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12
The drive to Davie, Florida, took ten hours. We made it in ten and a half, after a pit stop halfway to refuel. Braver than the rest of us, Clay got his lunch from the gas station. Fried chicken wings, fried okra, fried cherry pies, and French fries. It smelled deliciously greasy, but I couldn’t find hunger past my dread.
As you would expect from a sanctuary home to dangerous otherworldly creatures and beasts, we rolled up on an entrance glamoured from human sight. A literal billboard filled with dire warnings in myriad languages awaited us past its open gates. The fine print read you were on your own beyond that point. The sanctuary wasn’t responsible for deaths, dismemberments, emotional trauma, or lost items.
Easy to see why parents thought signing those annual school trip permission slips was a great idea.
Assuming they had too many kids and were hoping the marsh would swallow a few of the extras.
“That’s downright cheery,” Clay remarked. “No wonder it’s such a popular spot.”
“Rue would never let me come here on a field trip.” Colby mashed her face to the glass. “Ever.”
The lush green beyond the window captivated me, but I had to agree. “Never ever about covers it.”
Based on the warm ripple of power that washed over us, the perimeter defense remained active.
Interesting.
“A ward.” I checked with the others. “You guys feel it too?”
Jittery from the brush of foreign magic, Colby lit in my hair. “Yes.”
Beside me, Asa nodded as he scanned for signs its activation had alerted anyone to our presence.
Large groups were required to book in advance. The website made that much clear. Individuals and their families were welcome to conduct self-guided tours within the posted hours. That was in bold print too. Their staffing situation should work in our favor. I doubt they kept many full-time employees, and none would stay past the time posted on the billboard out front. Not if they were only cashiers or tour guides.
“Yep.” A click signaled the laptop shutting before Clay leaned forward. “Did not expect that.”
“It felt old, stable.” Asa reached for his handle. “Any idea how long the sanctuary has been here?”
“It was established sixty-something years ago,” Colby told us. “I don’t remember the year.”
The ringing in my ears was back, louder than ever. This place was founded before my parents died. Mom had a trust prior to her death that funneled money into its construction. How long after they broke ground had she died?
What had they started here? And had they finished, or had it been left undone?
“I told the rehabbers we would leave the cage beside the front gate under an obfuscation spell.”
With my head so full of ghosts, I hadn’t given the pups a second thought since our arrival.
“I’ll get them in position,” Clay volunteered. “Ace, grab their bowl and a few bottles of water?”
Once the guys settled them in, they filled the oversized bowl with cold water. The pups weren’t drinking, I don’t think, but it soothed them. Hopefully, their ride would be here soon. There was nothing else we could do except the spell to conceal their location from predators and poachers.
A tap of my wand blended them into the scenery, cage and all, and I nodded to Colby when I was done.
“I’ll shoot the rehabbers an email,” Colby said. “Then it’s out of our hands.”
“You did good.” I ruffled the fur down her back. “Now for the fun part.”
If you considered strolling into the unknown fun, which we must, as often as we did it.
“There’s the welcome center.” Colby jarred me from my thoughts. “We can start there.”
Following her advice, we walked down the short road to a squat building that blended with the landscape by design. It was old but kept in good repair, and there were what looked like miles of boardwalk leading across the marshy landscape.
A grassy river flowed around bald and pond cypress trees, and under hardwood hammocks of live oak and gumbo-limbo. Here and there, cowhorn, butterfly, and ladies’-tresses orchids bloomed. The water churned with wildlife, and the air hummed with insects, their songs broken by the cries of birds.
