Page 22 of Last Call at the Doghouse

There was nothing natural or normal about this.

Suddenly she wondered if Duncan had been wrong about Carlton being killed by a werewolf. What could a swarm of birds like this do to a man? Those beaks, the claws. She’d once watched a hawk beat a squirrel to death in her Knoxville back yard then dig in. Afterward she’d gone into the back yard, determined to clean up whatever mess the hawk had left behind. There had been nothing. All evidence that the squirrel had ever existed was gone. A hundred hawks, a defenseless Carlton…

Duncan floored it and laid on the horn. If there was another vehicle ahead, they had no way of seeing it. Crows, robins, hawks, buzzards, and a collection of perfectly ordinary birds worked together to… to do what? Destroy the car? Destroy them?

Get the book? Armi clutched the book more tightly than before. A particularly large crow seemed to lock eyes with her and scream. It happened so fast she dismissed the feeling that the crow was deliberately looking at her to imagination.

Nowhere in her imagination could she have come up with any of this.

A particularly large bird—this time she was certain it was a buzzard—slammed against the top of the truck, denting it again. Once, twice, three times. The windshield cracked again, splintering. Duncan’s hands tightened on the wheel. A bead of sweat ran down his face. He leaned forward, concentrating on moving forward and staying in control.

Armi felt whatever control she possessed slipping away. Her heart raced. Her hands trembled. She wanted to scream, at the birds, at Duncan, at the damn book. A good scream would surely release some of the tension in her body, but she pushed the urge down.

At once, the birds all seemed to scream for her. Had they read her mind or were they releasing their own anger and frustration?

And then they were gone, the flock of birds breaking up and out until the road ahead was clear once again. There was one final assault by a blue jay. It was too small to do much damage, but hit the windshield with attitude and flew away unsteadily, leaving one blue feather stuck in the passenger side windshield wiper.

The road ahead remained clear. The sun shone into the truck cab once more. Armi’s heart pounded so hard, she figured Duncan could hear it.

“What the hell was that?” she shouted when she was capable of speaking again.

Duncan was silent for a long moment, as he studied the road ahead and then the skies above. “It started with Carlton,” he said. “It’s not going to stop.”

His words froze her for a moment. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Not stop? It had to stop, somehow. Those were the most alarming words she’d heard in… well, in her entire life.

“Do you think those birds killed him?” She pictured it too clearly, the poor man in the open as the birds swarmed him, tearing him apart with beaks and talons.

“Maybe,” Duncan replied.

Armi made up her mind then and there with the mental picture of Carlton all too clear. “I can sell the bar and move. Back to Knoxville, maybe somewhere else.”

Duncan shook his head. “There’s nowhere you can go that this evil won’t follow.”

A tingle walked down her spine. Evil. The book she clutched felt warm to the touch. Not warmth from the sun that once again poured into the truck cabin, it was more than that. She hadn’t read more than a few words back in the Mystic Springs library, but this book, this inanimate object, spoke to her.

She’d been trying to deny what Duncan had told her, but how could she dismiss it now? Armi grabbed her phone from her purse and called Stella. In a voice she worked very hard to keep calm and even, she imparted instructions. Stella and Mary would be in charge of The Doghouse for a few days. Her bartender and friend pushed for more information. Why? What happened? Is everything okay? Armi just said it was “personal business.”

And boy, was it.

Stella was surprised by the request, but they both knew she could run the place in Armi’s absence, especially with Mary’s help. She didn’t assault Armi with more questions, as she might’ve, but she must’ve sensed that all was not well. Stella ended the call with a solemn, “Be careful.”

When the call was over, Armi turned her attention to Duncan. “We’ll swing by my place so I can pack a bag,” she said. “With luck, we can be out of there before Mary and Stella show up to open the bar.” She wasn’t ready to attempt explanations, though explanations would have to come eventually.

“And then?” Duncan prodded when Armi fell into silence.

“Back to your cabin.” She placed the crimson book with the gold shield in her lap. Instead of clutching it, as she’d been doing, she caressed it with gentle fingers. “We have a lot to learn.”

* * *

Luck had been with them. Armi had run up to her room, packed a bag, and headed out before Mary or Stella showed up for work. In a way she felt guilty for dumping the bar on them at such short notice, but Mondays usually weren’t busy. To be honest, the two of them could probably manage even a busy weekend if it came to that. They each had their strengths.

She’d tried to convince Duncan to leave his truck and drive her little car, but he was adamant in his opposition to that idea. Her sedan was too small, he said. When she mentioned his broken windshield, he insisted he could get it replaced quickly. She figured it was a man thing. He liked his big truck. His vehicle was manly; her little car was not.

Back at his cabin Duncan had shown her to her room, a sparsely furnished bedroom with its own attached bathroom. Neither had been decorated—there were no knickknacks or pictures—but both were clean. The bedspread and most of the towels were navy. There were no plants, no decorative pillows or fancy soaps.

Simple as they were, these rooms were much nicer than her apartment above the bar. She wouldn’t tell him so. Why bother? He knew. After she dropped her bag in the room and he made a few phone calls about his shattered windshield, they gathered in the main room to study the book more closely.

She’d fought for this book; she’d insisted on bringing it with her. But as she sat on the couch with Duncan at her side, she was afraid to lift the crimson cover and start turning the seemingly ancient pages. Magic existed; there was no debate about that. Until very recently she would’ve also argued that magic was not a part of her, or a part of her world.