13. Allie
Allie
H ail took my suitcase from me, his large hand dwarfing the handle. The simple gesture cracked open the longing I’d sealed shut long ago. I’d become so used to shouldering all this alone that the sight of him helping me with something that was mine made my chest ache.
I’d been on my own for longer than my dad’s death. He’d distanced himself, and that hurt. There was a time when we’d been inseparable, spending weekends together in his studio, him teaching me everything he knew.
“Art is immortality,” he’d once said. “The closest humans come to living forever.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me now. His art had gotten him killed, and instead of immortality, he’d left me with danger and unanswered questions.
The shift had been gradual at first. Canceled dinners.
Shortened phone calls. Excuses that never rang true.
Then one day, I’d shown up at his studio unannounced and caught the panic in his eyes.
That was when I knew something was wrong, though I never imagined just how wrong it would turn out to be.
I’d tried to speak about it with him, but he shunned me. Stopped answering when I called. Didn’t answer the door when I went to visit. Finally, I closed off my heart and accepted he had reasons he wasn’t going to explain.
Then he died and this happened. Understanding his reason for pushing me away didn’t make it better, because now I lived a life full of fear.
“This way,” Hail said, urging me down the back stairs to the alley full of shadows beyond.
He paused by the back door, peering through the window, before nodding and quietly opening the panel, leading the way.
I followed him through the building’s shadows.
The alley smelled like rain, puddles reflecting what little light filtered through the hotel windows.
The moon had risen but it was nearly obscured by clouds.
A good thing, I supposed. It might make it harder to track me.
My heart slammed in my chest so hard I was sure anyone within a block could hear it. Every scuffle behind us felt like a threat, and every shout or sound from tourists made me want to bolt.
Tressa padded silently beside us, her white fur ghostly in the darkness. She seemed completely calm, which should’ve been reassuring but somehow made me more nervous. Was she relaxed because there was no danger, or because she was a predator who felt she could handle whatever came at us?
When we reached the pottery barn, Hail unlocked the door and ushered me inside. The familiar space brought comfort, but everything felt different now. Charged with danger. The pottery wheels looked ominous in the darkness, crouching figures waiting to spring.
“Wait here,” Hail said, setting my suitcase down near the door.
He opened the storage closet on the right wall and stepped inside, emerging with a sword in an ornate leather sheath, the kind of weapon that belonged in a museum, not a pottery barn.
My mouth fell open as he strapped it across his back like he’d done it a thousand times before. The leather harness fit him perfectly, and the sword’s handle rose over his shoulder within easy reach.
“I know how to use it,” he said, catching my stare. He nudged his cowboy hat back on his head and flashed me a tusky smile. “I’ll kee-keep you safe.”
“They have guns, Hail.” The words came out flat. I’d been living with this reality for months. “Lots of guns. High-powered rifles, handguns, probably automatic weapons. They’re not going to engage in sword fights.”
His smile faded, but he stepped closer and stroked my cheek with gentle fingers. “I have ways around guns too. Trust me.”
I’d meant it when I told him I trusted him.
For the first time in months, I didn’t have to carry this burden alone.
The relief was so intense it made my knees weak.
But it also terrified me. What if trusting him got him injured or killed or ended up destroying the first good thing I’d found in forever?
Every person I’d let close since had either betrayed me or been hurt because of me.
They’d broken the arm of the waitress at that diner in Colorado who’d hidden me in her car when syndicate men came asking questions.
They’d ransacked the house of the elderly couple who’d rented me a room in their basement in Michigan.
For the first time in years, I had something precious to lose again.
“We’ll go out the back,” he said.
I nodded.
We slipped out into the darkness beyond. The night air felt cool against my face, still damp from the earlier storm. Clouds scudded across the sky, blocking the bit of moonlight struggling to filter down.
The fields behind Lonesome Creek stretched out in an ocean of tall grass and wildflowers. In daylight, it probably looked peaceful. In the darkness, with my nerves stretched to the breaking point, it looked like perfect cover for anyone hunting us.
I stumbled almost immediately, my foot catching in a hidden rut. Hail’s hand shot out to steady me, and I realized he could see much better than I could in the dark.
“Sorry,” I gasped, my ankle protesting the twist.
“Take my hand,” he said. “I’ll guide you.”
His warm palm, callused from pottery work, completely engulfed my smaller fingers. With his guidance, I moved more confidently through the uneven terrain, but my heart continued racing with every step.
The grass was tall enough to brush against my thighs, and I kept imagining people crouched in it, waiting to leap as we passed.
Every rustle made me tense, every shadow looked like a person.
My breathing was too loud, my footsteps too heavy.
Surely anyone tracking us would hear me coming from miles away.
“Breathe,” Hail said, squeezing my hand. “You’re doing fine.”
But I wasn’t doing fine. I was falling apart, my nerves fraying already. The adrenaline that had carried me through packing and leaving was wearing off, leaving me shaky and hypersensitive to every sound.
A night bird called somewhere to our left, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Hail paused, listening, then continued forward. How could he tell the difference between normal sounds and potential threats? For all I knew, we could be walking into a trap.
We continued for what felt like hours but was probably only about twenty minutes, aiming for the forest bordering the valley. My legs ached from the uneven terrain and the constant tension. My ankle throbbed where I’d twisted it. Sweat dampened my shirt despite the cool air.
When we reached the woods, Hail continued inside, taking a narrow game trail that looked like it might eventually make its way all the way to the mountains encircling the valley.
The forest was a wall of darkness that could hide anything.
Will Carmichael’s people could be watching us right now.
They could be setting up an ambush, waiting for us to feel safe before striking.
“What if they’re following us?” I whispered, unable to keep the fear out of my voice.
“They didn’t,” Hail said with too much confidence.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’d-I’d know.”
“How would you know?”
He paused and turned me to face him, stroking my cheek with his knuckles.
“I would’ve heard them. Seen them. We’re still alone.
” He glanced around. “There might be a squirrel or two near-nearby or maybe a chumble mama and her b-b-babies, but there are no people. I’d not only see or hear them, but I’d also smell them. ”
“Smell them?” Orcs must have heightened senses. Oh, god, did I reek? Probably. I felt like I’d run a marathon without a bit of training. He, however, looked cool and collected. Confident about this world in a way I should be, not an orc newly arrived to the surface.
“It’s subtle,” was all he said.
I found the certainty in his voice comforting. He seemed to have senses I didn’t understand, abilities that went beyond normal human perception.
Hail urged me around a thick mess of brambles, where he crouched, tugged me down low beside him, and pressed a finger to his lips. We waited in absolute silence, watching the fields we’d crossed, the thread of a trail. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Tressa sat perfectly still beside us, her ears pricked forward, listening for any sound that didn’t belong. Her calm was as reassuring as Hail’s words. Animals had instincts about danger that humans often missed.
Minutes passed like hours. Nothing moved except grass in the wind and a few night birds calling. My legs cramped from crouching, and I had to bite my lip to keep from shifting position.
Finally, Hail nodded as if his suspicions had been confirmed. He squeezed my hand and led me out of the thicket and deeper into the trees.
The winding, narrow forest path was barely visible even with Hail guiding me.
Branches caught at my clothes and hair, and more than once I had to duck to avoid running into a low branch.
The darkness under the canopy was complete, disorienting.
I kept stumbling, saved only by Hail’s steady grip on my hand.
“Stop,” Hail said suddenly.
I froze, terror shooting through me. Had he heard or seen something? We were about to be surrounded.
But he just adjusted our direction, leading me around a fallen log I hadn’t seen. My overactive nerves were making me paranoid. I was jumping at shadows and imagining threats that weren’t there.
Or were they? In my experience, paranoia had kept me alive. Assuming the worst had saved me more than once. My fear wasn’t irrational. It was the only thing standing between me and a bullet in the head.
Gradually, the trees began to thin. Points of starlight became visible through the canopy, and I could make out shapes ahead instead of just endless darkness.
“That’s my home there,” Hail whispered, pointing through the last screen of branches.