Spirit Page 8

  He straightened and stretched his back.

  And from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement between some trees by the road.

  Hunter froze. He watched for a moment.

  Nothing.

  Stupid. This house was way back off the main road. It could have been a deer, or a tree branch moving in the wind. All he could hear was his breathing and the water hitting rocky breakers. He dropped his guard and let the elements speak to him—but whatever it was, the elements didn’t mind its being here.

  But something about it had bothered him, caught his attention and held it.

  He kept thinking of Calla in his bedroom, sneaking in to hold a gun against his cheek.

  He wished he had a weapon. He wished he had a weapon right now.

  “What’s up?” said Michael.

  “Nothing,” said Hunter. “I thought I saw something.”

  He was ready for scoffing, because there was absolutely nothing around, but Michael put a hand to the ground and tilted his head. “I don’t feel anything malicious.” He paused. “But I’ll pay attention.”

  Hunter kept his senses wide open now, laying stones as Michael directed, but focusing most of his attention on the road.

  Michael glanced over. “Does this have something to do with the fight you didn’t have?”

  Hunter didn’t look at him. “No.” He shrugged. “I’m just on edge.”

  Another stone went on the wall. Michael wiped his forehead against his sleeve. “Does this have something to do with why you were ready to level the Home Depot?”

  Hunter’s hands went still on the rock in front of him.

  Michael didn’t say anything else, just laid another one without stopping. He flung the stones like they weighed nothing, and they slid into place perfectly. Hunter would have called him a perfectionist, but he’d bet Michael did it without thinking.

  Another stone hit the wall, and Michael glanced over. “Think and work at the same time.”

  Hunter grabbed a stone, letting a slow breath out. “I wasn’t going to level the Home Depot.”

  “Maybe not intentionally.”

  Hunter ran through the last twenty-four hours. Calla. School. Kate. His grandfather. Spending the night in his car.

  Jesus, his throat felt tight again. He slammed the stone into place, feeling the impact all the way up to his shoulders.

  Michael flung a stone next to his and remained silent.

  And after a minute, Hunter realized he was going to stay that way. Michael wasn’t going to push. Hunter relaxed into the rhythm of the work again.

  Then he felt . . . something brush his senses. His head snapped up.

  Just as Casper growled from the grass nearby.

  Wind came off the water to blow across the lawn, toward the road. The air carried no power, no direction. No help there. The sun had dropped behind distant trees and houses, leaving long shadows tracing across the grounds. Michael had a hand against the dirt, his eyes trained on the clusters of trees now.

  Hunter thought of Calla again and wondered if she’d been following him, whether she’d choose this house to set on fire, just to screw with him.

  But she would have had to follow him all day, right?

  Casper growled again.

  There! Movement. Definitely someone in the trees.

  Hunter didn’t realize he’d started forward until Michael grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said.

  Hunter waited.

  “Grab your dog,” said Michael.

  He didn’t have to grab him, but Hunter issued the command for Casper to stay, wondering if the dog also had trouble hearing over a suddenly thundering heartbeat.

  No further motion from the tree line.

  Michael stood and brushed his hands against his knees. “Come on. I’ll finish in the morning. I’ll tell them I lost the light.”

  “You just—you want to leave?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but we’re out in the middle of nowhere. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  When they were in the truck, Michael fed Casper old fries from the Wendy’s bag. He kept the windows closed, but Hunter peered out at the trees as they passed.

  Nothing.

  Michael glanced over. “Any problems at home?”

  Hunter almost choked on his breath. “What do you mean? Why?”

  “No pentagrams or anything?”

  Oh. Those.

  “No,” he said, speaking around the sudden gravel in his throat. “No pentagrams.”

  And again, he waited for Michael to push, but they just drove in silence back to the parking lot at Home Depot. It wasn’t that late, but it was a weeknight, and the lot was mostly empty.

  Hunter slid the cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall across his face. His muscles were starting to knot together with tension and exhaustion, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Calla’s threat to burn more houses.

  Even if she hadn’t been stalking them at the landscaping job—and he still couldn’t make that work out in his head—she could be planning something tonight.

  And he had no way to stop her.

  “Thanks,” said Michael, pulling twenties from his wallet and holding them out.

  Sixty bucks. Hunter looked up. “I don’t have enough change.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Hunter wanted to take two twenties and leave the third—but who knew when he’d be able to get his hands on cash again. He closed his fingers around the bills and shoved them into his pocket.

  The night had turned pitch-black so quickly. The halogen lights in the parking lot blazed like suns against the darkness. Hunter put his hand on the door handle, ready to burst into the cold air.

  Into the promise of another night alone.

  Hunter checked his phone. No messages.

  His throat felt tight again.

  He needed to get the hell out of the truck before Michael called him on being a freak.

  Then Michael said, “You want to talk about it?”

  For some reason, the words were a relief and an assault simultaneously.

  Hunter couldn’t even get it together to answer him. He kept his eyes on the strip of metal where the truck door met the window. It must have been colder than he thought; his breath began to fog in the air.

  Michael flipped on the heat in the cab. “Nick does that, too.”

  That pulled Hunter’s gaze off the window. “Does what?”

  “Drops the temperature when he’s stressed. I’d bitch about it, but I can just turn the heat on. If you set the truck on fire, I don’t have as many options.”

  Hunter held his breath, but there was no judgment in Michael’s tone, and no urgency or impatience, either. “I’ve never lost control like this before.”

  “You’re sixteen, right? It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

  Hunter scowled. “Great.”

  Silence streamed through the truck again, accented by the hiss of air through the vehicle’s vents.

  Just as Hunter was ready to climb out of the cab again, Michael said, “Why do you need money so badly?”

  Hunter looked over at him, feeling his eyes narrow. Michael must have heard the conversation with the store manager. “So this was a pity job?” He thrust a hand into his pocket for the cash, ready to fling it back. “You thought—”

  “Chill out. Pity would have been if I’d handed you the cash. You earned it. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s bullshit, Hunter, and you know it.”

  “What the hell do you care?” Hunter threw the door open. “I’m not one of your brothers.” He waited for Casper to scramble out beside him, then slammed the door, stalking toward the jeep.

  Michael shifted the truck into gear and accelerated out of the parking place.

  Good. He could take all that stupid concern back home. Hunter shoved his key into the door of his jeep.

  Just as Michael pulled his pickup directly beh
ind it, effectively blocking Hunter’s vehicle in the spot, along with the Honda Civic parked beside it.

  When Michael got out, Hunter glared at him. “Now I want to set your truck on fire.”

  Michael came close enough to speak low. “Look, if you think I’m letting you get behind the wheel when you’re ready to make it snow in October, you’re out of your mind.”

  “Move your truck.”

  “No. I’ll drive you home so you can chill out.”

  Hunter was going to hit him in a second. “Move your damn truck.”

  Michael didn’t even blink. “Save it. Get in. I’ll take you home.”

  Hunter felt his hands curl into fists. He could lay this guy flat and move the truck himself.

  But all of a sudden, it felt like too much. His head was pounding again, and the air was freezing. It took forever to find his voice.

  “You can’t,” he said.

  Michael’s voice was impassive. “I can’t what?”

  “You can’t take me home. My grandfather—” His voice almost broke, so Hunter just stopped talking. His keys were cutting into his palm, and Casper nosed at his free hand.

  Michael waited for a moment, then said, “Get in. You can come home with me.”

  God, that would be worse. “No way.”

  “Look, just take a few hours to get it together, and I’ll bring you back for the jeep.”

  Hunter just stared at him.

  Michael opened the cab of the truck and whistled through his teeth. “Come on, doggie.”

  Hunter expected Casper to stay at his side, like always.

  But his dog leapt into the truck and lay down on the rear bench, his tongue lolling out. He looked at Hunter as if to say, Stop being such a baby.

  So Hunter sighed and climbed in after him.

  CHAPTER 9

  “So let me get this straight,” said Michael. “Calla trashed your place and said she’s going to burn houses down until you bring Guides here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then she told Vickers that you roughed her up.”

  Hunter set his jaw. “Yeah.”

  “Well, there haven’t been any more fires—yet. Gabriel downloaded a police scanner app or something and he’s been keeping tabs on it. The fire marshal thinks the real arsonist is behind bars, so they’re not expecting more. But I’ve got a bigger question. Why you?”

  Hunter looked at him. He hadn’t said anything else about his grandfather, and he was glad Michael was focusing on Calla’s role in this mess. “Why me?”

  “Yeah.” Michael shrugged. “Why you? If she wants Guides here, they’ll come eventually, right?”

  “That’s what Bill said, too.”

  “You told Bill? What did he say to do?”

  Hunter snorted. “He said I made my bed, so I should lie in it.”

  Michael made a disgusted noise. “What a dick. I don’t even know what that means, but it pisses me off.”

  Hunter blinked, surprised at the vehemence—and a little shocked that Michael would take his side. “He said I should have killed Calla when I had the chance.”

  “What a coward. He didn’t help pull those kids out of the library fire. You and Gabriel did. He’s the frigging Guide. If he wanted her dead, he should have gone and taken care of the problem himself.” Michael hit the turn signal a lot harder than was necessary. “So frigging typical, setting someone else up to do his job. Is that what this is about? The hell with him, Hunter. Seriously. Fuck him.”

  It had been so long since someone had taken his side that Hunter had forgotten what it felt like. Some of the tension that was coiled around his chest slipped free.

  “But he’s right,” he said. “I should have just shot her.”

  “You’re a kid. You shouldn’t have been there at all, and you definitely shouldn’t be expected to kill someone. Jesus, I want to drive over there and shake some sense into that guy.”

  Hunter didn’t know what to say to any of that, so he just looked out the window again.

  After a moment, he said, “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  Then he added, “I did shoot someone once.”

  Michael glanced over, but he didn’t say anything.

  Hunter realigned the rocks strung along his wrist. “The father of a girl I went to school with. Her name was Clare. He was beating up her and her mom. I hit him in the shoulder.” He paused. “My dad—he was disappointed I didn’t kill the guy.”

  “Your dad was disappointed that you hadn’t killed someone?”

  “Maybe disappointed isn’t the right word. He used to say that being a Fifth means it’s too easy to want to help people—even people who aren’t doing the right thing. He’d tell me that to become a Guide, I’d have to learn to overcome that.”

  “No offense, Hunter, but I’m glad you didn’t.”

  Hunter gave him half a smile, but it was grim. “Because otherwise I’d have shot you in the face when I came here to kill you all?”

  Michael didn’t smile back. “No, because that sounds a whole lot like turning off your conscience. Who gets to decide right and wrong? You?”

  “It’s not turning off your conscience.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just not.” Hunter made a frustrated sound and glared out the window again. “You don’t understand.”

  “I’m not judging you.” Michael paused. “You’re talking about life and death here, Hunter. One of those, you can’t undo.”

  As if he hadn’t been thinking of his father and uncle all day. Hunter didn’t say anything.

  All of a sudden, he wanted to get out of the truck at the next stop light.

  Especially when Michael said, “What happened with your grandfather?”

  They were on the 50-mph stretch of Ritchie Highway, so Hunter just shrugged and said, “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “About what?”

  Hunter hesitated. The worst part was that he was embarrassed to say what had happened. “Vickers called the house and told him what had happened with Calla.”

  Michael let that sit out there for a long moment. “And?”

  “And he believed her.”

  Another long pause. “You’re going to have to throw me a bone here, Hunter, because I don’t know what that means.”

  Hunter swung his head around. “He believed her, okay? So did my mom.” His voice was shaky with fury, and he couldn’t stop it. “So they packed up my stuff, and they told me to get out, and when I tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding, he—he just—”

  Hunter stopped, feeling his hands curl into fists. His breath was fogging in the air again, and Michael reached over to kick up the heat.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Hunter finished. “I took my stuff and left.”

  “Was this today?” said Michael. “Is that why you were so keyed up at Home Depot?”

  Hunter shook his head. “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Michael glanced over. “Where did you go last night?”

  “I slept in the jeep.” His voice was small. “Behind Target.”

  To his surprise, Michael reached over and smacked him on the back of the head. “Are you insane? Jesus, Hunter, you should have called the house.”

  “Why?” he snapped. “So your brothers can keep giving me shit?” They were rolling to a stop at the end of Old Mill Road, just one turn away from the Merrick house. Hunter grabbed the door handle. “I don’t need this.”

  Michael grabbed his arm. “Stop.” He didn’t let go, and turned the truck one-handed. “They might be giving you shit at school, but if you’d called and said you had nowhere to go . . .”

  Hunter jerked free. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh, really? Is that why I’m blasting the heat right now?” They were pulling up the driveway. Michael threw the truck in park in front of the garage. “Come inside and get something to eat. Your dog could probably use some water, too.”

  It was the mention of Casper that made
Hunter pause. His dog’s head was hanging over the seat back, his tongue lolling out from the heat blasting in the cab.

  “Fine,” said Hunter. “But you can’t blame me if I end up punching Gabriel in the face.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Michael. “He usually deserves it.”

  Silver was fiddling with his weapons again, laying them out on the table.

  He’d been pissed off all evening.

  Finally, Kate couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s your problem?”

  His eyes flicked up. “You very nearly gave us away.”

  “I told you it was a bad idea to follow them.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to follow them if you’d been able to get more information from Hunter Garrity.”

  She scowled. “I’m trying. He made me get out of his car. What do you want me to do, throw myself at him?”

  “I have doubts whether you can do even that effectively.”

  “Shut up.” But she kind of agreed with him.

  Silver gave her a look that stopped her heart in her chest and made her very aware that he was holding a loaded weapon. “Let’s remember our roles here.”

  She held his gaze and didn’t apologize—but she didn’t say anything else, either. Her heart had restarted and was kicking up a rapid pace.

  She had to clear her throat to speak around the thunderous rush of blood in her ears. “What should we do next?”

  “The more I consider it, I rather like your idea of spending time around all of them,” said Silver.

  She snorted. “I almost had an invite back to their house today, but Nick Merrick’s girlfriend is a bitch.”

  “Not their house. I’m thinking somewhere more public. Somewhere with the chance to see if they take the bait to cause a little damage.”

  She fought the urge to sulk. “Somewhere you can watch me?”

  “You should not be so dismissive of my protection.”

  “Fine. Whatever. What did you have in mind?”

  His eyebrows lifted, and his hands went still on the weapon. “A little less attitude, perhaps.”

  She raised her own eyebrows and stared at him, waiting.