Boy don’t know his own strength, Shanks had remarked once. Does anyone, really? Christophe had replied.
The window over the sink was dusty, a spring heat-haze making the tree shadows at the edge of the clearing run like ink on greased plastic. I shuddered, like a horse run too hard and stopped too quickly, and something brushed my hair. A warm, forgiving touch, like familiar work-worn fingers.
It’s all right, babygirl. Like I was five years old again, scared in the middle of the night, or seven and crying at the table because some kid at the valley school called me a bad word because my daddy was gone.
I whirled. The locket bounced against my chest, warm metal. The fingers patted the top of my head, a quiet, soothing movement.
There there, chile, babygirl. It’s all right. A breath of tobacco and baby powder, spice and stiff old-lady skirts.
“Gran?” I whispered.
There was no reply but the sough of wind against the roof and the grass, trees sighing, the burble of the creek down-away. I heard a high excited yip—Ash, delighted by something else.
I edged away from the sink like it had grown horns. Gooseflesh stood out all over me, hard little bumps, and the aspect smoothed down over me in waves of comforting, drenching heat.
If Gran was here, she’d set everything to rights. Some part of me had probably thought she would just appear, or that something would be here to save my bacon. I was always more comfortable with someone telling me what to do, so I could just follow the numbers and my training and . . .
But there was nobody and nothing left. Nothing to trust, nothing to depend on, and I couldn’t keep us here forever. Someone would find out about this house, probably sooner rather than later, and they would come riding in to yank it all away from me.
This ain’t gettin’ you nowhere, honeychile, Gran’s voice piped up, faraway and faint. I retreated to the table, turning to keep the windowsill in view like I expected something to move over there.
I grabbed the atlas. I needed to plan, not sit around whining or scaring myself. Thinking I heard her was like a dash of cold water, slapping me into functioning again.
If Graves couldn’t figure out if he loved me or hated me, maybe it was time for me to start fishing in a different pond. Except I didn’t have a different pond, since I’d pretty much accused Christophe of selling Graves out and told him I hated him.
Dadblastit, Dru girl, you’re woolgathering. Chop some wood, chase them chickens, or draw some water. Quit your mooning. Gran’s voice, sharp and clear, like she’d caught me hiding behind the coop. I flinched guiltily, because for a second I could’ve sworn she’d just waltzed in through the front door and took me to task.
God, I wish. I miss you so much. The dry rock in my throat wouldn’t budge.
Hell, I should have been worrying about hearing voices. That was the problem with the touch—you could go off the deep end and mistake shit for Shinola, as Dad would say. And maybe I should be worrying more about little things like keeping us alive and less about my seriously messed-up dating situation.
I hunched down in the rickety split-bottom chair, opened the atlas and propped up Dad’s contact book, and tried to do just that.
CHAPTER SIX
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I said an hour later, desperate, but Ash shook his head. He held onto the door handle, grimly, and there would be no way of getting into the car unless I crawled in through the other side. Then, if I tried to pull out, he’d either break the door handle, the door itself, or run after me. And he was wulfen. He could definitely keep up with the car unless we were on a straight shot of freeway, and he could find me in town if he really took a mind to. “Jesus, Ash, I’m just going into town! I won’t be gone long.”
Ash shook his head even more vigorously, greasy hair flying. Bits of leaves and twigs threaded through the dark matted strands, I still hadn’t found wherever he’d flung his shirt, and he was barefoot. Mud striped his chest. He’d seemed pretty happy, until I put my malaika in the back of the Subaru and my bag in the passenger seat. He’d let out a howl and bounded off the steps, nearly colliding with me, and grabbed the handle on the driver’s side.
Perfect. I wanted a hot shower, not just a sponge bath. Not to mention a club sandwich and some coffee that didn’t come from a percolator. I was pretty sure I could just be an object of gossip if I went into the diner in town, but Ash? He’d make me an object of outright speculation, no matter if I behaved correctly or not.
He inhaled, opened his mouth. “Noooooooo.” A long, drawn-out syllable. Then he changed it up. “Nonononono! Wif! Go wif!”
“For the love of Pete.” I put my hands on my hips, and for once I sounded like Dad when he was exasperated past bearing with a malfunctioning engine. Too exasperated even to swear, and that’s saying something. “You do not have to go with me. It’s just down to the two-bit town in the valley. I’ll be back in a couple hours, max. You stay here with Graves.” At least, I was thinking Graves was still around here. If he went wandering off in the woods and got lost, that would just put a capper on the whole day. I’d left his lunch under Saran wrap on the table, and the touch throbbed like a bad tooth inside my head, a feedback squeal from my own frustration.
The malaika were bulky, but I didn’t have a holster for either gun we had, and I didn’t have the patience to jury-rig something. Besides, during the day around here, I didn’t want a telltale bulge under my shirt. Country people understand guns, sure. But I wasn’t one of the locals anymore.