Page 20 of On the Road

“What?”

“Uhm . . . somebody has died⁠—”

The cabin door creaked open and a short guy, not much taller than me, stepped onto the pink porch with a shotgun slung low at his side. I’d been expecting someone who maybe looked like a werewolf outcast—scruffy, grouchy, big and mean— but Zander looked like any other guy I’d pass in the grocery aisle without a second glance. Brown hair that hung half over his eyes and curled at the jawline, jeans, and a T-shirt with some kind of faded message on the front. Kinda boring, like me, except for the pink cabin . . . and the sandals.

“I like the color choice,” I said.

“Huh?” He jogged down the steps, sandals slapping the boards, and stopped a few feet from his porch, then looked back, as though forgetting his entire home was pink. “Oh, you do?”

“Very uhm . . . bold.”

“Thank you,” he said with some flamboyance and relief. “Pink is a calming color. Nobody gets it!” He waved the gun, making Zee hiss. “They all think I’m nuts.”

Keeping my eyes on the gun, I smiled and tried to make myself look smaller . . . more helpful, less harmful. “Ugh, not me. I get it.”

Zander’s face screwed up in doubt. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Adam. And this is Zee.” Zee popped up from behind his bush and gave a wary wave. “And Victor.”

Victor stood and bowed his head, but his narrowed silvery eyes suggested Zander may want to put the gun down soon. “Greetings.”

“You said someone died?” Zander called, as there was still some distance between us.

“Yeah . . .” I lowered my hands and started slowly forward again. “Can we talk?”

“Without the gun?” Zee suggested.

“Oh, right. Oops.” Zander cracked the gun barrel and popped the rounds free. “Let’s go inside. You guys like lemonade?”

“Sure.”

Zander waved us after him, but Zee held me back with a hand on my arm. “What if this is some kinda gingerbread-house trap and he’s luring us into his murder cabin with his super-pink vibes and lemonade where we’ll be seduced into a huge group orgy only to be shoved into an oven and roasted?”

“Wha—” My heart dropped. “Is that a thing?”

“Haven’t you seen my movie, Hansel Gets Handled?”

“Uhm . . . no?”

Victor sidled up to us with a growing, predatory smile. “Then he’ll soon discover we’re not as dumb as you look, demon.”

Zee’s right eyebrow lifted. He began to nod, then frowned. “Wait, excuse you. You did not just call me dumb. Hullo. You don’t think my flouncy himbo performance is real, do you? Oh Victor, you sad dinosaur. Do not let my pretty fool you. I let y’all think I’m the comedy sidekick because, Lord Fucks-Hard—” Zee draped an arm over Victor’s shoulders. “This little dumb act allows me to walk the fuck all over you and get away with everything and anything I like. Or had you not figured me out yet?”

“Hm.” Victor had definitely figured that out.

With a laugh, I told them to follow, and we headed inside where the pink theme continued. Only now it became pink and white and fluffy all over.

“I’m so torn,” Zee whispered. “I should hate it, but I fuckin’ love it.”

“Grab a beanbag,” Zander offered, setting the gun down by the door. “There’s some cushions over there.”

“Oh yes, I almost missed the rainbow cushions among all the vibrant décor.” Victor snarled the word vibrant like most people say vomit.

“You hush, Fancy Fangs, and grab us each a beanbag,” Zee ordered. “Apologies, our vampire is boring and only sees the world in shades of gray.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Zander said, meaning it.

Zee’s gaze snagged on something across the large open-plan room. The pupils in his eyes swelled. “Oh, that’s . . . that’s a classic.” He poofed to the fireplace and picked up a rubber . . . dick? Because having dicks lined up on your fireplace mantle was a totally normal thing to have in your entirely pink timber cabin filled with multi-colored décor three-miles deep in the woods.