“Oh, please God.” I picked up the pace.
“And you don’t look too steady in those great big boots, Bast. You sure you can even lift your feet?”
I gave her a backward wave with one of my best fingers.
“Oh my God! You’re Little Plaid Riding Hood,” she cackled.
Actually, wearing a red shirt and taking a basket through the woods to meet up with a guy and his wolfdogs had a certain literary flair. And—if I were honest—there was a special je nais se quois from the knowledge that this time Little Red might be the predator and not the prey.
Once upon a time,my naive ass got preyed upon pretty ruthlessly by old school predators armed not with teeth and claws but date rape drugs and NDAs. In an industry rife with wolves, shamelessly wearing wolfskin because they ran in very powerful packs, what chance did any dumbass kid have? Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, I made sure I had my head in the game and went forth with courage.
The wind blew offshore, which meant the sky remained clear and fathomless.
Sunset painted a pride flag across the horizon, the fiery orange and blue and indigo particularly vibrant against the black silhouettes of twisted trees.
“Oooooow.” I gave a muffled howl under my breath and sang, “Hey there little red riding hood…”
Stone’s RV sat close to the bluffs, so I walked inside the tree line with the road to my right as a guide. Decaying leaves crunched beneath my feet; a good two inches of forest floor crackled with each step I took. The slightly tannic fragrance of Douglas fir and cedar and decay filled the air alongside the more mysterious aroma of the redwoods themselves. There was redwood sorrel too and wild ginger and even a few ferns with can-do attitudes.
Sadly, the area was changing. Drought, changing weather patterns, and erosion had altered the coastline, even the coastal roads, already.
St. Nacho’s had gotten extremely lucky with this protected land gift, thanks to Daniel Livingston. Short of heavy-handed Federal government intrusion, it couldn’t be developed. I still didn’t know if it would survive the changing world.
I thought I’d be able to bring my children here. The offspring idea felt like a fantasy now, but someday, maybe, I’d have kids. I was young. Who knew what my future held? I only hoped this protected land could be saved for each new generation of St. Nacho's.
Stone’s RV, when I finally saw it, glowed with welcoming light. A German shepherd stood with her feet planted on a plastic picnic bench next to Stone. She barked twice.
I guessed her human was well aware of my advance.
“Morrigan,” Stone told her. “Go make a friend.”
“I brought yummy food.” I made myself stand still while Morrigan gave me a cautious sniff. The dog was large—she probably weighed a hundred pounds—and much of her was pure muscle. Her head reached my belly, and her ears twitched like antennae. She had glorious, fluffy orange fur and a black saddle. Classic as a Woodie wagon and totally sweet when she decided to trust me enough to let me pet the side of her neck.
“Oh, you’re a beauty, aren’t you? You’re a goddess.” I glanced up. “You call her Morrigan? Not Athena or Demeter or—”
“Her name comes from Irish mythology.”
“She’s delightful.”
Morrigan’s interest switched to the basket and bag I carried. She could have knocked me over, but Stone gave a whistle and she returned to his side obediently.
“I brought treats from the local barkery.” I gave them to Stone. “They’re grain-free, so I thought they’d be okay for her.”
“Grain-free is good.” He eyed the glitzy little bag askance. “She’ll be thrilled. Thank you.”
“From what I hear, those treats are a surefire way to win a dog over. They probably aren’t appropriate for Hades and Persephone…”
“Not really.” He cleared his throat. “I think we should talk.”
Those words never meant anything good.
I squatted on the ground next to Morrigan. “Okay.”
He winced. “Deacon put a bug in my ear about you.”
“And you believed every word because why would he lie.”
“Now hold on. He mentioned your past.”
