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“Are you kidding? That makes me even more determined. Honey, you’re a victim here too, and if there’s one thing I know about, it’s what it means to be victimized by entitled narcissists who, if they haven’t stepped over the psychopath line, are definitely in sociopath territory.” He stopped in front of a sprawling one-story house with mid-century vibes. “Here we are.”
Finn blinked.Holy shit. A house this wide was a definite anomaly in this part of Portland, where builders were more likely to go up than out in order to squeeze in as many lots as possible on the available land.
Two long, brown-shingled wings swept back in a subtle V from the front door, which was painted a mellow pumpkin orange and had three circular windows in graduated sizes, the largest one centered at head height and the other two in a curve to the right, making it look as though bubbles were rising from the doorknob. Big picture windows flanked the door, one offering a glimpse of a brass-toned chandelier that looked like a model of the solar system.
“Wow.”
“I know, right?” Gary smiled up at Finn. “The house belonged to TD’s parents. He grew up here but moved away for work and it didn’t come back to him until they’d already passed.”
Finn winced. “Sorry for his loss.”
“He’s handling it, especially now that he’s got Lonnie by his side.” Gary sighed dreamily. “Those two are so perfect for each other.” Then he shook his head, expression turning serious. “All right. Let’s do this. The dogs are inside. Why don’t we go around into the backyard before I introduce you? Then it’ll be easier for you to escape through the gate if they react badly.”
“Sounds fine to me.”
Gary led the way around the left-hand wing to an extremely sturdy gate at least two feet taller than Finn’s six feet. When they stepped through, Finn stumbled to a halt.
“Wow.”
The yard was deep and even wider than the house, populated with mature trees, well-maintained bushes, and beds of flowers that rivaled pictures Finn had seen of Monet’s garden. A green and white striped hammock swayed gently in the breeze between two maples.
Gary chuckled. “Amazing, right? It’s like they’ve got their own little park.”
“Hells,” Finn said, “I could livehere, never mind the house.” Dryads couldn’t have done a better job with the place.
“I don’t think you need to rough it that much.”
Finn forbore from saying that he’d roughed it a lot more, and within the last twenty-four hours. He peered around the sun-dappled yard. It was pretty damn pristine for a house with three large dogs. They were either extremely well-trained or Gary’s perspective on what constitutedlargewasn’t the same as Finn’s.
But then, weres were larger than actual wolves. Larger than any canine species too, with the possible exception of the Cwn Annwn, Herne the Hunter’s pack of hellhounds.
“I’ll let the dogs—” Gary’s phone jangled from his pocket and he winced. “Sorry. I’ve got to check it. Melina or Peyton might need me.”
“No worries. Take care of your business. I can wait.”
Gary pulled his phone out, his eyes widening when he checked the screen, although whether with excitement or dread, Finn couldn’t tell.
“I really have to take this. Do you mind waiting out here for a few minutes?” He was already backing away, lifting the phone to his ear as he fumbled a set of keys out of his pocket to unlock the sliding glass door. “I’ll bring the pups out with me when I’m done with the call.”
“No problem. I’ll just”—the door closed behind Gary, cutting off hisHello?mid-word—“wait out here, I guess.”
Not that it was a hardship. The big yard with its high, sturdy fence filled Finn with more peace than he’d felt… well… ever. His were hearing picked out a faint trickle of water.Rear corner, two o’clock.
Shit, all of this and a fountain too? How could he resist? He set his pack down on the flagstoned patio and wandered along a neatly trimmed grass path that wound between an herb garden—sage, mint, rosemary, thyme, and basil, according to Finn’s nose—and a flower bed that was a riot of color and humming with bees.
Sure enough, tucked behind a stand of birch trees at the rear of the property was a… Well, not a fountain. A water feature. The little pool, surrounded by a tumble of white rocks ranging from the size of Finn’s head to monsters five feet across, looked so natural that it seemed the house and yard might have grown up around it. Water flowed over the side of the tallest boulder, dancing from stone to stone before dropping into the amazingly clear pool, sending ripples to the feet of the statue of a small, big-eyed figure crouching to peer at its reflection.
Finn looked more closely at the statue, its surface sparkling where the sun caught flecks of quartz in the granite. He was surprised into a laugh because he recognized the figure as a character from a long-ago children’s book. He’d always suspected the author must have seen a bauchan at some point, because the illustration had been a dead ringer.
The bushes rustled behind him. “Gary, is this Wishful from Emmaline Dalton’sWishful Thinking? I loved that book when I was a kid.” Finn straightened, a smile on his face. “In fact, I think I learned to read with…” His smile died, because when he turned, it wasn’t Gary blocking the path to the house.
Fuck. Gary hadn’t been exaggerating when he told Finn the dogs were large. In fact, he might have been underplaying. Because the three hounds facing him easily topped Finn’s waist, their square muzzled heads larger than his own, their muscled chests at least as wide as his.
“Shit,” he muttered.
And they charged.
“Nectar & Ambrosia. This is Gan— Gary. How may I help you?”
