Chapter 25
Alice
“Alice!” Fallon laughs, throwing back her dark, glossy waves. “What makes you think you have a choice? I’m the head bitch in charge, if you haven’t noticed.”
I sigh, resting my elbows on the farmhouse table that’s become deeply familiar to me.
Old protest songs leak from the boombox on the vintage credenza.
The corkboard at my back is far from empty after our visit to Dr. Waterhouse and our…
encounter yesterday afternoon. As always, the space smells of rich spice and wool sweaters, which soothes me.
And even though Wyatt ran home to grab some supplies for Halloween, his pine-and-woodsmoke scent still lingers in the air and on my skin like a comforting blanket.
“I’m just not sure if I’m up for it,” I admit, curling my fingers into the pockmarked surface of the table. “Yesterday was…a lot, Fallon.”
She frowns at me. Apparently, saying no to a girls’ night out with Fallon is a serious offense, at least judging from how violently she starts zesting one of the limes.
“If you’re not okay with hedgerider life,” Fallon warns me from the counter, her voice low and firm, “then you gotta cut my brother loose, Alice. That boy is falling hard.”
My head snaps up at that. “No, no, Fallon,” I say, desperately backpedaling, making incoherent gestures with my hands. “The hellhounds, Sector, a friendly little shootout in a parking lot? I can handle that. It’s…”
Fallon frowns at me then, putting the zester down and striding over to where I’m seated at the table.
There’s an empty glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in front of me—I could drink a hundred more, but I’m trying to be reasonable—and my notebook is open, my fingers cramping from a desperate attempt to collect all my theories.
“Okay. So if it’s not that, then what exactly is it? You’ve been weird all day,” she says, powerful hands gripping the back of the chair opposite me. I stare at the tattoos exposed by her rolled-up sleeves for a long moment, searching for the right words.
When I don’t find them, I bite down on my tongue, roughly dragging a hand through my hair.
My skin goes hot, heart pounding furiously in my chest. I don’t know how to tell her what I’m feeling.
That yesterday reminded me of the past, of my grandpa back on the farm.
Of the fact that I’ve never truly been able to shake the feeling it’s my fault, somehow.
Maybe if I hadn’t been there, my grandpa wouldn’t have defended the farm so fiercely.
Maybe if he hadn’t seen that rare slice of land as the only way his daughter and grandchild could actually survive the days to come, he might have just complied with the soldiers.
Maybe then he would’ve left with my grandma, and maybe we would have found somewhere safe.
Maybe then the sound of bullets and the sight of those guns wouldn’t have sent me into such a spiral.
I’ve hidden it fairly well, I think. Barnes and the citrus were a good distraction, but once the adrenaline wore off, the dread seeped in.
“Look, something happened when I was a kid,” I finally say, looking up to meet her eyes.
“The agents with the guns yesterday afternoon just reminded me of it. I’m a little shaken. ”
Understanding dawns on Fallon’s face, so vulnerable and impossibly gentle that my throat catches. “Oh,” she says softly, draping herself over the back of the chair. “I get it, Alice. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
I shrug. “Of course you didn’t,” I reply, pulling the sleeves of my thick oatmeal-colored sweater over my hands. “I didn’t tell you.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Fallon asks, something mischievous flashing in her gaze. I raise my brows expectantly as she stands up straight, her hands pressed together in front of her chest. “Over drinks? At girls’ night? We can get drunk and cry and maybe vandalize one of my ex’s cars!”
Despite myself—and the sour pit of despair in my belly—I laugh so hard I snort, which sends Fallon into a bout of laughter, too.
I have to admit, it feels good. It feels good to be around people who have been through shit.
It makes it easier. A lot of the people at OrthCon lived through the Catastrophes and the Reformation, sure.
But they weathered those years from behind the gates of sprawling compounds.
Some of them were even able to leave the country, only returning when things got better. We aren’t the same.
But the Hayes kids? They get it, just like Fallon said. And they all seem to understand that sometimes I need gentleness, and other times I need gallows humor.
“Besides, Alice, you should know stuff like that doesn’t usually happen,” Fallon adds as her laughter fades. “Sector doesn’t usually intervene. At least not like that.”
I falter, chewing on my lower lip. Wyatt said the same thing last night.
Neither one of them seems to understand that their statements only make me more worried.
What if I’m the problem? What if it’s me being here in Blackbird Hollow that’s causing Sector to intervene more directly—with outlawed weapons, nonetheless?
“Yeah,” I reply with a forced smile. “Well, yesterday was free exposure therapy, I guess.”
Fallon snorts, turning back to the counter. “You’re fucked up, Blythe.”
“Takes one to know one, Hayes,” I shoot back.
“Let me finish up with this pie,” she says over her shoulder. “I think it might actually break Caden if I promise key lime and don’t deliver. Then we’re having a godsdamn girls’ night. You need it.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask, though I’ve never seen Fallon walk anything back once she’s made a decision. “With Halloween tomorrow?”
She turns to me then, a wicked smile on her face. “That’s exactly why it’s a good idea. Get us loosened up. And, if the Wild Hunt takes us, at least we had one last party before the end.”
The tequila barely burns as it slides down my throat, which is a pretty good sign that I’m drunk. I still slam the lime wedge between my teeth to cut the harsh flavor, my eyes watering. Beside me, Fallon cheers gleefully.
“See?” she asks, punching my shoulder. “Girls’ night fixes everything!”
I laugh, leaning onto the wide bar. Rock music blares from the speakers in the corner. Every single person in this place knows Fallon, and apparently a lot of them know about me, too.
“Why is the blonde girl giving me the stank eye?” I ask Fallon, looking over at her and gesturing at a corner table with a nod of my head.
She peers around me, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, she’s been sweet on Wyatt for years,” Fallon cackles, rubbing her hands together in delight at the same time my stomach twists. “She’s gotta be pissed that some city girl came in and scooped him up.”
“How would she know that already?” I ask incredulously, taking a gulp of the local cider.
Apparently the folks in Blackbird Hollow have decided Wyatt and I are an item, even though we sure as hell haven’t had that talk ourselves.
Though I did almost go for it this morning, sitting out on the porch with coffee, the mists rolling in and the foliage gleaming bronze-bright, the whole thing like a movie scene.
But just as I’d opened my mouth, I remembered the guns and the bullets and the plainclothes agents.
I remembered that there was a distinct possibility I’d brought more attention to Blackbird Hollow just by being here.
“Small town, babe,” Fallon replies with a roll of her eyes, interrupting my thoughts. “Everybody’s all up in everyone else’s shit.”
“Do you still wanna vandalize one of your ex’s cars?” I ask, my words slightly slurring. The music pounds thickly in my ears, and I’m too warm in my barn coat.
“We haven’t even cried about our traumas yet!” Fallon says, slamming her fist onto the bartop a bit too strongly. The whole thing shakes, and other patrons look over at us. “Don’t rush the schedule, Blythe. I’ve got this down to a science.”
“I trust you.” I laugh, but I actually mean it.
Being here in the locals’ bar—a place called Lucky’s that serves a late-night brunch on Sundays, when Janey closes the diner up early—underscores how much I feel like a puzzle piece finally slotted into its right place.
And that’s what makes me turn to Fallon, my heart racing as I open my mouth.
“Fallon,” I say, reaching across the bar to grip her wrist. “I’m fucking terrified.”
She meets my gaze evenly, though her eyes widen slightly. “About Samhain? The Hunt?” she asks, all her attention on me, that dark gaze no longer roving the bar for potential threats.
“No, not really,” I say, my tongue too big for my mouth, the alcohol and the fear pounding through my veins. “Well. About everything.”
Without hesitation, she looks at the bartender and gestures before taking me by the hand and leading me to a booth tucked into a corner. The music is a little quieter here, and I feel less visible, less like the new animal exhibit in the zoo.
“So,” Fallon drawls, resting her hands on the table, “you’re terrified. About everything. Tell me more.”
And, fuck, I do. I probably tell her too much.
About my grandfather’s farm, about watching him die, about my grandma, about how yesterday brought back all of those fears.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I can’t deny how comfortable I feel with Fallon.
How I can’t understand how I lived without her for this long—or Wyatt, for that matter.
“I’m just afraid that there’s something Sector doesn’t like about me being around hedgeriders,” I tell her, raising my hand to chew on my fingernails, but Fallon snatches my wrist and shoves my hand back into my lap.
“And I’m so, so scared that something is going to happen to you or Wyatt or Caden if I stay.
Even though I want to stay. I can’t imagine not staying.
But I also can’t live with myself if something happens. ”