a rope.
“Will you tell me where we’re going?”
The coffee came to a gurgling halt and he grabbed one of Nasira’s travel cups, pouring a healthy dose inside and closing the lid.
“Chicago,” she answered.
“The windy city. I’ve never been.”
“Neither have I.” She bit the inside of her lip, then blew out a breath.
“Need any help?” he called when she left the kitchen.
She ignored him once again and struggled to carry the suitcases to the car, transporting the three of them at the same time. Throughout the laborious trek, Nasira relieved some of her tension by cursing Brock under her breath.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” she muttered, wincing as one of the bags slammed against her knee. “Coming over here at the butt crack of dawn. Helping himself to my coffee. Trying to help me with my bags.”
Propping open the trunk with her shoe, she shoved the luggage in place and tried to convince herself that her newly minted sour mood was a result of Brock’s involvement and not the insane task set before her.
Impatient and out of breath, she let the door slam and took great pleasure in the angry sound.
“I can see how you wouldn’t want any help, Naz. You have things covered.”
The ridiculous nickname from their teenage years brought on a fresh round of frustration and had her gritting her teeth together. Nasira turned to him after a brief hesitation.
“Can you be quiet for a minute?”
The anger would not show on her face. The emotions were there, a punch to the gut when Brock stepped out into the sun and stared at her.
“What? No witty banter? No thinly cloaked sexual entendre?”
“I guess the coffee really did do you good if you’re making jokes. This isn’t a joking matter,” she reminded him. It was then Nasira noted how tired he looked. The skin beneath his eyes appeared shadowed and a slight layer of stubble lined his chin. The sight had her smirking. “What’s up with you? A few hours knocked off your beauty sleep regime and you start to crumble. You look horrible.”
“And you look beautiful.” Brock dropped his own bag to grab a handful of her hair. He rubbed it between his fingers and had Nasira wondering how she ever thought she’d gotten over him.
“You,” she countered, “have got to control yourself. If we’re going to be traveling together, which it looks like we are, then we need to set some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?”
“Absolutely,” she exclaimed, leaning back against the car. “Rule number one: no touching.”
Brock braced himself for her litany. “Doable for now. I make no promises for later. Hit me with the next one.”
“Rule number two: you do not speak to me about the mission.”
“The mission?” he asked.
“You do not question me and you do not try to impose yourself on what I have to do. Understood?”
“You’re the boss.” Brock lifted his hands to defend himself. “Anything else?”
“Yes. I do the driving.”
“You won’t hear any arguments from me. I just drove halfway across the country, so I think I’ve done enough to last me a lifetime.”
They piled into the front of her Subaru with the backseat stocked with everything they would need for the long hours on the road.
Slapping sunglasses on her face, Nasira dragged the gearshift down and put the pedal down. She felt a small sliver of satisfaction as Brock sloshed coffee on his lap the second they rounded a particularly sharp curve.
“Sorry!”
“Yeah, sure you are.”
Nasira kept her mouth shut afterward. It was too odd, driving away from her home with Brock in tow. The awkwardness she tried to keep to herself under a practiced veneer of polish. She focused on navigating and urged her mind to consider what she would do once she met her birth father. It was strange, she mused.
No cars followed her, the early hour weekend day assuring they would be alone for the better part of their trip out of town
The cold weight of eyes fell on the back of her head. Shivering, she lifted a hand and checked the air intake for any chill coming through the vents. She glanced at Brock, who sat still with his hands folded over his drying lap and eyes on th
e passing cars. The small hairs on the back of her neck and forearms rose with a tingle, like someone had walked across her grave. The ends of her hair whipped back suddenly and she cried out, thinking she saw a shadow in the backseat. A shadow with bright blonde hair. Wicked eyes. And a siren’s smile.
She shook off the odd feeling and the hallucination.
Brock turned to her, concerned. “You okay?”
Nasira rubbed the quarter sized area of her scalp that still stung from the unseen contact. “I’m fine,” she murmured, checking the rearview mirror once more. “Seeing things. I could have sworn someone pulled my hair.”
The echo of female laughter sounded in her ears and she pressed her foot down to the floor and let the engine purr. They still had too many miles ahead.
CHAPTER 8
“Darling, how about you take a break? You look ready to keel over.”
“Despite the lovely compliment, I’m fine. You’re not getting behind the wheel of this car to save my life. The drive is only a few hours.”
Brock sighed and shifted, his large frame slightly cramped in the close quarters of the midsized sedan. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Nasira rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. “It won’t. I’m a professional.”
The four-hour drive stretched on eternally. The weather wasn’t helping them. An hour outside of Madison, the sky had turned a deep shade of pink with sickly green tinted clouds. She would have worried about a tornado were they not headed north out of Indiana. Still, an uneasy feeling filled the car and she pushed her foot down on the accelerator. Their drive was lengthened by a detour after the Ohio River flooded. Flooded!
Even odder? They hadn’t had a thunderstorm in weeks.
It was rougher than the worst case of Murphy’s Law. Whatever can go wrong will go wrong? Well, whatever odd weather occurrence could happen, did. They hit a wall of snow outside of Indianapolis and upward lightning near Remington.
“You know,” Brock said, biting into an apple, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone up there is trying to keep us away from Chicago.” He pointed to the roof of the car but she understood what he meant. “This is worse than my drive to Madison.” He began ticking off the odd occurrences he’d faced out of California.