One day my children will have to be voted in, if they are of age. If they aren’t, then it’s possible that someone else can take their place, though I highly doubt that it would happen. When our country went to war with itself, it was all political.
When the West won and the East lost, there was only one way to unite the people. A leader and a train uniting both sides together. Apparently, I was made that leader unanimously and then I was also placed in charge of the train.
I’m not sure what I did to make them want me in this position. I was a warrior, a man in the military doing my duty to my country. I don’t feel as if I’ve done anything particularly noteworthy.
I feel like the whole thing is kind of a joke, especially since the other aspects of the government think that they can give me instructions on what they want me to do and how they want me to behave, both as a leader and as a man.
Riding up to the house, I’m surprised to see Ernest standing on the porch, seemingly waiting for me. Unless he has an urgent correspondence for me, he typically does his own thing and leaves me alone. To see him standing rigid and almost nervous surprises me.
Jumping off of Lonesable, I allow him to ride on, knowing he’ll only go as far as the pond to grab a drink, then he’ll be back and make his way to the barn. Jogging toward Ernest, I stop in front of him and look down into his aging brown eyes.
“There is something amiss,” he announces.
“Amiss?” I ask.
He nods his head once. “The ranch foreman found her walking aimlessly. She was thirsty, hungry, overly hot, and delirious.”
“She?”
He clears his throat. “We do not know her name. She is in a guest suite. Martha is looking after her, keeping an eye on her. She has been sleeping.”
“Take me to her,” I growl.
Is she a spy? Is she a native? Is she dangerous?
All of these questions spin around in my head over and over as I follow behind Ernest and climb the stairs of my home, then turn right down a hallway and stop at the door across from my own double door entrance to my personal parlor.
Ernest lifts his hand and knocks gently. Meanwhile, I feel like barreling through the dratted thing. Martha doesn’t waste any time at all, she opens the door swiftly, her round face tipping back to meet my own.
“She still sleeps, sir,” she murmurs.
Martha is my house manager. She sees to the well-being, cooking, and cleaning of the home. Essentially, she runs things and I allow her to as the only woman who resides here with me.
Earnest walks into the room just a few steps and stands to the side. I march toward the bed, stopping at the foot, then lift my head and blink a few times at the sight of the woman lying before me. Her long black hair is splayed out around her head, her eyes closed, her skin pale and porcelain with patches of burned red flesh from the sun, her lips berry in color.
The bedding is pulled up her body, to her neck, so I am unable to make out her shape, but it is smaller, slight. She’s the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.
My body lurches forward almost instinctually, reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the wrought-iron footboard and grip it tightly to keep from moving forward any more than I already have.
Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out on a long exhale, attempting to calm myself and think clearly. Looks do not mean much to me, I should not be this affected by her looks alone. The only thing that I can think of is that she is quite possibly a witch of some kind.
She must have cast a spell on me, something that only takes effect if I look at her. I know this must be true, because I can physically not look away from her—no matter how hard I try. Something is very wrong with me, with her—with us.
Her eyelids slowly flutter open and I’m met with bright blue orbs, unnaturally blue eyes. Her lips turn up into a small smile, but it only lasts a moment. Then, her entire body jerks to a seated position and she lets out a blood-curdling scream.
BIRDIE
It’s so dry. So fucking hot. Looking around, I realize I’m lost in the desert, but how did I get here?
Something is wrong.
I decide to replay the day’s events in my head as I continue to walk forward. I went to bed last night, got up this morning, made coffee, and spent the morning attempting to rearrange and rebook some clients to get to Seattle sooner, but it was all to no avail.
Then, I jumped in my car and decided to do a quick grocery run so that I could spend the rest of the afternoon and evening editing the Williams family anniversary session. The last thing I remember was stopping at the red light and waiting for it to turn green again.
There was a Chris Stapleton song playing on the radio and I closed my eyes for just a moment as I sang along. The music suddenly stopped and I reopened my eyes only to find myself standing in the middle of the blazing hot Arizona desert.
I start to walk, not knowing where I’m going or where I am, and definitely not being dressed for an afternoon jaunt in the hot as fuck desert. I can feel my skin burning with each moment I stay in the sun, with each step that I take.
Looking around, I try to find
