Chapter 13
Lisa decided Jake and Noah were leaving town for the weekend.
Jake objected.
Lisa packed his bag while he objected.
“I’m eighteen.”
“Congratulations.”
“You can’t ground an adult.”
“I’m not grounding you. I’m relocating you.”
“That sounds illegal.”
“You’re free to stay here with the dead birds and supernatural stalkers.”
Jake zipped the bag.
“When do we leave?”
Noah laughed from the doorway.
Sofia knew of an old family cabin two counties away.
“No electricity,” she warned.
Jake stared at her.
“No Wi-Fi?”
“No.”
“Hunters are one thing. This is barbaric.”
Noah shoved him toward the car.
The cabin sat beyond a gravel road, half hidden by sycamores and oak.
It was small but solid.
One bedroom.
One bed.
Jake noticed immediately.
Noah noticed Jake noticing.
Sofia noticed both of them.
“I can find another mattress.”
“No,” Jake and Noah said together.
Sofia smiled.
“Thought so.”
Jake’s face burned.
Noah growled.
Sofia looked delighted.
“Oh, he does that when he likes you.”
“Aunt Sofia.”
Jake pointed triumphantly.
“THANK YOU.”
Noah walked into the cabin and shut the door.
Sofia did not stay.
She drew a protective mark beneath the porch with chalk and crushed eggshell, left food, two candles, and a small pouch she told them not to open unless the protection line broke.
“What’s inside?”
“If I tell you, you’ll open it.”
“That is unfairly accurate.”
She looked at Noah.
“Call me if you smell smoke.”
Then Jake.
“If you hear someone you love calling from outside, do not answer.”
Jake’s humor disappeared.
“Even my mom?”
“Especially someone whose voice would make you open the door.”
Then she drove away.
Jake watched the taillights vanish.
“Well.”
Noah stood beside him.
“We’re alone.”
Jake looked at him.
A growl.
Jake smiled.
Noah pointed toward the cabin.
“Not one word.”
They spent the afternoon doing aggressively ordinary things.
Jake swept.
Noah found canned soup.
They argued about whether a spider large enough to pay rent should be evicted or killed.
They walked around the property before sunset.
Behind the cabin they found an old firepit and a tree with dozens of initials carved into its trunk.
Jake traced one pair.
R + D, 1987.
“Think they stayed together?”
Noah shrugged.
“I hope so.”
Jake looked at him.
“You’re secretly romantic.”
“I am not.”
“You believe in mates.”
“I believe wolves sometimes recognize people.”
“You kept my hoodie.”
“It was cold.”
“You wore it to my football game.”
Noah stared at him.
Jake smiled.
“Secretly romantic.”
Noah kissed him.
Jake considered that a concession.
After dark they lit a fire.
Noah sat between Jake’s knees with his back against Jake’s chest.
Jake had never done this with anyone.
Dating had always been easier in theory.
Girls he liked until they liked him back.
One disastrous sophomore-year kiss with a boy from another school that Jake had spent six months pretending had meant nothing because admitting otherwise required answering questions he was not ready for.
Noah knew that part now.
“You never told Marcus?” Noah asked.
“No.”
“Your mom?”
“She knows I like guys.”
“And girls?”
Jake shrugged.
“Sometimes. Apparently my type is mostly people who complicate my life.”
Noah leaned his head back against Jake.
“I’m honored.”
“You should be.”
Noah reached for his hand.
Jake threaded their fingers together.
No magic.
Still his favorite kind of connection.
Later, in the cabin, the single bed stopped being funny.
Jake stood on one side.
Noah stood on the other.
Both had changed into sleep clothes.
Jake cleared his throat.
“We’ve slept in the same bed.”
“You were on the floor.”
“Briefly.”
“After you made fun of me.”
“You pushed me.”
“You deserved it.”
Jake sat.
Noah sat too.
The mattress dipped toward the middle.
Their knees touched.
Jake looked at him.
“We don’t have to do anything.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Noah’s voice softened.
“Do you want to?”
Jake’s pulse jumped.
Noah heard it.
The growl came.
Jake smiled.
“Maybe eventually.”
Noah smiled too.
“Eventually is good.”
Jake kissed him.
They took their time.
Kissing.
Stopping.
Laughing when Jake’s elbow hit the wall.
Checking in.
Nothing needed to be proven.
When they finally fell asleep, Noah’s head rested on Jake’s chest and Jake’s hand lay over Noah’s wrist, directly above the black protection thread Sofia had tied there.
At two in the morning, Jake woke because someone was knocking on the cabin door.
Three taps.
Polite.
He opened his eyes.
Noah was already awake.
Three more.
Then Lisa’s voice came from outside.
“Jake?”
Every hair on his body rose.
“Jake, honey, open the door.”
Noah grabbed his hand.
Jake did not move.
His mother sounded cold.
Scared.
“Please.”
Jake’s eyes filled despite knowing it was not her.
The voice changed.
His father.
“Jake.”
Then Marcus.
“Dude, this isn’t funny.”
Then Coach.
Then a little girl Jake did not know.
Help me.
Noah whispered, “Don’t answer.”
The door shook.
The chalk line beneath it flashed pale white.
Jake stared.
For the first time, he actually saw magic.
Not a belief.
Not tarot symbolism.
Light.
The thing outside screamed.
The cabin windows rattled.
Then silence.
Jake and Noah did not sleep again.
At sunrise they opened the door.
Nothing stood outside.
But the earth beyond Sofia’s protection line had been torn apart.
Four long tracks circled the cabin.
Not footprints.
Not paws.
Something between.
Noah crouched.
Jake stayed behind the line.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Jake looked toward the trees.
Something hung from a branch.
A tarot card.
The Devil.
Noah whispered, “Don’t.”
Jake did not cross the line.
He photographed it from the porch.
Sofia answered his call immediately.
When he told her the card, she went quiet.
“It doesn’t mean Satan,” she finally said.
“Great.”
“It can mean bondage. Control. Obsession. Being chained to something.”
Jake looked at the tracks.
“And the thing outside?”
“That,” Sofia said, “I’m much less comfortable explaining over the phone.”