Grave Threat

by Lori Drake

  “May I cut in?” It was the raven.

  Anxiety flowed out of Chris like the departing tide, and in rushed a flood of warmth, of joy. He dropped his arms from Karina and stepped back. “Of course.”

  But the raven didn’t sweep Karina off to dance. He took her place. It should have been strange, waltzing around the dance floor with another man, but somehow it wasn’t. Maybe Karina was right. Maybe he didn’t have to leave.

  Why had he even thought about leaving? There was no place he’d rather be.

  “Rise and shine, it’s a glorious day!”

  Chris opened his eyes and received a face full of sunlight as the cheerful youth in his room yanked open the blinds. Squinting, all he could make out at first was the vague impression of a halo of golden hair around the young man’s head.

  “Who are you?” Chris asked.

  “I’m Robin, but you can call me Rob. Most everyone does. Come on, I brought you some breakfast. Eat it while it’s hot!”

  Chris sat up, rubbing the back of his head as he glanced around the small room. Sure enough, there was a breakfast tray on the writing desk. He went over to investigate, finding oatmeal, scrambled eggs, fruit, and a cup of coffee.

  Rob hovered nearby. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream or sugar with your coffee. I can run and get you some if you want it.”

  The offer gave Chris pause. “Uh, sure…”

  “You got it!” Rob headed for the door, closing and locking it behind him.

  Chris listened to Rob’s retreating hurried footsteps, blinking a bit. The kid’s solicitous nature was surprising. Did they always roll out the red carpet for their abductees? Chris set the thought aside and tucked into his breakfast. He needed to keep his strength up for his opportunity to escape, when it came. He’d barely taken three bites when Rob burst into the room with a broad smile splitting his features. He must’ve run all the way to the kitchen and back.

  “Ta-da! You ask and I deliver.” Rob deposited a bottle of non-dairy creamer and a handful of sugar packets on Chris’s tray, then crossed to the bed and started making it.

  “What are you, some kind of manservant?” Chris asked.

  Rob didn’t so much laugh as erupt in laughter. “Oh, haha! That’s funny. They didn’t tell me you were funny.”

  Chris wondered what they had told Rob about him, but didn’t want to distract him. He seemed rather distractible.

  “But no, I’m not a manservant. I’m your Guide. Sorry if I’m a little overenthusiastic. This is my first Guide assignment, so it’s exciting.”

  “What does a Guide do?”

  Rob fluffed Chris’s pillow, then covered it with the blanket and smoothed out wrinkles with deft hands. “It’s kind of like a mentor. I’ll be giving you a tour, showing you the ropes, answering questions. That kind of thing.”

  “I do have a lot of questions,” Chris said around a mouthful of oatmeal.

  “That’s great! Asking questions is the surest path to enlightenment.” Rob pressed his palms together and bowed, then walked over to the dresser. “You probably want a shower, right? I heard you got in pretty late and were on the road for a couple of days. There are some fresh clothes in here. If anything doesn’t fit, let me know and I’ll get you squared away.”

  Chris watched as Rob pulled out a fresh pair of chinos, a button-down shirt, and a pair of boxers. “I’ll keep my own clothes for now, thanks.”

  “Hey, whatever you want, man. But the sooner you cast off the trappings of your former life, the more at home you’ll feel.”

  Chris grunted in answer, not wanting to think about his stay being any longer than necessary. But this kid seemed pretty green. Maybe he could overpower him on the tour, find Adelaide, and escape before anyone was the wiser.

  Somehow, he doubted it’d be that easy.

  After breakfast, Rob escorted Chris down the hall to a bathroom. “There are toothbrushes, razors—all new, of course—shaving cream, toothpaste, shampoo, towels… Should be everything you need, but if not, I’ll be right outside.”

  Chris nodded and the teen withdrew, closing the door behind him. At least this door didn’t have a deadbolt on it. Unfortunately, it didn’t have a handle lock either. Chris scanned the room, noting the single narrow window high on the wall over the bathtub. Joey might’ve been able to wiggle out of it, but there was no way Chris could.

  Joey.

  Seeing her had done him good last night, even if it was from the astral plane. Guilt over leaving her still plagued him. If he could go back, knowing what he knew now, would he do it again? He wasn’t sure. Eric might have made good on his threat to hurt Adelaide, but knowing that Eric had been bringing her to Eastgate on Marc’s orders changed the landscape somewhat. Ah, hindsight.

  Pushing the melancholy thoughts away, Chris turned his attention back to the present. He conducted a quick search of the bathroom, but didn’t come up with anything he could use as a weapon except a plunger, which was hardly concealable. The razors were disposable safety razors. He could slip an extra toothbrush up his sleeve, and try to file it down into a shiv, prison-style. Maybe grab an extra bar of soap and a sock from the dresser…

  “Everything okay in there?”

  Rob’s question from the other side of the door spurred Chris out of thought and into action. “Yeah,” he said, and hurried over to turn on the shower. He brushed his teeth and decided not to bother shaving while he waited for the hot water. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone, after all.

  Once he’d washed away two days’ worth of grime, Chris almost regretted refusing clean clothes. Since they weren’t quite ready to stand on their own, he put them back on… with one exception.

  “Hey, Rob!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you bring me a fresh pair of socks?” No one understood the importance of foot care like soldiers and dancers.

  “Sure!”

  Chris listened to Rob’s footsteps retreat and briefly considered escape, but dismissed it as a poor opportunity. By the time he got his socks and shoes on, Rob would be back. Instead, he opened the cabinet again and snagged an extra toothbrush. The cellophane wrapper crinkled noisily and he quickly tore it off, then shoved the toothbrush up his sleeve.

  He’d just dropped the wrapper in the trash can when the door opened. He jumped and spun, heart hammering.

  “Sorry! Should’ve knocked,” Rob said, tossing him a balled-up pair of clean athletic socks.

  “Good thing I’m not one of those guys that puts his socks on first,” Chris said, snatching the socks from the air.

  Rob snickered and leaned in the doorway, waiting while Chris put on socks and shoes. When he was finished, Chris grabbed his dirty socks but wasn’t sure what to do with them. The trash can was awfully inviting.

  “The laundry chute is right down the hall,” Rob said, as if reading his mind. “I’ll show you. All part of the tour. Come on.” He jerked his head toward the door, then turned and went out into the hall.

  Chris followed, socks in hand, and blinked when he stepped out of the bathroom and came face to face with his mother. Or chest to face, given her shorter stature.

  “Mom, hey, are you okay?” He hugged her impulsively, forgetting for now that they were on the outs. All of that seemed unimportant now.

  “I’m fine, Christopher.” She squeezed him back, then pulled away to sweep her eyes over him. It was an assessing look, if ever there were one, but it was reassuring to see her much more like herself this morning. “They’re treating you well?”

  “Yeah, aside from the whole holding me against my will thing, it’s practically the Ritz.” Chris glanced past her to take in a young woman standing with Rob. “They gave you a Guide too?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Speaking of which,” Adelaide’s Guide said, “we have a schedule to keep, Mrs. Grant.”

  Chris hugged his mother again, this time careful to keep his face obscured from the Guides. He whispered to Adelaide, “If you have the opportunity to escape
, take it. Don’t wait for me. Joey’s with the Silver Springs pack. Go to them.”

  She searched his eyes when he released her, but gave him a tiny nod before heading into the bathroom. Chris rejoined Rob and continued down the hall with him.

  “Are we on a schedule too?” Chris asked, glancing over his shoulder in time to see Adelaide’s Guide disappear into the bathroom.

  “A loose one. Don’t mind Astrid. She’s got a stick up her ass.” Rob flashed him a grin over one shoulder, then stopped to show Chris the laundry chute.

  “Where does this go?” Chris asked, tossing his socks into it. He didn’t really care if he got them back; throwing them away would have suited him just fine, but he suspected this was a “waste not, want not” sort of place.

  “The laundry, where else?” Rob grinned. “Don’t rush me. We’ll get there.”

  Chris laughed, starting to like this kid in spite of himself.

  As Rob led him through the house, Chris kept an eye out for security features. There weren’t many to speak of. No cameras, no motion detectors. The windows had only the most rudimentary built-in locks, though he couldn’t say without inspecting the windows more closely how many of them were nailed shut. The people were pleasant, most offering friendly smiles and words of welcome when they were introduced. He met so many that he quickly lost track of their names.

  “How long have you been here, Rob?” Chris asked. They were outside by then, touring the grounds that Chris had scoped out astrally the previous night.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure. It seems like forever,” Rob said. “I can’t remember wanting to be anywhere else.”

  The words sparked something inside Chris, something lurking at the edge of his memory that he couldn’t quite recall. “Where are you from, originally?”

  Rob shrugged. “It’s not where you’ve been that matters, it’s where you are and where you’re going that counts.”

  The words had a rote sound to them, and Chris studied the young man’s guileless face. “I dunno, I’d say that the past shapes who you are today. You know how the saying goes: those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

  “That sounds like something someone with regrets would say,” Rob said, chuckling.

  “You have no regrets?”

  “None. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. What happened before doesn’t matter. It was all for a reason.”

  Chris’s forehead crinkled. “What reason would that be?”

  Rob smiled. “To bring me here. You’ll see.”

  “It wasn’t fate that brought me here.”

  “Are you sure?” Rob was a believer. It was as clear as the sky reflected in his wide blue eyes. A bell tolled in the direction of the house, interrupting their conversation. “Lunchtime! Come on.”

  Chris walked back to the house with Rob. There was a tall, dark-skinned woman leaning against the wall outside the front door. She was familiar, and yet he couldn’t place her. He flashed her an uncertain smile, but she didn’t smile back. Her dark eyes were hard, like chips of obsidian. If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man.

  “Shawna, have you met the new guy yet?” Rob asked, when they gained the top of the front steps.

  “You might say that,” Shawna said.

  Chris rocked back on his heels as memories came crashing to the fore. What was it he’d said to Rob about history repeating itself? Eric wasn’t the first—or even the second—enemy that they’d let slip through their fingers. Shawna had been one of Tasha’s accomplices, sent to San Diego to kill him and bring Emma back to Eastgate. They’d sent her back to Eastgate with Tasha’s body. She’d sworn there’d be no retaliation, but he was starting to understand how far out of her hands that decision had been.

  Rob looked between them, clearly confused by the tension that hung in the air, then headed for the door. “Come on, Chris. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  Chris followed him, but Shawna grabbed his arm when he started past her, bringing him up short. He met her eyes.

  “Watch yourself, mutt,” she snarled. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

  “What are you going to do, kill me again?” Chris yanked his arm free. “Seems like if one of us ought to be holding a grudge, it should be me.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You have no idea.”

  He leaned closer until his face was inches from hers. “Strangely, I don’t give a shit either.”

  With that said, he brushed past her into the house. The screen door banged shut behind him.

  15

  Joey expected the bar’s parking lot to be deserted so early in the morning, but there were several vehicles parked out front when she and Dean pulled in and parked beside Mike’s pickup.

  Joey waited for Dean to cut off the noisy motorcycle engine. “I don’t remember seeing a breakfast menu last night.” She peered at the hours posted beside the front door. Sure enough, the bar didn’t open until eleven a.m.

  Dean removed his helmet and scrubbed his fingers through his short curls. “AA meeting?”

  Joey laughed. “They have those in churches.”

  “Personal experience?” Dean grinned at her over his shoulder.

  “Ha! No, but they’re always in churches on TV. It wouldn’t make sense to have it in a bar anyway. Defeats the purpose.” She climbed off the bike, wishing they had somewhere to stash Roger’s ashes. The can was too big for Dean’s saddlebags, and she hadn’t wanted to leave it at Mike’s house, so she’d just have to carry it around for now.

  Mike waited on the doorstep for them to catch up and nodded toward the assorted vehicles. “It looks like some of my people are here. I think it’s best we keep the purpose of your visit between us for now, but if you want to meet them, I’ll introduce you.”

  Joey nodded, and Mike unlocked the door, holding it open for her. Inside, a transformation was underway. Though most of the chairs were still stacked upside down on the tables, one of the tables’ chairs had been turned upright, and the table, littered with colorful balloons, was being used by a young woman and two men as an inflation station. A woman with skin the color of caramel stood on a barstool, in the process of hanging up a large banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY under the supervision of a third man.

  Light spilled into the room from outside, and all eyes turned toward the door. Everyone froze, until a half-inflated balloon slipped from someone’s hand and went shooting off across the room noisily.

  “Um, surprise?” the woman standing on the stool said.

  The woman at the table produced a noisemaker from somewhere and blew into it, producing a brief, awkward bleat.

  Joey bit her lip in an effort not to laugh, looking between the foiled wolves and their deeply unamused Alpha.

  “I told you I didn’t want to make a fuss out of it,” Mike said, sighing. “But since you did anyway, I hope there’s cake.”

  Joey did laugh at that, as did everyone else.

  “Of course there’s cake,” the banner-hanging woman said, motioning to the bar. A bakery box sat there, along with a stack of paper plates, napkins, and forks. She finished tacking up the banner and climbed down.

  “Everyone, this is Joey Grant. She’s visiting from the Seattle pack,” Mike said.

  “One of the Seattle packs,” Joey corrected him, waving to the group. “And this is my friend Dean. He’s not a wolf, but he’s okay.”

  Five pairs of curious eyes fixed on Dean, but he just leaned against the wall in his casual, easy manner.

  Joey soon learned that the three wolves at the balloon station were Carter, Lucian, and Zach, while the banner-hanger was Zoe and her sweater-vested supervisor was Mike’s second, Justin.

  While Mike excused himself to “make a few calls,” Joey and Dean helped out with the party preparations.

  “We could use some help with the balloons. These two”—Carter indicated Lucian and Zach—“are full of hot air, but even so…”

  “Hey!” Zach leaned over and nudged Carter’s shoulder w
ith his. “I resemble that remark.” He winked, earning a giggle from the bubbly brunette.

  Lucian rolled his eyes and snapped a balloon in Zach’s direction.

  Justin fetched a few more chairs and they all crowded around the balloon table. They chatted while they worked; the Silver Springs wolves were rather curious about Joey and Dean—she got the impression that they didn’t get visitors very often—and finding out Dean was a medium sparked a lively debate.

  “I can’t believe you’re buying this bullshit,” Zoe said, folding her thin arms across her chest. “He’s just a crackpot like those guys on TV.”

  “Why is it so hard to believe?” Carter asked, wide eyes sparkling with interest. “We’re werewolves. Why can’t ghosts be real?”

  Zoe eyed Dean, practically oozing skepticism. “Are there any here now? Do you want to ask some leading questions about whether or not any of us have recently lost someone?”

  Dean chuckled. “Yes, there’s one here now, but he’s not attached to any of you. Sorry.”

  “How convenient,” Zoe said, drawing the word out.

  “Hang on.” Zach hurried over to the bar. Everyone watched him curiously as he rummaged around behind it. “Ah ha!” He brought a deck of playing cards back to the table with him.

  Lucian snorted and folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Are we going to settle this over a game of pinochle?”

  Joey mentally upped her estimation of Lucian’s age.

  “Nope.” Zach settled into a chair and removed the rubber band from around the deck. “But if he really can talk to ghosts, and there’s a ghost here, the ghost should be able to tell him what cards we hold up.”

  Carter clapped her hands, eyes alight. “Ohhh, good idea!”

  Zach’s chest puffed out, and Lucian leaned over to snatch the deck from him. “Let me shuffle. You always bend the cards.”

  Joey caught Dean’s eyes. He smiled and shrugged.

  “Wait, if we’re going to do this, let’s make it interesting,” Zoe said.