PART FOUR — WHAT COMES AFTER
***
The week after Christmas was when Jake discovered that saving a town did not excuse him from taking out the trash.
Lisa stood in the kitchen doorway with one hand on her hip.
“You promised.”
Jake looked toward the back door.
Snow had started falling.
“There could be hunters.”
“There could be garbage.”
“The garbage is confirmed.”
“Exactly.”
Noah sat at the table eating cereal and making no effort to help.
Jake pointed at him.
“You live here now.”
Noah lifted the spoon.
“Temporarily.”
“Then temporarily take out the trash.”
Lisa said, “Jake.”
“Going.”
He carried the bag outside.
No monsters.
No hunters.
No voices from beneath the earth.
Just snow, trash cans, and the neighbor’s inflatable Santa slowly collapsing in the yard.
Jake stood there longer than necessary.
Normal had changed.
Before Noah, normal meant nothing happening.
Now it meant being allowed to notice the small things because nothing terrible required his attention.
The kitchen door opened.
Noah stepped onto the porch without a coat.
Jake frowned.
“Werewolves still get cold.”
“So do idiots staring at garbage.”
Jake smiled.
Noah joined him.
Snow landed in his dark hair.
“You okay?”
Jake looked toward the woods.
“I think so.”
Noah followed his gaze.
“That sounded convincing.”
“I’m working on it.”
Noah bumped his shoulder.
Jake bumped back.
Behind them Lisa shouted, “SHUT THE DOOR.”
They both jumped.
Jake whispered, “Most powerful creature in Missouri.”
Noah nodded solemnly.
“Your mother.”
***
Noah’s anger arrived three days after Christmas.
Not at Thomas.
Not at the Circle.
At Jake.
Jake found him in the garage folding the same towel for the fourth time.
“That towel has suffered enough.”
Noah folded it again.
Jake leaned against the dryer.
“Okay.”
Noah looked up. “Okay what?”
“Whatever this is.”
“Nothing.”
Jake waited.
Noah hated when Jake copied his own waiting trick.
“I almost walked toward her,” Noah said.
Jake knew immediately.
Mara.
The thing wearing Mara’s face.
“So did I.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I know.”
Noah threw the towel onto the dryer.
“I knew she was dead. I knew what that thing was. And I still wanted her.”
Jake moved closer.
“Of course you did.”
“Stop making everything reasonable.”
Jake stopped.
Noah’s eyes filled.
“I’m angry at her.”
That surprised Jake.
“Your grandmother?”
“For dying. For knowing all this and not leaving better instructions. For making my mom and Sofia clean up pieces of a war they didn’t start.”
He wiped his face angrily.
“And I’m angry at my mom for leaving. I’m angry at Vera for deciding betrayal was protection. I’m angry at you for finding me because if you hadn’t, maybe none of this would have happened.”
Jake let that one hurt.
Noah looked horrified.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You’re allowed.”
“Jake.”
“You’re allowed to be angry at me and still love me.”
Noah stared at him.
Jake shrugged.
“Sofia has been teaching me boundaries.”
A laugh escaped Noah despite himself.
Jake opened his arms but did not move.
Noah crossed the distance.
He buried his face against Jake’s shoulder.
Jake held him.
No solution.
No prophecy.
No joke for almost a full minute.
Then Noah muttered, “That towel really does look terrible.”
Jake kissed his hair.
“Finally, something we can fix.”
***
Claire hated shifting.
That made Noah the person she trusted most to teach her.
They used the equipment shed where Noah had helped Jake through his first partial change.
Jake sat outside with Ethan and Marcus.
“Why can’t we watch?” Marcus asked.
Ethan stared at him.
“My sister will be naked afterward.”
Marcus nodded.
“Excellent point.”
Inside the shed something crashed.
Ethan stood.
Jake caught his sleeve.
“Wait.”
“That sounded bad.”
“Everything sounds bad during a shift.”
Another crash.
Marcus looked at Jake.
“Reassuring.”
Noah’s voice came through the wall.
“Claire, stop fighting your knees.”
Claire shouted something impolite.
Noah answered, “Those too.”
Jake smiled.
He remembered Noah doing this for him.
Staying.
Talking.
Making pain less lonely.
Twenty minutes later Noah opened the door.
“Blanket.”
Ethan handed one through without looking.
Claire emerged wrapped to her chin.
Her hair stuck out in six directions.
“I hate wolves.”
Noah came behind her wearing sweatpants.
“You are one.”
“I contain self-loathing.”
Marcus nodded.
“Relatable.”
Claire sat beside Ethan.
“I stayed conscious the whole time.”
Ethan smiled.
“That’s good?”
“Apparently.”
Noah sat beside Jake.
Claire looked at him.
“Thank you.”
Noah shrugged.
“You’ll do it for somebody else eventually.”
Claire frowned.
“There are more?”
Everybody looked at Sofia’s map.
Nobody answered.
***
Sofia decided Jake needed formal training.
Jake decided formal training sounded terrible.
They compromised by calling it Tuesday.
Rule one was never perform protection work angry if anger was the only thing guiding the work.
“Why?” Jake asked.
“Because boundaries made from anger become walls.”
“Sometimes walls are useful.”
“So are knives. You don’t butter toast with one held at someone’s throat.”
Jake wrote that down.
Sofia noticed.
“You’re taking notes?”
“You say weirdly quotable things.”
Rule two was never use blood if salt, iron, chalk, thread, water, or simply leaving would accomplish the same purpose.
“Blood is dramatic,” Sofia said. “People mistake dramatic for powerful.”
Jake thought of the Ash Circle.
“That seems relevant.”
“It usually is.”
Rule three was the one Sofia cared about most.
Never bind a person.
Not magically.
Not for protection.
Not even with permission if another method existed.
Jake looked at her.
“Because of the Circle?”
Sofia shook her head.
“Because people belong to themselves.”
Jake wrote that one down too.
Noah, sitting on the kitchen counter, smiled.
Jake pointed the pen at him.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Sofia continued.
“Rule four. If a tarot card tells you to jump off a bridge, consider whether you are bad at tarot.”
Jake stopped writing.
“That is not a real rule.”
“It is now.”
***
Noah’s college orientation packet arrived on a Thursday.
He left it unopened on the kitchen table for three hours.
Jake finally slid into the chair opposite him.
“You know it doesn’t contain a bomb.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Fair. Our mail has been weird.”
Noah turned the envelope over.
“What if I can’t do this?”
Jake stopped joking.
“College?”
“Normal.”
Jake looked around Lisa’s kitchen. Sofia had left rosemary drying above the sink. A protection symbol was hidden beneath the welcome mat. Noah’s mother was upstairs arguing with an insurance company. Comet was asleep under the table with his tongue sticking out.
“I’m not sure this house qualifies.”
Noah smiled faintly.
Jake leaned forward.
“You don’t have to be normal. You just have to get to have a life.”
Noah’s eyes lowered.
“I stopped planning one.”
Jake understood.
That hurt more than any story about hunters.
“Then start small.”
“How small?”
Jake took the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the orientation checklist.
“Apparently with a student ID photo.”
Noah groaned.
“See? Terrifying, but survivable.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“To orientation?”
“Yes.”
Jake pretended to consider it.
“Will there be free food?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll protect you.”
Noah reached across the table and took his hand.
“I know.”