Chapter 14
Wyatt
Alice makes this terrible disapproving face, and for half a second I feel a little bad.
But then I realize that while she’s wise to a lot of what’s happening here, it’s all just theory to her.
She’s never seen one of Them. When she comes close to one—and she will sooner than she’d probably prefer—I think she’ll get it.
Besides, there’s no use sugarcoating much of anything for Alice Blythe.
I want her to know exactly who we are and what we do here.
I saw her getting comfy with me in the truck, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I liked it.
But if there’s even a hair’s breadth of a chance that she won’t run off at the first redcap sighting, she has to know the truth of things.
Nikhil jogs toward us as we head out, his long legs swishing with the sound of his track pants.
He’s got his hair in a bun, and he looks a little like a romance hero.
For the first time in my life, I feel a little nervous about what a woman might think about another man.
The deep voice, with which he booms, “Widow Harkness said you wanted to talk?” doesn’t make me feel any better.
Alice stands next to me, stony-faced, not sparing even a glance for Nik. I try not to smile. She’s obviously still mad at me. Instead, I clear my throat. “You were one of the last to see the most recent missing hikers, weren’t you? Can you tell us anything about them?”
Nik frowns. “Were they white people dressed up like equestrians?”
I shrug. There’s a touch of a smile on Alice’s lips. Either she’s warming up in general, or to Nik. I try not to wonder which.
Nik shakes his head. “They all look alike to me. Sorry.”
Alice snickers as Nik jogs back the way he came. Does he have to run everywhere like he’s in an episode of Baywatch? I think to myself.
“C’mon,” I finally say. “We can pass out the iron while you decide how much you’re gonna hate me for letting innocent leafers get snatched by the Hunt.”
She makes a hateful little face at me, and I can’t help but think that if she’d just eaten the burrito, she might be in a better mood by now, but a hangover’s a hangover.
I whistle for Fern, who’s refereeing a game of stickball with a bunch of kids in the field out back.
The kids all groan when they hear me, and my little girl takes a victory lap around the bases before she trots up to us and shoves her head right under Alice’s hand.
Alice’s eyes soften for a moment, until she remembers she’s supposed to be angry with me. She glares again to strengthen her resolve, I reckon, but when I walk, she walks. We’re quiet as we skirt up and down the streets, following the list we were given.
She doesn’t say much, but I notice with each house we go to, with each door that opens with welcome and thanks, that she mellows more and more.
She sees what I hoped she would—that Blackbird Hollow is special.
It’s not that we don’t have our troubles and petty grievances.
We do, but in times like this, we sure as shit pull together and take care of our own.
We always have, and as long as I have something to say about it, as long as Cade and Fallon and the coven do, we always will.
Lizzie Bishop comes walking towards us, a redheaded witch of about sixteen. She waves at me and blushes, giving Alice a bit of the stink-eye. Someone’s already been out to hang the rowan boughs on all the fences on Whitethorn Drive, but Lizzie’s job is to activate them.
I nudge Alice with my elbow. “You wanted to see magic. Watch Lizzie work.”
Alice glares at me again, reminding me so much of Fallon flirting that I almost laugh.
But that might hurt her dignity, and I might be wrong and that would hurt mine, so I don’t tease her.
At any rate, she does as I ask, watching as Lizzie trails a hand through the dried rowan as she walks, humming an arcane folk song as she goes.
The boughs green up. They don’t exactly come alive again, but their faded colors glow with vibrancy, with magic.
But I don’t watch that. I’ve seen it before, and I’ll see it again.
I watch Alice’s hazel eyes get big, and her pretty mouth falls open.
She’s got a young look to her face, countered by those old-soul kaleidoscope eyes, but at this moment, she could be the same age as Lizzie. Something in my heart aches for her.
She looks up at me and shakes her head a little, clearly working through some complicated shit in her head. “I think I get it.” Fern sits on her foot, pushing her big old head into Alice’s hip, grinning like a fool. Alice scratches her chin, almost absently, repeating, “Yeah, I think I get it.”
Lizzie nears us, sticking her tongue out at Alice rather pointedly as she approaches. She stops near me, blushing again. “Are you going to the Hallows party?”
I smile as gently as I can. “Probably, but you’re not old enough for that shindig.”
“I will be soon,” Lizzie replies. “Just two more years.”
“That you will. You bring your beau with you then, and I’ll drink a beer with ’em and give all the standard warnings about breaking your heart.”
Disappointment shines in Lizzie Bishop’s eyes, but she nods. “Good enough, then.” She glares again at Alice, saying, “Are you staying for that, or are you too Big City for such nonsense?”
Alice raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t been invited to any parties, so I guess not.”
Lizzie smiles like the cat who swallowed a whole damn flock of canaries and sidesteps Alice deftly, humming happily as she continues on.
“Well,” Alice breathes. “I think I know where I stand with her.”
I snicker a little. She doesn’t actually sound too put out.
“You can come to the party,” I say as we turn back toward the town hall and my truck.
“It’s a dress-up affair, out in the woods.
Big bonfire. Lots to drink.” Alice grimaces, and I add, “You’ll probably lose the headache by then, Blythe. Take heart.”
Alice Blythe sticks her tongue out at me, just like Lizzie did to her, and she and Fern march ahead, leaving me in their dust.
When we get back to the truck, Alice ravages her burrito while I check in with the coven.
As expected, when I return, she seems to have regained some equilibrium.
She’s got the truck windows rolled down.
She and Fern look to be communing with the breeze, their chins tipped into the autumn air as I walk up.
There’s a faint smell of caramel apples on the wind.
“Better?” I ask, feeling tentative as I lean against the side of the truck to peer in at her.
Alice nods, but there’s no quick joke. She actually looks a little sick, and I wonder for a moment if the burrito went wrong in her stomach.
But then she speaks. “My parents check in every few days, and they’ll worry if I don’t respond,” she says, her eyes shining with worry.
“Should I use the café at the Archer Inn?”
I do a couple of quick calculations in my head. We’re a little close to the full moon for my comfort, but it’s high noon—and I’d rather she not use the internet at the Archer this time of year. After every tourist season, Cade has to go through a whole rigamarole of debugging the internet café.
Whether it’s Sector or some corporate goofball trying to track spending habits in small towns, there’s always some issue I don’t want Alice tied up in. Especially not now that she’s “all in,” as she says.
“You up for meeting the last Hayes spawn?” I ask. “My little brother’s got the only other internet in town outside of tribal lands.”
Alice gives me a surprisingly sweet smile for the morning we’ve had, but I’ve lived with Fallon Hayes my whole damn life. I know better than to trust sweet smiles. “That sounds great.”
I want to ask what she’s thinking as I climb in the truck, but I also know better than to ask questions that I’ll get lies for answers in response. Alice is allowed to be mad that I’d let tourists die, rather than my own people. If I were her, I’d probably be mad too.
There’s not much reason to go this way, but I take Main Street out of town on a whim.
Maybe I just want to remind Alice that Blackbird Hollow is special again.
This time of year, downtown is especially charming.
All the shops have their front windows decorated with seasonal wares, window boxes overflowing with bright chrysanthemums and sweet potato vine.
There’s little kids everywhere as we make our way down Main Street. The rush on Halloween costumes has begun, so everyone’s out settling theirs, and between that and the leafers, downtown is crowded. I keep my eyes locked on the road, thinking this was probably a mistake.
But then Alice leans forward, right as I slow for the last stop sign before the turnoff to Cade’s. She makes this terrible little noise, and before I know it, she’s out of the truck, Fern following close behind with a displeased growl that’s not about Alice leaving the vehicle.
“Shit,” I swear, throwing the truck into park, despite the fact that in exactly thirty seconds, traffic’s gonna pile up behind me. As I push my door open, I see what’s got both Alice and Fern all riled up.
Five-year-old Belle Laveau is slumped over on the sidewalk, clutching a skinned knee, weeping silently, her angelic obsidian ringlets practically vibrating with her quiet sobs.
Fern growls again, and Alice points half a block up the sidewalk.
Even through her pain, little Belle knows better.
She grabs onto Alice’s arm and shakes her head.
“We don’t point,” the little witch says as I jog over, shaking her head in a schoolmarmish fashion that makes her look about thirty-five. “Outsiders think it’s cursing.”
Alice puts her hand down immediately, but the glare she shoots at the couple walking away is venomous. “They didn’t even notice that they knocked her over,” she hisses.