Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“No worries,” Clover assures me. “I’ll be your lookout, my vertically challenged, friend.”
“Thanks again,” I say dryly, but I’m not about to complain.
It’s not my fault that the world was built for giant people. I’m grateful to have my supermodel tall roomie on my side. Clover is nearly five eleven, with legs that go on for miles and big Bambi eyes that easily dazzle the man in front of us when she taps him on the shoulder and chirps, “Excuse me, please? That one’s mine.”
“Oh, yeah?” the man stutters as he stumbles out of the way. “Yeah, sure. Which one? I could get it for—”
Clover dives forward, claiming my massive suitcase and plopping it down on the ground beside us before the man can finish his offer. “That’s okay, thanks!” She takes my duffel from my shoulder and drops it down on top, threading the straps through the case handle. “I’ve got it. Have a nice day.” She then proceeds to drag my luggage toward the door like it weighs nothing at all.
I trail after her, feeling deliciously lighter.
“My knight in shining yellow crop top,” I murmur as we step out into the heat.
“You know it, girl,” she says. “I’ve got you. Want me to pull the car around? Or are you okay to hoof it to the cheap, short-term parking?”
“I’m fine,” I say, grateful that my ankles aren’t prickling as badly as they were when I first got off the plane. I’m still sweating like a beast, but there’s nothing to be done for that until we get home, and I can dig my t-shirts and lightweight skirts out of my suitcase.
A short trek across sunbaked pavement later, Mr. Higgins, her ancient Honda Civic with the peeling gray paint comes into view.
“Wow, he does smell worse than usual,” I agree as she pops the trunk, sending a musty sourness wafting out as she loads my bags.
“Yeah, poor guy. It’s hard to be a crusty old car in this heat.”
“Hard to be a pregnant woman, too, Mr. Higgins,” I agree as we climb in. “Don’t feel bad. I’m sure I don’t smell great right now, either. I am dying for a shower and a t-shirt.”
“We’ll have you home in a jiffy,” Clover says, shifting into reverse. “Traffic isn’t too bad this morning. So, how was the flight? Aside from long as hell? Did you get any sleep?”
“A little,” I say. “First class was the right call, but it was still hard to get comfortable, even in the lay-flat seat. Bean was kicking the hell out of me the entire time. I think she was freaked out by being in the air.”
“Same, Bean,” Clover agrees. “Flying scares the crap out of me.”
I shoot her a meaningful look. “But you’re working on that. Because you want to come to Scotland with me next summer. Right? I think you’d love it.”
Her shoulders hunch closer to her ears as we merge onto the highway. “Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it. And if I don’t get over it, you can just give me a Xanax and roll me off the plane when we get there.”
“Or put you in Bean’s stroller.”
Clover laughs. “Yeah. I can’t believe she’s going to be here so soon!”
I drag a hand over the top of my fuzzy hair. “I know, I have to get my shit together. Find a new doctor, fill her in on my birth plan, get a crib set up in my room…” I laugh as I add, “And, you know, launch an album in all my spare time.”
“What’s up with all that? Is everything still on track?” Clover asks as we settle into the steady stream of cars heading toward downtown.
She’s right, the traffic isn’t bad at all.
“I think so,” I say. “The photo shoot for the album cover is next Saturday, and we’ve already got the marketing strategy locked and promo interviews lined up. It’s just a matter of tweaking a few of the tracks and getting the final masters to the plant for pressing by the end of the month. If all goes according to plan, we’ll be holding physical copies of Vespers for the Fire Born about a week before Christmas. Shortly before Bean makes her arrival on the scene.”
Clover makes a soft squealing sound. “I’m so excited! I can’t wait, Bea. Seriously. I’ve been playing the latest mix of Burn Me you sent me on repeat nonstop. I can’t wait for everyone else to hear it and get as obsessed as I am.”
I clasp my hands beneath my chin with a grin. “Really? You promise? You’re not just saying that because—”
I’m cut off by a horrible pow-punch-pow that steals my breath away.
Metal meets metal, and the world detonates.
No warning. No screech of brakes. Just a sickening crunch that swallows my voice whole, slamming the air from my chest. My teeth crack together. My skull bounces off the headrest. Glass explodes inward—a hundred thick, chunky teeth that go flying through the air, biting into my arms and neck.