Lucy huffed and settled deeper against Wyatt's side, her tail giving a slow wag. Wyatt reached back to scratch her ears, but his other hand drifted back to his phone, though he didn't pick it up.
The driveway curved past Nettie's old barn, its red paint faded to a soft pink in places. Sam could see fresh tracks in the gravel - probably from Nettie's nephew Tommy, who'd taken to checking on her each morning since her hip surgery. Good kid, that one. Kept an eye on things without making his aunt feel like she needed watching.
Sam let the silence stretch for a moment, then said, "Hey."
"Yeah?"
"You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right?"
Their eyes met briefly before Wyatt looked away. "I know."
The Tahoe rolled to a stop in Nettie's yard. Through the windshield, they could see an angry chicken chasing a very distressed goat in circles around an old oak tree. The scene might have been funny if not for Nettie standing on her porch, hands on her hips, looking thoroughly done with both animals.
But as Sam watched Wyatt reach for the door handle, he couldn't shake the feeling that this peaceful spring morning was just the calm before a storm. A feeling that only deepened when Lucy let out another low whine, her eyes fixed not on the chaos in front of them, but on something, or someone, in the tree line beyond.
CHAPTER THREE
"That chicken's possessed, I tell you!" Nettie's voice cut through the morning air before Wyatt even got out of the Tahoe. "Look at those eyes!"
Wyatt forced himself to focus on the scene in front of him. Nettie stood on her porch, hands planted on her hips, while Rita leaned against the fence. Between them, Henrietta the chicken scratched at the dirt, looking about as threatening as a dandelion.
His phone felt heavy in his pocket.
Lucy pressed against his shoulder from the backseat, her warm breath tickling his ear. She hadn't left his side since he'd gotten in the car, and the usual playful energy in her tail had been replaced by something more watchful.
"You're telling me," Sam said from the driver's seat, "that Bitsy - a full-grown goat - is afraid of a chicken?"
"That bird's got plans," Nettie insisted. "Evil plans."
Wyatt's fingers twitched toward his phone. He needed to check... something. The thought slipped away before he could grab it.
"She's not evil," Rita cut in. "She's just French."
"Same difference!"
The absurdity of the situation should have made him laugh. Instead, his chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a wire around his ribs and was slowly twisting.
Lucy whined softly.
"You gonna get out?" Sam asked.
Wyatt blinked. Right. He was here for a reason. Do the job. Act normal.
The spring air hit his face as he stepped out. Bitsy the goat stood near the old oak tree, chewing grass with the air of someone trying very hard to look unbothered. Henrietta strutted past, and Bitsy's ears twitched.
"Finally," Nettie huffed. "Been waiting all morning while that demon bird terrorizes my baby."
His phone buzzed.
The world narrowed to that single vibration against his leg. His fingers moved without conscious thought, pulling out the device.
Unknown Number:Did you like my gift?
The words blurred. Sharpened. Blurred again.
"You okay there, son?" Nettie's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Looking a mite pale."
"Fine," he managed. "Just tired."