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Like it’s true.
Like Maximus and I really do have a chance to find our forever happiness, in spite of everything that’s happened—and everything that might still happen.
I can’t ignore that possibility. But for now, maybe it’s okay to just accept the happiness and completion of this moment. This peaceful and perfect now.
It’s not a feat I’m familiar with. And I’m definitely not good at it. I ache for the moments when Gramps struggled to make me practice it, but those never lasted long before a text or call from Mother beckoned me back to chasing our Hollywood dreams.
HerHollywood dreams.
Or were they?
Have I ever been able to exist in a world without a dozen places to be, a hundred things to do, a thousand fires that need to be doused?
Maybe that’s part of my lesson here too. My real enlightenment.
If so…I’m ready.
CHAPTER TEN
MAXIMUS
Before the next morning’s dawn, there’s a freak thunderstorm in the canyon. Technically, any storm is a freakish thing south of Santa Barbara, but this is an unexpected gale that even I can’t take responsibility for.
Anticipating Kiama’s and Liseli’s need for some help with the undoubtedly skittish animals, I should probably make my way over to the farmhouse. After rousing Kara long enough to let her know where I’m going, I quickly change into jeans, boots, and a T-shirt—sending silent thanks to the Iremia diamonds for accurately nailing my fashion needs—before hurrying through the soggy light toward the buildings that must be chaotic with animal anxiety by now.
Sure enough, the barn and farmhouse floodlights make the place look like a rock festival in the making, but that’s where my expectations hit a brick wall.
Definitely not a rock concert.
Not even a smooth-jazz-by-the-bay thing.
There’s no sound in here at all. Literally, not a creature is scurrying. Or bleating or squawking or growling.
I scuff to a halt, expecting the crunch beneath my boots as an assurance I haven’t gone deaf. But the newly wet earth only gives up only softploofs.
I frown twice as hard. “What the…?”
A sharp gust rattles raindrops out of the trees. I shake off the wet, tie back my hair, and close in on the animal habitat structures. Still not a single scratch in the air.
It’s unnerving.
I don’t like it, this suspicion that’s become my instant default, but hiking several circles of hell will make a guy look at every blind corner in a new way. Better a neck full of spiked hairs than a surprise tackle from a hellhound. Oh, yeah. Even here. Until I’m shown otherwise, the witches’ enchanted perimeter is as good as cheesecloth to me.
I skirt around the farmhouse, thankful for the damp soil cushioning my steps and calming my pulse. But not enough. I glance down at my spread fingers, hoping they aren’t really sizzling from the light socket into which my bloodstream feels jammed.
No sooner do I confirm I’m still presenting as flesh and blood than Kiama appears from the stables, her wide grin coinciding with the sunbeams fingering through the clouds. “Good morning, Professor. I was just wondering if you’d come around so I could properly thank you.”
I already feel my eyes tighten. “For what?”
An instant cant of her head, making her long braid fall over her shoulder. “The storm. Isn’t it your doing?”
“Not a single drop. But if it was, why would you be thanking me?” I nod back toward the animal enclosures. “Isn’t thunder and lightning as good as stirring up the asylum?”
“Absolutely. But sometimes that’s a good thing.”
“Poking the beasts?” I dot that with an arched brow.
“More like…inciting the libidos.” She quirks half a grin. “Over the years, some of our beloved brutes have landed on the endangered species list. Under controlled circumstances, bringing in a thunder buddy for them can be a good thing.”
