Tell me about it. “Yeah, I possibly didn’t correct anyone on that front.”
Turned out the terror and fury I’d felt in the last hour had a simple explanation. Awkward. I must have looked like a freakin’ idiot.
Laughter trembled on my lips.
“The gate guard will be spoken with, I assure you. This can’t be allowed to happen. Those in town know well enough to stay away on a Wednesday night, but your ordeal must have been terrifying. I apologise sincerely on behalf of both sides for what you went through.”
Most of me was glad Flannel Guy wasn’t a raging serial killer who trapped young women in holes and then begged to free them for twisted reasons. But seriously, he whispered creepy words in my ear. What was I meant to think?
“That kind of thing only happens on a Wednesday night?” I asked.
He spread his hands wide. “Deception Valley is the safest town this side of Bluff City.”
It certainly felt that way when I drove into town.
I studied Hercules, heart squeezing at his resemblance to my mother. “Why do you keep playing the game? Are the two families still fighting? Don’t people get hurt?”
I was lucky not to have a sprained ankle or worse after dropping into that pit.
Smiling slightly, he lifted a shoulder. “It’s a lot different when you know what’s going on. There’s nothing more exhilarating. Perhaps we don’t need the game now, but it’s part of our culture at this point. Deception Valley thrives because of the game. I’d even go as far as to say that the area depends on it.”
Strange answer, but I wasn’t from a small community. Queen’s Way didn’t have any traditions—aside from an annual craft market that no one under fifty-five attended.
“If you like,” he said, “I’m happy to find out the name of the man who trapped you.”
The memory of the huge Flannel Man sent a shiver down my spine.
Too easy, little bird.
Actually though, such a serial killer thing to say.
“No need,” I rushed to say. “Tonight was a series of extremely unlucky events. In a different context, I can see how it would all be normal-ish.”
Oops, didn’t mean to add the ish.
Hercules scanned my face. “If you change your mind, please let me know. We’d hate for the valley to get a bad reputation in neighbouring areas.”
I checked my watch, nodding. 10:30 p.m.
“I’ll say goodnight,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”
Hercules straightened. “Can I offer you a place to stay while you’re in town?”
I longed to sleep in a real bed, and the thought of sleeping while this dirty was kind of horrible. I only got good vibes from this guy, but until I knew why Mum left, I’d keep my distance. “Thanks. I’ve got a place to stay.”
“Oh?”
“Yep, in town,” I lied, “Thanks for the offer though, Hercules.”
“Just Herc, please,” he answered. “I try to forget my real name as much as I can.”
He extended a hand, and I shook it, grinning.
“It’s out there, but Mum’s was too. What does your name mean?” I asked as we walked to the manor entrance. Mum’s name meant goddess or warrior—something like that. I’d heard of the hero, Hercules, but that was about it.
Mum’s brother pulled a face, shoving open a heavy wooden door. “It means Glory of Hera, but I was given the name because Hercules captured Cerberus.”
Specific.
The pine scent from the forest flooded my senses as I stepped outside. I took in the full orb in the sky, grateful again for the extra comfort after the night I’d had.
“Who was Cerberus again?” I really wasn’t down with mythology.
The moonlight brightened Herc’s face, lending his red hair a fiery glow. “Cerberus was the three-headed dog.”
4
Sleeping in cars was so much fun.
Really.
Not really.
I wrung my hair, shivering against the early morning chill. Dawn awoke me an hour ago, and I’d hurried to find a private spot on the riverside to wash so the locals didn’t get a wildlife sighting they never bargained for.
I picked my way over the pebbled shore to where my towel and clean clothes waited. Wrapping my hair, I donned fresh underwear, moaning as I slid into jeans and a jumper. Being clean was everything.
“Hygiene is sexy,” I told the trees. They didn’t seem convinced.
This place, the whole area, was seriously, seriously awe-inspiring. The forest was wild in a way I’d never seen. I could appreciate why Mum always respected nature so much. People dressed up like Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy could have stood here having a damn picnic, trappers could have washed off the grime of a day’s work, and this forest had seen it all—silent observers.
These trees would witness my life and be here long after.
That boggled my mind.
The air was crisp and unpolluted. The water, clear and cool. Last night’s incident aside, I felt… in sync with this place. I’d never felt that with Queen’s.
Or ever.
Bagging my dirty clothes, I checked the time—just after 7:00 a.m. I had a few hours to kill.
Trekking back up the hill to Ella F, I dusted her driver’s seat off, apologising under my breath.
Back in town, I stopped at the petrol station, wincing at the cost of filling the Corolla. Crap. Unless I really wanted to screw myself back in Queen’s Way, I’d have to keep an eye on that.
It would take one-and-a-bit tanks to get back, and I couldn’t eat into much more of my savings.
Maybe I’d walk into town from here.
Just a block down, the shoulder-to-shoulder stone buildings rose in a steady row facing the river. Small iron signs swung above the doorways, and most here appeared to be family names—Wright, Rousseau, Paton, Irvin, Kay.
At the end of the block, a road branched up the incline and stone buildings lined either side of that street, too, until the gradient became too sheer for construction.
I set off up the street, soon puffing.
Yeah, Queen’s Way was flat.
Jesus. I gasped for air.
The signs here were for shops—Grey Beaver, Growling Bear Brewery, Valley Designs.
I forced myself to keep climbing, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets. On the next block, the business signs stopped entirely.
Was this one big building?
I reached the middle where a gigantic sign read The Dens. The massive lettering made the small door seem all the smaller.
How come these guys got such a huge sign?
The Dens.
Hmm, Walter Nash mentioned this place last night.
From a branding perspective, the name didn’t give much away—which my studies told me wasn’t always a bad thing. An air of mystery shrouded the name, like a person would enter an underground club and see impossible things they could never speak about. Clearly the branding worked if Walter Nash said people made special trips up to visit The Dens all the time.
No one was out and about yet.
I strode to the nearest window, cupping my hands around my eyes to peek in. A bar. Stools. Pendant lights. Dark décor. I pursed my lips. Pretty cool layout.
I moved to the next window, but a notice in the window obstructed my peeking.