“Idon’tmind alittledrool,” I clarify, wiping a fresh strand off my knee. “But this is a biblical flood.”
Dean snorts. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s close enough that I mark it as a win. “You said the D-word. Now you live with theconsequences.” He returns his attention to the road. “He’ll level out once he’s fed and go back to the lazy beast we all know and tolerate.”
The truck rattles up the gravel road, the engine growling through a pothole that jolts Doug sideways into my ribs. He doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on the windshield with the fervent devotion of a pilgrim approaching Mecca, and a fresh rope of drool connects his jowl to my thigh.
“We’re almost there, buddy,” Dean tells him.
Almost there.
Great.
I should be thrilled. I’ll get to meet the Havens and maybe hear their take on the feud and the treasure.
But the closer we get to the farm, the tighter my chest goes. Why am I nervous?
Dean turns up a gravel drive, and the Haven place spreads out in front of us. Red barn, white farmhouse, fields rolling down to water.
Dean cuts the engine.
Doug immediately scrambles across my lap, claws digging in, and hurls himself out the door the second Dean opens it, gone toward the house at a dead waddle.
“Doug—” Dean sighs and slides out from behind the wheel, but makes no attempt to follow his dog. Instead, he circles the truck’s hood and waits for me to get out.
I don’t move.
I stare at the farmhouse. It is so pretty. I didn’t know places like this existed outside of the b-roll we’d cut into segments about small-town America. I always assumed someone built those places for the camera.
Flowers. I should have brought flowers.
Or maybe wine.
“Coming?” Dean’s standing by the truck, watching me with that unreadable expression of his.
I grab my bag and step out. The gravel crunches under my heels—the wrong shoes, always the wrong shoes—and the smell hits me. Hay. Animals. Something cooking that makes my stomach clench with hunger I didn’t know I had.
I smooth my jacket, tuck my hair behind my ears, and take one step forward…
And a white, feathered ball of fury comes around the corner of the barn and streaks toward me. It hits me at knee height with the force of a linebacker.
“Oh—” I stumble backward, one heel sinking into gravel, and my arms pinwheel for a second before I catch myself against the truck’s fender.
The goose doesn’t stop. It circles back, wings spread wide, neck extended to full, terrifying length, and comes at me again.
“Noodle,” Dean scolds. “No.”
Noodle?I think, a delirious laugh caught in my throat.The Havens have a demon goose, and they call it… Noodle?
The goose’s beak snaps at the air three inches from my shin, and I press myself flat against the truck door. My heart is hammering, which is embarrassing, because it’s a goose and I have faced down much more dangerous things in both my career and my life.
“Dean…” I hate the whimper in my voice.
“Just walk toward the house. He won’t actually bite you.”
“He looks like he’s going to actually bite me.”
“He looks like that at everyone. Noodle!” To my surprise, he steps between the goose and me, which is either heroic or insane. “Back off or I’m putting you on the menu for the next family dinner.”
Noodle pulls up short, wings still half-raised, and fixes one beady eye on Dean. A long, low hiss escapes its throat, the sound of pure, undiluted offense.
