Foresworn. Rinda Elliott

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      I took it as I shook my head. Not after seeing that bathroom. “Do you work here or something? Are you really here to take my order?”

      He chuckled. “No. I stopped in for a pop, saw you and thought you might like some company. Though, I was going to try to talk you into eating somewhere else. Now that I’m closer, I can tell you’re probably too tired to go anywhere else.”

      “Thanks,” I snapped, then swallowed a groan.

      “I didn’t mean you looked bad.”

      “Being told you look tired is the same as being told you look like crap.” I swiped at the ketchup again, frowning over the mess I was making. “It’s a fact.”

      “Well, I don’t know about that. You certainly don’t look like crap—just like you’ve come a long way. You don’t live here.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because I would have noticed you before.”

      Something in his tone made my stomach feel kind of weird and fluttery. I wasn’t sure I liked the feeling, so I frowned at him.

      He lifted a blond eyebrow. “Are you some kind of artist?”

      “No,” I drawled out this word, too, completely startled by his rapid change of subject. “Why would you ask that?”

      He pointed to the smears of ketchup.

      My face heated. “Really? You’d call that art?” I noticed one of the runes was still intact and hurriedly wiped it. “Looks like something a toddler would do.”

      “True. I’ve only seen babies do this sort of art before. Doesn’t mean they weren’t proud of it. Could mean you’re trying for that whole abstract genius sort of vibe.”

      Weirdo. Too bad. He was ridiculously pretty, but I didn’t do weirdo.

      Not that I did anyone. Trust issues tend to slow down even the hint of a possible connection. Trust issues and a bloodsucker of a Norse goddess who could turn a kiss into someone else’s bad dream. I sat straighter, cleared my throat. “Look, your invitation was nice and all that, but I’m getting ready to leave town in a couple of minutes. I’m not worth your time.”

      “I very much doubt that,” he said, half under his breath, before giving me a brilliantly white smile. “Take care then.”

      Surprised he’d given up so easily, I watched him walk off—couldn’t help it. He moved in long bold strides, wearing his confidence like an invisible cloak. He looked at me once, over his shoulder, as he was leaving.

      That irritating fluttery sensation in my stomach stuck around after he left.

      “Wonder what music on the lake means,” I said out loud as I cleaned up the ketchup.

      The woman in the booth next to mine turned around in her seat. “Sorry. I couldn’t help but hear. Haven’t you heard of the music on Yellowstone Lake?” She pointed to the man who’d found the hair in his food. “We were camping just before this weird snow started. We camp up there a lot, but something was different this time. It was loud enough to wake us up from a sound sleep, and I swear I heard harps or something.”

      “They weren’t harps,” the man interrupted. “They were like wood flutes or something. And voices. Lots of voices.” He shuddered. “Creepiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

      “Well, it’s not as creepy as this snow,” the woman snapped. “I mean, I know it can snow early here but not this early.”

      “Dear, it’s snowing everywhere. It’s snowing in Mexico.”

      “I’m sorry.” This time I interrupted. “Did you say that you heard music at Yellowstone Lake?”

      She nodded. “It’s famous for the ghost music on the lake.”

      I shivered and hoped she attributed it to the cold and not the stomping my future grave just took. “Okay, thanks.” I stood, picked up the stuff I still needed to buy and made my way to the cashier.

      I’d driven from Florida to Wyoming, come all this way to find a boy who carried a god’s soul. A possible future warrior who would be a part of the battles of Ragnarok—when I’d never entirely believed in Ragnarok. But between this snow and the message my norn had just given me, it seemed that maybe I was here for something else.

      So one quick stop before the drive to help my sister Raven.

      * * *

      “Can’t miss the greenhouses was right,” I muttered as they came into sight. The cashier had known exactly what I was asking about the second I’d pulled the article out.

      “Another one, eh? Wish you people would leave that poor kid alone. He’s not some kind of Harry Potter wizard, you know.”

      If I’d actually cared what the gum-popping woman thought, I would have been embarrassed about asking about a kid from one of those crazy supermarket tabloid articles. Especially one that said he could make crops appear like magic. But I didn’t. Care what she thought, that was.

      She’d still told me where to find the “compound,” as she called it. Seemed a lot of people in town bought vegetables there year—round, so the place was popular. It was between Cody and the east entrance to Yellowstone National Park, off a long bumpy private road.

      I nearly ran off the path twice. Ice was building on the off roads.

      The place was something like twenty plastic-covered domed greenhouses next to a massive old barn and a small cabin. I hated the term compound because it made me think of a cult or a group of scary militia types—not that I’d ever been in a place like that. But then I eyed the row of off-road vehicles, the long trailers that held camouflaged black-and-white snowmobiles, and actually worried a little. Did I just want to walk up, knock on the door and say, “Hey, my mom might want to hurt you” when there could be gun-toting crazy end-timers gathered here?

      And with snow happening all over the world, they were probably a little extra trigger-happy right now.

      There could have been more greenhouses because I couldn’t see them all from the road. I drove around the back and parked behind the barn. The urge to hurry, scout this guy out and get on the road made me slam my scarf in the door when I got out of my car. Of course, the blast of frigid wind that hit me didn’t help. It caught both my scarf and the door, and I nearly lost fingers trying to stop it.

      Glancing around as I freed the material, I waited for a troop of militia types to come running around the barn. It had sounded like the door slam echoed through the valley here. Had probably bounced off the plastic covers on all the greenhouses.

      When nobody showed, I crept around the corner and saw that the back door was ajar on the closest one. At least I thought it was a back door. With one on each end, either one could be, right?

      That was such a Coral thought. We called them random thought farts whenever she blurted things out.

      Sleep. СКАЧАТЬ