by Bree Moore
“She never said they were together, and I’m certain she had nothing to do with his escape. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“It’s one of my last leads. There’s nothing to lose.” Even if her skin crawled at the thought of someone mixing up in their plans. It had always been just the two of them, Quinn and her, planning to get out of the foster system and find their parents. How would that change if a girl—especially a human one—was brought into the mix?
Harper could cross that road when she got there. For now, she needed to find him. She leaned forward, her chair slamming the ground with a thump, but Tyson didn’t react, the creases in his forehead deepening. She blew air out of her lips like a horse, leaning forward with her elbow on the table, fingers of her other hand tapping the hard surface. If he would just tell her, already…
“Hold your horses,” Tyson mumbled. The brooding look suited him. His thick eyebrows furrowed closer together, and his jaw clenched. A nice, strong jaw. Harper could imagine running her fingers along it…
What the hell? She shook herself out of the bizarre vision. Her foot jogged up and down, tapping on the floor. “What’s taking so long? Did she send a novel?”
“Nearly. Look, she’s chatty, okay? And I think it’s in a code of sorts. She’s talking about some memory from our childhood, but why?”
“Read it to me,” Harper demanded.
“Okay. Here goes.” He cleared his throat, and Harper held her breath.
This was it. This had to be it.
Chapter Ten
Tyson
…Do you remember that time when we hid under Nana’s bed and no one could find us? We fell asleep and our parents called the cops…
There was a lot more to the email, but Tyson’s eyes kept coming back to that line. What was Becca saying? Had someone called the cops on them?
“They’re obviously in hiding. Who’s Nana?” Harper’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Our grandmother. My father and her mother were siblings.”
“Where is your grandmother now?” Harper looked at him curiously.
“She’s at a rest home. Not too far from where I live.”
“Hm. That busts that theory. I thought they might be at her house, or something, but assisted living doesn’t allow for stuff like that, does it?”
Tyson’s lips moved soundlessly as he read the line again. Then something about it struck me. “She was sleeping with me. With me.”
Harper arched one brow, a strange smile creeping across her face. “You probably shouldn’t broadcast that. I mean, she’s your cousin…”
“Gross. Okay, you know I didn’t mean it that way. In the memory she mentioned, we hid together.” He set his phone down. “She’s at my place.”
“She is? What about Quinn?”
“She doesn’t say anything about him.” Tyson itched to get back to his apartment.
“Can I read it again?”
Tyson unlocked the phone and passed it to Harper, watching her face as she read. Her expression was so open, so earnest. Her brother was the key to opening her up, after all. They must have been close.
She dropped the phone back on the desk. “You’re right. We’re back at square one.”
“Not necessarily. She might know where he is. Or they could be together, but she’s protecting him by not mentioning him.”
“When do you go back home?”
Tyson held up the new lanyard Lilith gave him. “Today, if I want.”
Harper stared at her hands, and silence lingered between them. Tyson expected her to be excited, but she looked like he had shared the worst news with her.
“You ready to sleep in your own bed tonight?” she said at last.
“Yeah.” He reached over to his computer and logged out, then grabbed the lanyard and phone, shoving both in his pocket. “Harper,” Tyson said, locking eyes with her. “Are you okay? After Violet?”
She rubbed her wrist with the opposite hand. “I’m all right. I don’t think she should remain in charge, though. Maybe Lilith. Someone who has it together.”
Tyson shook his head. “You won’t find anyone better than Violet. Give her a chance. I think you’ll find your impression is wrong.” Despite how annoying the witch was, that much he agreed with. No one else could run this camp like Violet.
Harper glanced away, then her eyes flicked back to Tyson. “What about you? Are you okay?”
She meant the rogue attack. Tyson swallowed, and his heart rate picked up at the memory. “I’ll be better once I can relax at home for a bit.”
She laughed. “Good luck with that.”
A breathy, nervous laugh escaped him. “Yeah, thanks.”
She walked toward the door. Tyson watched her go, noticing how graceful her stride was. Not the kind of thing a therapist should think about a client. He swallowed to bring moisture back into his mouth.
Harper paused in the doorway, hand on the frame as she turned back toward him. “When will you be back?”
“Tuesday morning.” Vulnerability lingered in her expression, and he found himself wanting to reassure her. “Will you be all right until then?”
She slipped into the hall without answering. Tyson stared at the open doorway for a while, gathering his thoughts. His eyes land on the locked cabinets under the desk, where they kept the residents’ printed records. He should have taken notes on this session, written down what he’d learned about Harper. Her brother, her repeated expression of her desire to escape and her distrust of Violet and James…
He’d do it when he got back. That would give him a chance to figure out which parts he could put in and which he wanted to leave out to keep Becca safe. His hand rested on the light switch just inside the doorway, and he looked back into the room. It seemed charged with some kind of foreign energy, both exciting and discomforting. He envisioned his mentor, Tom, sitting in the room in the chair across the desk, hands clasped in his lap, staring Tyson down with those grey-blue eyes.
Stay in this profession long enough and you start to feel like them.
Tyson hadn’t known what he meant when he first said it.
Soon you won’t be able to separate their feelings from your own. When that happens, it’s time to leave.
Tyson remembered asking Tom if he felt that way. He chuckled.
Why do you think you’re here? Someone has to take my place.
Tyson’s throat constricted. He flipped the light off and locked the door, then headed up the stairs to ask one of the witches to open a portal and send him home.
The witches were not in. The apothecary sat quiet with the lights on, but nobody was home. Tyson was relieved to not find Violet inside, at least.
“Hello?” Tyson said the word hesitantly, as if it could summon a demon from among the books. No one answered.
Tyson stepped closer to a nearby bookshelf to read the titles, curious what type of books witches kept. One row of thick volumes caught his attention. The titles were dates. Each book contained a range of years. He ran his finger along them from the current year down to dates from before the Reveal, when Violet ran this place by herself for any paranormal needing refuge. Back before it was illegal to be anything other than human.
Nearly twenty years of books sat on the shelf. Tyson came back towards the middle, looking for a particular volume. It was a long shot, but it would have been about ten years ago, and this was the only camp in Oregon. He dragged the volume off its shelf and nearly dropped it. It was heavier than expected. He opened it to find the names and records, including some photos, of everyone who passed through that year. They were somehow in alphabetical order. Was the book was spelled in some way? It seemed unlikely Violet did all this after the fact. Not that Tyson knew anything about it. He avoided the apothecary when he could, and these books had sat under his nose for two years.
Did they say anything about Reya?
Tyson flipped to ‘R’ before realizing his mistake. I
t would be by last name. He turned the pages closer to the end of the book to “T”. Her last name was Todde. And there she was, nestled in the midst of the pages about her parents and siblings. Each person had pages of records, some more than others. Reya had four.
His hands sweated as his nerves set in. He wiped them on his jeans, staring at the door as if it would burst open of its own accord. Voices passed in the hall, then silence. He breathed deeply, trying not to sneeze with the herbal smell in the room, and brought his attention back to the book.
Her name stood out in bold. Reya Todde. The daughter of Stephen and Linda, and she had five siblings, all classified as fox shifters.
Voices in the hall again. Blood rushed into Tyson’s ears, and anxiety grew to a palpable point. What would Violet do if she caught him going through her private books? Were they meant to be private, stored unspelled on an exposed shelf as they were?
Tyson took out his phone. The battery had been saved by his turning it off at every opportunity, though the bar was in the red. He flipped through each of the four double-sided pages without reading, his eyes locked on the door, only glancing back to check his camera was in focus. He caught a few pictures out of the corner of his eye, but his frantic glances kept him from processing what he saw. A flash of red hair, a blur of blue.
He slammed the book shut and thrust it toward its spot on the shelf. It rammed into a book on the right, making that book fall into the wrong space, and he reached up to push it out of the way before the record book could slide into place.
The door creaked, and James strode into the room.
“Mr. Miller.”
“You can call me Tyson.”
“Mm.” James jutted out his chin, looking Tyson over through his glasses. He lifted one side of his glasses, adjusting them on his nose. “I assume you would like to be sent home.”
“I’ll be back in time for Fletcher.”
James gathered a few items and sketched on the ground, whistling slightly. In moments, the portal was up. “I had a standing order for a portal prepared in case you didn’t want to catch a Ryde.”
Tyson hesitated. James had assumed Tyson would use magic. That he would prefer it. Tyson rarely used magic, and yet somehow it was becoming a habit.
James sighed. “There are no shortage of them, and it’s no trouble.”
“I know, just, I…Thank you,” Tyson managed. The spellwork might be nothing, but the paperwork associated with licensing a portal wasn’t simple.
“You’re welcome.” James gestured. “And goodnight.”
Tyson stepped through, holding his breath at the uncomfortable pricking sensation that traveled across his skin.
The problem with portal magic was that you had no time to prepare for arriving at your destination. If Tyson had driven, he could have thought about what he was going to say, how he would react. He had none of that advantage.
The portal’s light died behind him, and he stared at the enormous, long-haired man sitting on the couch. Quinn. He looked as uncomfortable as Tyson felt, hands on his knees, sitting stiff and upright. Did he recognize Tyson?
Tyson opened his mouth to say…He didn’t know what. Probably something stupid.
Becca bounded into the room. “Tyson!” She shrieked and flung herself into his arms. Quinn jerked into action, rising off the couch halfway. A bit jumpy, apparently. Tyson returned Becca’s embrace and the tension that had been running in the back of his mind since she disappeared melted away, only to be replaced with a new kind of fear. She was here, but so was Quinn, confirming that she’d helped him.
“Your face!” she exclaimed.
“I’ll explain later. For now, do you want to tell me why there’s a felon in my living room?” Tyson asked, tugging on her arms to get her to loosen her grip. His hand brushed a bandage on one of her arms.
“Two, actually,” Becca said, far too cheerfully.
“Wait, what happened to your arm?” Tyson asked, aghast. Her arm was covered wrist to elbow with a white bandage.
“You know, I’m not sure. It had something to do with the cursed half-snake mummy my dad sent to the shop before I left. I’m trying a few things on it. I think it’s just irritated.”
“Not infected, though?” Tyson searched her eyes, looking for any evidence of deception. She would lie to keep me from worrying.
“It’s fine. Barely painful anymore. I think it’s getting better.”
Tyson closed his eyes, breathing out. “I hoped that you helping him was a rumor.”
“You knew I liked him, didn’t you?” Her eyes searched his, and then she laughed. “Tyson Miller, you’re the most unobservant person I know! I couldn’t leave Quinn in that place. Not with what they wanted to do to him.” She crossed to the couch and reached a hand out to Quinn. He took it, and Becca swung their hands between them in her giddy way.
“Your dad would be so proud.” Tyson swallowed as he said the words, knowing at the same time that he shouldn’t have said them. Becca’s face morphed into a scowl. Anger formed behind her eyes like a storm.
“You know I don’t agree with my dad’s methods and beliefs.”
“Yeah. I know.” Sometimes I wish you had more sense, though. That thought stayed inside Tyson’s mind, fortunately. He rubbed the back of his head. “Circumstances aside, it’s good to see you, Becca.”
Becca grinned, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. “I know you sort of already met, but last time it was under duress. So, Tyson, this is Quinn. Quinn, Tyson.” She bounced on her heels looking fit to burst.
Quinn stood, towering over Tyson. Well, okay, that was an exaggeration. He was only about three inches taller, but it felt like a lot since he was built like a quarterback. He reached out a hand, and Tyson extended his to meet it, grasping as firmly as he could without coming off combative. Harper and her brother seemed to have very little in common. Quinn was enormous, and all of it lean muscle. His hair flowed down his back much longer than Harper’s, and he had the sort of face most girls died for. Harper was pretty normal on that front. Not stunning, but not plain either. She just…blended in. Quinn definitely stood out. They had the same intense brown-eyed gaze, though. Tyson squirmed under his scrutiny, wondering what he thought.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Quinn said with a deep, baritone voice.
“Can’t say the same, but then Becca loves to spring things on me.” Tyson smiled, hoping it looked friendly. Quinn’s Naturalization file was as thin as Harper’s. Thinner, actually. According to Tom, Quinn sat in complete silence every appointment he had.
Becca grabbed Quinn’s hand, smiling up at him. Eyes on him, she spoke to Tyson. “You don’t look very surprised to see us. I knew you could figure it out. I was betting Quinn that you would freak.” She sounded disappointed.
Tyson slid his hands into his pockets. “Brilliant, hiding it in the email that way.”
“I know, right? Did you delete it, by the way?”
“Er, no.” Tyson opened his phone. The battery was dead. “Let me get my charger.” He moved toward his room, aware of Quinn’s eyes following him.
In his room, Tyson could breathe. The whole apartment felt different with them there. Unstable. Not like the sanctuary it usually was when he returned from the camp each week. He reached over the side of his bed, grasping for his phone cord. It came up and he plugged in his phone, waiting while it powered up.
It was the perfect time to change out of his filthy clothes. He stripped everything off, grabbing a fresh set of clothes. He wished he could shower and wash away everything from the past couple of days, but there wasn’t time. He had no idea how long his guests would stay.
As Tyson tugged his shirt over his head, he heard Becca and Quinn talking in the other room. He strained, but couldn’t hear their low voices. He walked softly toward his door, listening at the crack.
“I don’t know, Becca. He works for them.”
“We’ve talked about this before.
We can trust Tyson. He’s more loyal toward family than the system.” Becca didn’t sound angry, just passionate. Her trust in Tyson settled like a weight on his shoulders, and his mouth went dry. Faced with the reality of harboring fugitives from the law, he struggled to make sense of what he should do. It didn’t feel the way he expected. It was Becca, after all. Tyson would do anything for her. Except bury a body. A person had to draw the line somewhere.
Tyson’s phone buzzed, indicating it had turned fully on, and he brought his attention back to it, flopping onto his bed. His finger hovered over the photo icon, tempted to scan through the pictures he’d taken of Reya’s record, but it could wait. It had to wait. Instead, he tapped his email. He selected Becca’s most recent messages and deleted them before he could talk himself out of it.
“Tyson?” Becca called out.
“Coming!” Tyson rolled off the bed, leaving his phone to charge. Becca and Quinn sat next to each other on the couch, glancing meaningfully at each other. Since she lived out of state, Tyson had never seen her with any of her past boyfriends. It was bizarre how nervous it made him feel.
Tyson stood awkwardly at the edge of the room. The only open seat was the couch, next to Quinn. He’d pass on that. Tyson sat cross-legged on the floor, determining once all this is over he’d get an armchair or something so he could have guests. He’d never had anyone else over. Of course his first guests would have to be convicted felons…
“There’s some things you should know. More than you already do,” Becca began. “We’re together, first off.”
“That being the most important thing?” He raised his eyebrows. Becca rolled her eyes. “I knew you had a thing for him when you were both at the camp. I’m a bit surprised it led to escaping and evading the law, but…”
She glared. “They wanted his wings, Tyson. If someone wanted to chop off your legs, would you let them?”
“It isn’t really the same thing.”
“You know what, shut up,” she snapped. “You’re great at the whole counselor thing, except for this.”
