41 AURORA
“This is Cosmo Drakeward, leave a message.”
It’s completely disorienting to hear my brother’s voice through the scratchy speaker.
A man, who I presume is Tally’s dad by the similarity of their faces, follows the prompt. “Cosmo, it’s me—again. Call me back as soon as you get this. It’s urgent.”
I take another step forward into the room. “Hi.”
“Rory!” Tally shoots out of his chair, crossing to me in a couple of strides. “You shouldn’t be up. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, as the next second I’m twisted around and pulled tight against Francois.
“Chérie. You almost died. Maybe you did die. Sit, don’t be reckless.” Francois guides me onto the dining chair next to him.
Tally also sinks back down, as London finds a stool on the opposite side.
I’ve so many questions, but first I turn to Tally’s dad. “Hello, Mr. Bevan, I’m Aurora.”
He nods in return. “Miss Drakeward, glad to see you are feeling better.” There is something in his tone that I don’t understand. Is he angry with me? I guess I can’t blame him, we are a bunch of fugitives putting him and his wife at risk.
I look from him to Tally. “Why are you calling Cosmo?”
“To see if he can rally a raid on the trafficking strongholds we found,” he answers.
“Gods, yes. Those poor kids. He’s not answering?”
Mr. Bevan shakes his head. “I’ll try one of the others.”
Others?
I don’t understand why Tally’s dad has Cosmo’s cell number.
Cos keeps that detail to a very limited circle. “How do you know my brother?” I ask Mr. Bevan.
Tally’s dad doesn’t answer me, but my wolf lets out a deep sigh. “It’s a long fucking story, Rory.”
“And one that can wait,” Francois cuts in, his eyes darting toward the dark window. “Logistics take priority. It is not safe here for Aurora, or for any of us. We need to move to somewhere less obvious. We’re still wanted-criminals, lest anyone forget.”
“Your friend is right, son,” Tally’s dad replies. “Ashgrave police were out here just yesterday, I can’t believe they won’t be back again soon.” He pauses, frowning, then his face lightens slightly. “What about Miss Bernadette’s place?”
“I don’t see us being welcome there, Dad.”
“She died a couple of months ago, Son. Her double-wide is sitting entirely empty. It’s remote enough. And with nothing to harvest this time of the year, I can’t imagine anyone goes near the place.”
As they discuss, I look around the kitchen. It’s shabby and messy, and full of love and warmth. I lean closer to Francois and whisper in his ear. “Where’s Basil?”
“In the other room with Jim,” he replies, taking my hand in his while Tally and his dad continue their discussion.
“Bernadette’s place is on that little apple orchard towards the marsh, right, Dad?”
“That’s the one,” Mr. Bevan nods. “No mains water, but there’s a working well-pump and the propane heating tank was filled right before she passed. I know because your mom was up there, tending her through the passing.”
The mention of Tally’s mother makes the energy of the room shift again. Both Tally and his father look out the window, where the torrential rain is still lashing the glass in violent sheets. The anxiety in the room becomes suffocating. Mr. Bevan’s face is carved with worry.
“What am I missing?” I ask quietly.
No one answers me. Tally’s eyes are locked on the glass, his jaw rigid, while his dad looks down at the table.
London, whose faun-ears are twitching, makes a small sound. “They’re worried about the mum-bird. Maybe I should go sing to the stars, see if I can call her back?”
Mum-bird?
Before I can ask what that means, there’s a huge smashing sound. The windows rattle as something large crashes outside.
In the next second, London leaps from the stool, tackling me to the ground and shoving me under the table.
Tally and Francois are immediately on their feet. “Dad, stay back!”
Basil bursts into the room from another direction, clutching a fire-poker. “What is it?”
Another heavy bang echoes from beyond the front door, followed by a groan.
Pushing Tally to one side, Francois points at me. “Everyone hide. I’ll deal with this,” he hisses to the room.
Basil dives under the table, crouching in front of me with his poker. We’re ducked down behind the long tablecloth and can’t see anything.
I know when Francois opens the door, because the storm howls into the house, spraying freezing rain across the linoleum.
“IT’S SAFE,” he yells a moment later, slamming the door shut again.
Basil immediately shoots out, but it takes me longer to emerge.
I’m definitely not feeling one hundred percent.
I apparently nearly died? Or did die?
That’s something I’ll have to digest when I’ve more than a few seconds of peace and quiet. Finally straightening up, I see Francois supporting an older woman into the room. She’s wet, muddy and windswept, but wears the most serene expression.
The woman moves towards Tally’s dad. “Oh, Gareth. You can’t imagine.” She’s beaming. This has to be Mrs. Bevan. “I flew through the thunder, I played with the lightning. Oh, Gar, It was amazing.” She wraps her arms around the man as he struggles to move his walker.
“Opal,” he chokes out.
“Oh, gods, Mom…” Tally joins his parents in the embrace.
I stare at the three of them. There is something about Tally’s mom. It’s like I know her.
Or more exactly, like my body knows her.
Knows it was she who healed me.
Opal looks over Tally’s shoulder towards me, then smiles. Pushing her menfolk out of the way, she comes closer, holding out her arms. “Aurora,” she says, her voice warm and musical. “Child. Let me look at you.”
She takes my hands and cocks her head to one side. “Better. Much better.” Leaning in, she places a kiss on my cheek. “I am so very happy to have you in the family.”
That brings an instant lump to my throat. Yes, I’ve found a family with London, Tally and Francois. Layla, Sky, and now Basil—but a parental figure wants me?
I don’t even know how to comprehend that.
A shuffling footfall breaks my train of thought. In the doorway, another older man appears. He looks exhausted, and half-starved. A dark ring of bruises circle his throat.
When his tired eyes meet mine, he smiles tentatively. “Hello, miss. I’m Jim. I believe you’re friends with my daughter.”
“Daughter?”
“Layla.”
I instantly cross the room and wrap my arms tight around him, burying my face in his sweater. Layla’s dad! Somewhere along the way, the guys found him too!
Mrs. Bevan takes Jim by the arm. “Come and sit. You don’t look too steady.”
“Mom!” Tally exclaims. “We need to be looking after you, not the other way around.”
She laughs. “Son, I’ve never felt better!” Her face is beaming.
“I am most happy for your safe return, madam,” Francois says, a little awkwardly. “But we cannot stay. It is not safe.” He looks to the rest of us. “J'insiste that we take our leave as soon as possible.”
He insists?
How very Francois.
But I can’t say he’s wrong. “We’re putting your parents in danger, being here, aren’t we, Tally?”
My wolf nods. “Yes. We’ll go to Miss Bernadette’s, like you suggested, Dad. Mom, what supplies can we take?”
The next thirty minutes is a whirlwind that I mostly stay out of, instead, gently waking Sky, then waiting with her while everyone else does the work.
“Medical supplies,” Opal says, thrusting a chest at Basil. “And take one of the potato sacks from the barn, Tally.”
“The shotgun shells are in the china hutch, behind your mother’s tea set,” Mr. Bevan, who I’ve been told to call Gareth, is telling Tally.
Jim is in the hallway, phone pressed to his ear.
I only catch a snippet of his conversation over the bustle, but it’s obvious he’s talking to his wife. And that she is overcome to hear from him.
Francois is pawing through a tool box, though I’m not sure what he’s after, and London is carrying a pile of blankets and clothes.
Suddenly he stops, dropping everything on the floor.
“Wait, wait, wait! I have to go back to the Manor House. That little chicklette is still up a tree. If I don’t return, she’ll be stuck up there forever, like Jack with no beanstalk. ”
Francois slams the tool box shut. “Go back? Impossible.”
No. London’s right. Those poor girls.
“You go to Bernadette’s, Taliesin,” Gareth commands, making me realize that the Bevan bossiness didn’t fall far from the tree. “Jim, Opal and I will take care of the other victims. If I can’t reach Cosmo soon, I’ll contact the Unbound Resistance. They’ll rescue the rest of the girls.”
Yes! Thank Gods!
London grabs Gareth and plants a kiss on the top of his head. “Mr. Burly, senior. I wish I was the king, because if I were, my first order of business would be to knight you.”
As Gareth tries to brush London off, Tally starts drawing on a piece of paper.
“We left a tunnel under the perimeter on the west side, Dad. It’s a hundred yards out from the private road.
They can get in there. And let them know that the bitch that runs the place is dead.
The whole property will be a complete shitshow right now. ”
Gareth nods, looking at the scribbled map. “Yes, good. I’ll let them know. But you all really need to move. Sun up in a couple of hours, best to travel in the dark.”
London scoops up a still-groggy Sky. “Come on, little Skylight, I’ve made such a cozy nest for you in the boot.”
Francois grabs my hand, hardly giving me a chance to call out my goodbyes before dragging me through the freezing rain to the LandRover.
“BASIL?” I call out, looking around. A little head wearing goggles pokes out of the driver's seat.
“Get in the back,” Francois tells him. “Mon dieu!”
Tally slides in, starting the engine as Basil is still clambering over the seats. The urgency of suddenly needing to leave has affected us all.
With the headlights off, we bounce down the muddy farm track and out onto the side road. “You know where you’re going?” I ask Tally over the loud engine noise.
“Yeah, it’s only a few miles.”
I look out the rain-streaked window, watching the warm home disappear into the night. Far on the other side of the valley, the headlights of two vehicles are visible. I point them out. “Are they heading our way?”
“No,” Tally frowns. “Unless they turn off.” He guns the rover faster on the wet road.
I watch the tiny yellow lights in the distance until I can see them no longer.
They don’t head our way.
But that doesn’t mean we’re safe.
Not by a long chalk.