Chapter 20
Tean was only vaguely aware of leaving River at the entrance to the lodge. He followed Jem along a corridor—impressions of brown, light blurring. He thought, distantly, that his glasses were smudged.
And at the same time, running on a parallel circuit:
The smell of drying blood in that little house.
The weight of a door with a body holding it closed.
The grunts and thuds of men trying to kill each other.
The basement, and the man in the wolf mask limping toward Tean.
The man lifting his head to howl.
Something really was wrong with the lights because black spots whizzed through Tean’s vision. His body prickled like it did with an adrenaline rush, but he felt cold instead of hot. The corridor was starting to tilt.
You’re not getting enough oxygen, a voice inside his head told him.
But that didn’t make any sense, because he was breathing: thin, shallow, rapid inhalations through his nose. Air that ended up high in his chest.
The corridor began to turn over.
Somehow, he sat without falling. He put his head between his knees. Even with his eyes closed, everything was still flipping upside down.
“Tean?” A moment later, Jem’s hand was on his back, his knee bumping Tean’s leg.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong? It’s okay.
Hey, deep breaths. Deep breaths.” He stroked Tean’s hair, and the movements were slow and meant to be soothing, but Tean registered the fingers stiff with panic. “You’re okay, but you have to breathe.”
Sitting helped. His head between his knees helped. As each breath got a little deeper, he could focus on pulling the air into his belly.
Everything level. Everything steady. Everything holding—for now.
He didn’t even remember taking off his glasses, but when he looked up, the world was blurry. Jem was crouched next to him, his hand still on Tean’s hair. The fear in Jem’s face was only there for a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by a smile.
“Hey,” Jem said softly.
“I’m sorry.”
Jem shook his head slowly. “Don’t be sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yes. I mean, obviously no. But physically, I’m fine.”
Jem was still watching him.
“I think that was a panic attack,” Tean said. He put his head in his hands, fingers digging into his hair. “Oh my gosh, I can’t have a panic attack.”
For some reason, that made Jem laugh.
“I can’t, Jem. I already have too many other weird things.”
Jem pulled Tean against him and kissed his temple. He settled onto the floor next to Tean and stretched out his legs. He held out Tean’s glasses.
Tean put them on.
Jem draped one arm across Tean’s shoulders.
The sound of women’s voices echoed down the hall, the words indistinct.
“Thanks,” Tean said.
“That stuff in the garage freaked the fuck out of me,” Jem said matter-of-factly.
Tean shook his head. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he fought to push them back. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I have to ask: you didn’t do that, did you?”
“What? Fuck up her Tahoe?”
“I know you didn’t. You didn’t have an opportunity; we’ve been together the whole time. But you didn’t pay someone to do it, or trick someone into doing it? That wasn’t part of your plan for how to track her down?”
“Tean, I didn’t even know what she was driving. A dark SUV. That was pretty much all I knew. There had to be fifty dark SUVs down there. I made that up about her car, and—and it’s a seriously fucked-up coincidence.”
Tean exhaled slowly, counting. He drew in another deep breath. “Then they’re here.”
Jem scratched his beard.
“They’re here, Jem. Kai and Zeb and the rest of them. They’re here.” It still didn’t feel real, though, saying it out loud. “How? How is that even possible?”
Jem’s silence had an unexpectedly tense quality. Then he said, “Don’t get mad.”
What followed was…a lot. Jem’s story about Ammon approaching him outside of BoomTawk, about Ammon asking for help for Daniel, about the man in the truck and the woman in the SUV.
When Jem finished, he said, “Are you mad?”
Tean rubbed his eyes. “Yes. No. I don’t know, Jem. I’m too freaked out to be mad right now, so maybe later.” He was silent for a long moment. “She followed us. And they followed her.”
“Slow down,” Jem said. “That stuff down in the garage, that was freaky. But—and I want you to hear me out—but it doesn’t mean anything. Not necessarily, you know? I just told you because I thought you should know.”
“Jem, we didn’t do that to her car. Someone did. Who else is going to write that stuff and mess up her engine?”
“Well, her. For one.”
Tean opened his mouth. Then he shut it again.
With a shrug, Jem said, “I’m saying it’s a possibility. She hasn’t been straight with us. Following us around? That’s weird. Following us all the way here? Coming inside to watch you at the bar? That’s fucking bananas. If all she wanted was an interview, why play stalker first?”
Tean tried to think his way through that question, but as exhaustion swept in behind the panic attack, his brain was pure static. Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either, but I don’t like it.”
“She might be hoping we’ll lead her to something,” Tean said. “Or we’ll reveal something that we might not admit to in an interview.”
“Like what? We’re secretly the killers, and we made up that whole story about the wolves?”
Tean froze, hand halfway through his hair.
Jem let his head fall back, and it thunked against the wall. “Are you fucking kidding me? How does this keep getting worse?”
They fell silent after that. Tean wanted to close his eyes. If he closed his eyes, he thought he’d fall asleep right here on the floor, his head on Jem’s shoulder. Maybe he’d wake up, and they’d be home, in bed, with Scipio.
Instead, he got to his feet and held out a hand. Jem let Tean help him up.
“So,” Jem said, “we don’t know what she wants.”
Tean shook his head.
“And we don’t know her angle.”
Tean gave another shake.
“And either she fucked up her car, or someone else did.”
“That pretty much sums it up,” Tean said.
“Well, fuck me. We’re pretty great detectives, aren’t we?”
A little laugh escaped Tean, but it died quickly. He was still holding Jem’s hand, and he tightened his fingers now. “Jem, I think we have to—to consider the possibility, at least, that she was telling the truth about being followed, and that Kai and the others are here.”
Jem shook his head, but all he said was “What a fucking nightmare.”
Tean nodded.
“What do we do?” Jem asked. “Stop running around? God, Tean, if they’re up here, this is a seriously fucking bad spot to be in. Maybe we should lock ourselves in our room and wait the storm out.”
“Whether they’re here or not, there is a killer here. Someone murdered Gerald. And once the storm is over, that person will leave, and that’ll be the end of it.”
Jem made a face. “So, we talk to Tafton, like we planned.”
“I think we have to.”
“Fuck.” But Jem shook himself, bounced a few times like a boxer limbering up, and said, “All right. Here we go.” He shot Tean a sidelong glance. “Maybe you should lie down for a few minutes?”
“No.”
“I can talk to Tafton.”
“I know you can. But I’m fine, Jem. I just—” Tean’s voice twisted in spite of his best attempts to stop it. “I’ve been having a harder time regulating my emotions, lately. That…happens sometimes.” He made himself add, “When people are in therapy.”
“Well, yeah, because you can’t keep bottling them up like a crazy person.”
Tean stared at him.
Jem was grinning.
“Jem!”
“What? You can’t. It’s not healthy. You gotta be like me, babe. Let it all flow out.”
“That sounds like the advertisement for a store-brand laxative.”
“An emotional laxative.”
“Okay,” Tean said, “this was, until recently, a very good conversation. I think we’re done now.”
“For when the emotional pipes get backed up.”
Tean started walking.
“Babe,” Jem called after him, “maybe that should be my next job: advertising!”