Page 14 of Last Call at the Doghouse

* * *

The sun was rising before Armi crawled into bed. Would she sleep? Her head was spinning with the information Duncan had shared, with the memory of Carlton dead in the parking lot. At least no construction noise would interrupt her quiet morning. It was Sunday, so no one would be working. Duncan needed rest as much as she did.

Something Duncan had said stayed with her. Women protect the world; men protect the women. Seemed like a vicious cycle to her, but something in his words rang true.

She’d asked for explanation and had gotten some. Her head had been in such a jumble that she was sure she hadn’t gotten it all. She did remember that Duncan had told her she should be better prepared, but the untimely fall of Mystic Springs’ protections had not only loosed magic on the world—in a trickle, for now—it had set certain events into motion. Fate, he’d said that, too.

She’d never much believed in fate. Each person made their own life and luck, though the decisions of others could turn even the most well-planned life upside down. She was proof of that.

There were others like her, he’d said. Others like him, too. With any luck they would all come together. Luck? Hers hadn’t been all that great lately. She didn’t want to rely on luck for, well, anything. Some kind of war was coming and she was to have a part in it; he knew that much, but he wasn’t sure of the timing. Great. Could be tomorrow. Could be years from now.

Who was she supposed to fight? The worst of those touched with magic. Werewolves, witches, shifters—those she knew about and others she’d never heard of. Springers with various abilities, not all of them but those who’d turned to the dark.

After Duncan had explained what he could, he’d been in need of a drink before heading for bed. She’d been reeling, wanting only to escape, so she’d tossed him the spare keys she kept behind the bar and told him to lock up when he left. Maybe it was stupid to trust him that much, but in spite of everything he’d said, in spite of the fact that she really wanted to write him off as a wacko, she did trust him. Her instincts where people were concerned hadn’t been flawless, but with a few notable exceptions—Andrew—they’d been good. The problem was, she too often ignored those instincts.

She hadn’t thought to ask him about the fire Carlton had seen in her eyes until she was in her room. Had it been a hallucination, as she’d assumed all along, or did the flames have something to do with this shield business? It was a question that could wait, she decided, not wanting to face Duncan again, not just yet.

For a while after crawling into bed she’d listened for the main door downstairs to close. Would she be able to hear the keys turning in the lock from here? Maybe he’d left quietly, or else her hearing wasn’t what it had once been. What did it matter? She got up once, pulled back the drapes, and looked over at the motel where she’d first seen Duncan.

Why did he feel important to her? Why did she feel a connection when the last thing she wanted or needed was a connection to any man? Suddenly that big dog she’d seen around a handful of times ran between the motel and the bar, startling her. Goliath was huge; seemed to be a mix of large breeds. It was a gigantic mutt. German Shepherd features were prominent, but his coloring was unique. She blinked, and the dog was gone.

Could a dog that size have killed Carlton? She had to consider that was possible, but Goliath hadn’t been at all aggressive. Wouldn’t he be bloody and disheveled if he’d recently torn a man apart? She didn’t want to believe a dog, any dog, could’ve done that to Carlton or anyone else, though she knew it was possible.

Maybe she should get a dog. Would a pet protect her against the kind of animal who’d attacked Carlton? If anything Duncan had said was true, it wouldn’t be fair to bring a puppy into her life. And what about Mary and Stella? Her friends, her customers… her boys. Oh, her boys! She had to keep them away from here. If anything he’d said was true, no one should be in her orbit. Maybe she was meant to be a protector of some kind, but at the moment she didn’t feel capable of keeping even those closest to her safe.

Armi shuddered, closed the curtains, and crawled back into bed. Exhaustion won and she immediately fell asleep, hard.

It was no surprise that she dreamed. You’d think she’d dream of darts flying at her head and werewolves and a dead Carlton and trying to clean blood out of gravel, but she didn’t. Instead she dreamed that she wasn’t in her bed alone, that Duncan joined her, held her, made love to her once. Twice. Again. She knew it had to be a dream because in reality, sex had never been so good. She’d read about this kind of orgasm, but had written it off as some optimistic writer’s vivid imagination.

Goliath was there, in her vivid dream, there and not there, inside the bar and outside, in the woods, in some weird, implausible dream-like way. In the dream he was her dog. That was why she’d named him, Goliath told her, because he was hers and always had been.

Then the dog was gone and Duncan was in her bed again. They were both naked, and the feel of his skin against hers was heaven. That feeling was the only right thing in a wrong world, and she wallowed in it. She woke on the tail end of her final dream orgasm, shaking, glowing, wanting more.

She sighed into her pillow then looked at the clock on her bedside table. Damn. She’d slept the day away, which is probably just what she needed.

It didn’t matter how late in the day it was she needed coffee, lots of it. Her stomach growled, and she wondered if she had anything in her little kitchenette to eat besides those tasteless concrete bars. Coffee first, she decided as she opened her bedroom door… and almost tripped over a sleeping Duncan, who was stretched across the floor like the guard dog he’d claimed to be, wearing jeans and nothing else.

He came awake instantly, popping to his feet, aware much more quickly than she’d been.

“Shit!” she said, jumping back to close the door. Once again, she was in underwear and a tank top. It was great sleeping attire, but not something she wanted to show off. Especially not to him.

“Good morning,” he said, grumbling on the other side of her bedroom door.

“No, shit is more appropriate.” She wouldn’t say she was entirely without thought and vocabulary, but there had been times when she’d been certain that word would be her last, unless she died in her sleep.

Which if Duncan was right was looking less and less likely.

“I need food,” he said, raising his voice so she’d be sure to hear. “There’s a place in Eufaula that serves breakfast all day.”

“I need a shower,” Armi insisted.

“So do I.”

No, no, not together. She pushed that instinctive thought out of her head.

“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” she said. “You go first, then I’ll jump in when you’re done.” She could make coffee while he showered. No way was she waiting until Eufaula for her morning brew, even if it was well into the afternoon. She would wait for food if she had to, but not for coffee. She grabbed a pair of sweatpants, pulled them on, and listened. After the bathroom door closed, she slipped out of her room and into the kitchenette.

The shower ran. The coffeepot gurgled. Armi’s heart beat much too hard. From the dream or from finding Duncan sleeping at her door? Who knew?