“Like what? Put out the good china? Brew tea for the god?”
“How about go see Danube? Try to patch it up with your werewolf pack?”
I stepped into my bedroom and pulled off my sweaty work shirt, tossing it into the hamper.
Val stayed on the other side of the closed door. “No, not today,” he said. “I want to see how this approaching god thing works out. You do know there’s someone hanging out at the edge of the property too, right?”
I pawed through my old dresser and went for my wide-legged overalls and a tank top.
“What kind of someone?” I asked as I dressed.
“I think it’s a man. But he doesn’t smell like a man.”
“You can still smell?” I buckled the overall straps, then opened the door.
Val leaned against the other wall, one foot propped behind him.
“I can’t smell like...” He pulled his fingers through his hair, lifting it and letting it fall, the beads on his leather bracelets winking in the light. “Not like when I was alive, but something similar to smelling, yes.”
“Because you’re a werewolf.”
“Yes, because I’m a werewolf. Aren’t you curious what he smells like?”
“Not really. If he were a threat the wards would trigger. He’s probably just a tourist trying to figure out how he ended up in nowhere-ville Hornet, Missouri.”
“You do have a giant motel sign out front that saysVacant.”
“That’s for laughs,” I said. “One look at the place, and anyone with a brain would know it’s not really a motel.”
“You could be overestimating people.”
I grinned and headed to the kitchen.
“You really don’t care what he smells like?” Val whined.
I flipped on the light and walked to the sink to start the coffee. “I really do not. But go ahead. Tell me, since you got your fur in a knot about it. What does the lost tourist smell like?”
I angled the pot under the spigot and turned on the cold water.
“Oak trees.”
Suddenly, I was back in my dream, floating in tropical water.
“I’ve missed you, Ricks.”
“Nope.” I said to the dream man, the only man I knew who smelled like oak trees, who was also the one man I was doing my level best to never cross paths with.
Val’s wolf growled. “I know what oak smells like,” Val grumbled. “Wood and ketchup. That man, or tourist, or whatever, smells oak-y.”
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t seem to get the words out. Water spilled over the pot, pouring cold across my fingers.
“Ricky? Did you hear me? Are you okay? What’s...” He paced the floor. “Is it magic? Do I need to kick that oak guy’s ass? Because I am down for that. What do you want me to do to him?”
I turned off the spigot and carefully placed the pot in the sink.
“Okay,” I said, more to myself than to Val. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make breakfast, and drink a cup of coffee, and eat some toast, because I refuse to deal with him before my first cup of coffee.”
“You know him? Are you sure you don’t want me to kick his ass?”
