Enchanting Wilder

by Cassie Graham

  My mouth thins and I give her a hard stare. “I’m not waiting to rot.”

  “When was the last time you went out on a date?” she challenges.

  I open my mouth to retort but she cuts me off.

  “Four months. Four months!” She’s getting angry. “When was the last time you even bought yourself a new outfit?”

  I look down at my ordinary t-shirt and jeans. I wiggle my toes inside my Converse.

  “It’s been years.” She slams her hand down on the desk, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’re going out tonight.”

  Now my eyes expand and I shake my head.

  “Yes.” She stands. “We’re going to be wild and rebellious.”

  Quickly moving from my seat, I dodge her grasp. “No.”

  I’m not being caught dead in a club. It’s full of mundane, loose assholes trying to get a piece of any woman they can get a hold of. It’s not my idea of fun. Plus, this is the only night I don’t have to do my Strix work.

  “Yes.” She finally takes hold of my hand and pulls me toward the front door, grabbing our purses and keys along the way. “And we’re going shopping. You need a cute outfit.”

  “I look hideous,” I hiss as I stare at myself in the full-length mirror. The cherry red top Candy dressed me in is too tight and the jeans she begged me to put on are a size too small. Don’t get me started on the stiletto heals she threw on my feet. I can’t even drag my eyes that far south to look at them. If the pain is any indication, I’m going to go barefoot.

  “Shut up.” She slaps my hands away, tugging the blouse down below my waist. “It’s supposed to be tight.”

  I narrow my eyes in the mirror at her. “It’s supposed to be tight? Candy, you can see what I ate for lunch in this shirt!”

  Candy licks her lips and cracks a smile. “Ugh, fine. Then you choose something. We’ve been here almost two hours and the only things you’ve picked up are a pair of combat boots and skinny jeans. I’d hardly say that is party attire.”

  I glance at my bags on the ground. I love a good pair of boots—and Converse. Can’t forget those. They’re sensible and stylish. Whoever said it was a good idea to force women into wearing heels every day to work must have been a man. No woman would subject herself to that kind of torture. It’s a pain in the ass—or feet—whatever.

  “I like my boots and jeans, thank you,” I say, tossing the red shirt onto the bench, grabbing another possibility off a hanger.

  I know the moment it falls onto my shoulders that this is the one. A light off-white top flows perfectly against my delicate skin. The matte embellishments just below the neck of the shirt glow in the florescent store lights and I touch them with my fingers. “This looks like mom.”

  I don’t know why I say it because it doesn’t look like anything mom ever wore, but it reminds me of her. My eyes begin to water and I look away from my reflection.

  Candy places her hand on my shoulder and I look back up at her, the Sephra Link taking over. “She would have loved this.”

  I sniffle a bit. “Yeah.”

  “Then we’re taking it home. Plus…” She slaps me on the ass looking all too proud of herself. “It’ll look badass with those boots.” She points to the bags on the ground and I grin.

  I haven’t had a drop of alcohol to drink and my vision is blurring. I don’t know if it’s the drone of the music or the smoky atmosphere, but I feel drunk. Resting my head on my hand, I look over at Candy dancing with a random guy on the tiny dance floor.

  Thankfully, she didn’t drag me to some hip-hop club like I originally thought she would. Instead, she brought me to a biker joint just off the highway. The Nest. It reeks of peanuts and stale beer, the leather seats are cracked and the band is obnoxious—definitely more my scene.

  The bartender offers me a drink of whiskey and I throw it back, wiping my mouth as I slam the shot glass back on the stain-covered bar.

  He tosses a towel over his shoulder and leans on his elbows in front of me. “Rough night?”

  I grab the beer next to the shot glass and let the slow burn of the alcohol numb my body. “Rough life.” I look at him. His deep brown eyes bore into mine and I hiccup. “But I’ll get over it.”

  “Eddie.” He extends his hand to me and I shake it.

  “McKenna.”

  “Nice to meet you, McKenna,” he offers. “I was wondering…” He’s stopped by a guy shouting his name a few seats down from us. “Hold that thought.”

  I watch him walk away and take note of the way his hips sway just a bit. I could be into him. He’s good looking and he’s got a nice smile. Doesn’t have the best hair, but I can try to get over that. Try being the operative word. You know how most women say the first thing they notice about a guy is his smile—or his eyes? For me, it’s hair. If a guy has a good head of hair, he can pretty much get me to do anything. Couple that with a good sense of humor, he’s golden.

  Eddie on the other hand doesn’t really have what I’m looking for.

  I take another swig of my beer and let my eyes drift around the bar. No one in particular catches my eye, so I move away from the bar and Eddie, in favor of a booth in the back.

  “What can I get cha’?” the waitress asks the moment I sit down.

  “Umm.” I glance at the menu and then to her nametag. If I’m not going to find a guy, the only woman-like thing to do is eat. “I’ll take a burger, Fran. Cheese and hold the onions,” I say, slipping the menu back down on the table.

  “You got it.” She winks and walks to the kitchen.

  The band begins to play a slow song and Candy walks over and plops down on the other side of the booth.

  “What’s up, chickie?” I ask, pulling the label off of my beer bottle.

  Candy wipes the sweat off of her forehead and fans her face. “It’s hot out there.” She points to the dance floor.

  I nod, moving my eyes out to watch the couple’s two-step in rhythm to the song.

  “Having fun?” She steals my beer and takes a sip, wincing when it hits her tongue.

  “I am, actually.” It’s nice to get out of the house. And this place is just laid back enough that I can hang out without having to worry about sleazebags bothering me.

  “Good.” She smiles, watching as Fran appears with my dinner. “Ooo, I’ll have one of those, please.” Her eyes light up and she almost salivates the moment I take a bite of my fries.

  Fran snaps her fingers, and writes down Candy’s order.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes as I eat my dinner. I haven’t had a good, greasy bar burger in far too long.

  “Eddie keeps looking over here.”

  My eyes snap to the bar and I quickly wipe the grease dripping down my face. Good God, how could anyone find me attractive? But sure enough, there he is with a goofy grin on his face staring at me like I’m the most adorable little puppy he’s ever seen. “What’s he looking at?” I ask, clearly questioning his judgment as I catch another drop of burger grease in my napkin.

  Candy turns her attention to me and I set my burger down. She shakes her head.

  “What?”

  “Dude.” She reaches across the table and slaps my shoulder. “He likes you.”

  I look down at myself. “What? No.”

  My eyes immediately return to the bar to find Eddie still gawking. Candy slaps me again. “You’re a fox. Go get some.”

  I scoff, sputtering into my napkin. “Go get some? Who are you?” I laugh a good hearty laugh that I haven’t heard from myself in way too long.

  She shrugs. “I just want to see you happy.”

  I breathe and pick up another fry. “I’m—happy.” It almost hurts to lie to her. I’m living day-to-day. I’d hardly consider myself happy.

  “I know you’re lying.”

  I grit my teeth. Damn Sephra Link.

  I pick at my food, not saying a word.

  “Look—” she says, but the world goes blurry and I’m pulled from reality, unable to hear her what she has to s
ay.

  Taking in my surroundings, I’m reluctant to speak. I don’t know why she pulled me in here. It’s my day off.

  “McKenna,” Sally, my Spirit Guide greets. “You’re needed.”

  Sally hands me a piece of paper with a name on it and I sigh, not in the mood to argue. “Fine. Just this one?”

  Sally nods, knotting her hands together in front of her body. “Just this one. I’m sorry to pull you away from your evening. This one is incredibly important.”

  I commit the name to memory and snap myself back to Candy.

  The lull of the road underneath my silver ‘69 Sting Ray is enough to make my eyes heavy with sleep. Shaking my head, I comb a hand through my brown hair, attempting to keep myself awake. Sherwood’s tall, lanky body is passed out and snoring in the seat next to me. If it wasn’t for the fact he stayed up all of last night driving, I’d wake him up to take over.

  I move my right hand from the steering wheel to turn up the music, hoping to evict the tiredness from my body. The Outfield’s Your Love pours through the speakers and I quietly sing along to the upbeat tune. It’s the only way I’m going to survive and make it to Iowa.

  Sherwood caught a case just outside of Des Moines, so we figured it would be best to go check it out. Could be nothing, more often than not it is nothing, but it’s not in our blood to ignore the strange when we’re completely capable of helping.

  We’re Pursuers, which I guess is just a fancy name for a long line of mortal paranormal hunters, dating back to the early 1800s. We pursue evil; hunt the bad and banish it. Myself and Sherwood were born into it, trained and educated on all things paranormal, just as our father and grandfather, their father’s father—and well, you get the picture. We have family scattered all over the globe fighting this war, and sure, someone else could have gone to check out the allegations, but being “the best of the best” comes with responsibilities. Or so my dad says. He’s been out on a hunt for a little over a week, and I know if I called him to double check, he’d call me an idiot and tell me to get my ass in gear.

  “No matter how little the case may seem, you owe it to yourself and those involved to make it right,” he’d say in his gruff, no-nonsense voice.

  So, here I am, flying down a long stretch of ominous road with my brother, hoping to God I don’t get us lost. That’s not something you think about when you’re trekking all over the United States, but I lead us in the wrong direction more than I’d like to admit. It also doesn’t help I’m sometimes too prideful to ask for directions. My father’s blood runs thick inside my veins.

  Cracking the window, the light October breeze slams against my face and I have to remind myself not to close my eyes and savor it. When you live half your life on the road, you have to take the little moments like this one and really grab on.

  Sherwood shuffles in his seat, turning away from the intrusion of air. I reluctantly roll the window back up, not wanting to disturb him any more.

  It’s always like that, isn’t it? The big brother wants to shelter the little one. He’s only three years younger, but even now that he’s twenty-four I can’t help but still worry about him.

  It’s probably because dad constantly drilled it into my head. “You’re his protector. He’s your responsibility.”

  I shake my head at the thought. Why wasn’t Dad the protector?

  Nevertheless, Dad instilled those thoughts when I was ten years old. Ten. God, I don’t know why he put that burden on me at such a young age. But, he did, and dammit, now my protectiveness is almost to a point of obsession. I’ve had a lot of years to perfect my ability.

  Keep Sherwood safe. Make sure he gets home alive.

  If I’m being honest; Sherwood is a much better Pursuer because he only has himself to look after. He’s better at the research and even better at investigating. Where he’s kind, I’m a bit harsh. I’m a get in, get out kind-of-guy. Sherwood worries about the victims on a different level than I do. I’m all about the job and he coddles the families. I guess that makes us a good team in that sense. The yin to his yang.

  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 ba
ckhand 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?”