Chapter Sixteen
O f course, nothing good can last forever, and reality comes crashing back a few days after the poker game.
“I need to leave,” I announce at the breakfast table.
Will blinks at Rob, who shrugs. “At least you’re giving us notice this time.”
“No, I mean, sorry.” I shake my head. “Need more coffee. I need to leave the house just for a little bit to go into the bank.”
LJ grunts. I can immediately tell he doesn’t approve.
“I know,” I say in response. “I don’t want to either, but they need me to sign things in person in order to get access to my account again.”
He probably still hasn’t forgotten what happened last time, although, granted, what went down at Jimmy’s Auto Parts was more his fault than mine.
I fiddle with the edge of the paper napkin on the table in front of me. It was kind of nice existing in this state of suspended animation, just loafing around the house again and not having anything particular to do. As long as my paperwork was in the processing stage, I was off the hook. Didn’t have to make decisions, didn’t have to pull one way or the other. I slept in, still in LJ’s room because I couldn’t go back to my own. I swam in the pool. I read through some of the books in the library, which, thankfully, were way more interesting than all the dull-as-dust things in Guy’s house. Tuck has quite the impressive fantasy novel collection, it turns out—not a few of which are nicely spicy.
“Tell you what,” Rob says. “I’ll shave, throw on a wig, and—”
“Oh, please,” Will says. “You’d never pull it off. And no, before you ask, I won’t do it either.” He grins at me.
“I’m obviously kidding,” Rob says. “There are plenty of cars in the garage with clean plates. Take one that’s inconspicuous. Meaning don’t let Maren pick.”
“Hey,” I object, but then again, he’s right. Knowing the lineup of hot rods that are waiting beneath LJ’s apartment, I would struggle not to pick the flashiest, vroomiest thing of the lot.
“And then just make it quick,” Rob says. “Sign whatever you’ve gotta, make sure that they have absolutely everything they need from you in triplicate, and then get the hell out of Dodge.” He adds, shaking out his arm to look at his wrist, “I’d go sooner rather than later. Lunchtime, you’re gonna get everyone on their break going in to cash their paychecks and get quarters for the laundry.”
I nod. “Fair enough,” I say, and get to my feet.
Rob frowns. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“To the garage,” I say.
“I don’t recall saying anything about you going alone.”
“Oh. Well. Of...of course not,” I stumble.
LJ immediately gets to his feet. “I’m going,” he says.
“Are you gonna pick any fights this time?” I say, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He purses his lips. “I’ll behave.”
“I’ll go too,” Will says, swigging the rest of his coffee and standing as well. “There’s a couple of trail cameras out that I want to swing by and fix up on the way back. Can’t have any blind spots.”
“Where are we going?” Tuck emerges from the kitchen, a dishrag flung over his shoulder.
“We’re sticking up the bank,” Will says. “You in?”
Tuck narrows his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“We are going to the bank,” I explain, “but for entirely legal purposes. I have to sign some paperwork.”
“Right,” Tuck nods. “They got back to you on that email?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks again for that.”
“Anytime.” Tuck smiles. “I’ll pass, though. End of the month—got books to do.”
By the door, LJ huffs with impatience.
“We’re burning daylight,” Will says. “C’mon, Maren.”
“YOU’VE GOT YOUR PICK of the litter,” Will says as we stride into the garage.
I can’t deny, I do feel a little giddy at the prospect of cars.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to pick,” I say.
“Maybe we can do a process of elimination,” he says. “I don’t want to drive something boring.”
My mind flashes to the first day I met him, back in old man MacAllister’s garage, when I thought he was just some arrogant Yankee who didn’t know how to take care of his car. Now, well, I don’t think too differently of him, granted—but I do in the ways that count.
“We should just take a bike,” LJ mutters.
“Oh, because that’s inconspicuous, Mr. Revs-His-Engine-Every-Breath-He-Takes,” Will says.
“Gets out of there fast when it needs to,” LJ says. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“All right, quit sniping,” I say. “LJ, can you find me a hat and some sunglasses or something?”
LJ cocks his head at me slightly. “I thought we weren’t sticking the place up.”
“We’re not,” I say. “I just want to look inconspicuous if I have to wait in line or something.”
He nods, his footsteps pounding up the stairs. I sweep my gaze over the array of cars. There are a few new ones since I was last working on the fleet. God knows where he comes up with these things. The chassis are gleaming, even in the low light of the garage, arranged like a row of candies.
“God, it kills me not to pick this one,” I say, skimming a finger over the hood of a Maserati.
“What d’you mean? Your average Nottingham resident isn’t tooling around in an Italian sports car?” Will says, bending over to peer at the headlights. He shakes his head. “Yeah. Good call.”
“Probably American-made is best,” I go on. “These people are patriots, after all. Can’t have none of that foreign manufacture in our garage.”
“You just say that because you’re biased toward Mustangs,” Will says. “A Ford girl to the end. I’m surprised you don’t have the logo tattooed on your lower back.”
My heart pangs as he says it. I realize I have no idea where that car is. No idea where the one thing I had from my dad for years and years has ended up—impounded at best, a scrap heap at worst. But either way, the odds of me ever getting it back don’t seem good. Probably best not to think about it, as painful as that is.
“How about this bad boy?” I say, tapping the hood of a Challenger, recent model. “Not a Ford, but...” I shrug. “It’ll do.”
“Suits me,” Will says. “I’m driving, and I’m not taking arguments.” He points at me as he walks over to the wall with the keys hanging on pegs. “Last thing we need is you getting pulled over for no license. Again.”
I grimace. “Don’t remind me.”
“These work?” LJ asks, emerging down the stairs. He’s got a pair of aviators in one hand and a black ball cap with a gold fleur-de-lis on it in the other.
“You’re gonna make her wear a Saints cap? Really?” Will snorts.
“It’s all I have,” LJ explains. “And I want to show a little hometown pride now and again.”
The drive to the bank is surprisingly pleasant, even though it’s a muggy summer day. Once we exit, I pull my hair into a ponytail using one of the thousands of hair ties Rob bought me way back when and thread it through the back of the hat LJ gave me. With that and the sunglasses on, I look—well, not totally incognito, but maybe not so conspicuous that you’d pick me out of a literal lineup.
A sudden realization hits me, and I poke my head forward through the two front seats. Will has his window open and his elbow out, driving with one hand. He glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re thinking about going all Patty Hearst,” he says.
“What? No.” I shake my head. “I just realized that if I’m this ‘poor missing person,’ then won’t the bank call me in when I show up?”
Will doesn’t say anything. He glances at LJ, who strokes his jaw.
“They might,” LJ says, “but it’s not like your account is flagged for anything suspicious, right?”
“No,” I say. “It’s the most boring, completely legal kind of thing possible. My dad may have been a drug addict, but he kept his nose clean on the financial side of things. I guess he had enough training in the law to know that.”
Will sucks his teeth. “I see what you mean. They’d probably only call you in if, like, the individual teller recognized you or your name.”
My heart pounds in my throat. We’re cruising through rolling hills, zipping ever closer to the center of town. I have to make up my mind quickly.
“Do you think that’s likely?” I ask, looking from one to the other.
“Hell if I know,” LJ says. “Do people even read the news anymore?”
“They do the whole internet thing,” Will says, scoffing. “So if she’s gone viral—”
“I don’t think I have!” I rush in. “I mean, God. Shit, I don’t know. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking.”
I recline back into the seat and rub one of my temples. “Stop,” I say. When the car keeps going, I sit up and say it a little louder. “Stop!”
Will’s eyes find me in the rearview as he signals and pulls to a halt on the side of the road. “You want to turn around?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, thinking fast.
I need this money to do anything or be anyone. I hate to say that, but it’s true. I’ve tried to escape too many times with nothing to my name, and it’s never worked. I’m smart and I’m resourceful, but scrappiness alone isn’t going to save me. It’s more than just being able to buy my own clothes, to maybe buy a car for myself, even though nothing can replace the Mustang. It’s about not having to rely on favors, pity, or the bare minimum of guardianship to survive. It’s about being able to make my own decisions, to make other people do what I say. That’s the one thing I’ve never really gotten in life.
“If you’re worried about the money,” Will says, looking over his shoulder at me, “you don’t need to. We’ve got more than enough to—”
“I know,” I say, cutting him off, “but I don’t.”
I have to say it. I have to say it out loud.
“I don’t want to be dependent,” I say. “Even though I’ve made up with all of you.”
“Made out, more like,” Will mumbles, but I ignore him.
“I just—” I sigh. “I can’t let myself be reliant on anybody else anymore. It hasn’t worked, and I don’t think it should work. I want to be my own person, and this is the only way.”
I chew my lip. “And besides, it’s not a guarantee that I’ll get found out here, right?”
“It’s not,” LJ agrees, “but that doesn’t mean you should be stupid.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I swear. I mean, I have this disguise,” I say, gesturing at the glasses and hat, although it strikes me now that they’re embarrassingly amateur. “And I’ll go in so quickly, sign whatever they need, get everything squared away, and then we peace out.”
“Peace out?” Will says, chuckling. “What is this, eighth grade?”
“You know what I mean,” I say, frustrated but still amused, in spite of myself. “I think I can thread the needle.”
“You’re a hell of a risk taker, Princess,” LJ says.
Will turns the car back on. “Greasemonkey...” he trails off, looking at me. “You sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure. Let’s just get this over with, and then I won’t have to take risks like this again.”
I ADJUST MY BALL CAP and tug my sunglasses down a little farther, feeling the edge of nerves crawling up my spine. Sherwood National Bank is built like a Disney version of a Greek temple, all marble and glossy brass dividers between the tellers. It’s too small, too bright, and I feel too exposed.
LJ stands behind me like a shadow, arms crossed, his presence saying more than his mouth ever does. Will leans against the wall a few feet away, outwardly disinterested, but his gaze sharp as a knife. Besides us, there’s only a few people milling around—guys in faded trucker hats from a local feed’n’seed, a mom with a stroller who looks exhausted and too sleep-deprived to recognize her own face in the mirror, let alone some girl from the news.
“Next?”
“Here goes nothing,” I think. I step up to the teller, a woman who can’t be much older than I am—if she is at all—whose nametag says Kimmy and whose smile is a little bigger than I’d like for this situation.
Kimmy’s eyes are wide as I approach the counter, her ponytail bouncing slightly as she stands straighter. She’s probably out of college, like maybe this is her first real job.
My stomach tightens. Just what I need—the new girl. Hopefully she’s a fast typist, at least.
“Hi there! What can I do for you today?” she chirps, her voice a bit too high-pitched, and I have to stop myself from grimacing.
“I’m here to...take ownership of some accounts. My late father’s accounts,” I add, sliding the paperwork across the counter. “I was told I needed to do this in person.” I keep my voice steady, even though everything inside feels wound tight. Kimmy glances down at the papers, her pink-polished fingers hesitating as she pulls them toward her.
“Oh, okay, um, let me just...” she says, frowning slightly at the papers as if she’s not sure which direction is up. “I’m so sorry about your father, by the way,” she adds quickly, like she forgot.
“Why?” I ask sharply, before I can stop myself. “Did you know him?”
“Oh,” Kimmy says, faltering. “I...no. I’m new here. I just meant I’m sorry for your loss, is all.”
Oh indeed. I feel like an asshole. I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Thank you,” I manage. Idiot , I think. It’s probably better that she doesn’t know him. Now if she could only move faster than paint drying, we’d be in business.
She starts typing, but I can see the nervousness in her movements—she’s unsure, her fingers hovering over the keys like they might break something. My eyes flick toward Will, who’s leaning casually by the door, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But I can feel the tension in the air around him, his eyes darting over the room, out the windows, everywhere. He wants out of here as much as I do.
“So, um, you’re new in town?” Kimmy asks, glancing up at me. “Or just here for, uh, family stuff?” She winces a little, like she knows it’s a bad question, but it’s already out there.
“Just...taking care of my father’s affairs,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my heart is beating too fast. LJ shifts next to me, his arms crossed like a sentry. He’s definitely not helping my whole incognito thing, but I know he won’t move even if I beg. And if my pal Kimmy notices anything weird, she isn’t showing it.
Kimmy types again, but then pauses, squinting at her screen. “Uh, one second,” she mutters, leaning closer to the monitor, and I feel my pulse quicken. Please, God, don’t let something be wrong in there.
Her fingers hover again, and then she bites her lip. “I’m gonna need to get my supervisor to help with this. It’s, um, just policy,” she says quickly, her cheeks flushing.
“Of course,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral, but inside, I’m panicking. I know I’m not doing anything illegal, but that doesn’t mean the account isn’t monitored, somehow. I don’t know what Guy’s technically—or legally—capable of, but I sure as hell wouldn’t put it past him.
Will leans forward slightly, eyebrow cocked, as Kimmy waves over a middle-aged man in a wrinkled button-up shirt—her supervisor, I assume. I wave Will back in place subtly as the supervisor shuffles over with the kind of pace that suggests he’s been doing this for way too long.
“What’s the issue here?” he asks, his voice a deep rumble. He glances at me briefly, but then focuses on Kimmy’s screen.
“I just need help processing this account transfer,” Kimmy says, almost in a whisper. “It’s a...beneficiary situation.”
The supervisor makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a wheeze. “We just went over this yesterday.”
“I know,” Kimmy says, her blush intensifying.
“Something like this, when there’s a transfer of more than...”
He pauses, waiting for Kimmy to fill in the blank.
“A hundred thousand dollars?” she guesses.
Next to me, LJ raises his eyebrows. I step on the edge of his foot. Cool it, dude.
But my heart is fluttering all the same. A hundred grand? I knew Daddy had money saved, but... Jesus.
The supervisor clicks his tongue. “ Ten thousand dollars,” he corrects. Kimmy’s skinny shoulders slump.
“Oh yeah,” she says. “Right.”
“More than ten thousand and we automatically flag it and investigate,” he narrates to her, taking over the computer. “Federal law.”
Welp, false alarm, I guess. LJ’s face settles back to neutral. I chide myself for the brief bloom of disappointment in my chest. Ten thousand bucks is still huge, more money than I’ve ever, ever had. And if it’s over that much, that’s still...that’s something.
“Apologies,” the supervisor says to me, clicking through the system like it’s second nature to him. “Those transactions always need a double check for compliance But in this case”—his stubby fingers pause over the keyboard, glancing up and down my paperwork, then up at me, and then, thank God, back at the screen—“looks like everything’s in order, so I’ll put in a manual override.”
“Oh, right,” Kimmy says, nodding along like she’s learning for the first time. “I’ll remember now, I promise.”
The supervisor gives her a nod and ambles back to his desk, leaving Kimmy to finish up. She’s still flustered, but at least she’s moving through the last steps quickly now.
“Okay, so I’ve got everything transferred over,” she says after another minute of typing. With quick, birdlike movements, she piles a bunch of brochures and info sheets into a green paper folder, tucking in a printout as it streams from the box to her right and swiping a shiny new debit card through her mag reader before tucking it in as well. “You should be good to go! You can set up online access with the info in here, and you can use the ATM just outside with your new card if you need to.” Her smile is bright again, and she hands over the folder with a look of pride like it’s the tiara and I’m Miss America.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting it from her. Will glances at me, his jaw tight, clearly ready to leave, and LJ’s practically vibrating with impatience, but I ignore them both for a second and swing out the doors on my own.
The air is blazing and damp compared to the chill of the aircon inside, but I still give a little shiver. I flip open my folder and glide a finger over the smooth surface of my new debit card as the guys hustle out behind me.
It’s mine. Finally, it’s mine.
Feeling bold, I walk over to the ATM.
“Maren,” Will warns quietly, but I wave him off.
I slip the card into the machine, punch in the temporary PIN, and wait as the screen loads. When the balance appears, I freeze.
$2,041,237.
My breath catches.
Two million dollars?
“Holy...” LJ breathes over my shoulder. I whirl around, defensive, like I’m suddenly worried he’s going to snatch it away. But he doesn’t, just steps away and gives me some berth.
“Hey, hey, easy, Princess,” he says. “I’m happy for you. Just...damn. Just surprised.”
Will, for his part, darts a nonchalant glance at the screen and lets out a low whistle.
“My goodness,” he says. “Well done, greasemonkey. Well done.”
The ATM beeps for my attention— would you like to continue your transaction? —and I withdraw forty bucks just to ground myself, feeling like I’m in a dream. The machine spits out the bills, and I’m reaching for them when Will grabs my arm.
“Sheriff’s car. Across the street,” he says, his voice low but urgent.
LJ stiffens. “We need to go.”
The air leaves my lungs all at once, and the rush of confidence vanishes. I glance across the way—sure enough, a cruiser is parked near the corner, too close for comfort.
“We need to go,” LJ repeats, his voice low and urgent.
I don’t argue. I slip the twenties and card into my pocket and follow them to where we parked at a brisk but hopefully inconspicuous clip, my legs barely keeping up as we make a sharp turn down the alley. The cash in my pocket feels heavier than it should, and my mind races as fast as my feet.
Two million dollars. Two million dollars.
I knew Mama and Daddy were well off— comfortable, they would have said—but I didn’t know they were multi-millionaire comfortable.
And now, impossibly, I am too.
Will’s hand is firm on my arm as he pulls me toward the car, silver hair slipping into his eyes. LJ is already sliding into the front seat, and I barely manage to scramble into the back before the engine roars to life.
“Let’s go,” Will says under his breath, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. His voice is calm, but his foot slams the gas hard. We peel out of the alleyway, tires squealing, kicking up dust onto the back streets of Nottingham. We zip through an intersection—“that light was orange,” Will insists—and hang a sharp left to avoid a backup at the next one, eventually zigzagging our way to the edge of town.
I stare out the window, hands tense as I grip the leather beneath me, and watch the buildings blur into trees and then fields. My heart’s pounding, the fact of the two million dollars still sitting heavy in my chest, but I don’t dare say anything now—like I don’t want to jinx it, like I’ve actually committed a crime and need to be in the clear before I can look at the two bills stuffed in my pocket.
The engine keens and whines as it whirls through gears, blasting us down the dusty spine of a few rolling, rural hills, headed toward the forest.
“We’re good,” LJ mutters from the front, arms folded like he’s already checked out of the situation. “No one’s on us.”
For a second, I think he’s right. The road stretches ahead of us, empty, a straight shot to the dense line of pines that’s home free.
But then the sound cuts through the quiet—the shriek of a siren.
I swivel in my seat, stomach dropping. Red and blue lights flash behind us, closing in fast. “Fuck,” I hiss, and turn back to the guys. “He caught up.”
“No shit.” Will’s jaw clenches as he presses the pedal harder. “LJ, did you check the plates?”
LJ turns to glare at him, his eyes narrowing in the rearview mirror. “I did. On all of them. The car’s clean.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Will says, the last of his calm slipping away as the sheriff’s car gains on us. “How’d he find us, then? Magic?”
The engine screams as we streak down the last stretch of open road. Trees whip past as we plunge into the forest, the air going cool around us even though it’s anything but still.
The siren wails louder, closer, and Will curses under his breath.
“Hold on.”
The car jerks as we swerve off the main road, cutting down a narrow lane that leads deeper into Sherwood Forest. The tires skid on the dirt path, but Will keeps control, his face set in grim concentration.
I grip the seat in front of me, heart racing as we weave through the trees, the sheriff’s car not far behind. The road is a blur of twists and sharp turns, but the lights won’t go away.
LJ, for his part, throws a glance at me and softens his expression.
“Almost there,” he whispers through gritted teeth. He’s gripping the door handle, his eyes locked on the road ahead. I nod, hoping he’s right—and then the mansion looms in the distance, cresting from behind the thick line of trees.
“Back gate,” Will says, and I can see it now—the narrow metal gate tucked away at the edge of the property, just on the border of Rob’s shooting range. There’s a small clearing in front of it, and Will kills the engine the second we roll up, all but fishtailing the car into place.
“Out,” he snaps, already pushing open his door. “Go, Maren!”
I stumble out of the backseat, disoriented in spite of myself, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Will’s at my side instantly, hustling me toward the gate, and LJ’s footsteps are behind us, heavy, deliberate.
I find my feet and dash forward, but they don’t come with me. I spin, panicked, to see what’s wrong...
And then it happens.
Will’s body ripples, his skin flushing out to scales, his limbs elongating sinewy and sleek, twisting into an impossibly massive form. With a whiplike snap, his wings expand, and the air crackles with heat as he swoops forward—a dragon.
LJ isn’t far behind. He sprints into a leap, swiveling midair like a gymnast as his muscles bulk out and his body bristles with fur. He lands with a crash and an earsplitting bellow, a hulking bear.
I’m frozen. I can’t help it. It’s only the second time I’ve this kind of thing and my subconscious still isn’t ready for the smack of the reality of it all: the sheer power in their forms, the optical illusion of the transformation. My brain can’t process it, like an old computer trying to play HD video, and for a second I just stand there, awestruck, short-circuited.
But there’s no time to admire. Because the sheriff’s car pulls up, and a deputy rolls out of the driver’s side, gun drawn.
And I freeze again.
Because it’s him.
The same deputy who saw me on the Fourth of July, the same one who showed up at the mansion asking about Rob.
“Don’t move!” he screams.
My heart races, and I stumble backward, instincts taking over. I sprint through gate, heading for the archery field, for the house, but before I can get far, I all but slam into Rob. I fall into his chest, gasping.
“Rob,” I pant. “It’s him. They’re—”
“I saw,” he says quickly. “On the cameras.” He hoists his crossbow. “Get inside. Get safe. I’m gonna shoot this mother—”
I move, nodding, but something in Rob’s voice makes my feet skid to a stop beneath me.
Confusion flashes across his face, and he lowers his crossbow, slowly, eyes narrowing at the deputy. Then his stance softens, his head tipping sideways as he squints the guy down, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
I glance between him and the deputy, my breath coming fast. “Rob?” I ask, my voice wavering.
Rob doesn’t move, the crossbow still lowered. But now I see there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
“I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “I’ll be god damned.”
He shakes his head, and it hits me.
He knows this guy.
“Don’t shoot!” The deputy holds his hands up, palms out, his gun on the ground. “Rob. Don’t shoot. You need to listen to me.”