by Terra Wolf
She inhaled. “Are you a serial killer?”
“Definitely.”
The laugh sprung out against her will. Oh Blue Eyes, that just wasn’t fair. Handsome, Good Samaritan, and funny? She was warier than ever.
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “If you’re from the rez, not sure if it will help my case, but I’m a Fenn.”
She stared at him a moment. “Are you now?”
He nodded. “Yes sir. I was the guy they were planning to hitch to some poor girl down at the council hall.”
For a split second it felt as though the rain stopped. In fact, it felt as though everything stopped. Blue Eyes was supposed to be her husband? Well, Richard White Eagle, you might be a dick, but you’ve damn fine taste in grooms. “That was you?”
He chuckled, nervously. “It was. I know. Poor girl dodged a bullet, huh?”
She stared at him, searching for some way to make sense of this. Had he followed her? Had they sent him after her to try to make her change her mind? What were the odds that the man she’d turned down sight unseen would cross her path just hours after she left her home, never to return?
They were slim.
Still, Maggie opened the door to the SUV. “Alright then. Drive me, Jeeves.”
He introduced himself as Deacon Fenn, and she paused. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She was sure she’d never met him before.
I’d remember those eyes, she thought.
His car smelled clean, mixed with a dash of cologne that lingered from the last time he wore it. He wasn’t wearing it now. He smelled like laundry detergent and shaving cream. He definitely didn’t smell like a serial killer. Not that she knew what serial killers smelled like.
Gamey, she suspected.
“No way!” She said when Deacon confessed he’d only just been informed of their engagement the previous morning. Part of her wanted to commiserate with him as he described his family’s ploys to get him there. Yet, there was still something about him she needed to figure out. Did he know full well who she was? He had to, didn’t he?
She decided ignorance was her best bet. “Really? The Fenns don’t sound so different after all. You know they’ve been in talks for that marriage for months?”
“Have they really?”
She was lying. She had no more knowledge of their engagement than he claimed to have, though she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Chief White Eagle sold her at birth, and was only just now deciding to catch her up to speed.
Deacon’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he shifted suddenly, keeping his eye on the road as he reached for his phone. He glanced down for an instant, and his demeanor changed.
“Fuck,” he said.
“You alright over there?” She asked, feeling the air in the car change somehow.
He grumbled softly before answering. “Yeah. No. I don’t know. I think my girlfriend might be breaking up with me.”
Maggie’s stomach twisted so suddenly, she almost cried out in surprise. She tried to shake it off, feigning a sarcastic snort. Why had mention of a girlfriend turned her stomach?
“You have a girlfriend, and you were getting engaged to someone tonight?”
He offered up an answer, but she was too busy fighting with her thoughts to give him her full attention. Why had she reacted with such distress? She didn’t know Blue Eyes from a hole in the wall, yet somehow she cared. Was it the strange connection of having almost been engaged to him?
No, Light Foot. You’re just a fucking lunatic.
Maggie struggled with her thoughts for a while, her company growing distracted as the time passed. She thought to make jokes about the girlfriend, sensing from his demeanor that he was troubled, yet she couldn’t find the right words. Instead she made song requests and stared out the window, finally begging him to pull into a gas station for a quick pee.
She wasn’t sure how long to let this stranger drive her. She wasn’t even sure where she was going. As Maggie hustled across the convenient store and ducked into the bathroom, she contemplated letting him off the hook there, finding her way from the gas station to a hotel, and from there to a bus station in the morning.
Yet, she wasn’t quite ready to part company with old Blue Eyes, even if he was wrapped up in another girl.
She handed the clerk a ten dollar bill and scolded herself, silently.
Come on, Light Foot. He’s not actually your fiancé. You don’t get to be jealous. And you don’t get to be smitten.
Did he have to smell so nice?
“I grabbed you a Snickers, in case you were hung – everything alright?” She stopped halfway into the passenger seat. The blue shade of his eyes had changed, going almost gray in the wake of what was clearly tears.
Deacon straightened. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
She slumped into her seat, frowning. “Girlfriend broke up with you, I take it?”
He took a deep breath. “Yep.”
Her heart leapt. She closed her eyes, swearing at herself in every language she knew. Don’t get fond of a damaged, baggage hauling creature fresh out of a relationship, Mag. Even if he was supposed to be your hubs.
Maggie reached over, settling the snickers on the console beside him and patting his hand. “Hey. You’re probably better off. Anybody who breaks up through a text is a special kind of hag.”
Oh my god, you asshole! Why did you say that? Do you have no soul?
Deacon snorted, but stayed quiet.
You stupid cow. You stupid cow. You stupid cow! She thought.
“Sorry. Not helpful?”
“Yeah, probably not.”
Yeah, probably not. Maggie Light Foot, you are such an asshole. What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you be cool for even a second? No wonder no guys ever ask you out, you’re a fucking tool!
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out of her wet jeans, flipping it open to see a text from her brother.
“My god, are you a time traveler?”
“What?” She asked, turning to find Deacon smiling, despite the sad weight in his eyes.
“Because 2003 called, and they want their phone back.”
She glared at him, fighting not to laugh. Maybe he didn’t hate her after all. “I’ll let you slide because you’re clearly fragile right now.”
She glanced back down at her phone, pulling up the text from her brother.
Papa’s hurt. Are you far?
She stopped dead. What? She just left him, how could he be hurt?
Maggie sat there a moment, frozen in indecision. She’d been banished, exiled from her tribe and family, warned never to return to the place. But Maynard had no one else. Candyce was gone, Theron was in Boston, and her mother and father no longer spoke.
How did he get hurt? Oh god, did someone hurt him?
She hurried to buckle her seat belt and shot a text off in return.
I’m on my way.
“I’m so sorry, but we have to go back.”
“What? I thought you were going north.”
You and me both, Blue Eyes. “I know. They’ve gone after -” The words came before she’d acknowledged the fear. Someone had hurt her father as punishment for her actions. She had to go back. No matter what they might do to her, she couldn’t let Papa bear the brunt of her actions. “I just – I need to be back on the rez. Can you take me home?”
Deacon’s eyes darted over her face, as though searching for something, then he started up the SUV and pulled out of the parking lot heading south.
Do you know what happened? Is he ok?
The text was well over ten minutes old, but still Theron hadn’t responded. Maggie sat there in complete silence, willing Deacon’s car to go faster. Deacon glanced at her from time to time, taking short breaths that betrayed intention to speak, but no words ever followed.
She almost wished he would speak. Perhaps mindless conversation would distract her from the rolling boil of her insides. They rounded the corner heading towar
d Falkirk’s Seat, and Maggie silently battled with images of her entire family, all standing by the borders of the rez, standing guard to stop her returning. She’d never seen anyone banished, didn’t know what the parameters were, all she knew is that those that were made to leave did so.
They passed a familiar gate along the left side of the road – the road leading to the Fenn land. Deacon awkwardly gestured to it as they passed, as though giving a tour to a visiting relative.
“Yeah, I live around here, thanks,” she said, and instantly regretted it.
Why do you have to be such a bitch?
She directed him down the familiar roads, many of the houses and trailers dark now in the late hour. They rolled down the long driveway that led to her father’s tired old cottage, its gray siding and chipped paint visible against the sea beyond. Maggie swallowed hard, fearing the contents of her stomach might rise up. Deacon parked the car as Maggie watched the dark windows. There was no sign of anyone there.
Oh god, Papa. Where are you?
“Thank you for the ride, Deacon,” she said, hustling out of the car as quickly as she could.
He nodded. “Anytime. Just let me know if you’re feeling the need to run away again. I might be up for it more often these days.”
Maggie paused for just a second. Somehow, the thought of seeing him again after that night had never occurred to her. She’d be somewhere unheard of – down in Boston or back in Washington. Did he really want to see her again?
He had a girlfriend until two seconds ago, Light Foot. Cut the shit!
The door to the house shifted just as she was about to respond, and her whole body melted in relief as her father stepped out onto the front stoop. He was upright. He was moving.
“Hey, I know that guy.”
Maggie stopped, turning to look at Deacon as his brow furrowed in confused recognition. “Do you now?”
“Yeah, he was at my house yesterday. Still not sure why, to tell you the truth, he didn’t say one word to me.”
Maggie took a deep breath, fighting to seem calm despite the dangers of her mere presence there on the rez. She shot Deacon a smirk. “No? Well, maybe he didn’t think you were worthy of marrying his daughter.”
She shut the car door just as Blue Eyes went slack jawed.
“Wait. You?”
Maggie gave him a polite wave, fighting desperately to ignore the look on his face – a look of pleased confusion. Damn it, Maggie. Stop thinking he’s beautiful.
Maggie rushed up the steps, taking hold of her father’s shoulders to inspect him. Despite his gait, his face showed signs of violence – something had happened in her absence. She spoke softly to him, shooting Deacon one final wave before leading her father into the house.
Maynard moved across the room, slumping down into his familiar chair with a loud protest of pain. Maggie shut the door of the cottage, watching the black SUV rolling down the long dirt driveway.
“You shouldn’t be here, my girl.”
Maggie stared out the window a moment longer. She knew every inch of the horizon, every tree and every rock of the beach, but this wasn’t home anymore, and as she replayed the moments in that council hall - the ease with which Richard severed her ties, the look on her mother’s face. It hurt her heart deeply, but she knew now the Passamaquoddy Reservation had never truly been her home.
“I know. Theron texted me. Said you were hurt.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It is you I’m worried about. You cannot be here, girl. If Chief finds out -”
“I’ll leave when you’re well, Papa.”
Maynard growled to himself, muttering in Passamaquoddy as he hobbled across the front room. His gait was uneven and labored, and despite her not being a bear, she could smell blood on him. Whatever injuries he was hiding, they weren’t pleasant. Still, she knew her father well; he would not take kindly to her doting.
“You must stay out of sight then. Hide yourself away. I fear I’m in no state to protect you from Chief’s wrath if he finds you’re here.”
Maggie leaned against the door, her forehead cold against the glass. She imagined how far down the road Blue Eyes was, if he’d reached the Fenn gate yet. If he’d called his girlfriend to settle things. She took a deep breath, and despite the resolve of her actions just hours ago, almost regretted refusing the marriage.
Don’t be silly, she thought.
She couldn’t betray a man as seemingly good as Deacon Fenn, especially not from the moment they met.
Maynard slumped through the kitchen and into his room, and Maggie listened to his familiar groans as he piled into his bed for the night.
Seven
“Do you really think it matters if we have an opening, Deac? Of course he’d have you back!” Lara said, gushing over the phone. Lara was Deacon’s friend and former partner from his days working as an EMT, days he missed often as he scanned bottles of red bull for stoners and displeased customers behind the counter of the convenience store in the North End of Boston.
Deacon paused, trying to settle his stomach enough to finish the conversation. He’d texted Carissa several times since her last text. She’d yet to respond.
It had been three days.
In a fit of blind anger and despair, Deacon phoned up his former dispatcher, Hank Farrell, asking if he had any openings for EMTs. The answer had been yes, come in right away.
Somehow, this answer only hurt his heart more. Taking the position was commitment. Taking the position was admitting his relationship of over a year was over.
It couldn’t be over, could it?
“I think you might have a bit more faith in my professional merit than I do,” he said.
Lara laughed. “Clearly I’m not the only one. When’s your first shift?”
Deacon glanced at the clock. “Tomorrow night, apparently.”
Lara burst into exaggerated cheers. “Yes! We’ll be riding together again! I can’t even begin to tell you how good it will be to work with someone who isn’t a complete idiot, again!”
“Is that so?”
Deacon covered the phone with his hand and glanced across the booth to Bennett Calhoun, offering up a sheepish gesture of apology for taking the call in the middle of breakfast. His upbringing taught him better, but when the call from dispatch came in, Deacon felt compelled to take it. He hadn’t expected it to be Lara on the other end.
“Hey, Lala – can I call you back? I’m actually having breakfast with Benny.”
Lara offered up a few more thoughts, shouted a hello to Bennett, and finally hung up, letting Deacon return to catching up with his old friend.
Bennett waved off his apology when it was offered, smiling up at Gracie as she appeared with his Lumberjack Breakfast. Deacon glanced across at Bennett’s plate. For a man that wasn’t a bear, Bennett sure as hell ate like one.
“Sorry, continue what you were saying?”
Bennett took the plate from Gracie, holding it between them for a second longer than necessary, and Deacon paused, glancing up at his cousin. She offered him the same smile, handing over his own Lumberjack breakfast – with extra blueberry pancakes.
Bennett shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the usual. Pops is slowing down a bit, but home is good. Life is good.”
Deacon slathered butter across his pancakes, trying to seem nonchalant. “And how are you doing?”
Deacon tried hard to make this question sound easy, but the question was loaded. Bennett Calhoun was the cousin of his brother’s wife, and an old school chum. He’d gone through hell the previous year. Deacon couldn’t imagine what Bennett was going through – Bennett’s father was Bodie Calhoun, the man responsible for the murders of at least four bear shifters, including Deacon’s Aunt and Great Uncle, Alison and Gregory Fenn. Had it not been for Catherine and Bennett Calhoun, Deacon and John Fenn might have been Bodie Calhoun’s last victims. Instead, Bodie Calhoun was dead, and Bennett carried the expression of a haunted man.
Unless he was smiling up at Gracie
, Deacon noted.
“I’m as good as can be expected,” Bennett said, carving into his eggs with a disinterested air.
The door to the tavern opened and a familiar figure caught Deacon’s attention. Maynard Talbot was making his way into the restaurant, his gait slow and staggered. Joe, his cousin Kirk’s very pregnant girlfriend, made her way across the dining room to greet him, showing him to a booth near the door. Deacon watched Joe move across the room, her pregnant waddle drawing a smile to his face. Many patrons commented on her still working when she was the size of a house. Joe rewarded curiosity with comments about swollen ankles and offensive gas, then just smiled and waddled away.
She was one tough cookie, he thought. He wondered if anyone ever made the mistake of commenting twice.
“Is the investigation done, then?” Deacon asked, still watching Maynard settle into his booth. The older man moved in a strange way, altered somehow since Deacon last saw him. Joe poured Maynard a cup of coffee and headed for the kitchen without giving the man a menu.
“Yeah. Last I heard from anybody was back in March. They returned his rifles to the house.”
Deacon wondered if they’d returned the pistol Bennett used that night – the one he used when he shot his father in the face.
“All of them?”
Bennett paused. “All but one.”
All but the one used to hunt and kill Alison and Gregory Fenn, and the two girls from the reservation. The same gun that put a hole in Catherine Calhoun’s side when she threw herself in the path of a shot intended for Deacon – a shot that may have taken her ability to have children. Deacon stopped chewing for a moment.
John still hadn’t told him. He could only imagine John’s heartbreak if it was true. Deacon watched the pregnant Josephine waddle by with a wide smile on her face and felt his chest grow tight.
“Jesus. You sleeping alright, again?” Deacon said, fighting to distract himself from his thoughts.
Bennett nodded. “That’s what pharmaceuticals are for, my friend.” And with that, Bennett shoved half a sausage link in his mouth and chomped down.
