I look over at him, frowning. “I do have basic knowledge of the elements. I can conjure a fireball if I must.”
More like a little flame…but they don’t need all the details.
“And then what?” Gray shifts closer. “Are you going to write yourself up for the use of magic in an urban area?”
Oh. Right. There is that.
“Take the stun gun,” Gray says again, his tone telling me it’s not a request.
Gingerly, I accept the device, holding it away from myself with just my thumb and pointer finger.
“It’s not going to bite you,” Jonathan says, sounding almost amused.
I peer at the device. “Isn’t that kind of what it does? A human version of a lightning bolt?”
“This is the safety,” Gray says, pointing at the Taser. “When you want to use it, flip it back, press these two buttons, and zap the person or creature coming at you.”
An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. “And why would this person or creature be coming at me?”
“It’s just a precaution.” Yet Gray’s abrupt tone is less than reassuring. “Most likely, it will sit in the bottom of your purse, taking up precious cosmetic space, and you’ll never use it.”
Feeling better knowing there’s a series of actions I must perform to make it work, I hold it closer, examining it. “It’s ugly.”
“It’s a safety device.” Gray shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what it looks like.”
Eric gets into the passenger seat and turns around, joining the conversation. “Ask him real nice, and Jonathan just might bedazzle it for you.”
I don’t hear Jonathan’s answer because I turn back to Gray. “Wait. We’re going after a troll?”
Gray nods. “He’s been causing tourists some turmoil.”
That sounds like a lot of fun.
Finally, I make room in my purse for the stun gun, and Gray closes the door.
Jonathan clears his throat, nodding to the cat, who’s still protesting the car trip with angry, low, drawn-out howls.
Rolling my eyes, I pick up Charles’s crate and set it on my lap as I scoot to the middle. Then I place it beside me, next to the door.
“Happy?” I ask Jonathan, slightly disconcerted to be right next to him.
“If you wanted to sit by her,” Eric says to Jonathan from his spot in the front, “you could have just said so.”
My cheeks heat but Jonathan shakes his head like we’re all ridiculous, not even bothering to give more than a half-hearted protest—which tells me he couldn’t care less—he just didn’t want to sit next to Charles.
As soon as we’re on the road, I’m sure the Griffon’s decided he made a wise decision. Charles’s yowls have gone from low growls to full-out, ear-piercing feline shrieks.
“Can you shut him up?” Gray asks as he pulls onto the Interstate.
“Do I look like a Bunny?” I demand, speaking of the Lepus Faction—the Rabbits. They’re animal whisperers, the soothers and caretakers that are most often affectionately—or not-so-affectionately in some cases—referred to as “Bunny Huggers.” And I do not have any of their skills. I can charm humans—not beasts. And certainly not Charles.
“He wasn’t talking to you.” Eric turns in his seat, grinning. “He was talking to me.”
“You’re a Bunny Hugger?” I ask, almost gasping with surprise. But…he’s huge. He should be a Bull, gifted with strength and destruction, or a Bear, gifted with…largeness. In fact, he should be anything but a Rabbit.
Eric gives me a wry smile and holds out his massive hands. “Take the cat out of his crate and hand him to me.”
Jonathan tosses his hands in the air, irritated that no one obeys the rules he’s set forth in his own vehicle. “The cat doesn’t leave the crate!”
Eric narrows his eyes at the man next to me. “Do you want to listen to that the entire way?”
Finally relenting, Jonathan jerks his hand in my direction, telling me to get on with it. Cautiously, I open Charles’s crate and peer inside. The cat has himself all the way to the rear of the cubby, and his eyes are wild. If I try to pull him out, I’ll lose a hand.
Shaking my head, I zip the flap closed and pass Eric the whole thing. In just seconds, Charles’s wild cries lessen. I unbuckle my belt and lean forward, resting my head on the side of Eric’s seat to see what he’s doing.
Eric has Charles out of the crate, and he runs his giant hands down the cat’s back, petting him gently. He’s like a picture from one of those calendars they sell at malls during Christmas, the ones with the shirtless men holding tiny animals. Eric’s month would be titled Muscle-bound Hottie Holding Hairless Cat.
But now that I think about it further, some people might find the whole thing disturbing instead of alluring.
“Who’s a good kitty?” Eric murmurs. “Who has a handsome sweater?”
“That is so wrong,” Jonathan mutters under his breath, looking at my cat with something akin to horror in his eyes.
I watch, bemused, as Charles stretches, his terror seeming to melt away. Five minutes later, Charles is curled on Eric’s lap, purring like a kitten.
Eric hands back the carrier. “I’ll keep him up here for a while.”
Taking the crate and setting it in the seat next to me, I lean back, looking out the window. The sun has set, and the sky is shades of lavender and coral. The new near-silence is a relief. For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of the tires on the road and the soft purr of both the engine and Charles.
The long day catches up with me, combined with the fact that I read the ledger last night instead of getting a full eight hours of beauty rest, and I set my head against the seat and close my eyes. A few moments later, I feel myself drifting.
CHAPTER SIX
I wake to voices and the sound of car doors shutting. Blinking, groggy as can be, I shift. When I realize my cheek is resting against hard muscle covered by soft, soft cotton, I freeze.
At some point, I must have shifted against Jonathan and used him as a pillow.
Horrified, I pull back, but it’s not Jonathan I find next to me. It’s Gray.
He glances up from his phone, looking bored. “Finally awake?”
It’s dark outside, probably past ten by now. A dim light shines through the window. It looks like we’re parked at a rest stop. Jonathan, Eric, and Charles are gone.
My eyes move to Gray’s shoulder. Thank goodness, it doesn’t look like I drooled on him. I can’t imagine anything more mortifying than that.
“What happened to Jonathan?” I ask, wetting my lips. My mouth is so dry.
“We switched seats at the last gas station.” Gray’s already looking back at his phone. “He said he couldn’t rest with your snoring.”
I suck in a gasp—so much for the whole mortifying thing.
Gray glances back at me, a wry smile on his lips. “That was a joke. He hates my driving. Eventually, he demanded we switch places.”
How did I sleep through that?
“Sorry I…” I trail off and gesture to his shoulder.
“It’s all right, princess,” he says mildly. “I get it. We’re all your humble subjects, here to serve however we can.”
I think he’s making another attempt at humor. Either that or he’s a jerk. It could go either way.
Absently, I check my hair. When I find the side that was smashed against Gray’s shoulder is now flat, I rummage in my purse for an elastic tie and pull it back into a high ponytail. I’m sure it’s messy, but it’s better than the sleep-smooshed style.
Suddenly, I realize it’s very quiet in the car, and we’re very alone. I glance at Gray, who still has his nose in his phone.
Needing to fill the silence, I joke, “Checking your stocks?”
“Candy Crush.” He flashes me a smirk.
“You are not.” I scoot closer and tug on his wrist, making him show me the phone.
And then I see the bright candies shining on the screen. He really is
. I bite down on my lip, fighting the urge to smile.
“What level are you on?” I ask.
“One hundred eighty-seven.”
“Seriously?” This time, I snatch the phone from his hand. “How much money have you spent?”
He takes the cell back and makes another match. “Not a dime—I’m just good.”
“And humble.”
“Naturally.”
Silence falls over us once more, though I’m not sure Gray notices. I twirl the ends of my ponytail—a horrible habit. Once I catch myself, I clasp my hands in my lap.
“So…you and Finn are brothers.”
At that, Gray pockets the phone and turns to me, giving me his full attention—not something I was quite ready for.
“He’s my younger brother, yes.”
I cock my head to the side. “Younger? How does that work?”
If Gray’s older, shouldn’t he be the one sitting in the office at the Royal Guild headquarters?
“He’s my half-brother.”
I digest that information.
“My mother had me before she married Finn’s father. My own father was killed right before I was born, leaving her a widow. He was fighting the Entitled.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
Just the name of the group gives me goosebumps. They’re from the Fox bloodline, and they’ve been around since long before the great war that led to the thresholds being destroyed. Long ago, they cultivated dark magic in our land, raised an army, prepared to lay siege against the humans. At some point, they decided Aparians were superior, and we should not be hiding. Never mind that we were visitors to this land, and it belongs to the humans and not us.
“I never knew him,” Gray says. “Finn’s father is my father even though I don't carry his name.”
Well, this a deep conversation I initiated. I could tell him I’m adopted, that I understand what it’s like to have a father who is not your own—who many, many times you’ve wished was yours in blood.
And then we’d have a lovely bonding moment.
But I don’t for two reasons. One, I’m not a sap. Two, no one is supposed to know I’m adopted.
“Your father was a Wolf then?” I ask.
Gray’s eyes narrow. “How exactly do you know I’m a Wolf again?”
“Jonathan mentioned it.”
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. “Yes, my actual father was a Wolf.” Then, after a moment, he says, “You’re not a Sparrow.”
I meet his eyes, saying nothing.
“Finn wouldn’t have sent you with us if you couldn’t protect yourself.”
Still, I stay silent.
Gray leans a smidgen closer. “Which means he knows something I don’t.”
Unable to help myself, I say, “I’m sure Finn knows a great many things you don’t.”
“Are you a Griffon, like Jonathan? Is that why he had so much trouble reading you?”
That happens sometimes. Just like Gray can’t use persuasion charms on me because I carry the same magic, Griffons have trouble reading each other.
It would be easy just to tell him I am, but then he’d wonder why we’ve kept it a secret. Griffons are greatly admired and respected. (When it comes to magical matters—not those pertaining to car rules as Jonathan would happily attest to.) That, and Gray would know I was adopted. It’s possible for a woman of the Deer faction and a man of the Dragon faction to have a Sparrow daughter, but it’s not possible for her to be born with a different magic altogether. Just like humans, it’s all about genes.
“No, I’m not a Griffon.”
“Tell me what faction you’re affiliated with,” Gray says, adding magic to the words.
Foolish Wolf.
He thinks he’s trapping me with his persuasion, but it’s just the opposite. He’s giving me the chance to make my lie seem like truth, as most wouldn’t be able to resist him.
“I’m a Sparrow,” I say slowly, drawing out the words like he’s a bit dimwitted. “We’ve been over this.”
Gray’s frown deepens, etching his face, wrinkling his brow.
Take that, Wolf.
“Why did Finn put you on my team?” Again, he adds magic to the words.
“Because he’s a royal pain in the tail.”
Gray lets out an abrupt chuckle. “Besides that.”
“I think he’s worried about you—worried that you’re going to find yourself in trouble with the Royal Guild and then even he won’t be able to protect you. Maybe he believes that if I’m with you, writing down all your missteps, you might behave yourself.”
This time, it’s the truth.
Gray leans a smidgen closer in the darkened car. “And what do you think, princess? Do you think you can make me behave?”
Thankfully, I’m saved from answering. The passenger door swings open, and Eric steps inside, Charles still in his arms. “Hey, Maddie. Have a nice nap?”
“Sure.”
“This guy needed some air, so we went for a walk,” he says, cradling the cat. “Jonathan’s still back there, fighting with a vending machine, wishing he was a Squirrel.”
The Sciuridae, or Squirrel, faction is comprised of tinkers—the manipulators of matter and creators of random devices. Most often, they just blow stuff up.
Eric gives me a questioning look. “He requested your assistance if you were awake. Which you appear to be.”
I can feel Gray’s eyes boring into me.
“I’m not sure I can help.”
Eric shrugs and settles into his seat.
“All right then,” I say, uncomfortable. Moving Charles’s carrier aside, I slip out the door and make my way to the brick buildings. There are a few travelers making use of the restrooms, and the facility is well lit.
I finally find Jonathan standing in front of a vending machine in an alcove next to the closed visitor center entrance.
“Oh good,” he says when he spots me. “You’re awake.”
Standing next to him, I frown at the bag of pretzels hanging precariously from J-2.
“It got caught on the way down,” Jonathan explains. “Can you get it?”
“Are you trying to announce to the world that I’m a Fox? Or worse, announce it to Gray?” I hiss at a whisper. “I’m not going to unlock the vending machine for you!”
Just another one of my questionable talents—I’m my own, personal locksmith. Handy, right? I’m sure it comes in useful for all the recreational breaking and entering Foxes do.
Jonathan’s eyes light as he smiles, and he leans close. “Actually, I thought you might be able to reach in and grab it since your arms are smaller.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
It is close to the bottom.
“I tried to coax it with a little wind, but the machine is too closed up to get my magic in there,” Jonathan says quietly while I’m eying the concrete below us.
I wonder if I’ll ruin another skirt if I kneel. It looks all right, I suppose.
Dropping to my knees, I ask, “Why didn’t you just shake the machine like everyone else in the world?”
“Haven’t you heard? Vending machines kill people.”
Rolling my eyes, I push my hand through the slot and reach inside the machine. “I’d just like you to know, I’ve never felt more like a criminal in my life. Thank you very much.”
Jonathan leans against the side. “How does it feel to go back to your roots?”
A witty retort is right on my tongue, but Jonathan stops me with a hand on my shoulder. He goes still like he’s listening to something.
“You have got to be kidding,” he murmurs.
“Freeze,” a man says from behind me. “Please remove your arm from the vending machine, miss, and stand slowly.”
What the…?
I do as I’m told, and then I almost groan out loud. The man the voice belongs to is dressed in black pants and a wrinkled white shirt. He wears a jaunty black hat and a badge with “Security” printed on it
.
Just my luck—we’ve found ourselves a rent-a-cop.
“Are you aware that stealing from a vending machine is a crime?” he asks, pointing a Taser at my chest.
And I know it’s a Taser because I have something similar in my purse back in Jonathan’s car.
“She wasn’t stealing anything,” Jonathan explains, looking bored. “The bag of pretzels got stuck, and she was trying to reach it. No harm done.”
“That’s what they all say.” The security guard lets his eyes rove over my outfit, lingering in places that should get him smacked. “I’m afraid I have to search you, miss. Make sure you haven’t stolen anything else.”
You think so, do you?
Jonathan’s already protesting, but I step forward, giving the man a smile. “Of course, Officer. I understand you have to do your job, and I don’t have anything to fear.” I infuse the words with a wallop of my own charisma magic, enough to have this man rolling on the ground like a dog.
His eyes glaze over, and he steps forward, in a trance.
I bat my eyelashes at him. “But first, how about you give me a little demonstration of how that stun gun works? I’ve always been curious.”
“You have to be careful with them,” he says, swaggering toward me. “They’re weapons and therefore quite dangerous.”
I look at Jonathan. “How dangerous?”
He shrugs. “They’re not usually deadly.”
Good enough for me.
Turning back to the security guard, I say, “Why don’t you show me? Give yourself a little zap.”
He pauses, thinking about it, knowing deep down it’s a bad idea.
“Just a little zing,” I all but purr.
Slowly, he nods, points the Taser at his ample belly…and flops to the ground like a fish. The weapon falls from his hand when he collapses.
Jonathan stands over the man, his face impassive, and then looks back at me. “So…the pretzels?”
I turn from the smarmy security guard twitching on the ground. “I almost had them. Let’s try one more time.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I’m going to have to write you up you know,” Jonathan says on the way back to the car, ripping open the bag.
Guild of Secrets Page 5
