Chapter 10
Wyatt
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Alice’s cheeks pink up, and something base stirs in me.
I draw my arm back. I overcompensated when she commented on the scars.
Went too far in one direction, and now we’re both backed into corners we’ll have to fight our way out of if someone doesn’t turn this boat around.
This isn’t the kind of thing I’m any good at, but since I’m the one who took things too far, I’ll have to shift direction. I clear my throat. “By which I mean, you should be a little more careful. I’m guessing you’ve had run-ins with Sector before?”
The wheels in her head are turning. That much is clear. She’s trying to get her footing back, too. Finally, after a long moment, she nods. “Yeah. I have a baking blog they don’t like.”
I’ve heard plenty about this kind of thing, but never had occasion to make use of it myself.
That’s more Cade’s area—computers and codes, people using the internet to bring back old-style blogs that communicate secret messages with out-of-print books as a key.
Still, I’m pleased I know something about what she’s talking about. “Joy of Cooking or The Candy Cookbook?”
Alice’s left eyebrow quirks upward, a glimmer in her eyes. “Joy of Cooking. The Candy Cookbook’s rare.”
I feel the smirk crawl over my face as I reach for the bookshelf without looking. I know right where it is and pull a stained copy of the 1924 edition of The Candy Cookbook from my shelf.
Alice’s eyes light up like a Solstice tree. “Can I see it?”
“Sure.” I hand it over to her, not sure what she can do with it. Cade’s got the only internet connection around here, except at the Archer Inn’s fancy coffee shop. We don’t broadcast that type of information, though, and I’m sure not gonna tell her.
But she just flips through it, smiling faintly like she’s seen an old friend. When she closes it, she offers it back to me. “Sector confiscated mine a while back.”
Not a few years back, or a few months. A while. Purposely vague. She knows what she’s doing, but she’s missing pieces. Forbidden hope flickers in my chest, but I push it back.
The woman’s a conspiracy theorist, a grad student. She could be useful, but that’s it. That has to be it. Hardly anybody gets drawn into Blackbird Hollow’s web of magic. Expecting Alice Blythe to be one of the few who might stay is foolishness.
With that bit of depressing practicality, I blow out a breath. “Couple of goons in bad suits?”
“Yep.” She bites her lower lip, those kaleidoscope eyes of hers glimmering with amusement. “Do they get them at the same place?”
She doesn’t laugh at her own joke, but I do. “Fallon’s got words about that, too. Something about how they all fit poorly.”
Alice goes ahead and laughs. “They do.”
It’s nice to see her relaxing a little. “Well, that’s one version of Sector. They’re a bit of misdirection most of the time.”
Alice’s eyes are avid now, and she hands the book back to me. I shelve it and gesture for her to join me in the kitchen, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. She takes them from me, expertly popping the tops off both as we head out to the back porch.
Alice settles into one of my chairs with a contented sigh, looking out toward the river and Big Hill. “What a view.” I nod, glad she likes the view—and the chairs I built—for reasons I won’t name. “A bit of misdirection?”
I hum in the affirmative. “The ones you’ve gotta watch out for are nobody. Unnoticeable folk that no one pays attention to. Or sometimes they’re annoying. The type that makes mundane trouble wherever they go.”
To her credit, Alice stays quiet, absorbing the information I offer her.
When she leaves Blackbird Hollow, I want her to take something useful away from all this.
Because she will leave. They all leave, eventually.
But she’s worked out this much on her own, and that’s a lot.
With Caden’s current level of unreliability, we could use some help from someone with a formal background in research.
It’s inconvenient to have to drive out to the university for help.
You keep telling yourself that’s why you want her to stay, a voice in my head says in that acerbic tone that sounds like Mama.
Best to ignore that shit. “You’ve been right about a lot, Blythe.
” And suddenly I’m calling her by her last name, like she’s one of us, just to spite the leftovers of Mama in my head.
“If you and Fallon get on alright, we could use an extra hand with what’s going on here. You up for that?”
Alice Blythe’s grin is like the sun coming up on a bright spring morning. “Absolutely,” she says, clinking her bottle against mine.
Luckily, Fallon had all the supplies for making chili in her fridge, because she sure as shit wasn’t here to make it when we arrived.
Alice and I are halfway through a bottle of one of Fallon’s best reds when she and Fern blow in.
My sister’s eyes narrow when she spots the bottle, but she swipes it off the table and heads for the stairs.
“Clean the pupper’s paws off,” she calls from the top of the stairs. “She’s muddy.”
I wait for a count of ten and clean off Fern’s paws—letting the depths of my frustration with my sister rise and fall.
But it’s something deeper than irritation building in me as I listen to the sound of Fallon’s footsteps moving around upstairs.
Most everyone in Blackbird Hollow tolerates her moods because she’s the one you call when there’s a problem with Them, and there’s never been an instance where she hasn’t solved said problem.
I’ve failed plenty of times, and so has Cade, but Fallon’s a sure thing, and it gets her pretty far around here.
It’s been years since I had to introduce her to anyone new, to anyone that mattered, and it feels like this might matter.
A glance across the kitchen table reveals that Alice is positively unbothered…
by Fallon, at least. She’s dealing with the fact that Fern has placed her muddy paws directly into her lap and is currently licking Alice’s face. Every muscle in my body freezes.
Fern is not a friendly dog. She’s not aggressive by any means, but she takes a while to warm up to new folks.
When Alice grabs her by the face to tell her she’s the cutest baby puppy in the whole world, my mouth falls open into a gaping void.
My sister, of course, reappears in the kitchen at just that moment, dressed in old sweatpants and the Nirvana T-shirt with all the holes.
Fallon lets out a low whistle. “Well, you’re right at home here, aren’t you, Ms. Blythe?”
I’ve heard Fallon use nastier tones—this one’s just dry—but inwardly I wince, waiting for Alice to snap back. She’s got a tongue like a knife, and if there was ever going to be a clash between women, it would be between these two.
But Alice surprises me. Something in her eyes softens as she watches Fallon cross her arms over her chest. It’s a subtle enough change in her demeanor, but Fallon sees it too, and her shoulders hunch up tighter.
Alice lets out a slow breath, stares up at the ceiling, and lets out the weirdest non sequitur I’ve ever heard: “I got kicked out of grad school for punching a rich douche-canoe.”
Fallon nods once, her mouth turning down in a stalwart fashion. “Most excellent. Red or white next?”
“Red, I think,” Alice replies, draining the rest of her glass.
Fern lies on the floor at Alice’s feet, her tail thumping three times as she smiles at me.
Damn dog probably thinks she brokered a genuine peace treaty here in the kitchen.
And, fuck, what do I know? Maybe she did—whatever happened, Alice is up from her chair, tasting the chili, and the two of them have pushed me aside, moving around one another like they’ve known each other for years.
Something fragile and warm sinks deep within me.
I take down another bottle of red from the rack above the ancient fridge and get to work opening it and pouring everyone another glass.
By the time I get that done, the chili’s served.
The three of us eat in relative quiet, Fern flopping heavily on the floor under the old walnut table.
When our bowls are clean, Fallon pours us each another glass of wine. “So what’s your story, Alice?”
Alice takes a long drink, then shrugs. “The usual. Mom’s a postal worker, dad’s a factory foreman. They went on a retirement trip around the world and I went to grad school—I’ve got an MA in folklore already, and I was in for a PhD in extraterrestrial biology.”
She’s playing things close to the vest, which I like. Not too many details, but enough that it’s easy to see she’s being earnest. I clear my throat. “And you have a theory that They are conspiring to make it look as though Their activities are of extraterrestrial origin, correct?”
Alice swallows a bit hard, the only crack in her armor. “Yeah. I do. That’s why I’m here.”
Fallon raises an eyebrow, and to my sister’s credit, she doesn’t so much as smirk.
It hits me: she thinks it’s a smart theory.
And I do too. Alice is so close to the truth, but since she’s only ever read about Them, as far as I know, she’s got it turned wrong-side-down.
Though I’ve got things to say, I let Fallon handle this.
It’ll save time in the end to let her lead.
“What made you think that?” Fallon asks, her voice soft and young-sounding. “What about Their biology suggests extraterrestrial life?”
Alice’s mouth screws up at one corner. “How much biology have you had?”
Fallon and I both shrug, but I answer, “High school. Neither of us went to college.”
“And I don’t remember a godsdamn thing,” Fallon says before taking a drink of her wine.
She pulls her legs up in her chair, and it strikes me how young she looks.
There’s a vulnerability in my sister’s eyes that pulls at my heartstrings.
I hadn’t realized she felt insecure about the fact that she didn’t go to college ’til now.
We sent Cade, because the kid was so book-smart from the beginning, but neither of us ever saw it as an option for ourselves.
Alice’s eyes do that softening routine again.
She likes Fallon, I realize. My heart does a triple flip.
Almost nobody likes Fallon the first time they meet her.
When Alice continues, her voice is even.
“Well, the particulars don’t really matter much, but there are plenty.
The bottom line is that any organic matter we’ve found of…
” She pauses—rethinking her words, I guess.
“Of Theirs isn’t consistent with anything we’ve concretely identified from Earth. ”
Fallon and I nod at the same time. She gives me a half-grin, then turns a full-watt smile on Alice, her head falling back in laughter. “That’s fucking amazing,” she says when she’s done having a chuckle. “I’d love to hear more about that later.”
Slowly, Alice smiles. “You would?”
It occurs to me that she got sort of thrilled when I didn’t think she’d emptied out her drawer o’ marbles earlier. Has no one ever taken her seriously before? I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable in the old wood chair.
“Yeah,” Fallon says. “If you can be patient with me, I’d love to know what some of the particulars are.” Alice nods, but there’s a question in her wide eyes. She wants to know if she’s right. Fallon sighs. “You’re almost there. Like ninety-nine percent right.”
Alice throws herself back in the chair in mock frustration, but there’s a smile on her face, those pretty eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What’d I miss?”
Fallon looks at me and gestures, go ahead. I lean back in my chair a little. “I doubt They care much one way or another about what we think of Them—besides, They’re not organized enough to coordinate any kind of conspiracy.”
Alice leans forward now, shaking her head. “Of course. Sector?”
Fallon does finger guns at Alice. “You got it.”
Alice bites her bottom lip, then stares at the ceiling for a moment. “Not organized enough… What level of intelligence are we talking about?”
My mouth just about gapes. She’s not missing a beat. It’s as though she’s been waiting to have this conversation for years. And then it hits me: she has. She’s been looking for the answers we can give her for a long time.
“A lot of Them are about as smart as a mundane dog or cat,” Fallon answers. “But others—”
“Are They as smart as humans?” Alice asks, her entire posture alight with interest now.
“Lots are probably smarter,” I offer. “But none of Them think the same as us.” Alice frowns, clearly confused. If she stays, she’ll see soon enough. “It’s like they have the most intense case of ADHD you’ve ever seen.”
Fallon nods. “That’s a good way to explain it. It’s like they can’t remember where they put their favorite unicorn mug for the life of ’em. Or they’re so hyper-focused they haven’t peed in eight hours.”
“Not that she has personal experience or anything,” I say.
“Fuckable or not?” Alice shoots.
Fallon points at her with one spindly finger. “Mostly not, but if you could, you shouldn’t.”
Alice blows out a breath. “All those romantasy books I read were wrong then.”
The kitchen goes dead silent for a second, and then Fallon and Alice laugh the exact same laugh. Which makes them both laugh harder. For fuck’s sake, it’s like a pair of soulmates.
For a moment, I’m filled with envy—but I can’t tell if I’m jealous that Alice isn’t on my exact wavelength or if it suddenly feels like I’m not my sister’s best friend anymore.
Maybe it’s both, but I don’t have time to tell.
The feeling dissolves as quickly as it came, replaced by the odd sensation that we’re all exactly where we’re supposed to be.
So I laugh with them. And it feels so good, I don’t want it to stop. I wish Cade were here, but maybe we’ll do this again on Sunday. An ache in my chest peeks out from the shadows. I didn’t even know I wanted this, for our little trio to grow.
For there to be more family—more love. I’m getting ahead of myself again. Alice has been here three seconds, and I’ve turned her into family. What in the world is wrong with me?
Fallon goes suddenly serious as our laughter dies down. “We’ve got a big problem.” The smile falls off Alice’s face. “The Wild Hunt is almost certainly headed our way.”
“How do you know?” Alice breathes.
Fallon’s eyes slide to mine. “Hellhounds in the woods today.”
I push a hand through my hair, closing my eyes. “Well, fuck. That’s gonna ruin trick-or-treating.”