Thornhill h-2

by Kathleen Peacock

  He crossed the room, pulling me in his wake. I tried to dig in my heels, but I couldn’t so much as slow him down. “I’m not leaving my friends!”

  “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  I thought I heard Kyle—or maybe Jason—yell something, but then Hank hauled me through an entrance and a door slammed shut behind us. He forced me down a drab gray hallway and then pushed me through another door.

  I stumbled forward and barely caught my balance on a leather chair.

  My father glanced at his hand. “I’m used to dealing with wolves.”

  I rubbed my arm. The words almost sounded like an apology, but Hank never apologized. “You’re infected.”

  He nodded. “Three and a half years. Almost four.”

  That meant he had been infected while I was still living with him. That meant that one more aspect of my small, crappy life had been a lie.

  I studied the room because I couldn’t look at him. Not for a few seconds, at least. The space didn’t match the rest of the club or the man I remembered. It was all leather upholstery and polished wood and—I looked down—Oriental rugs. The man I had known would never have set foot in a place like this unless he was pulling some sort of con.

  Hank sat on the corner of a massive wooden desk, and I finally forced myself to look at him. His clothes didn’t suit the surroundings, but he filled the room like he had every right to be here.

  There was a heavy silver ring on his right hand that I didn’t recognize. It caught and reflected the light as he gestured to the chair. “Sit.” I didn’t want to do anything he said—not even something so small—but my legs were still shaking from the fight and the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush.

  I sank into the leather and fought the urge to put my head between my knees. “Assume crash positions,” I whispered.

  A muscle in Hank’s jaw twitched. Anger or amusement? I couldn’t tell.

  “You want to explain what you’re doing in a werewolf bar in Denver? With a Tracker?” Anger, definitely anger.

  My father’s voice had always been intimidating. Add the edge of a werewolf growl and it was downright scary.

  “He’s not a Tracker,” I said, trying not to flinch.

  I pressed a fingernail into the padded arm of the chair. This one piece of furniture was probably more expensive than anything Tess and I owned. Added together, the cost of everything in this room might be more than my cousin made in a year. “Instead of me telling you why I’m here, why don’t you explain what you’re doing in a room like this?”

  Hank leaned forward. His hair was longer than he used to wear it and going gray at the temples, but his eyes were the same. Flat and blue like a winter sky and just as empty. “I am not playing games, Mackenzie. Why are you in Denver?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “You’re my daughter.” He shrugged like it should be obvious.

  The muscles in my chest contracted. He didn’t have the right to those words. He’d lost it years before he finally left. I shook my head. “Why did that wolf call you ‘Curtis’? Why did the wolves listen to you?”

  “Goddamn it, Mackenzie. Do you have any idea how many wolves the Trackers have rounded up or killed in this city? If the pack had really challenged me . . .” He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. They still bore spiderwebs of scars, souvenirs from fights that were too old for LS to erase.

  I had poured peroxide over some of those cuts when they were fresh. A wave of déjà vu rolled over me and an insistent throbbing started just above my eye socket, like someone was trying to drill through the bone.

  “I want to know what you were doing with that boy.”

  After a long moment, when it became clear I wasn’t going to answer, Hank said, “He called me Curtis because that’s how they know me. Hank Dobson had too long a rap sheet to be useful.”

  So he had cut the name loose. Just like he had cut me loose. “And you came to Denver.”

  “We lived here for a few months when you were a kid. Even then, it had more werewolves than anywhere else in the country.”

  “Strength in numbers,” I muttered. It was part of the reason Jason and I had assumed Kyle had come here. I couldn’t remember ever having lived in the city—nothing over the past few days had seemed familiar—but when you never stayed in the same place for more than a couple of months, everything became a blur.

  “When did it happen? Exactly?” I don’t know why it made a difference, but I suddenly needed to know.

  “The day I wouldn’t let you go back for your bag.”

  Sometime around age eight, I’d started keeping a backpack of anything that really mattered. A teddy bear. A picture of some woman Hank claimed was my mom. A plastic figure of a knight on a white horse and a handful of small bills pilfered from Hank’s wallet. As I got older, the cash increased and the contents of the bag changed, but it was always packed and ready. No matter what Hank was running from, there was always time to at least grab the backpack.

  Until one day there wasn’t.

  That had been at least six months before he ditched me in Hemlock. Six months when he had hidden the fact that he was infected. “You always were good at lying,” I said softly.

  The office door creaked open and Eve walked in without knocking. She didn’t hover on the threshold, she just crossed the room, her heavy boots muffled by the thick rugs on the floor. Like Hank, she didn’t match the surroundings but looked completely at home.

  “I told you to wait in the bar.”

  The glare Hank leveled at her would have made hardened criminals crumble, but she just shrugged. “Figured you’d want to know they put the Tracker and the two wolves in the storeroom.” A strand of scarlet hair fell over her face and she absently pushed it aside. “Heath was worried some of the wolves might challenge your orders.”

  “Orders I wouldn’t have had to give if you hadn’t let them inside.”

  A blush darkened Eve’s cheeks. “Sorry. I thought you’d want to see her.” But she didn’t sound sorry, and the look Hank shot her made it clear he thought she should be.

  Sorry. Sorry for letting us inside. Sorry for making me his problem.

  My eyes burned. I wasn’t his problem. I wasn’t anyone’s problem. All I needed was for Hank to hand over my friends and show us the door. After that, he’d never have to see me again.

  “Do something useful and take her back to the house. The wolves can stay with the Tracker until I figure out what to do with them.”

  I was on my feet in an instant. “You’re not doing anything with them. Jason and Serena were with me. All we wanted was to find Kyle and get out.”

  “You expect me to believe a Tracker is friends with two werewolves?”

  “I told you: he’s not a Tracker. He left them before going through with the initiation.”

  Eve’s gaze ping-ponged between the two of us as she twisted the leather band over the scars on her wrist. She stood close to Hank—closer than he let most people get—and I realized she knew his history. She knew who he really was. “That’s why you let us in,” I said, staring at her. “You recognized my name.”

  She shrugged. “Wouldn’t have if I’d realized you were with a Tracker.”

  “He’s not—”

  Before I could repeat myself, a shrill ring tone cut through the air. Hank hauled a phone from his pocket and glanced at the display before answering. “What?”

  He listened for a moment, then, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  He hung up and stood. To Eve, he said, “A group of Trackers caught a wolf out near Elitch Gardens. The wolf’s alive. Barely.”

  Eve swallowed. “One of ours?”

  Hank walked around the desk. “They’re having trouble identifying him, but they think so.”

  He took my arm and steered me to the door. Eve trailed us out of the office and down the corridor. “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  “No. If it’s a hunting party, they might still be in the area.” Hank pause
d and turned to pull open a steel door that I hadn’t noticed earlier. He pushed me over the threshold and I caught a glimpse of Kyle, Jason, and Serena before I whirled back to face him.

  Hank’s eyes flickered to Jason, then locked on mine. They were cold and impossible to read. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Eve suddenly reached around him and went for my pocket. Before I could jerk away, my phone was in her palm. “Can’t let the Tracker call anyone,” she said as she handed it to Hank.

  The door slammed shut.

  I tried the knob. We were locked in.

  I don’t know how long I stared at the closed door. Long enough for Kyle to stand. Long enough for him to cross the room and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Mac?”

  I barely heard him over the roaring in my head.

  I’d had so many fantasies about confronting my father. But in not one of them had Hank saved me from a pack of werewolves only to dump me in a locked room while he took care of things that were more important.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath.

  An apology. That’s what he had wanted from that girl. “For having to deal with me,” I whispered.

  “Mac? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Kyle’s voice became increasingly insistent as the touch on my shoulder fell away.

  I wanted to answer him, but my throat was clogged with all of the things I should have said back in the office. A cold black wave rose up as my hand curled into a fist. I lashed out, aiming for the door even though my eyes were closed.

  The impact came too soon and was too soft.

  My eyes sprang open. Jason stood in front of me, his palm a barrier between my hand and the metal. His lip was split and swollen, but other than that and the torn shirt, he looked all right. Better than seemed probable.

  “If you’re going to hit something, hit something a little softer.” He closed his hand around mine, cradling my clenched fist. “Trust me. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

  He glanced at Kyle and then quickly dropped my hand and put some distance between us.

  Kyle shot Jason a look I couldn’t decipher, before focusing on me. Gently, he tugged the shredded fabric of my shirt and jacket aside and ran his fingers over my neck and shoulder. Relief flashed across his face. “Back in the pool room . . . I couldn’t tell if you had been scratched.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, voice stretched thin as I rubbed my sleeve over my eyes. “Plenty of wounds. None physical.”

  “The guy who dragged you out of there,” said Serena, “Curtis? You called him ‘Hank.’”

  I turned. She was sitting on a cot in the corner, surrounded by boxes and busted bar stools. A ripped futon mattress hugged the opposite wall. The only source of illumination was a bare bulb screwed over a stained sink, and the room’s one window was boarded up tight.

  It was a junk room, filled with things—and now people—that weren’t important.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, reasoning that would stop me from lashing out again. “His real name is Hank, not Curtis. Hank Dobson. He’s my father.” I tried to keep my voice level, but it shook on every word. “I didn’t know he had LS. He hid it.”

  Jason turned to Kyle. “Did you know?”

  “Of course not,” snapped Kyle, surprise warring with anger in his voice. “It’s not like Mac keeps pictures of her dad around.”

  He reached out to touch my arm and I moved away. “It’s not you,” I said quickly as hurt flashed behind his eyes. “If you hug me or touch me right now, I’ll cry.”

  And I really didn’t want to cry.

  Kyle nodded, then walked to the cot and sat a few feet from Serena. “He goes by Curtis Hanson. Eve introduced me to him when she brought me here a few nights ago. He’s the leader of the Eumon pack.”

  “Pack leader?” I echoed just as Jason said, “Eve was the one who brought you here?”

  Hank had always hated responsibility. The idea of him leading a club full of werewolves didn’t make sense.

  “I met Eve my first night in Denver,” explained Kyle. “She tried to tear a chunk out of me before realizing I wasn’t local.”

  Serena frowned. “Why? Everything I’ve ever heard makes Denver sound like the be-all and end-all for wolves. What difference would it make whether or not you were local?”

  He shrugged. “Turns out there are three separate packs in Denver and they all have territories. I wandered into Eumon turf and she thought I was from another pack. She’s small, but strong.”

  There was a strange note of respect in Kyle’s voice that made my stomach do a small flip. I told myself that I had nothing to be jealous of, but why had Eve lied about knowing him? What could she possibly have had to gain?

  “Anyway,” continued Kyle, “she felt guilty so she brought me here. Introduced me around. Found couches for me to surf on. Eumon is the only pack in the city that takes rogues—people not infected by someone already in the group. It was come here or try to go it on my own.”

  “You could have come home.” I shook my head and corrected myself. “You can come home.”

  “It’s not that simple. I can’t just—” Kyle checked himself and flexed his hands. “You guys are safer without me around.”

  Serena snorted. “Richie Rich joined a right-wing hate group and Mac’s legal guardian was dating a mass murderer. Compared with that, you’re about as dangerous as a carton of two-day-expired milk.”

  I walked to the cot and crouched in front of Kyle. A knot formed in my chest as I rested my hands on his knees, and when I spoke, my voice came out high and a little unsteady. “Don’t you want to come home?”

  Kyle’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t answer. Maybe he just couldn’t believe I had asked something so stupid.

  With a sigh, I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the window. One board looked like it might be a little loose. I pulled at it, then tried ramming my shoulder against it.

  Jason cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a way out.” I glanced at my friends. “You don’t seriously want to stay in here all night, do you?” I hit the board again. “We.” Hit. “Are.” Thud. “Getting out of here.” With each hit, I visualized Hank’s face.

  I stopped to catch my breath, and Jason was suddenly at my side, reaching past me to try and pull the board free. It groaned but didn’t give.

  “Regs,” Serena muttered affectionately as she stood and nudged Jason aside. She bit her lip and lashed out with her fist. The bottom of the board moved just enough for her to slide her fingers under the edge. After that, she was able to pull all of the boards off in seconds.

  She examined her nails. “And the manicure is still intact.”

  Fresh air filled the room. I sucked it down until my lungs were close to bursting.

  And then I took a closer look at the window. It was small. Too small for any of us—even Serena—to squeeze through.

  I picked up one of the boards and hurled it at the wall as my eyes filled with tears. We were close enough to the outside that I could feel the fresh air on my face and hear the distant sounds of traffic, but we were still trapped.

  I walked to the ripped futon mattress and sank down. Hank and his wolves had put us in a box and we weren’t getting out unless they let us. I pulled my legs to my chest and pressed my forehead to my knees.

  After a minute, Kyle came and sat next to me. This time, when he tried to put an arm around me, I let him.

  “Tess?” I pushed open the door to my cousin’s room. The mattress had been stripped and the closet stood open and empty. A lone wire hanger dangled on the rod.

  “She’s not here.” Amy walked across the room and flopped onto the bed.

  I swallowed. “You’re going to leave a stain.” As soon as the words slipped from my mouth, a pool of red appeared on Amy’s white cotton T-shirt.

  She sighed and sat up. “You are such a buzzkill. Besides, it’s not like Tess is coming back here.”

  A tasseled pi
llow had been abandoned on the floor. I picked it up and hugged it to my chest. “She’ll come back. She wouldn’t leave me.”

  Amy shot me a small, sympathetic smile. “Everyone leaves you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” I flinched and she frowned. “Sorry. You know everything gets twisted in here. I end up being the me you think you deserve.”

  I didn’t argue.

  I wondered, suddenly, if Jason and Kyle had their own versions of Amy, if their guilt, like mine, warped her like a fun-house mirror.

  Amy reached back and touched a small indent in the mattress. “He laid his head here, you know.”

  A shiver swept down my spine. I didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.

  She stood and stretched, then frowned thoughtfully. “Doesn’t it bother you that Ben and Kyle have the same disease?”

  “No.” I didn’t even have to think about it. “Kyle’s not Ben and a disease doesn’t change who someone is.”

  “Ben thought it did.” She walked to the window and drummed her fingers on the sill, fast and furious like the beat of a werewolf’s heart. “Can you really date one of them? I know I was with Trey, but he never told me what he was. And you do have options. Jason wants you so badly, it’s a miracle he doesn’t spontaneously combust.”

  I flushed. “I’m not talking relationships with you.”

  “Why not? They’re fascinating.” Amy turned to stare at me, her expression so earnest that I almost believed it was really her. “It always breaks down to relationships. My relationship with Jason. Ben’s relationship with his father. My family tree and the fact that my grandfather is a senator. Everything happens because of a connection. Cause and effect. Kyle knows it. That’s why he ran away from you. He’s scared he’ll be the cause of you getting hurt or infected or dead.”

  She sighed. “He hasn’t figured out that no matter what you do, some people just end up broken.”

  As she spoke, the shadows in the room thickened and lengthened. Smokelike tendrils stretched out from the darkness. One wrapped itself around my wrist and my skin blistered and peeled.