Page 72 of When the Snowman Whispered
“Okay.” I gulped in my fear. “He came alive.”
“You believe me?”
I rose and stood in front of her. “I don’t question too much when your mother is involved and it’s a full moon. Like I said, I heard and saw things that sounded and looked like wolves, but I was sure they were something else.”
Frantic, she jumped up from her seat. “What did you think they were?”
“I don’t know. I spent all night tracking them.”
She touched her chest. “And then you found me?”
“Yes, but let’s get back to this. . .Remy.” I didn’t even like saying his name.
“No, we need to focus on what you saw and what happened to both of us.” She tapped her finger against the table and held her blanket around her with her other arm. “I remember seeing a pack of wolves howling, when Remy and I were flying.”
My head spun a little.
I regained control of it. “Did you say flying?”
“Yes.”
She had sex with an ice sculpture and went flying.
Fear stacked like bricks around my heart. But I knocked them down. With any other woman, I would’ve kept my heart walled in by those bricks and ran out of the house. But she wasn’t any other women.
It was Faith, the one that had taken my heart and never gave it back in the first place.
I rubbed my face with both hands. “Okay. How did you fly? Was it on a broomstick or did aliens come pick you two up and he decided to take you time traveling? How much of an adventure did you have last night?”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah. I don’t want to talk about this. You think I’m crazy.”
She was crazy.
Even if I believed that everything she said was real, she still had lost her path to sanity in many ways. And she’d been right about me. I was crazy too. So, crazy that I didn’t give a damn, if she saw a snowman come alive or not.
I just didn’t want her to see him again!
Her hands shook. “I’m fine. You can go.”
“Bullshit. And I’m not going anywhere. You’re going back home with me.”
“I’m not.”
“You will.”
“I’m not.” She glared at me.
“I won’t lie to you, Faith. I do think you’re crazy.”
“Fine. Drink your tea and then go home.”
“And what about this sculpture.”
“Remy,” she corrected.
“Fine.” I spat the name out. “Remy.”
“I don’t know. I guess we should burn those mojo bags that my mother gave us. It’s obvious that she had something to do with all of this.”
