Into Their Woods （The Eerie, #1）
Ivy Asher, Ann Denton
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book contains graphic violence, graphic sex, physical assault, and other subjects that may be triggering. Mind the cliff, it’s a doozy.
1
NOAH
New beginnings are the best. They’re like a drug, a natural high full of bubbly hope and glitter-winged butterflies. They’re the closest thing there is to magic.
I repeat my mantra to myself as my Bronco crawls up a road far too steep for any vehicle, much less the lemon I drive.
“Come on, baby. You can do it,” I coax my car through gritted teeth. If I break down here, I swear I’m going to find whoever designed this road and junk-punch them. My knuckles grow white, and I clench the wheel tighter as the steep two-lane road grows even narrower. I have a sudden, irrational worry that I’ll roll backward—or worse, sideways. The cliff edge beside me is vertigo-inducing, and I can no longer say I’m not afraid of heights.
It’s fine, Noah. Focus on the goal. Arizona. You’ve never lived in the desert before. It’s going to be epic. New job. New life! Maybe even a new guy. Lord knows I could use some time on my back, on top, or on all fours. I’ll take what I can get at this point. Beggars can’t be choosers.
I’m so close. Another day of driving and I’m there—that is if this last stretch through Colorado doesn’t kill me. I look around at the towering Rockies and wonder how many people just disappear in these mountains without a trace.
I pat my dash and coo words of encouragement at my car as I finally crest the peak of this winding road I’ve been on forever.
“Thank fuck!” I shout victoriously before starting to giggle in that road-drunk fashion brought on by too many hours behind the wheel. Of course, my silly triumph is short-lived because my view is not what I expect.
I turn down my playlist and lean forward over my steering wheel to glare out the windshield. The large, snowcapped mountains that were once in the far distance now loom closer, but there’s still no sign of the town the gas station attendant told me would be here.
Well, shit on a stick and call it a Fudgsicle.
Maybe I was supposed to take a left at that four-way stop a dozen miles back instead of a right.
I survey the winding hills, unsure if I should keep going or turn around. I poke at my phone, but the GPS is a lost cause. The map app just keeps cycling but never loading.
Lost or not, I begrudgingly have to admit it is beautiful here. I’m surrounded by a stunning quilt of fall colors that make me yearn for warm blankets, hot drinks, and a roaring fire. I’ve never seen anything like the breathtaking array all around me. The trees and bushes appear to be competing with one another to see who can create the richest, brightest shades, as though it’s some kind of longstanding beauty contest.
My stomach growls angrily and I’m reminded of the point of this detour. I’m starving and I’m really hoping I don’t have to resign myself to another protein bar. Luckily, the curving road straightens out and, like a beacon of hope, I spot a large wooden sign ahead.
“Please be a town. Please be a town,” I chant as I accelerate.
A warm shiver crawls down my spine when the sign grows closer. My hopeful stomach gurgles in eager anticipation of a meal that doesn’t come from a plastic package—or taste like one either.
“You are entering Howling Rapids,” I read, the white letters etched into the dark wooden board a literal sign that everything is once again right in the world.
I raise my hand in triumph and pump my fist as though I’ve conquered Everest instead of playing lost and found with random mountain towns.
A piercing ring fills my car, and I jump at the sudden noise. The unexpected trill sounds again, and I hurry to hit the green Accept Call button on my dash display.
“Hello?” I answer tentatively.
“May I please speak with Noah Lupescu?” a stiff feminine voice requests.
“You’ve got her.”
“Yes, hi, this is Patrice over at Sun Valley Veterinary Clinic. I’m the office manager,” she informs me in a no-nonsense manner that has me going slightly rigid. Just the tone of her voice gives me a school mistress vibe—the harsh Victorian kind who carries a heavy ruler and isn’t afraid to use it.
“Hi, Patrice. How can I help you?” I ask formally, suddenly worried about why she’s calling me. My stomach gives a nervous little hiccup, tightening and contracting before releasing again.
I’m supposed to start work at the clinic with Dr. Jindra in three weeks. It’s the reason I’ve packed everything I own and am trekking across the freakin’ country. If he’s changed his mind about the offer, I’m going to lose my shit.
Don’t you dare steal my new beginning, Patrice.
“Dr. Jindra originally planned for you to start at eight on the thirty-first, but he’s since had to schedule a surgery for that morning. You’ll be coming in at ten instead,” she informs me. She doesn’t ask if that’s okay or apologize for the change of plans. She simply goes quiet after her instruction as though she expects her orders to be followed and that’s that.
Despite the prickly delivery, her message has relief spiraling through my chest. I was certain she was calling to rip the rug right out from underneath me and tell me the vet tech position was no longer mine.
“Oh, okay,” I reply somewhat awkwardly. “I’ll see Dr. Jindra at ten then.”
“You’ll be with me to sort out your paperwork and take your drug test that morning. I don’t tolerate tardiness or standing around if you’re early, so be prompt.”
With that, she hangs up and it almost feels like she snapped her fingers in front of my face like I’m some sort of peasant and then shoulder checked me on her way out of this conversation.
I stare down at my phone for a moment and shake my head.
“Well, she seems like bestie material,” I snark before I sigh.
I think I know now why the pay is so good for this job. I initially chalked it up to the vet clinic’s remote location, thinking maybe that meant good techs were hard to come by. But I now have the sinking suspicion that the pay has nothing to do with locale and everything to do with bitch-face Patrice. She’s probably Dr. Jindra’s damn wife too. The office manager shrews always are.
Ugh.
One of my glittering new-start butterflies flutters off. Cowardly fucker. Or maybe it’s the smart one here.
Usually, a new beginning sparkles for a few months at least before the rust starts to peek through. Before the discontent and need to roam hits me and I start looking for opportunities elsewhere. The good thing about being a vet tech is there are lots of clinics all over the country. It’s easy for me to bounce around. I guess we’ll see how long this one lasts.
Maybe Patrice was just having a bad day. Doubtful. But I’ve worked with know-it-all assholes before. It won’t be the first time and certainly not the last. Maybe if I show up with coffee the first day, I can score some brownie points.
I settle into my seat and try not to worry too hard over what’s going to be waiting for me at the new clinic in a state I’ve never been to. That’s tomorrow’s problem. Today’s is dinner.
In the distance, I spot buildings nestled in a narrow valley. They aren’t the high-rises of a big city that I’m used to, but they’re signs of life and that feels like an achievement. The buildings are small, cutesy, one-and two-story structures with steeply pitched roofs. I don’t see any indicators of familiar fast-food chains, but I can make do with a grocery store. A good PB&J sounds downright gourmet at this point.