Chapter 32
Wyatt
Mrs. Cheng is chatting me up something fierce.
Telling me all about how she likes the looks of Alice Blythe, that it’s time I settle down and get married, have a baby Hayes or ten.
She actually suggests that Alice and I need to have at least ten babies, and it takes a whole mess of effort to keep from laughing.
It’s best to take Mrs. Cheng seriously. She’s fierce as all get out, and I do actually value her opinion on most things. But ten babies sounds like a lot.
“It’s not as if you’d have to have them all at once,” she says with a sly smile as she places the bag with the s’mores supplies on the counter.
“You pulling my leg, Mrs. C?” I ask.
The woman reaches up, lifting onto her hot-pink tippy-toes, and pinches my cheek. “Every time I get the chance, kiddo.”
A lump forms in my throat. I pat her hand. “Thanks for that.”
She nods. There’s a faint sound of voices out back, so slight I might not have noticed them if Mrs. Cheng was playing her usual nineties alt-rock playlist. But tonight, it’s quiet, and I hear the tone, though not the words, and I don’t like it one bit.
Mrs. Cheng hears them, too, and pulls what might be conservatively termed a bazooka from under the counter.
“Blackstone?” I ask.
Mrs. Cheng winks at me as we move toward the back room. There’s a secret door that pops out just down from the ice machine, obscured by a giant lilac bush that Mrs. Cheng has lovingly tended to for nearly twenty years.
I shake my head. “Not you too. Can’t anyone in this town buy arms from someone who isn’t a total sleaze?”
“He’s got the best guns,” Mrs. Cheng assures me. “And a cute butt.”
I sigh deeply. Women who outwit me at every turn, Fey-fucking jokes, and warlock arms dealers with cute butts—this is my life. There’s no point in telling Mrs. C to stay inside. She won’t. Plus, I’m not completely opposed to having backup.
As we near the door, the sound of voices gets louder, and I can hear my girl sounding less than pleased.
“This door gonna squeak when I open it?” I whisper to Mrs. Cheng.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Who’re you talking to, Middle Hayes? I am the queen of WD-40,” she snaps.
Mrs. Cheng hasn’t called me “Middle Hayes” since I was little.
Makes me feel like I’ve got a mom on my side.
Mrs. Cheng lost all her kids, in an incident she won’t discuss, before she came here—but, unlike my own mother, she’s got an instinct for parenting.
I think she’d be a mom no matter what happened to her in life.
“Alrighty, then,” I whisper and push the door open.
We step outside, and Mrs. Cheng shuts the door, silent as can be, behind us. We press ourselves against the brick wall, taking stock of what’s happening. From the sound of the conversation, it’s gotta be the Sector agent we’ve been calling Not-Cookie Grandma.
Mrs. Cheng peeks through what appears to be a peephole in her lilac bush. Of course she’s got a peephole in her landscaping. Why would I expect anything less? She throws up her hand, wiggling all five fingers. There’s at least five agents out there then. Great.
I hear the end of one of Alice’s sentences. “The Hedgerider Council—”
She sounds worried now. I nudge Mrs. Cheng out of the way so I can take a peek. There’s Not-Cookie-Grandma. I glare at her from Mrs. C’s peephole, then take stock of the agents. Two are pointing their guns wrong. One’s got the safety on still.
“Those old have-beens?” Not-Cookie-G laughs. “They’re all the way across an ocean, Alice. What do you think they’ll really be able to do? Do you think we haven’t killed hedgeriders before? Wiped entire towns just like this one off the map?”
She sounds fucking unhinged. But she’s wrong. Sector hasn’t done shit like that in nigh on thirty years. She’s lying to my sweet girl. Trying to scare her into giving up. Anger rises in me as she grabs Alice’s rifle and leans in to menace her. I’ll give it to the broad, she’s quick.
“Come with us, or you’ll see just how weak and useless a family like the Hayes really are.”
Alice laughs at the same time Mrs. Cheng and I do. Her words cover up the sound of us stifling our laughter. “For one last time, bitch. If you try to take me, you’ll find out exactly how terrifying the Hayes are.”
I smile to myself, warmth flooding me. That’s my girl.
Mrs. Cheng nods to me, and I step out first, aiming the salt-filled rifle at the back of the agent with a gun on Alice, the only one who’s got a chance of actually shooting her.
I point the muzzle at the back of his knees and pull the trigger.
The man goes down, howling like a baby as the salt sprays across his legs.
It’s gotta hurt like a son of a bitch. I kick his gun out of the way as the rest of the agents turn.
Alice’s eyes leap to mine. I smile at her. “You telling my baby lies, Agent NCG?”
The elder agent frowns at me, clearly trying to puzzle out what I’ve just called her. It gives Mrs. Cheng time to grab Alice’s arm and pull her back toward me, into the lilac bush. But the remaining agents and Not-Cookie-G advance toward us.
In one smooth motion, I swap guns with Alice. “Now, you know damn well that Sector hasn’t wiped shit off shit since Reformation was in its infancy. Let’s not overstate things.”
Not-Cookie-G glares at me, but then her mouth quirks into a smile. “Do you think you can shoot enough of us before we kill her?”
“Thought you were gonna kidnap me,” Alice hisses. “What happened to that?”
Not-Cookie-G shrugs. “You know what they say—if we can’t have you, nobody can.”
I suck in a breath of cold night air. It’s been a long fucking day, and I hate this shit.
I hate bandying idle threats and talking.
Because that’s what these threats are. Idle.
At the end of the day, maybe we got too good at hiding who we really are from Sector.
They sure do have an overblown idea of themselves, though.
My eye snags on the mist curling around the downed agent’s legs. He’s sobbing on the ground, but quietly at least. One second he’s there, whimpering away, and the next he’s gone, a bloody streak all that’s left. The sound of his screams disappears into the forest.
“Well, shit,” I mutter. “Looks like we’re gonna set fire to the raindrops.”
“That’s not how that song goes,” Not-Cookie snarls as six huge hellhounds step out of the forest. On each of Their backs rides a beautiful, naked woman.
Their limbs are far too long, Their skin the faintest shades of iridescent green in the moonlight.
Various leaves trail through Their long hair, eyes glowing fluorescent.
And when They see me, They all grin, looking like a pack of devils with Their sharp teeth.
“Wyatt Hayessss,” the nymphs murmur in unison. “You’ve brought the enemy to our door. We shall grant you a boon.”
Alice’s eyes light up, but Mrs. Cheng shakes her head, waggling her pointer finger at Them as dry leaves rustle around her feet, greening up in the presence of the forest Fey. “No boons.”
Soriya Cheng, a voice says as the biggest of the hounds steps forward, its jaw dripping with venom. It’s got a missing eye. The one from before. What are the Wild Hunt’s hellhounds doing here, with the Hunt already gone, being ridden like godsdamn horses by a half-dozen tree-nymphs? Go home, child.
I glance down at Mrs. Cheng, who grumbles, “I didn’t even get to shoot a dirty little Sector goofball.”
Another time, perhaps, the hound replies, its horrible voice almost affectionate. It tracks that Mrs. Cheng would have befriended an alpha hound. Rest well, dear one.
“Yeah, yeah, you too.” Mrs. Cheng shrugs as she pats my arm. She hands me her bazooka. “Put it back where it belongs when you’re done and lock up.”
“For heaven’s sake,” Not-Cookie snarls. “Is this what Blackbird Hollow’s best amounts to?”
Alice—my little shit starter—growls like a full-blown werewolf, shoots the agent aiming wrong in the leg with salt, and in a second, the nymphs are down off the hounds’ backs.
The forest looms closer than it should, the trees taller suddenly.
The air goes cold, the ice machine stops humming, the lights in the alley wink out.
The agents start to shoot, and I throw the bazooka at Alice. “Kill Not-Cookie.” She frowns for half a second. “It’ll be a blessing for her.”
Alice lifts the gun, and for an instant, Not-Cookie seems to understand just what a miscalculation she’s made. Hedgeriders aren’t at war with Them; we’re straddling the line between our worlds. Sector’s always confused us with Hunters. That’s the problem with letting incompetents run things.
The nymphs laugh, gleefully. “Kill her if you can, Alice Blythe,” They sing. “We’ll bring her back and suck her dry, feed her blood to our roots, her entrails to the wind.”
“Gross,” Alice whispers, then shrugs. “But y’know? Sure. Feed her entrails to the wind or whatever.”
One of the nymphs steps forward, touching Alice’s bazooka. Foxglove springs out of it. “Poison, just like you,” the creature whispers, admiration shining in her eyes. “I wager you taste like datura with a hint of salt.”
The nymph’s eyes slide to mine as the remaining agents begin to realize just how fucked they are.
The hounds are closing in on them, and Their rancid breath must be pouring down their necks.
The mist’s thicker than ever as the nymph that rendered Mrs. Cheng’s bazooka useless asks, “What does she taste like, Wyatt Hayes?”
I lower my gun and slide an arm around Alice’s waist. “She tastes like she’s mine.”
Alice’s fingers dig into my arm as the nymph’s lip curls slightly. Not-Cookie uses the moment to her advantage, drawing an enormous bowie knife from a sheath beneath her jacket. She shoves it through the nymph’s abdomen, and all hell breaks loose.