“Familiar,” Gunner corrects.
“—knows about mind flayers is mildly concerning and pretty impressive,” Caleb says.
“Concerning and impressive,” I repeat. “Kind of like him using my credit card to stream role playing games.”
I pause, trying to get back to the problem at hand (at tentacles?), but I have no thoughts. My brain is spinning too fast to come up with anything. And after the adrenaline and shock of being touched and spoken to telepathically — no less by a giant royal kraken — I’m starting to get completely exhausted.
“I think I’m gonna need something stronger than hot cocoa,” I tell Caleb.
“Well, we can certainly do that,” he says.
We slog the rest of the way back to the house in silence, and I’m grateful Caleb had the presence of mind to throw a couple of towels into the dryer.
Before long, the toasty warm towels have been put to good use, and we manage to dry off quickly once we remove the yellow slickers and galoshes.
I must be in a certain amount of shock because somehow Caleb manages to press something warm and alcoholic into my hand and steer me toward the couch.
“It’s a hot toddy,” he says.
“Can I have one?” Gunner asks.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Caleb tells him.
“Gunner, you know you can’t have alcohol. You remember what happened the last time I let you have some margarita.” I side-eye him.
“That was one time,” he says. “How many times have you had too much to drink?”
“Now is not the time to discuss that,” I say tersely.
I lean back against the couch, sighing and completely done with today. Completely done with the pressure of all of this.
“I’m going to call your sisters,” Caleb says. “You drink your hot toddy. I’ll tell them what just happened, and you rest, okay? I got you.”
“I mean, I can talk to them. It’s really not a big deal,” I argue. “Let me just?—”
I take a long sip of the hot drink in front of me.
It burns all the way down my throat before settling into my chest with a gentle, delicious warmth that loosens my limbs almost all at once. I didn’t eat dinner, I realize. I take another sip because suddenly, I just don’t care.
I’m faintly aware of Caleb rummaging through my purse and calling my sisters on the phone as I continue to sip the hot toddy, snuggling under a blanket that he must have laid over me at some point.
Gunner hops on the couch next to me, circling three times before he tucks his nose into his tail, pushing his big fluffy black body up against mine.
One huge doggy sigh later, and Gunner’s asleep.
I pet his velvety ears, drinking the hot tea and whiskey combination and letting the droning sound of Caleb’s words wash over me before my eyes get heavy and I fall asleep, too.
Sixteen
Iwake up and have absolutely no idea where I am.
My mouth tastes like I drank trash last night, and it doesn’t take me very long, as I look around bleary-eyed, to realize that:
A. I’m in the lighthouse
B. Caleb has pulled me up against him on the couch somehow during the middle of the night without me noticing, and
C. — oh yeah, I drank a really strong whiskey drink after talking to a telepathic kraken queen during a thunderstorm that flooded the entire town.
