Dirty Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  It seemed as if the sun took extra long to finally disappear behind the horizon. When the last rays of light faded, I was watching, tense and ready, from the back steps. Finally, the pink light turned gray, and the shadows grew long enough to be considered evening. I turned and hurried inside. The entire house was rich with the smell of chocolate. I followed it and found Fee in the kitchen. She had flour up to her elbows and streaked across her face.

  “I thought you were at Benny’s?” I asked.

  “Vera stayed. She can handle it. Besides, we need the numbers.”

  I nodded. In the last hour, a dozen or so cars had pulled in. I hadn’t paid much attention to the newcomers and they’d left me alone, too. Most stayed huddled inside the house while Jack filled them in on the plan. I was grateful for their help, all the while hoping we wouldn’t need it. “Is it time?” I asked.

  Fee looked up from her oven timer and wiped her hands on her apron. “Almost.”

  “What are you making?”

  “Brownies.” She smiled a tight smile and shrugged. “When I’m stressed, I bake.”

  “I’m going to go find Jack. See if he’s ready,” I said.

  “Tara, wait,” she said. I stopped and turned, impatient. “I just wanted you to know, I called your grandmother.”

  “Why?”

  “Your mother’s letter made it sound like she’d want her to know. Vera said it would be a good idea if things—well, if things don’t go our way.”

  I swallowed a melon-sized lump in my throat. “What did she say?”

  “She was already on her way. Said she’d be here waiting for us when we got back, if she stayed on schedule.”

  “She was already coming?” I asked.

  “Apparently your mother called her right before she, well, before Leo came to collect her. Your grandmother tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen, so she’d already hopped a plane.”

  “Wow.” Just knowing that made me feel better. Grandma would know what to do. But Fee said she wouldn’t be here until after the fight. “Thanks, Fee. I appreciate that.”

  “You go find Jack,” she said, waving me out and running sink water over her powdery white hands. “I’m going to pack some of this food up to bring with us.”

  To my relief, Jack and the others were already out front, loading up various cars with armloads of weaponry. Derek’s SUV was open and he and Wes were shoving boxes of medical supplies in the cargo area. Bailey stood by, watching, a sullen look on his face.

  “Left behind again?” I asked, coming up beside him.

  “As usual. Which is dumb. I’ve gone on missions before. Jack’s just being—”

  “Overprotective?” I finished.

  He sighed. “Yeah.”

  “I know. I hate when they do that.”

  “At least I get to stay in the car, though, instead of wandering around here,” he said, though it didn’t sound like that cheered him up very much.

  “Right,” I agreed.

  Jack slammed the last trunk closed and turned to face the loosely assembled group. I wondered if this was the part where he gave some inspiring speech about sticking together, or being safe, or brave, but all he said was, “Let’s go.”

  It worked for me.

  Everyone broke into groups and slid into various cars. I hesitated, unsure where to go. Wes jogged over to me. “Ride with me?” he asked.

  I glanced around for Miles, not sure if my nerves could handle a car ride alone with Wes right now. Not on top of everything else. But Miles was nowhere in sight and his car was empty, so I nodded, and then smiled a goodbye at Bailey.

  “See you after,” he said.

  I buckled up and held my hands to the vents, telling myself the only reason I’d agreed to ride with Wes was for the blessed seat warmer that was currently heating my underside.

  “You have your stakes, right?” he asked, pulling the car into line with the caravan in front of us.

  “In my boots.”

  “And the gun?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “Good.” He was tense. I could hear it in that one word, and see it in the set of his jaw. “Tara, I’m really sorry you thought I broke up with you. It really isn’t like that.”

  “I can’t talk about this right now,” I said. “Not with what we’re about to do.”

  “I understand.”

  We fell silent, and didn’t speak again until we’d parked the car a few blocks from the warehouse. Wes reached for the door handle, his eyes on mine.

  “It’s going to be okay, right?” I asked.

  He reached out and took my hand in his. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, sounding way more convinced than I felt.