Chapter 26 Theo
THEO
I’m drawing water when I smell Chloe in my territory.
I let the bucket clatter back down into the well and sniff, certain it’s my imagination, that it’s just the lingering impression of her from last night. I’ve been smelling her all morning—on my fingers, on my clothes, in my hair.
But no. The wind gusts, and it’s not just her. Oliver’s here, too. But the direction’s all wrong. They’re on the other side of the peninsula, opposite the lake houses.
I hoist the bucket back up and set it beside the well, frowning. Something’s wrong. I don’t sense that, exactly—I suspect they’re too far away—but I can think of no other reason why they’d be on that side of the peninsula.
So I take off, following their scent through my woods. Tracking them. Something tugs in my chest, almost like the killing moon. But I focus on Chloe’s scent, on the memory of last night, and it settles, vanishing back in the darkness where it lives.
The wind sweeping across my territory makes it easy to track them, especially since I’m used to weaving through the dense overgrowth of my woods.
They’re walking along the lakeshore, taking the long way around, but I’m able to intercept them not far from the edge of my territory.
I stop just inside the treeline and peer out through the shadows—my father taught me caution, and I cling to it, even now.
But all I see are the two of them in the distance, the wind blowing Chloe’s hair back away from her face.
Oliver’s a small dark figure beside her.
Something is wrong.
I sense it immediately, the scent as sharp as blood. Chloe’s worried, a tight, knotting feeling that makes my heart constrict. But Oliver’s sorrow is nearly overwhelming. I haven’t tasted something like that in a long, long time. Not since I was a child myself.
Not since I died the first time.
I burst out of the trees, making myself known. Chloe sees me first, and she bends down to say something to Oliver, her voice muffled by the wind blowing the trees around. Oliver jerks his head up, though, and his sorrow changes, just for a moment, into something like hope.
That’s an odd feeling, someone feeling hope when they see me.
He takes off running down the beach, little arms pumping. I don’t know what to make of it, especially not when he reaches me and flings his arms around my legs, burying his face in my hip. Chloe jogs up after him, her worry thicker than before.
“Something happened,” she signs.
Oliver peels himself away from my leg and looks up at me, and that’s when I see it. The bruises around his left eye.
Rage swells through me, fiery and terrifying. I stumble back, my blood pumping furiously, because I’m also terrified that it will overtake me and I will do something that I don’t want to.
“Who did that?” I sign, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
Oliver blinks, and his eyes gleam with tears.
“Who did it?” I ask again, but this time I look up at Chloe, who stands a few paces away, the wind blowing her hair across her furrowed brow. She has on a loose, fluttery shirt with a high collar that hides most of the bruises I gave her last night. Normally, I’d want to admire them. But not now.
“He won’t tell me,” she says with her hands.
I look back down at Oliver, whose lower lip trembles. Then I crouch down so we can be at eye level.
“Tell me,” I say.
Oliver blinks, and tears streak over his cheeks, and I hate it. He’s not supposed to cry.
“My brother,” he signs.
My rage flares again. When I look back up at Chloe, she shakes her head in confusion. “What did he say?” she asks.
“Brother,” I sign.
Her eyes go wide, and I think I see, just for a moment, a flicker of understanding, although it vanishes before I can be sure. I don’t know much about Oliver’s brother. He’s never brought me a picture of him, just like he’s never brought me a picture of his parents, either.
“Your brother did that?” Chloe says, speaking this time. Oliver nods but doesn’t look at her. He looks at me, and then his hands start flying.
“Owen hates me,” he says. “Like my parents hate me. He said I was a weird freak, and that I need to talk like a normal person.”
The rage ignites, sending bolts of fire shooting through my veins.
Ancient memories flash through my head, from the time I was Oliver’s age.
From the time I thought I was human. All the children in Veritas taunting me whenever I went into town.
My mother kept me out of school, taught me sign language herself.
But everyone in Veritas knew how I was and hated me for it.
“Your brother said that?” Chloe asks. She’s come around to stand beside me, and her presence is the only thing that comes anywhere close to helping me calm the anger surging inside me.
“He always says that,” Oliver signs. “And Mom and Dad agree with him.”
Chloe makes a soft, sad sound in the back of her throat. But Oliver keeps going, his eyes fixed on mine as he signs.
“His friends came over,” he says, “and they held me down while he beat me up.”
My muscles quiver, and I curl my hands into fists, and all I can think about is blood.
“He beat you up?” Chloe’s voice is shaky. “That’s why your mom took your boat away?”
Through the haze of my anger, something connects. They must have taken the road here. That’s why they’re on this side of the peninsula.
“She said I made him do it.” Oliver’s signs are fast and jagged, like he can barely contain himself.
“She said he’s right and that I do need to learn to talk and they’ve coddled me too much and that’s when she took my boat away.
My dad told him he did a good job, that if that’s what it takes for me to be normal, that I should stop crying. ”
I suck down deep breaths, my hands still clenched into fists, tight enough that I can feel my nails digging into my skin. Chloe’s worry has intensified. I’d actually say it’s turned to fear.
Oliver’s not afraid, though.
“Oliver,” Chloe breathes, dropping down to her knees. “Oliver, why didn’t you tell me? We can—there are things we can do and—”
“Theo can help,” Oliver signs.
Oh, Chloe’s fear erupts when she hears that. But Oliver doesn’t know what I am, and I’m not terribly surprised when he goes on to say, “I can stay here. Away from all of them.”
Chloe rocks back on her heels, staring at him. I force myself to focus on the sounds of my territory: the soft lapping waves, the birdsong, the wind blowing through the trees. The symphony of life coming from these two humans that I inexplicably care about.
“They’ll come looking for you,” Chloe says gently, brushing her hand over Oliver’s hair. “This is the first place they’ll check.”
“Theo will hide me,” Oliver says. “And protect me.”
Chloe twists around to look at me, her expression dark and suspicious, her fear so strong it masks the scent of pine and lake water. It hurts, seeing that suspicion on her face, but I understand why it’s there.
“I would,” I sign, mostly to her.
That does nothing to soften the tension in her body.
But I can’t say I particularly blame her.
We both know what my protection involves, even if Oliver doesn’t.
And I can feel the bloodlust surging in me, and the killing moon is echoing in the rattle of tree branches.
I don’t care, though. Oliver is hurting, and I can take away the things that caused that hurt. It’s all I can do, really.
“Why don’t we go back to Theo’s cabin?” Chloe signs. “And we can talk about it there?”
Oliver looks over at me, and I nod. Then he does, too.
Chloe stands up, but it’s my hand that Oliver takes. It’s startling how small it is. And how easy it is for me to be delicate with it, to not crush his tiny, bird-like bones in my palm.
I tug him toward the woods, the two of us leading Chloe home.
But I can feel her worry the whole way back.
“I need to call Child Protective Services,” Chloe signs. “He can’t just run away and live with you. That’s not how things work.”
We’re in the kitchen. Oliver is in the living room, drawing on some of my mother’s old stationery with a ballpoint pen. He held my hand the entire way back to the cabin, and I feel a jolt of irritation at Chloe’s words. Because why couldn’t he live here? Does she think I would hurt him?
No. That’s not what she’s worried about, and I damn well know it.
“If you call the authorities,” I say slowly, making sure my words are clear, “they will find out about me.”
Chloe frowns. “I’m not calling the police.”
Frustration bubbles through me. “If Oliver mentions me, don’t you think they’ll want to ask questions? Even if they aren’t the police?”
Chloe’s frown deepens. I glance past her to look at Oliver.
He’s still curled up on the couch, his pen scratching furiously over the paper.
I do understand where Chloe’s coming from.
It would be better to go through legal channels, I suppose, and she’ll be there, out in the real world, to make sure Oliver is safe.
But the rage is hot and steady in my chest. And all I can think about is when I was a child, all the taunts and mockery and bullying I endured any time I crossed the lake to Veritas. It didn’t end until I died.
No. It didn’t end until I came back and killed my tormentors.
“Please,” Chloe signs. “Can we at least try it this way? You can’t just—” Her hands shake, and she doesn’t finish what she’s signing. It doesn’t matter. I know what she was going to say.
I resist the urge to ask her why not? Why can’t I kill them, the monsters calling themselves Oliver’s parents?
“I’ll tell Oliver not to say anything about you,” Chloe signs. “He’ll understand. Or maybe you should tell him. He thinks you’re a ghost, doesn’t he?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Exactly. We’ll tell him he can’t talk about you because you’re a ghost and—they won’t believe him.
Right?” Chloe drops her arms to her sides, her eyes big and luminous.
My own gaze drops down from her face to the marks on her neck, just barely visible above the high collar.
I brush my fingers across them, the touch feather-soft. Chloe stiffens.
“And if the authorities notice that?” I ask. “I know Oliver didn’t, but he’s just a child. A social worker almost certainly would.”
Chloe’s cheeks turn pink. “Are you sure Oliver didn’t notice?”
“He didn’t ask about them, did he?” I rake my fingers through her hair, and any earlier irritation I felt evaporates away. I know she’s trying to protect Oliver, same as me. And I know her methods are better. I know that.
I still feel it, though. The killing moon’s icy pull across the water. My fingers flex against her scalp.
“I’ll wear a scarf,” Chloe signs. “So they won’t see. That’s if they even talk to me. Which they might not. They’ll just send someone to check on Oliver’s house. If there’s anything suspicious, they’ll take care of it.”
I keep petting Chloe’s hair, relishing the silk of it against my fingers. She’s too naive if she thinks it’s going to work that way. But I know my way has its flaws, too.
Part of me wishes I could just gather up both of them and take them far, far away from here. It surprises me how vividly I can picture it. I don’t leave my territory unless I absolutely have to. And I would never abandon it like that.
Except maybe I would. For them.
Chloe and I stare at each other while Oliver’s pen scratches across the paper.
“Oliver!” Chloe calls out. “Oliver, could you come in here for a sec?”
I sense his hesitation. I sense his sorrow, too, how he wants to curl into himself, and it makes my heart feel weak and fragile, like it felt when I was a boy.
But the scratching stops, and his footsteps echo softly against my old creaky floorboards. He stops in the doorway of the kitchen and stares up at us.
“Hey.” Chloe kneels in front of him and signs the rest. “Theo and I were talking, and we think it’s best if I call someone to come talk to your parents. Someone from the government.”
Oliver flicks his eyes over to me. “I want to stay here,” he signs. “With Theo. My parents won’t come looking.”
Chloe looks back at me, her eyes big and imploring.
“Chloe’s right,” I say, even though I don’t want to. “If you’re missing, this is the first place they’ll check.”
Oliver ducks his head down, looking at the floor. Then he signs, “Who are you going to call?”
“People who can help,” Chloe says, speaking the words so that he looks up at her. “It’s their job to help kids like you,” she signs. “And I’ll be right next door the whole time. I’ll give you my number so you can call or text me if you need to, okay?”
Oliver nods.
“There’s just one thing. You have to keep Theo a secret.”
Oliver looks up at me again. He doesn’t seem upset by these instructions. “Because they won’t understand,” he says to me. “Right?”
“Yes.” I give him a smile, trying to be like Chloe—sweet and understanding and not burning alive with the need to slaughter everyone who has ever hurt him.
“Remember when you first visited me? And I said no one could come into my territory because it—” I glance at Chloe, who’s watching my hands intently.
“Because I’m a ghost and it would be dangerous for them? ”
Oliver nods.
“Well, if you tell these people Chloe calls about me, they’ll want to come over here.” My heart hammers in my chest. Each beat sounds like the word blood. Oliver blinks at me, and I hope that’s good enough. I don’t know if I can say much more.
“And since they’re trying to help you,” Chloe says, “Theo wants to make sure they don’t get hurt. Right, Theo?”
She and Oliver both look at me. I nod, trying to fight against the buzzing in my veins.
“Okay,” Oliver says. “Even though it won’t help. They won’t believe them.”
“Won’t believe who?” Chloe says gently.
“My parents,” Theo signs. “People always believe my parents, and not me.”
The rage flares like a fire doused with gasoline. But Chloe reaches over and pulls Oliver into a hug.
“I believe you,” she whispers. “So does Theo. And so will the people we call. I promise.”