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“What the hell is a North Carolina?”
“Oh, God.” I scoff, then I laugh because this man can’t be serious. I’m standing in front of a person who doesn’t even know what state we’re in, who owns a wolf, and has a gun. All red flags.
“I’m sorry, were you born under a rock? How do you not know what North Carolina is?”
He frowns but doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts his gun again and aims it directly at my face, and I throw my trembling hands in the air.
“Turn around and walk.”
“I—where am I supposed to go?”
“Follow the path north.”
“North…north. Um…okay.” I turn around with a limp and hobble through the forest until I spot the path. I can either go left or right. Right feels like going north, so I turn that direction, but he clears his throat. I glance back, and he points the other way with the gun.
“Yep. Got it,” I whisper.
I limp my way along the path, and within two or three minutes, an iron gate appears. It reminds me of the gate that was in my dreams. Only there’s no heavy fog, and I can see what lies ahead very clearly: land—lots of land. The grass is cut neatly, and a rocky path leads to a gothic black castle. It stands tall, the tips of the dark roof flirting with the gray clouds in the sky. I stop walking to take in the view, my jaw nearly dropping. Where the hell am I?
“There’s an exit that way. Go to yourNorth Carolinaand don’t come back,” the man says behind me. I turn a fraction to look at him. He still has the gun pointed at me.
“You’re going to let me go?”
“I don’t care where you go, just don’t ever come back here.”
I swallow hard, but the saliva is rough going down. I wobble to the right where he’s pointing, and though I don’t see an exit, I don’t care. It’s better getting lost than being faced with a gun that size again.
I need to find help from someone nicer than this asshole.
“What was that?”
I spin around and face the man again. He’s lowered his gun a bit, just enough to see me clearly past his hand.
“What was what?” I ask.
“You just said something.”
I frown. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I heard you speak,” he retorts.
“I—I didn’t say a word.”
Frustrated, he lowers the gun. “Do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Think about something.”
“Um…okay.” I swallow hard and try to think of something random. Or clever. Faye would know what to think of. Knowing her, she’d think of a penguin or a baby chick…or books. She loves books.
Who the hell is Faye?
I shift my gaze up. “She’s my best friend.”
“What?” he asks, shock written all over his face.
“You asked who Faye is…”
