The Deer and the Dragon

Chapter Eighteen

AUGUST 19, AGE 26

“Please don’t do this to me,” I pleaded as I adjusted my grip from ten and two to something that more closely resembled nine and five. It was too early, and I was in no mood. The panorama faded from skyscrapers to suburbs to the dark emerald canopy of late-summer trees that lined the highway as we trekked north.

We’d loaded up the car and barely made it out of the city before Fauna revealed what she’d downloaded onto my phone in the night. Apparently, she’d figured out how to hack facial recognition software even while I slept.

“It’s a nine-hour drive. It will be fun.”

“It will be fun for you,” I said miserably.

I was dressed as comfortably as I could manage for the road, but there would be no relaxing. No amount of well-worn childhood shirts or gray sweats filled with holes would bring me comfort for the nightmares she had in store. She dressed like a hippie once again. She wore a top that may have been a loosely fitting bralette or that may have once been a tank top that had lost its bottom half to craft scissors. The fabric of her olive pants was so wide and flowy that I’d mistaken it for a skirt.

Fauna pressed play on the audiobook. A woman’s deep, authoritative voice boomed through the door as she said, “ANight of Runes, by Merit Finnegan. Book one of the Pantheon series.”

“For Christ’s sake, please don’t—”

“Hush.” Fauna swatted at me. “I’m trying to listen to the story.”

Despite my reminding her as often as possible that it was fiction, that I had been in college when I’d written it, that I’d learned and grown since then, she had no greater joy in the world than to talk over the book every time I’d made an inaccuracy regarding the so-called pagan gods, the cryptids, or the fae that had launched me into an unprecedented success. She informed me on more than one occasion that whatever such deity, entity, or being would laugh themselves into stitches when they heard what I’d said about them.

“Then don’t tell them,” I snapped.

“Frigg has already read it,” she sang merrily.

I wanted to throw up. She referenced Odin’s wife with the casualness as if she had been talking about an old pal. The most sovereign goddess in Norse lore should be a myth. And if she wasn’t a myth, she sure as hell shouldn’t know my name. “That’s not funny, Fauna. You’d better be telling a really bad joke right now.”

Fauna made a defensive gesture. “She’s our great, protective mother of all! She was very curious to see what damage someone with a drop of our blood could do.”

I white-knuckled the steering wheel, begging the highway hypnosis to lull me into unconsciousness as I stared at the dotted yellow lines that flashed between the road and the bumper. I was going to give myself blisters if I kept chafing my skin against the wheel like this, but I couldn’t help it. The trees broke to reveal rolling hills and farmsteads before the woods returned with a thicketed vengeance as we approached forested northern areas where few dared settle.

“They’re happy with you,” Fauna said.

I took my eyes off the road to gape at her. “So help me, if you’re—”

“I’m not lying. Look at the road. I’m too pretty to crash.”

She pointed to the radio as if gesturing to a visual piece of history as she said, “We’ve had more converts to Norse paganism after the release of your book than we had in nearly two centuries. You drove a whole generation to seek answers. Tourism throughout Scandinavia skyrocketed. Now, I’d have to talk to our buddies along the Mediterranean to see if they saw similar results after book two, but even if you’re a moron, you’re one who’s making a lot of friends in high places.”

I couldn’t have anticipated this response if I’d been given a million years of guesses.

“Did you go?” she asked.

I looked over at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Were you one of the tourists? You were, what, twenty-three when you wrote the second Pantheon book? Did you soak up the sun in Mykonos to celebrate its release?”

“No,” I breathed quietly, glad for the change in conversation. I recalled the Thanksgiving release and the holidays alone in my apartment that had followed. Twenty-three had turned into twenty-four, but I hadn’t left the house until Christmas had come and gone. It had been all I could do to push the sermons, the candle-lit vigils, the Nativity sets, the carols, the traditions into the furthest reaches of my mind while I sat in the dark, microwaving burritos and binging chick flicks.

A strange numbness made it challenging to feel the steering wheel, the pedals, the very vibrations of the highway as it hummed through the beige leather interior and into my body. I didn’t dare flick my gaze to her in order to check her sincerity. I couldn’t explain how, but I knew she was telling the truth. I’d done something…good. I’d sparked human interest. I’d made not just one god but many…happy with me.

“Hey, what happened?” Fauna asked, noting the sniffle I failed to subdue.

I shook my head.

She fetched my phone, punching the pause button on the audiobook to frown at me. Her white and copper freckles bundled together like an earthbound galaxy as she pressed her back to the passenger door until she faced me fully. “Tell me.”

I laughed at the absurdity of it all. How could I possibly unpack church psychology, two decades of religious trauma, or two thousand years of theology for her in a sentence?

“How much time do you have?”

She didn’t falter. “All the time in the world.”

Eventually, I settled on, “The first eighteen years of my life revolved around whether or not I was disappointing God. Every action, every move, every thought hinged on me saying or doing or thinking the right thing. Every decision I made was rooted in terror that a deity might be angry with me, or that I was letting him down, or that he’d be mad. As if I didn’t already have enough mental illnesses before we factored in the shame and judgment… Just, give me a moment to process the concept that not one but multiple gods don’t hate me.” I used the back of my hand to wipe at a tear, grateful for the excuse of the road as I refused to look at her.

I’d expected her to laugh with me, but she didn’t.

“He’s a jealous dick,” she said quietly.

I continued to stare at the cut between the trees, weaving between the dwindling number of cars on the highway as we crept farther north. I didn’t say anything.

“At least the Nordes know Odin’s name. We know where our loyalties lie. At least the Greeks can address Zeus. At least on Hell’s side of the battle, they can speak to their leader. But with the angels…”

I didn’t breathe. A long-buried part of me felt a pit in my stomach as if the heresy would cause the ground to swallow me as I was plunged into the fiery pits, vehicle and all. I waited for the plague of locusts, for the impending accident, for the earthquake that was sure to shake us. It didn’t matter how long it had been, I was still terrified of speaking poorly of the God who ruled over the church—the one my mom had petitioned night in and night out for the destination of my soul.

“You know that verse in that book? The book you were raised with? It’s from your Ten Commandments—thou shalt have no other gods before me?”

My frown took on a life of its own as blasphemous discomfort raked through me. I squirmed in my seat, ready to be struck by lightning. It took me a while to realize she expected a real answer, so I nodded. Yes, of course I knew it.

Fauna raised a brow. “No one considers what’s spelled out there in the verse. If no other gods can come before him, he confirms the existence of other gods. And yet here we are. Look at the fae through your religious lens and call them whatever you want. Make them your angels and demons. But at the end of the day, pierce the veil and you’re left with us. The Nordes more or less keep to ourselves. Then you’ve got the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Chinese gods—who, by the way, were really disappointed that you chose South America over them. Seems like you’re neglecting the Global East, there, Miss Mythology. Next Pantheon book, eh?”

“I…” I swallowed before being honest. “I don’t understand.”

She frowned. “What do you understand?”

“Truthfully? …Nothing.”

That seemed to please her. She smiled as she said, “That’s a good place to start.”

The road highway hummed beneath me as I deflated. I knew nothing. My shoulders slumped. The shift in my mood must have been visible, because Fauna’s tone softened before she prodded me again.

“Come on, you love to annoy me with questions. I haven’t gotten you to shut up since we met. Ask me about something better. Ask me about the best lay of my life. Wanna know how good Azrames is in bed? Or what he can do with those horns?”

“Absolutely not,” I said, face burning so hot I had to glance in the rearview mirror to ensure I was merely blushing red instead of the shade of violet that pulsed from my discomfort at picturing that beautiful, gray-scale man using his horns in the bedroom.

She grinned and tried prodding me again. “Wanna know which goddesses I’ve boned? You know, people say the Mórrigan is a goddess of war, but—”

“Nope! Nope. Not sex. Not sex with you, not sex with the fae, not anything that’s going to make me crash this car.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged, as if agreeing that whatever information she’d relay would probably result in a crumble of steel, rubber, and aluminum on the side of the road. She resumed the book, pointing out inaccuracies and laughing at the way I’d painted certain characters and locations until it was my turn to ask something.

“Fauna? I do have a question.”

She brightened. “Finally! It’s about Mórrigan, isn’t it? Gimme your queries. Let me make you smart.”

I sighed before asking something that had been plaguing me for a long time. “No. Don’t tell me jack shit about another deity’s sex life. This is about…” I struggled to spit out the words, sorting through years of repressed memories. “It’s about Caliban.” I paused, closed my eyes tightly, then reopened them to accept the road before me. I chose my words again, saying, “It’s about my life. It’s… I just don’t understand…he’s been with me since I was a child.”

She waited.

“He was a fox for years. I thought it was an imaginary friend, then a guardian angel. But I was a kid. I believed he was real at the time. When I was in the church, that is. Then I had to let it all go when I left my faith. He was just a coping mechanism, a hallucination, you know? Years later, here we are, with all I feel, with what we’ve done…” I let my question trail off.

“Oh, that’s all?” She waved it away. “That’s easy. I’ll answer as soon as you get me gummy bears.”

“But you already have—” My outrage was cut short. I made a sweeping gesture to the bags of snacks we’d gotten for the road. Every one of them was a ghost of candies past. There wasn’t a trace of chocolate, sour worms, spicy cinnamon suckers, or sugar rocks. “How do you do that? Don’t you get sick?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully.

I hedged for a moment, monitoring her from the side of my eye before I asked, “Don’t most deer like saltlicks? What even are you?”

I wasn’t sure if the question would offend her, but a smile tugged up the corners of her mouth. “You know, sometimes you remind me that you don’t exclusively have cobwebs between those ears.”

I didn’t know what to do with her statement, so I waited.

“Your fae blood is Nordic, as is mine. Every pantheon has its heavy hitters front and center while its overlooked deities run the world in the background. Every religion has deities of forest or earth or wildlife.” Then she muttered, “Artemis gets a whole temple for being a deer goddess and I get elf status, but whatever.”

I stifled a chuckle before saying, “She’s the goddess of hunted and the hunter. I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re just there for the wilderness, not the one doing the killing.”

“Sure, I’m just there for the earth and a guardian for brainless bitches who fall in love with demon princes,” she sighed. “Now, are we getting me that candy, or not?”

I glanced at the needles on my dashboard and supposed it wouldn’t hurt to top off the tank. While I pumped gas, Fauna was bored enough to insist on ruining the lives of everyone inside the gas station for her amusement. She took my card in alone, no hat, no sunglasses, just brilliant, ethereal glory and a smile carved from starlight as she undoubtedly rendered all of the patrons speechless. I wouldn’t have been shocked if speaking with her led the attendant of whatever gender to go home and immediately divorce their spouse in search of something magical. I’d just turned the nozzle to the pump when she emerged victorious, hoisting what had to have been seventy dollars of candy above her head like a deep-sea fisherman displaying their marlin.

She slammed the door. “Five hours down, four to go! Back to making fun of your book?”

“No,” I said before starting the car. “You said you’d tell me about Caliban.”

She kicked off her shoes and planted her heels on the dashboard. “Oh, yeah, that. It’s just not a very interesting answer.”

“I’m going to guess that you and I have differing opinions on what we find interesting,” I said as I eased back onto the highway. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I would be with her answer. I allowed her to empty the final sprinkles of powdered sugar donuts into her mouth, then cracked open a sugary soda before she started speaking.

She crossed one ankle over the other. “I mean, I don’t know him, and I don’t really know you. I haven’t met him. But, if I had to guess, I’d just say he’s done it before. Maybe a few times. Maybe hundreds of times.”

I dared to steal a glance at the passenger’s seat. “Done what?”

She cursed as she fumbled with a plastic bag. She tore at it with her fingers and teeth until I wiggled my palm for her to hand it over. I drove with my knee as I used the tiny, serrated edge to easily peel back part of the bag and hand her the candy.

“You’re worse than a child,” I said.

“But a child with answers!” she said triumphantly, shoveling tiny, red strawberry-flavored gummies in the shape of fish into her mouth. “I’m going to take a stab at it and say that he met you a few lifetimes ago. You were probably, I don’t know, eighteen, twenty-five, forty, the age doesn’t matter. The human cycle has been around for a long time. You could have been anywhere. You could have been anyone. You would have been more open-minded than you are in this lifetime, obviously, if the two of you fell in this sort of love. Whatever connection you shared was important enough to seek out time and time again, even if it meant he’d have to find you in each of your lives. So, of course, he’d want to seek you out when you’re a kid just to make sure you’re okay.”

I made a face, which strengthened her resolve.

She rummaged around in the bag as she continued. “Like, let’s say you’re married, right? You found your soulmate, and you’re madly in love. You’ve been married for however many years, and then some witch’s curse or sci-fi shit or something sends you back in time.” She used a stray foot to push my shoulder. I wrinkled my nose down at her bare toes and narrowed my eyes at her, but she’d been kicking for emphasis. “So you woke up, and it was twenty years in the past or something. Wouldn’t it be tempting to check on your soulmate and see if they were happy and healthy? To protect them? And if they were miserable or abused or suffering, wouldn’t you want to try to make their life better, even in the smallest of ways? Because you love them?”

I rolled the hypothetical around on my tongue, tasting it, chewing on it.

She shoved another handful of strawberry-flavored fish into her mouth. She spoke through her mouthful as she said, “It’s gross to imply there’s anything romantic about a time-traveling wife saving her partner from abuse. You aren’t time-traveling by choice. You’re checking on them because you care. Don’t make it weird.”

I felt dismissed. “I’m not making it weird—”

“If you’ve known him since you were a child, I’m sure it was because he was doing what he could to keep you safe, to help you find joy, all that. Like yeah, he loves you, but love looks a lot of ways. How did he appear again? Ghost in the attic? An animal, you said?”

I knew it was unsafe to close my eyes while going seventy miles per hour, but I had to take a moment to myself as ten thousand memories sliced through me. On a breath, I said, “He was a fox. When I was little, he was an artic fox. I didn’t see him as a person until I was much older. He didn’t talk to me until…”

She relaxed into her seat.

Fauna abandoned her tough-love bravado. After a long while, she said, “He’s willing to wait by your side as a cute animal just to make you smile? Maybe that’s why he’s patient with you even when you refuse to acknowledge him, despite how frustrating it must be to watch you dabble with tales of deities and pantheons and know of angels and demons. It’s all on the tip of your tongue, but you just won’t say it. I guess if you waste this lifetime, he loves you enough to try again in the next. And the next. And the next.”

“But…”

“But nothing,” she said. “You can’t apply human logic to a nonhuman situation.”

“I’m human,” I argued.

“Only mostly,” she countered.

My lips parted. I looked down between my breasts to see if a physical blade pierced the space where my heart might be, expecting a dagger to protrude through my chest. Every rhythmic beat bled into the wound, exacerbating my injury. The idea of a love so deep, so patient, so…

“It’s impossible,” I breathed at last.

She shrugged. “It’s your cycle,” she said. “You’re lucky. Caliban, as you call him—again, I like the name—has a solid reputation across the realms. Almost too sterling of a reputation for kindness and generosity. But, he is a demon. So, double-edged swords and all that.” She paused for an unnatural length as if sorting through an uncomfortable, unspoken truth before saying, “That’s a conversation for another time. Anyway, as I said, it’s your cycle. You were free to waste it however you wanted, until the proposed bond with Silas.”

“Because Silas is bad.”

“What? No. By himself, Silas is morally neutral. But it’s not like you could bond with him and then skip into the sunset. A bond to any angel would mean an entire heavenly kingdom would have access to you. It’s the goose and the gander or whatever. You rarely get one without the other.”

“He said they had a claim to me,” I said uneasily.

She swallowed her gummies. “He and his master are referring to your baptism. Splash of water here, pretty white dress there. It’s a bargaining chip to keep them in play at best. Heaven wants you—probably only because you’re important to Hell—but you belong to no one until you decide.”

There were so many pieces of her monologue to pick apart, but I remained fixated on the name. “What will happen to Silas?”

She played with the reclining settings on her seat as she wiggled her feet against my windshield. Her toes had been painted a pretty, shimmery shade of penny-bright copper. She bit into another fish, yanking its tail off, and responded while chewing.

“You know: war.”

I was simultaneously exhausted at the prospect of all the things I didn’t know and the need to understand it all. I hoped my doe-eyed plea would do the trick, and it did. She sank more deeply into the passenger’s seat until she launched into her tale like the least reverent narrator a sloppy documentary could hope to scrounge together.

“He and Caliban are on opposing sides of what was once a united kingdom, obviously. Centuries—millennia—locked in a cold war like a bunch of losers wasting their time. A battle in which, for the record, only humans are on Silas’s side…and even then, it’s a limited number of humans. Every other realm is with Hell on this one. The defectors had every right to leave. They shouldn’t have to live in servitude. We, on the other hand—the ‘pagan gods,’ as you call us—are the best. Well, most of us. Maybe not most. Some of us kind of suck. Anyway: the god of your church, the one who refuses to even give himself a name, since he prefers to pretend that no one else exists…he doesn’t really believe in equality. So then, imagine, if you will, that Silas kills a parasite—oh, don’t look so shocked. We all heard. I fucking hate those things. Parasitic entities?”

I gagged at the vivid memory. A horrific child, a scabby smile, the stink of pus, the grin of starvation. I wrinkled my nose both at her knowledge of it and at my reliving it.

“They’re like leeches or ticks on humans, except sentient and persuasive. They take on a bunch of shapes and names throughout your scary stories and folklore. Creepy little bastards. Low-vibrational humans with dark inclinations have these openings; voids, if you will. Sometimes, parasites slip through the cracks and crank the volume to a hundred.”

I attempted to reimagine Richard on our date all those years ago, wondering if a small child who bled blue had been standing at his side, whispering about their shared cravings. I’d trusted my gut so explicitly when it had urged me to run from him. I wondered if part of it had been—what had she called them?—my clairabilities sensing something nonhuman had been attached.

She shuddered, her entire body rejecting the image in the same way mine did whenever my thoughts drifted to the child with the cat-like smile. “Anyway, Silas kills a parasite, then gives his report to his boss. Silas gives the rundown about what he did and who was there. He gives the real name that you insist on giving to everything and everyone. It was sent up the chain fast as fuck, because by the time you got home, he’d already been given strict orders to take your deal. If you—you, miss The Prince’s Love Across Lifetimes—were bound to an angel? Someone with Norde blood? It would be our fault. The King of Hell himself would be banging on our door.”

Shades of green and brown and gray blurred on all sides as the world continued to open before us. She snorted as she switched to a vine of red ropes. I wondered how long it would take her before we’d have to stop for more candy. I also wondered if the fae had stomachs made of iron.

“So Silas…” I recalled the man who’d saved me, then who’d knelt to tell me it was all a dream. I vividly remembered the gold flash of eyes, the hardened armor, the sword dripping in aquamarine pulp. I could still see the muscled arm I’d gripped in desperation as he contemplated leaving me in the basement to die. I needed something to do with my nervous energy, so I fidgeted with the air-conditioning. The chilly blast was doing an excellent job at keeping me wide awake.

“Same kingdom, babe. Probably grew up together…kinda. Eternity is a long time, so most of us get to know each other in whatever capacity. Silas is military, and Caliban is royalty. So. It would have been a fun slap in the face for the heavenly side if you’d bound yourself to a soldier over a prince.”

I’d spent twenty-six years breathing without issue, but ever since meeting the fae, I regularly forgot to inhale until I grew dizzy. This was one of those times. The car jerked slightly until the tires hit the rumble strips. My Mercedes vibrated loudly and forced me to fill my lungs again. “When you say Heaven—”

“I don’t mean ‘the ultimate good place’; I mean their realm. It’s literally just a word, sweetheart. Like I said, we’re all fae. Silas, me, Odin, Zeus, Horus, Shiva, Caliban, your OG god: I’m using the word fae for everything. Every one of us who walks around behind the veil, who has home addresses in other realms, who wields superpowers. Heaven is just a word so humans understand we’re talking about the realm on the side of this god, the one that a third of the world is sending their energy to during Sunday services. There you go. That’s theology in a nutshell.”

I couldn’t stop myself from muttering, “Blasphemous theology in a nutshell.”

She shrugged, ripping another rope in half with her teeth. Through smacking bites, she said, “Well, you’re hearing it from a pagan forest deity—your words—so take whatever you want with a grain of salt. It’s up to you. Believe me or don’t. But, you got a sigil tattooed on your forearm. You’ve spent a shit ton of time with me. You’ve had a demon cock between those legs. I’m just curious—what would it take to convince you?”

As much as I hated to admit it, I conceded the point. She was right. If I wasn’t fully convinced that everything she said was true by now, perhaps I never would be. And…I was convinced. But I wasn’t comfortable with the truth.

I was glad the highway was empty as I glanced over my shoulder at her, and as I looked at the too-pretty being beside me, I understood my reluctance, at least in part. In a way, Fauna was my mother. She was the church. She was the Bible. She was a singular entity I would need to trust implicitly to redirect my reality. And I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with that.

But that wasn’t something I was ready to say.

“Why does it matter? With Silas in play, I mean? I don’t fully get why it’s so important that now the Nordes are involved.” I asked. I didn’t have to look at her to see the way she stiffened. “I mean, I want Caliban back more than words can say. I’ve been so in love with him for as long as I can remember. It’s consumed my thoughts and ruined my life for ten goddamn years. But it doesn’t have to be ruined. He’s real. We’re real. I’m not crazy. I can let myself fully love him back. And I’m stressed as fuck knowing that Azrames doesn’t know where he is. His disappearance is my fault, and I know it. But…things have been like this for thousands of years, right? I don’t mean to be dismissive, but how much would change if—”

Gone was her levity. “Everything.”

My stomach twisted at the way she’d said the word.

“Do you think humans will be spared once the stalemate is over? Gods ruled with iron fists on your soil. If the tide turns…if the war is over…everything changes. You don’t get to be a normal human. Life as every person on this planet knows it is done.” She turned so that her back was to the passenger’s side window, facing me fully. “And when that war is over, who do you want reigning on earth?”

She was talking about the Apocalypse.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel as I returned my eyes to the blur of pavement. Seconds ticked into minutes as I pictured the last book of the Bible: the prophecy of God bringing heaven to earth. It was a forgone conclusion that he would win. It had sounded like a wonderful thing.

And I could be the catalyst to the book of Revelation.

A concrete wall slammed down around my thoughts. I shielded myself from the implications as I decided in no uncertain terms that no, I was not ready for the world to end. And no, I would not be a tool in the last battle.

I wanted to sleep in, to drink coffee, to watch TV. I wanted to get drunk with my friends and have sex out of wedlock. I wanted to take mushrooms at the aquarium. I was unwilling to entertain the idea that it could all be taken away from me in the blink of an eye.

I changed the subject. “But that brings us back to Silas. He saved my life more than once. Shouldn’t I be concerned about what happens to him?”

She flared her hands dramatically. “Who knows! Who cares? There are defectors all the time. Life is hard on both sides, so who’s to say who has it better? They both believe in their cause, and in that way, I guess neither side is wrong. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. You’re a Norde. If you wanna bond yourself to me”—she flexed her brows—“skip on over to our side, forget about your prince, let me be your goddess.”

I took my eyes off the road again. The car vibrated against the rumble strips once more until I jerked it back into its lane. I wasn’t sure what shocked me more, the jolt of the road, the threat of near-crashing, or her statement.

“Are you serious?”

The sound of her laughter was like silver bells. “Hell would be so mad. Bonds are forever, so there’d be no getting out of it. And then I’d have to answer to Odin. I have no interest in meeting up with the Aesir ever again.”

I kept my eyes on the road while I waited for her to elaborate.

“You think you have family issues? He can be grumpier than you before coffee, except with more gore and viscera. Honestly, he’d probably cast me out and let Hell deal with me.” It took a while for the laughter to dissipate. I’d almost thought she was going to press play on the audiobook again. Once her smile faded, she amended, “I would do it, though.”

The joy between us died as a rare gravity colored her words.

“I would,” she repeated. The air in the car felt thick as she said, “Not for me, but if you decided that you didn’t want that life. If you didn’t want Heaven or Hell, I’d take the hit so you could join your people.”

The remainder of our drive was far less talkative.

Fauna resumed the audiobook. It helped ease the gravity that had settled with her message, but I no longer had it in me to whine, and she couldn’t rally the energy to mock.

We had to stop several times, both for candy and for the restroom. I don’t know why it shocked me that Fauna had a tiny bladder. Despite knowing she’d locked herself into a mortal form to go on this journey with me, her having human needs was still somehow surprising.

She allowed me my ever-growing silence as the clock wound down.

My anxiety swelled as the evening faded into dusk. We’d spent nearly nine hours in the car. The drive had been an eternity, but as the town neared, I wasn’t ready for it to end. I needed nine more hours.

“My parents will be asleep by now,” I said quietly when we were less than twenty minutes from the speck on the map where I’d been born and raised. There were no highway lights this far from their town. We were alone in the black. “They always go to bed early. We can’t arrive at their house after dark.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “We’ll get a hotel tonight and go tomorrow morning to rifle through Aloisa’s things. If you want, we can even wait until—remind me their names?”

“My mom and dad? John and Lisbeth.”

“Great. We can wait until John and Lisbeth have left for the day and we have the house to ourselves. Okay?”

I breathed out a sigh of relief at the proposal I hadn’t even considered. Of course we could break in. If things went well, we wouldn’t see them at all. I might not have to relive our final fight. I might not have to see my mother’s face after the condemnation, the damning of my immortal soul, the red face, the tears that had streamed down her face, the tiny droplets of spit that had flown from her mouth as she screamed. I could get in, get the s?lje, and get out.

My anxiety remained a cinched corset, unwilling to grant me oxygen as the speed limit lowered from seventy to fifty-five to thirty. I eased into the small town and crept down Main Street, stomach churning against years of suppressed childhood memories. Fight or flight ticked through me like a clock as it turned back the hands of time, sending my hands clammy and creating a gentle bead of cold sweat over my forehead and upper lip. Fauna silently reached over from the passenger seat and wrapped a steadying hand over my knee, giving it a squeeze. She left it there as if to reassure me of her presence as we eased into a parking lot.

I left Fauna to the bags while I checked into the seedy motel, praying that we wouldn’t get bedbugs. Amid the punching of buttons on an outdated computed, the clerk found the time to leer over my shoulder through the window at Fauna. I shot him a glare.

“Does the motel offer a military discount? My friend is on leave to celebrate her commendation with her family. Top marksman, that one. Better with a gun than anyone on the planet.” I delivered the lie with enough cool believability to take the grimy receptionist’s eyes off her.

Maybe it was that I was too exhausted to shower or wash my face or protest. I’d scarcely been able to shimmy out of my pants and tug the bra off from beneath my shirt. Maybe it was that I’d driven for nine hours and something about being on the road was oddly taxing, akin to running a marathon. Maybe it was that she could smell my dread as thick as any perfume, but Fauna didn’t take the other twin bed. She changed into one of my T-shirts and running shorts, lifted the covers, and tucked herself into the space beside me. Whether or not she could feel the way I trembled at the trauma I’d left behind or what it did to me to be near my parents, she didn’t say. She merely turned off the light, gave me a squeeze in the dark, and, despite ten buckets of sugar coursing through her veins, was soundly asleep within moments.

I hadn’t forgotten the SSRIs that made my life bearable, but the litany of other drugs I used to fall asleep remained untouched on the nightstand. The smell of the sea, the weighed quilt of her kindness, and the steady breathing of someone well on their way to sweet dreams pulled me under. And maybe it was that I knew it might be my last true chance at sleep in a while, I let myself sink beneath the waves and drifted off to join her.