by Bree Moore
“Here for an encore?” Harper’s voice sounded tougher than she felt. She didn’t know how that song had worked before, but she was certain she could do it again. Despite the fact that her chest felt cracked open like an egg after oozing so much emotion. She tried to pull her grit together, ready for this to turn into a fight, but the bald man only chuckled.
“Your pretty tune might have put me to sleep, songbird, but I came prepared this time.” He turned his head, neon green foam earbuds jammed into his ears. The fact that he put them in prior to approaching meant he intended to encounter Harper. As soon as she had that thought, she relaxed. They’d been watching her. If they wanted her dead, they would have struck while she was vulnerable with Fletcher a few minutes ago. They waited, waited until the right moment so they could talk.
“You want something,” Harper said.
Fletcher made a strangled sound, and his eyes widened as he looked between Harper and the rogue.
“I have a message to deliver,” the man said, jutting his chin out. “If you have need of any assistance in two days’ time, you know where to find us.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“We have no quarrel with you. You were defending someone you thought was innocent. If you do this thing…” He shrugged as his voice trailed off.
“I won’t need your services,” Harper stated calmly with a sideways look at Fletcher, hoping the bald werewolf picked up on the need for discretion. Fletcher wouldn’t understand the value of Lilith’s plan, not the way he worshipped Violet and James and the whole system of Naturalization. Even after what they had done to him.
The man’s intense stare stayed fixed on Harper. “You will. When you do, use this sign.” He reached a fist up to the nearest tree and tapped out a rhythm. He did it twice. “We will come.” At that, the forest blurred. When the trees stopped swirling Harper panted to keep from retching.
“What was that about?” Fletcher asked, looking at Harper in bewilderment. His face was pale and sweaty, maybe with the same sick feeling she had. “It was like he knew you.”
Harper shook her head. “I don’t even know his name. We met once, and I kicked his ass.”
He watched her carefully. “So you don’t know what he wanted? You’re not trying to escape again, are you?”
“Nope.” The bald-faced lie rolled off Harper’s tongue smooth as butter. Fletcher wasn’t a fool, he was just giving her a chance to tell the truth. He tried one more time.
“What’s happening in two days?”
“You go home.” She softened her voice and gave him a small, sad smile. Her gut twisted with guilt at the redirection, but she ignored it. It was for his good. He was leaving, too. He didn’t need the burden of knowing what she was about to do.
He tilted his head, but let her change the subject. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
Awkwardness filled the air between them. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since their kiss on the cliff. Harper scuffed her boot on the ground, and her feathers brushed her arms.
My wings. She shifted quickly, before looking at Fletcher. That pinched look was back on his face.
He covered it up with words. “Hungry? I think dinner must be ready. Nothing makes me hungrier than crying. Except maybe being terrified out of my mind by strangers in forests.”
Harper nodded, still mute and uncertain. They walked together toward the cabin. It was as if their entire conversation, his meltdown, her freakout, the rogue offering his help…none of it ever happened. They got inside and the hall was empty. Everyone was in the kitchen, eating.
Fletcher’s hand reached toward Harper’s, covering it with his warmth. She didn’t pull away. He needed the comfort, and it was a small thing she could offer him. They were still holding hands when they entered the kitchen. Harper wondered if he caught the looks shot their way, subtle glances, little whispers of gossip.
Food and friends and laughter. Nothing was wrong, but a dark undercurrent flowed beneath the conversation, and Harper wondered if anyone else felt it. Ian glanced up once, moving his long black bangs to one side, and his sea-green eyes spoke a sorrow she connected with instantly. Her food tasted bland, but she pushed through the meal and emptied her plate, doing her best to stay in the conversation happening around her.
It was movie night again, apparently. Fletcher dragged Harper to the common room and debated heartily over which movie to watch. Nothing sad, he insisted, and everyone agreed because they know what he’d been through, and they all liked him. Some of them couldn’t seem to take their eyes off of him.
It made Harper sick to her stomach, but she stayed to help Fletcher so he knew that someone was here who understood that there was more beneath the surface. Someone who saw him in his pain and could sit in it with him and not be frightened away. She could be that person for him. So, she crossed her arms over her stomach and sat on a couch beside him.
He fell asleep at some point, head coming to rest on Harper’s shoulder. She let herself be in the moment, pretending she was a normal young woman with a normal young man, watching a movie with some friends. And the illusion actually lasted until the credits rolled and people started leaving the room. Harper was left with Fletcher’s head weighing her down.
She tried to push his arm off, to no avail. She nudged his ribs with her elbow. “Fletcher,” she whispered.
He grunted and moved closer. Harper considered fighting her way out of his embrace, but decided against it. Someone passed her a blanket from a stack near the wall, and she took it, adjusting until she was in a more comfortable reclined position. Someone else turned off the TV screen. A little light from the moon outside filtered through the windows. It was nice and warm, curled into Fletcher’s side on the couch. Listening to the heavy breathing of those sleeping around her, Harper finally relaxed enough to drift to sleep.
She stirred around dawn as the room brightened but refused to wake up fully. Some residents stirred in rooms overhead, and promising sounds came from the kitchen. People started walking through the common room to reach the kitchen, some of them trying to be quiet, others without any regard for those sleeping on the floor and chairs.
It was then Harper noticed Fletcher was missing. The blanket they shared lay rumpled on the ground, but the couch beside her was empty.
He’d cooked breakfast two days in a row, an extra day to help her out, so he couldn’t be in charge of that. Laundry happened on Saturdays. She couldn’t think of any reason he would be gone, unless he just wanted to be alone. Or maybe he woke up and decided to sleep in his bed. Harper let herself relax. That had to be it.
Harper was convinced she would see Fletcher at breakfast, but her cereal went soggy and her appetite disappeared as her eyes wandered the room looking for him. It had been a long day and a late night. Perhaps he slept in. But past breakfast time?
She took a guess at his favorite cereal and poured him a bowl before the pantry locked, guarding it at the table amidst stares from the other residents who came through for breakfast. When the bell rang for class, she knew something had to be wrong.
Harper wished she knew where his room was. Beckett was his roommate, though, so if she could find him… She ran down the hall, glancing in classrooms, ducking to avoid Mr. Petrov catching her skipping class. She went outside, looking around the garage where she first met the one-legged werewolf, but it was empty. She headed around the back and found the dueling fields full, Zeke instructing a class gathered around him for once.
Beckett stood at the back, balanced on one leg, arms folded. Harper came toward him, trying not to draw attention. Zeke saw her, of course, and gave her a disapproving look, but didn’t stop his animated explanation of the tools a Hunter used to track paranormals. Beckett turned around before Harper reached him, his grin dissolving with worry when he saw her haunted expression.
“Harper. What’s going on?”
“I can’t find Fletcher.”
Beckett considered. “He is sup
posed to meet with Tyson this morning. Have you checked with him?”
Harper bit her lip. She really didn’t want to talk to Tyson. “He never came to breakfast.” Zeke shot another look our way, the kind that told her she better get lost if she didn’t want an earful. “I’m worried about him.”
Beckett’s eyebrows creased. “Me too. He wasn’t in bed last night, but I assumed he slept on the couch.”
“He did. I thought he went to bed, though. The couch was empty this morning.”
“Do you two want a demonstration? I can certainly make this subject more exciting, since it doesn’t seem to be holding your attention,” Zeke warned. His dreadlocks swung across his face as he glared at the two of them.
Beckett looked at Zeke and cleared his throat. “Harper is concerned about Fletcher, Alpha. Permission to start a search party to make sure he’s okay?”
Harper held her breath. She didn’t want to get Fletcher in trouble if he was doing something that might damage his perfect Naturalization record, but his safety was more important to her, especially after their conversation yesterday. He seemed fine last night, but…
Zeke considered them, then nodded. “Let’s make sure we know where he is, and that he isn’t alone. You two are dismissed. Let me know what you find.”
Beckett nudged Harper. “Come with me. You can fly, I can run. Where do you think he might be?”
She shrugged. She truly had no idea.
“I’ll round up some of the pack, then. We can search in several directions, starting inside. I’ll check with Tyson. Take to the air and see how much ground you can cover. We’ll meet back here in an hour, hopefully with Fletcher.”
“All right. Thank you, Beckett.” She watched him transform, a stomach-churning and yet fascinating sight, then he bounded off toward the cabin on three legs.
Harper stretched her wings out and flapped them a few times, feeling their strength. She hadn’t used them much since her flight with Fletcher, so they seemed a bit stiff, but otherwise ready to go. She ran and let the wind catch them, taking her higher until she was far enough above the tree line to see for miles. She started in a circle, looping around the camp grounds. He wasn’t on the porch or anywhere near the cabin. She widened her loop, her heightened vision seeing clearly between trees, looking to catch a glimpse of someone sitting, or perhaps walking.
Harper spotted the werewolves from Beckett and Zeke’s pack—about a dozen sprinting in each direction. They must not have found him in the cabin. Despite her anxiety, she felt relieved that she wasn’t doing this alone.
An hour later, trees blurred in her vision. She was dizzy from flying in circles and forced herself to land on a branch near the top of a tall pine to rest. Fletcher was nowhere to be seen.
A howl carried through the forest, and then a string of howls was taken up. Harper’s skin went cold at that eerie, sad sound. Did it mean they had found him? She headed back to meet Beckett where they had previously agreed, just outside the cabin in the back. Beckett wasn’t there. A few of the other werewolves were, some in their shifted forms, others changed back into human form. They stopped talking when Harper landed. She recognized Kamri and waved.
Kamri’s face looked somber. “Hey, Harper.”
“Did they find him?”
“It sounds like it. Though Zeke isn’t saying much else.”
“Zeke?” Wasn’t he teaching?
“He joined the hunt a while ago. That was his howl we heard first.” She sat cross-legged on the ground, one of her pack members resting its wolf head on her knee. She picked at a blade of grass in her hands until it became stubble, then dropped it and picked another, starting the process over. Her eyes looked toward the tree line. Harper followed her gaze, waiting impatiently for any sight of them. It took a long time. What would Fletcher be doing so far out? If she had the direction right, he had gone nearly as far as…as far as…
Two wolves appeared through the trees, running fast. Harper recognized Beckett’s grey-brown form and Zeke’s black one. They were both regular-sized werewolves, not giants like Keith. They trotted up to the group, tongues lolling, sides heaving.
Zeke immediately transformed. His face was impassive, but there was something in his eyes…
“We found his body.” His mouth kept moving, but Harper couldn’t follow what he said. It didn’t make sense. She stared at Zeke, who asked her a question, but she couldn’t react because her mind hadn’t caught up yet.
Kamri shook her shoulder. “Harper? Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
“What did he say?” Harper asked, finally finding her tongue.
Kamri blinked back tears, her voice breaking. “He jumped off a cliff on the north side of camp. They found his body at the bottom.”
They found his body at the bottom of a cliff.
His cliff.
Harper walked away, ignoring Kamri and Zeke both calling after her. Inside, she passed Ian, who didn’t know what had happened, so he smiled and said hello. Harper ignored him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process, couldn’t do anything but walk. She moved automatically up the stairs and down the hall to her room and locked the door, sitting on her bed and waiting for her world to crumble.
Nothing happened. The alarm clock’s digital numbers clicked forward a minute at a time, and Harper waited for the hurricane of emotion to hit her.
Fletcher was dead. But she hadn’t seen his body yet, so how could it be true?
Harper ignored knocks on the door. Someone fetched a key and opened it. To her surprise, it was Ian.
“Can I come in?”
Harper said nothing. He stepped through the doorway, but kept his distance.
“They’ve retrieved his body. You…you probably don’t want to see it, though. But if you want to say goodbye or…”
She stood abruptly and pushed past him into the hall. He followed her into the basement to an empty room with a table holding a shrouded body. The sight of blood staining the sheets released the wave waiting to crash down inside of her.
Harper sprinted from the room, bolted up the stairs and out the front door and took off into the sky.
There was no comfort in the wind or the sun, but Harper didn’t return until nightfall, body spent, spirit spent. She couldn’t go back to her room, couldn’t stop thinking about that body in the basement. She curled up on the couch where she last saw Fletcher alive and cried.
Tyson’s voice hovered over her, asking if she needed to talk.
“Go away!” She screamed in his face like a harpy, wings beating threateningly until he backed off and left her alone.
Fletcher’s parents arrived the next day expecting to see their son alive, leaving instead with the empty shell that remained. Harper watched them from her bedroom window on the second floor, the body draped across the back seat of the car, wrapped in layers of white sheets. His father half-carried his mother as she leaned on him, sobbing. Did she realize that it was her fault? Or did she care that the only reason Fletcher even considered that horrid operation was because he had no choice other than the one his family forced him into?
Sorrow gave way to anger, boiling in Harper’s heart. At least her parents didn’t give into the Naturalization nonsense. They couldn’t have been like Fletcher’s parents, cowardly turning their babies in to be tagged by the government and followed until they came of age to be maimed and tossed back to society like a hooked fish. Could they?
Harper narrowed her eyes, fingers tapping the windowsill. What if the reason she didn’t remember receiving a tracking chip during the warding, the reason she couldn’t feel it in her back, was because it was somewhere else, placed there when she was a baby?
Harper scratched her arms, working on a non-existent itch, feeling the emotion rise inside and wanting to maintain clarity, to finish this thought process, to…
Hello. What was that?
Her fingertips glided over the spot again and caught on a small bump just beneath th
e skin at the crook of her arm. She rubbed at it, wondering if it could be a tight muscle.
It felt like a large, fat grain of rice the length of her pinky nail, and it didn’t seem like muscle. No, something harder. Plastic or metal, maybe. Excitement rose in her. Harper searched the room, looking for something sharp, something she could dig into her arm with and pry the horrid thing out of her. Then she could escape with Quinn, and they couldn’t track her. She didn’t have to go through what Fletcher did. Her story would end differently.
Downstairs the doorbell rang, and Harper froze. What was she thinking? They’d know if she took it out now, and it wouldn’t do her any good to be stuck here, warded against escaping.
But there was something she could do to change that. She could remove Violet and James from leadership over the camp. Put someone who truly cared about what happened to paranormals in charge, someone who would fight for the government to change the limits placed on them, to stop hunting and killing them if they didn’t comply. Prevent what happened to Fletcher from happening to someone else. Lilith had given Harper the chance to be the force that initiated change. For once in Harper’s life, she wasn’t powerless.
She’d been a victim of the system all her life, and she wasn’t going to wait another moment for that to change.
Chapter Eighteen
Tyson
Tom stood across from Tyson, leaning on the desk between them. The office Tyson used was technically Tom’s, but there was no evidence of that. No pictures of his family, no personal paraphernalia. Half a dozen copies of his book sat on a shelf, and there was a plant next to them.
Yesterday, Fletcher sat in a chair in the exact same place that Tom now stood. A smile on his face despite the pain. How had things gotten where they were today?
Tyson tapped his finger rhythmically on the hard surface, unable to look at Tom.
