Chelsea reached greedily for the proffered coffee cup with her uninjured arm. Hot, and somehow both bitter and smooth, she savored the drink. One of the hedge doctors had bought her one from the coffee shop downstairs when she limped in this morning. She was on her third. “I swear this almost doesn’t need sugar.”
Trees and cloud cover made a velvet darkness that hemmed in her flashlight. She couldn’t see much beyond her toes. But that didn’t matter in this well-kept wilderness with it distinctly defined paths.
At first, her brain rejected what she saw, but it was too obvious to dismiss. Tree roots were weaving through the undergrowth.
“Okay, Bent. Unless a cool monster comes up, we’re taking off. The damp is killing me.”
The dog whuffed from behind, sounding more preoccupied with whatever animal had pissed on the towering pine trees the night before.
“Don’t patronize me.”
Chelsea watched the fire, ignoring the surrounding revelry. People laughed and drank, ate and flirted. These monster hunters could celebrate. They hadn’t seen Gene die. Torn apart by sea fairies.
*Neither did you. *
The cold spray tasted of salt. Despite the chill in the air, Chelsea leaned over the side of the boat, letting her tumble in the wind. She had thought the prairie to be endless, but watching the ocean merge with the horizon reordered her perception and her soul.
*I had forgotten what the true edge of forever looked like.*
It wasn’t a beach you swam at, even if the weather co-operated. And if the wind, rain, and fog ever did let up, the water would shock the breath from you no matter the time of year. Chelsea wasn’t there to swim though.
The last five months in the Dakotas had ground cattle-drive chic into her wardrobe, and these people were pure urban working class. It was all baggy denim and hoodies as far as the eye could see. Her fringed leather duster and matching black Stetson stood out to say the least.
Are you okay?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but the question slipped out.
He shook himself. “Yeah. Just. Stuff. You know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know about “just stuff.” I’m comprised of about ninety percent “just stuff”.”
“My ride won’t be here for hours yet.”
“That’s not fair.” She wiped at her face. “It’s not enough time.”
“Time for what?” He smiled, low and gentle. “To convince me to stay? Or for me to beg you to leave with me?”
“Either.” She sucked in a breath, but her chest still felt too tight. “Both.”
Words That Burn Like Fire 