Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Though, contrary to what the masses think, I’m not that interesting of a person. I spend most of my time outside in my little yard, lounging by my pool with my laptop in tow, or at the stable with Spartan. Luckily people seem to love horse content, but I think most of my followers are crossover fans of Charles and are hoping for more candid photos and videos of him.
“We’re having lunch with Wendy’s sister,” Dad tells me. “We’ll be back by six-thirty for dinner. You’re eating with us, right?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’ll be back before then, and will hopefully have a couple thousand words written by dinner. What are you making me?”
Dad laughs. “It’s supposed to cool down after the afternoon storm, so I’ll grill chicken.”
“Sounds good. Want me to make a salad? I’ll gather some wild mushrooms and dandelion greens from the forest,” I say with a straight face.
Dad winks. “Make sure to get the good shrooms.”
“Dad!” I say, faking my shock. “Are you suggesting I bring you illegal drugs?”
“Don’t be so uptight.”
We all laugh. and I wave goodbye to Dad and Wendy, setting off down the driveway. It’s about a ten-minute walk down the street to get to the nature preserve, which surrounds the lake. There are hiking trails with gorgeous views, and it’s so hot and humid today there aren’t many people on them. Silver Ridge is a small town, but people travel from all over to walk these trails and use our lake. The stigma of glaring at outsiders is strong here, and it’s easy to spot someone visiting from out of town.
The sky darkens and the air thickens with the electricity of the oncoming storm. I pull the hair tie out of my hair and flip my head upside down, raking my damp hair back into a tight bun, needing it off my neck. I take in a deep breath, feeling almost as if I’m breathing underwater.
At this point, I’ll welcome the rain, though I am almost to the coven. A group of hikers passes me by in a hurry to the parking lot, suggesting I do the same before the storm rolls in. I smile, nod, and pretend to take their advice, but then veer off the path, using an old, gnarled oak tree as a guide. The coven is about a quarter-mile away from the trail, far enough to make us feel like we were in the middle of nowhere when we were kids, but not so far a search party needs to get called for us, though people do get lost out here quite easily.
In the summer, the canopy of trees makes it almost impossible to use thermal scanning to find anyone from the air, and the last time I was here visiting Dad, two thirteen-year-old kids wandered off and got lost. They were found six hours later, and the entire town was tense, thinking the worse. They were playing some sort of geo-tracking game and lost cell service in the woods, which I suppose could throw you for a loop if you’re not used to the shitty cell service Silver Ridge already has.
I get a little turned around halfway to the coven and have to stop and gather my composure so I don’t freak out. I used to pride myself on being able to find my way around the woods, and even ran into a black bear a time or two, and the encounter didn’t end in bloodshed. I’m the outdoorsy one in my group of friends back in LA, but damn, it’s been a while since I’ve been out here, and I won’t do myself any favors pretending I know my way around.
It’s changed a lot over the years.
Stopping to get my phone from my backpack, I hold my breath as I wait for the map to load. I have one bar of service, just enough for me to figure out I went a few yards in the wrong direction. I get back on the right track and come to the little circle of rocks in just a few minutes. Two are covered in moss, and beer cans, an empty bottle of whiskey, and food wrappers litter my sacred space. I’m not sure what pisses me off more: that someone else found this place or they were an asshole and left their trash.
Picking up a stick from the ground, I use it to push all the trash into one spot, intending to come back here tomorrow with a bag so I can clean up the area. I brush bird poop and dirt off a rock and sit down, closing my eyes and taking in the silence of the forest. I stay perfectly still for a few minutes, remembering sitting in this exact spot, excitedly scribbling down story ideas in a leather-bound notebook. Kellie spoke to me here, and I used to run around with a dull dagger hanging from my waist, pretending to have powers and fight demons.