by Holley Trent
Hank stepped down from the truck cab, brow already furrowed as she approached.
“Hi. Thanks for coming. Lily told me how busy you guys are at the end of the week, so it means a lot that you’d break away for a bit.”
He gave a slow nod and reached into the truck. From within, he pulled a stick and mallet roll. The guy probably had a closet full of music junk he’d been ignoring since high school. A shame, really, given his talent. He’d come to terms with his lot in life, but Willa happened to think he had some room to explore those old passions at a higher level. Nothing was holding him back except himself. Unlike his brothers, he couldn’t use kids as an excuse because he didn’t have any, and his wife was pleased as punch that the woodworker had a lesser-known skill. It was up to him to make the effort.
“I hate to ever admit to being wrong about anything.” Hank slammed the truck door shut and locked it. “But I think you were right in plucking out the students you did. I don’t necessarily think it’s a boy-girl thing, but rather just the instrument split. Correlation and causation.”
“What do you mean?”
He gave her a furtive look and slowed his gait. The kids were watching, waiting on the sidewalk. The conversation probably wasn’t one he wanted overheard. “I’d never given it any thought before. My starter instrument in sixth grade was trumpet, but I didn’t play it long. I went straight to snare because no one else volunteered. I didn’t pay much attention to the larger scores from that point. I looked at the percussion lines and ignored for the most part what everyone else was doing. Of course now, I know that the instruments at the top of the ensemble tend to have the players with the fastest fingers and fastest music scanning ability.”
“Not all are successful.” There were plenty of poor flute and clarinet players in every school band.
“No, but even at moderate skill level, those musicians have an edge over students whose instruments don’t require the same technical proficiency. In a high-tempo piece, a trombone player is almost always going to play fewer tones than a flute, clarinet, or saxophone player, plus they’re only moving one hand.” He wriggled the fingers of his left one. “Most aren’t used to doing anything with this one.”
“Go on.” Willa was reasonably sure he’d never said that many words to her all at once. She felt a strange satisfaction at that—and the fact she was actually holding a conversation with someone she was terrified of.
But am I?
After all, she’d walked out to greet him. Maybe that made a difference.
“I’m really impressed by Sarah.”
“Really?” Willa glanced briefly at the eccentric witch who was tying a dandelion stem around the neck of a drumstick.
“Shockingly, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t know if she’s assertive enough to go toe-to-toe with the boys on the high school drum line, or if she’ll be able to carry that harness, but she’s got the talent.”
“She’ll be fine.” Willa didn’t know how she knew that, but she could picture it as a certainty in her mind. Not the next year, but a couple of years or three down the line. Sarah still had some growing left. The drum was going to be heavy, but she’d condition, and she’d ignore the harassment as long as someone kept telling her that she was able.
“And Quinn,” he said, turning his back to the kids and lowering his voice. “She can carry a rhythm, and can even change a beat without losing track. Unlike most kids at this age, she keeps up with the conductor’s rhythm and not the ensemble’s. She’s a drum major’s dream. I’d be happy to see her out there with a base drum, but she is tiny.”
Willa understood the emphasis. It would have mattered if Quinn had been a normal child. “She’s a Coyote.”
“Yeah. I know her puberty will probably accelerate soon. She’ll get a shifter’s strength and will be able to carry the weight, but people are going to wonder why she can. I’ve got a hunch that she’s not going to get much taller.”
Another flash of certainty.
Willa didn’t know where her newfound certainty was coming from, but compared to her usual doom and gloom outlook, it was a breath of fresh air. “So she’ll be a novelty on the football field who competition judges will expect failure from. Let her surprise them. Just get her in shape well enough to carry that drum through band camp, and let her do the rest.”
Hank took a deep breath, ran his hand through his long hair, and let the breath out in a sputter. “I’ll call Paul and tell him what I think.”
“Brave man.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking. We graduated the same year. I was section leader. He was third snare.”
Ouch.
“I can get the rest familiarized with pit percussion, just to be safe,” he said. “Being in the pit crew is still a hell of a lot more enriching than not being some kind of will-they, won’t-they alternate. That’s a waste of time for the kids and the parents whose schedules will keep getting yanked around by Paul’s whims.”
“That’d be wonderful. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
His cheeks reddened, probably at the unexpected shower of effusiveness, but he nodded, turned on his heel, and headed to the kids.
Finally feeling like something was coming together in the way she’d hoped, she walked back into the band room with a smile, bravely looking Diana in the eyes as she passed. “I love it when a plan comes to . . . ”
Suddenly, Willa was ripped out of her band and dropped into an unfamiliar place. Or at least, she seemed to be. Her mind was there, but it seemed to lack a body.
Miserable. Miserable. Miserable.
Diana’s movements played out in fast-forward in Willa’s mind, and in that harrowing vignette, there were no good options for Diana. Her future held panic and compliance, not the freedom she had in Maria. The Sparks pack had an alpha with an iron fist and no conscience, and she was going to have every flicker of optimism snuffed out.
“Doesn’t matter what you want,” came the unseen man’s voice. “It’s not about you, girl.”
“What’d you say?” Diana put a firm, but gentle grip on Willa’s shoulder and brought her out of her head. Apparently, Willa had been daydreaming about unfamiliar people and places. Her imagination working in overdrive, perhaps.
Willa pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, thankful she hadn’t bothered with makeup. “I . . . said something?”
“I think you said that it doesn’t matter what I want, but . . . it’s like it wasn’t even you. Wasn’t your voice. You were kind of looking through me and not at me.”
Odd.
“I don’t know what that was.” Willa dragged her forearm across her warm brow and walked to her computer, finally ready to tackle fundraiser details. She had to pick her poison, and she preferred old anxiety over new kinds. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I think my brain sometimes short-circuits and—”
“Those are your choices, Aitkenson.”
That voice again, but this time, Willa could see him. Thick, lustrous gray hair. Cold blue eyes. Tall and broad-shouldered. Threatening.
Dominant.
“In or out. Choose your terms. Pick your enemy.”
The man had a devil’s eyes and a shark’s grin.
Unquestionably dangerous.
Another of Diana’s shakes roused Willa. “Willa! What choices? Are you talking about Lance?”
“Lance?” Dread pooled in Willa’s gut as she gave her eyes another vigorous rub. Evidently, after living so long without having a complete psychiatric break, her luck had run out. She’d prayed to be spared, but maybe her brain was too much like her mother’s. If her mother had been born in the modern era, she would have been a textbook schizophrenic. “What about Lance?”
“You said Aitkenson. That’s Lance’s last name.”
“I . . . didn’t know. I didn’t see Lance.”
“What do you mean see?” Diana curled her fingers over Willa’s shoulders and stooped a bit to meet her gaze. “What are you
seeing?”
“Right now, I’m seeing you, of course. I’m seeing the band room.” Willa wrapped her hands around Diana’s wrists and, taking a breath, gently nudged them away. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in a moment. Just one more thing to deal with, I guess. I’ll figure out a way to cope with this, just like everything else. Hopefully, I won’t—”
Another fall into a strange place, and this time, Willa saw a woman.
The woman, achingly beautiful, exotic, poised, elegant, extended her hand and pinched the band of the diamond ring between her thumb and forefingers. She slipped it onto her left ring finger and held the newly decorated hand up to the light. “It fits.”
Willa didn’t know that young woman, but she knew the voice that said, “That’s it, then.”
That was Blue’s voice.
No.
“Give it back to him!” Willa shouted.
But the woman kept turning it this way and that, watching it sparkle.
“Give it back!”
Willa clawed at the woman, or tried to. She couldn’t see her own hands. They weren’t landing on anything. The woman with a ring was a phantom, and Willa couldn’t see Blue.
“He’s not yours!”
She couldn’t have him, whoever she was. It was Willa’s turn to have someone. She’d waited so long to have someone, and she’d decided it would be Blue. He couldn’t just leave her. She didn’t have anyone else.
“Don’t go away . . . ”
“Willa,” Diana whispered, and her hands were under Willa’s arms, pulling her up. Apparently, she’d fallen.
Diana came into focus. The creasing of her brow. The tight set of her lips. “Can you see me?”
“Yes?”
“Your eyes turned gold. I didn’t think you could see.”
“I . . . ” Willa let Diana set her on the stool. A good thing, because her head was swimming too much for her to stay upright. She put her head between her knees and tried to slow her breathing. “My . . . mother was probably schizophrenic. I . . . might be?”
“Honey, your mother may have been, but I don’t think you are. For one thing, you probably would have known by now. You’ll have to trust me on this. Shapeshifters have a higher rate of neurodiversity than any other group. Blue and I have seen a little bit of everything, okay?”
“But—”
“Who were you talking to? Who did you see?”
Willa squeezed her eyes closed tight and tried to scrounge up the memory, but it was already gone. It’d flitted away, just like the one with “Aitkenson.” The only thing she could remember was bits of the one with the ring.
“There . . . there was a woman with an engagement ring. She . . . ”
Already, Willa had forgotten what she looked like. Just that her skin was brown and that her nails were long, and that Blue had given it to her.
“I . . . can’t remember. Blue gave it to her.”
The column of Diana’s neck convulsed with a labored swallow, and she stared down at her twined fingers. “You tried to fight me. Maybe that’s why.”
“Oh no!” Appalled, Willa covered her face with her hands. “I don’t remember that. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You didn’t hurt me, but lemme take you home. We’ll figure out where Blue is, and we’ll sort this out.”
“He’s not going to want me if I’m like this.” Whatever this was. One more thing to cripple her. She didn’t know why she even tried anymore. Nothing was ever going to come together for her the way she wanted things to.
One step forward, two steps back.
“I think he’ll take you any way he can get you.” Diana stood and cautiously pulled Willa to her feet. “You wouldn’t smell like that if he didn’t intend to keep you.”
Hope flared, but only briefly. “For how long?”
“For as long as you’ll have him. Say what you will about Coyotes, but when they find their mates, they don’t waver.”
“Mate?” That was a healing word. It meant she hadn’t entrapped him. It meant he did more than just tolerate her, and that he might even be able to endure what could be perpetual threatening from her father. “Are you sure?” she asked in a rush. “I need something sure.”
Ignoring the question, Diana slid the band room key off Willa’s ring and handed it to Hank. “Can you lock up when you’re done? I think Ms. Matheson might be coming down with that nasty cold that’s going around. I’m going to drive her home.”
Hank’s nod came slowly, suspicion notable in his spastic grimace.
He wasn’t going to ask questions, though, not with the kids there. He was too smart.
“I’ll e-mail you,” Hank said. Whether it was to Willa or Diana, Willa couldn’t tell.
She was too concerned with the massive crow perched on the roof of her Jeep. Its attention was too focused, and the dark creature was too brave, unmoving as they approached.
No fear, not even when Diana unlocked the doors and the Jeep chirped loudly.
The crow stared them down until they were close enough to open the passenger door, and then it took off, leaving one discomfiting, perfect black feather on the ground.
Willa bent to pick it up.
Diana slapped her hand and bundled her into the car. “Don’t touch that. Don’t you know those things carry germs?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Why are you propping her up like that?” Blue asked Diana in lieu of saying “hello” upon letting himself into Willa’s house. He blocked the foyer, waiting for Kenny and Lance behind him to take off their shoes. They didn’t need to create more housework for Willa.
Diana was standing beside Willa at the archway between the living room and kitchen, grasping her wrist, pulling her a bit to one side.
Willa’s skin was wan, eyes closed, head hanging.
Reflexes had him pressing his hand to her forehead. Her skin was hot and wet, and disturbingly supple.
“What the hell is wrong with her?” He nudged Diana’s hand away and pulled Willa closer. Her sweater was soaked with sweat.
“I tried to get her to take it off,” Diana said, obviously nothing the source of his concern. “She wouldn’t let me help.”
“Willa.” He tipped her chin up, and her head lolled to one side. A pitiful groan fell out of her mouth.
“Damn it, Diana! How long as she been like this?” he spat at his sister.
She gave him a cool look, full of deserved chastisement.
“Sorry.” He just didn’t know what to do or how to help, and that agitated the beast part of him. If his mate was broken, he wanted to fix her. Needed to, or else he wouldn’t be quite whole, either.
“Thank you,” Diana said. “And she’s been getting progressively worse since around two. I drove her home from the school, and she’s been going downhill since.”
Blue picked Willa up beneath the arms and was about to carry her to the sofa, but Diana grabbed his arm. “I’d keep her upright if I were you. That’s why I was standing her up here. She seems to be less green when she’s on her feet, but I don’t know how she’s feeling. She’s not communicative.”
“What do you mean? She’s not talking?”
“Blue!” Willa shouted at him. Her eyes, jaundice yellow, flicked open and a deep line creased her pretty brow.
“Yes?” he whispered after too long of a delay, because something wasn’t right. The energy coming off her wasn’t hers and didn’t seem to be typical staining due to her being his mate. The underlayment of it was Willa, but the taint over it nearly drowned it out. There was almost nothing left that was familiar.
“You’ll just . . . have to deal with it?” she said, curling her fingers into his shirt. “Just deal.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Anything you want. What am I dealing with?”
“Didn’t need to tell you. Doesn’t matter, does it?” Her eyes were wide and feral, head shaking fast.
He took it gently between his hands and held it still. “What doesn’t matter?”
“You’re stuck with me, and that’s that.” That time, her head, still between his hands, nodded in finality. “Stuck. Long, long time. Eons, even.”
“Oh yeah?” Blue cut his gaze to Diana and mouthed, “What’s she talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Diana said low. “Like I said, she hasn’t been making a whole lot of sense. I’m pretty sure she was speaking prophecy earlier, though. I couldn’t confirm because she couldn’t remember what she’d told me.”
“Prophecy?”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it. I’d always thought that shit was crazy in the Greek and Roman myths, but it’s not crazy. It’s terrifying.”
Shit.
He should have been there. He shouldn’t have abandoned his mate, even for a few hours, the morning after deciding that he’d have to keep her. Somehow, her issue was his fault. He’d broken her somehow. Maybe she was allergic to what he was and couldn’t deal.
“I really hope that’s not the case,” he said.
“Hope what’s not the case?” Diana asked.
“Didn’t mean to say that aloud.” He swiped his shirtsleeve across Willa’s forehead and let her put her weight against his chest.
She murmured something about immortal mates and about how that was that.
“It’s not your fault,” Diana said, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“So you know, then.” He scoffed, realizing who he was dealing with. “Of course you do. You’ve got Mom’s nose.”
“Years ago, I would have been really pissed about you comparing me to her, but I’m over it now.”
Willa fisted his shirt again and scowled up at him. “I don’t get another one.”
“Another what, sweetheart?”
She made a dismissive flick of her hand and reeled in his grip, but he kept her upright. “Whatever you are. Sorry not sorry.”
“I think she’s saying you’re her . . . ” Diana shrugged. “Whatever the demigod’s equivalent of a mate is. I guess she thought you’d take issue with that.”
