Chapter 23
Nine days sounded like plenty of time until Jake started counting them.
Nine days until December twenty-first.
Nine days until the seal Daniel Miller had died creating reached whatever counted as an expiration date for supernatural architecture.
Nine days until Thomas Voss either tried to bind the thing beneath West Ridge or the thing came through without asking anybody’s permission.
Jake wrote NINE DAYS on the top of his chemistry notes.
Mrs. Alvarez stopped beside his desk.
“Is that how long you need for the assignment?”
Jake covered it with his hand.
“Personal project.”
Noah, two seats over, coughed into his fist.
It sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Mrs. Alvarez looked between them.
“Mr. Bennett, if the personal project is distracting Mr. Miller, please postpone it until after stoichiometry.”
Noah turned red.
Jake stared at his paper.
Marcus whispered from behind them, “She thinks you’re making out.”
Jake whispered back, “Thank you, Marcus.”
“I’m helping.”
“Stop.”
For forty-seven minutes Jake balanced chemical equations while knowing there was a supernatural door under his school.
It was somehow still not the hardest part of chemistry.
After class, Noah caught him at the lockers.
“You’re counting.”
“I like numbers.”
“You hate math.”
“I like specific numbers.”
Noah leaned against the locker beside his.
“You haven’t slept.”
Jake shut the door harder than necessary.
“I sleep.”
“You came downstairs at three this morning and ate cereal out of a mixing bowl.”
“The regular bowls were dirty.”
“They weren’t.”
Jake looked at him.
Noah waited.
That was the irritating thing about Noah.
He could wait longer than Jake could lie.
“I keep hearing Daniel,” Jake admitted.
Noah’s expression softened.
“The real memory?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
That was the problem.
The thing beneath the threshold could imitate voices.
The woods could preserve memories.
Jake could touch places and see things that had happened years before.
Somewhere in all of that was his biological father.
Or an echo.
Or bait wearing his voice.
“What does he say?” Noah asked.
Jake swallowed.
“Mostly my name.”
Noah reached for his hand, then stopped.
“Can I?”
Jake nodded.
Noah took it.
Even now.
After everything.
He still asked.
Jake squeezed his fingers.
“That might be my favorite thing about you.”
“My hands?”
“Your consent obsession.”
Noah smiled.
“Romantic.”
“I contain multitudes.”
***
Robert asked Jake to ride with him Saturday morning.
No destination.
No explanation.
Just coffee in the cup holders and the heater blowing too hot.
Jake waited until they were three miles from home.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
Robert glanced over.
“At eighteen?”
“Still illegal.”
“Good to know.”
They drove toward the edge of town.
Robert finally pulled into a cemetery.
Jake stopped joking.
Daniel Miller’s grave sat beneath a maple tree.
The marker was small.
DANIEL JOSEPH MILLER.
BELOVED SON.
1979–2008.
Jake stared at the dates.
“He died before I was born.”
Robert nodded.
“Six months before.”
Jake put his hands in his coat pockets.
“Mom said you adopted me when I was two.”
“I did.”
“When did you meet her?”
“When she was seven months pregnant.”
Jake looked at him.
Robert smiled faintly.
“She hated me.”
“That tracks.”
“I worked with her cousin. Your mom’s car wouldn’t start. I offered to help. She told me she could handle it.”
Jake smiled despite himself.
“Definitely Mom.”
“She handled it for forty minutes. Then I changed the battery.”
They stood quietly.
Robert looked at the grave.
“I knew Daniel existed. I knew he died. I knew Lisa loved him.”
Jake waited.
“I did not know about wolves. Or Wardens. Or any of this.”
“Why hide his name from me?”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Because when you were four, a man came to the house asking about Daniel.”
Jake went cold.
“Thomas?”
“I don’t know. Your mother might recognize him now. He said Daniel owed people something. After that, Lisa asked me if we could stop using Daniel’s name around you.”
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
Jake’s anger returned.
Robert did not defend himself.
“We thought silence was protection.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
Robert looked at Jake.
“Parents are very good at confusing fear with wisdom.”
Jake thought of himself telling Noah he could not go to an anchor.
That hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Robert said.
Jake looked back at Daniel’s grave.
“I’m still mad.”
“You should be.”
“I still love you.”
Robert’s face changed.
Jake suddenly became fascinated by the maple tree.
“Don’t make it weird.”
Robert hugged him.
“Too late.”
Jake hugged him back.