Chapter 12
Wyatt
As I walk through the kitchen, the two of them stay at the table, cackling like old biddies.
Honestly don’t think either one noticed or cared that I’m headed out.
I pull the phone tree off its designated corner of the pinboard by the phone, moving it to front and center.
Fallon has some calls to make later. Or, from the sounds of things, tomorrow morning.
Fern lifts her head to give me a long, steady look that tells me she’s got my girls under her watchful eye before tucking herself back in under my sister’s chair.
My girls.
I’ve got to get the hell out of here.
Now.
When I’ve got my feet solid on the front porch, I take a couple of shallow breaths, then one deep one.
My mind’s gone topsy-turvy, and I need to get it right before I head out.
When I don’t feel like I’m about to do something rash—like ask Alice Blythe to go steady with me after fifth period—I reach underneath the big bent-willow couch.
There’s three Winchester rifles strapped underneath, just in case. I take one.
I flip the radio on as soon as I get back in the truck and switch over to the college station.
It’s just about Johnny Cash hour over there, and I could use a little of the Man in Black.
When the first few notes of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” play, I shut the radio off.
I don’t need even a vague reference to the Hunt right now.
It’s a long ride to the Stardust in silence, but I should keep my eyes on the road anyway.
The front office is dark when I pull up, and I’m glad to see Marion’s gone home. I pull a key from the butthole of one of Marion’s plastic flamingos and step inside. Before I touch a thing, I dial the proprietress herself at home.
She answers on the first ring. “Wyatt Hayes, what are you up to?”
It takes me a split second to remember that all members of the tribe have more advanced security than the rest of us before I turn and wave at the camera in the far corner. “Hey, wanted to tell you what Fallon spotted out in the woods.”
“Wanda just called,” she interjects.
“Fallon’s on the horn, then,” I reply.
“On the horn?” Marion sighs. “Criminy, Wyatt. Are you a ninety-year-old man, or what?”
I chuckle. “At least I’m not throwing ‘criminy’ around.”
“Touché, big dog,” she replies. We could go on all night, but Marion adds, “Don’t worry about us—we’re already on it.”
Relief floods me. Not that I expected anything different, but I always worry ’til we have our bases covered. “Glad to hear it. I’m here to pick up Alice Blythe’s things.”
“That’s what Wanda told me.” Sometimes that damn phone tree is a curse, not a blessing. “You can grab the keys. Thanks for not jimmying the lock.”
“No problem.” I laugh, but there’s not much joy in the sound. My feelings are all twisted up at the moment.
Marion hangs up without saying goodbye, which she’s done since we were in seventh grade. She saw it in an old movie or something and has done it ever since. Sometimes it’s a kindness. I grab the master key from behind Marion’s desk and lock the office up on my way out.
The air in the parking lot has the kind of deep, damp cold to it that seeps straight into your bones.
A thick mist crawls out of the forest, which isn’t unusual this time of year, but neither is it welcome.
I move slowly, scanning the woods for anything out of place.
The neon sign in the parking lot pulses erratically, and I take a sidestep toward my truck.
When the High Courts walk, They disturb electricity—it’s one of the things that modern folk attribute to the dead that actually has a far more sinister origin.
I grab the rifle from under my front seat and slide the old leather strap over my chest. Silver bullets won’t kill one of the High, but they’ll sting enough to let me escape.
I soften my footfalls as I approach Alice’s hotel room.
The air is far too quiet. The night’s usual symphony has gone silent since I stepped into the office.
Yet another bad sign. It isn’t that I don’t trust Fallon’s perception of the evidence, but my training kicking in.
The hedgerider way is to double—if not triple—confirm all signs of Them before acting.
Fallon made the sighting, but Cade or I will confirm.
When I’m across the parking lot, the sound of a car coming toward me from up the highway has me hustling into Alice’s room.
When I’ve got the door locked, I don’t turn the lights on, but watch and wait.
Sure enough, headlights from the black sedan swing into the parking lot.
I sit down on the bed, next to Alice’s bags, which are right where she said they’d be.
Might as well see what can be seen of the Sector goons.
The sedan’s headlights shut off, and the agents get out of the car. One is chattering on about the spaghetti at the diner being the best he’s ever had, while the other nods. Neither spares a glance for the sign, nor the mist. These two have the observational skills of a pair of bowling balls.
Fucking Sector. Half of their so-called agents couldn’t fight their way out of a soaking wet cardboard box.
Anything comes out of the woods to snatch them, and I swear I’m gonna let them get gobbled up.
But nothing jumps out as they make it safely to their pair of rooms and exchange a brisk good-night.
The lights on the front of the building flicker, going a pale green.
That’s not great, but we’re in the thick of it now and I can’t afford to slow down.
The tension leaves my shoulders—somehow, I’m always calmest in what Wanda calls “one of our situations.” I get to checking the drawers and under the bed.
Alice said she didn’t do any unpacking, but I like to be sure.
I also want to be sure that Sector didn’t stick their fingers into her business while she was out.
I know how they like to drop little devices here and there.
As I pass the desk, the phone catches my eye.
I pick it up and call Cade. He answers after a few rings, and I’m happy to hear him sounding sober and alone. “Did Fallon call?”
“Hello, Caden—how ya doin’, kid? Well, good evening, Wyatt, I’m rather disturbed by the news of hellhounds in the forest. How about you?”
My brother, the smartass. “Glad you’ve been informed of our situation. See you Sunday.”
“Wyatt, hang on…” Cade pauses.
“What?” I ask, impatient to be gone. I stretch the long cord into the bathroom, where I check the sink and the medicine cabinet.
“Oh, nothing.” My little brother laughs. “I just didn’t want you to hang up on me.”
I laugh along with him, not because it’s particularly funny, but because it’s good to hear him sound so normal. I shut the medicine cabinet, catching three pairs of glowing red eyes in the reflection.
“Fuck,” I swear under my breath. “Fuck.”
Cade sucks in a breath on the other end of the phone. We’ve worked together our whole lives. I trained him. He doesn’t need specifics to know when shit’s gone bad. “You got silver on you?”
“Yeah,” I growl, cradling the receiver between my ear and shoulder to pull my rifle into position, aiming through the thin glass of the bathroom window.
I get a good look at the thing now. Hellhounds are rangy, sleek things, with six fiery eyes and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.
Bit like a wolf, a lot like something else nobody’s ever seen walk this Earth.
I stare back at the otherworldly being that has its sights set on me, but then it turns and lopes off into the trees, a white scar flashing on its shoulder.
“It saw me,” I breathe, “and then just…left.”
Caden hums a little, and there’s the sound of ruffling paper that’s likely his notebook.
“Yeah, I’ve been picking up some chatter about that on the darknet.
Hedgeriders all over have reported that when they’ve encountered the Hunt lately, it seems like They almost purposely avoid them. Like They’re hiding something.”
I let out a dismissive hiss. “That’s attributing too much to Them, don’t you think?”
Caden grumbles a little before reasoning, “The Hunt is an instrument of the High Courts, Wyatt. We don’t have any clue what They’re up to.”
They’re up to nothing more than planning macabre parties and fucking each other’s brains out, but I’m not gonna dissuade Caden from this particular notion.
Some scholar amongst the hedgeriders always has a thesis going about the High Courts and Their shenanigans, but it pans out the same each time.
“The High are planning a fête and need human eyeballs to freeze for ice cubes”—or some other gruesome thing.
Undoubtedly, there’s something deeper brewing somewhere under the hill, but I doubt very much that the Courts care one way or another about it past Their endless, spiteful politicking.
Caden and I stand on opposite sides of this debate, and that is as it should be.
Disagreeing helps us see the full potential in any situation we get into with Them.
It’s kept us alive all these years, and we’re a pretty good team. In my mind, Alice slips neatly into things, somewhere between Fallon’s ability with strategy and Cade’s with research, and I can see how she just might fill in all the cracks that the three of us can’t quite manage on our own.
“Earth to Wyatt,” my brother practically shouts. “I asked if you were okay.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Just fine. Headed out now. Stay in tonight, alright?”
“I’m not so foolish as to think I can take a hellhound on my own, big brother,” Cade replies, before adding, “Careful on your way home.”
“Yep,” I agree and hang up.
When I pull up to the house, Fern’s lying on the couch in the front room, her chin perched on the back so she can see outside. She woofs softly a couple of times as I get out. A greeting, not a warning, thankfully.