Page 37 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
No. I won’t go there. I won’t read into the expression on his face. I won’t tumble into those dark, fathomless eyes. Because if I don’t get my hopes up, then I won’t get hurt.
“Can he change back?” I ask, instead of voicing all the messy, half-formed things rattling inside my head.
“Nope,” Wyatt says with a shake of his head, navigating over the destroyed floors with ease. “Not ’til after the full moon. But this is the calmest he’s ever been with the change.” He pauses, glancing down to meet Caden’s eyes. “Sorry. Not tryin’ to talk about you like you’re not in the room.”
Caden lets out a dramatic huff and turns away, his claws clicking as he pads down the hallway, apparently dismissing us.
“You alright?” Wyatt asks. I startle, not realizing he’d come to stand at my side. When I look over at him, his eyes are narrowed with deep concern. Forme. My stomach flutters.
“Fine,” I reply, not trusting myself to say more. Instead, I glance out the window, where the forest is waking up from its unnaturally quiet nap. A fox trots across Caden’s yard, and the afternoon is brighter now, that strange mist and unnatural dimness lifting as though it had never been there at all.
As if Wyatt hadn’t locked me away in the basement with a wild look in his eyes. As if this man I barely know hadn’t seemed ready to fucking die for me, if that’s what it took.
I draw in a shuddering, uneven inhale. “Does your brother drink?”
He takes half a step back, brow creased in confusion. “I mean, not during the change,” he tells me. “Probably not the best idea.”
Laughter overtakes me, drawing the remaining tension out of my body. “No,” I laugh. “Sorry. I mean thatIcould use a drink. Do you think he’s got anything here he wouldn’t mind sharing?”
“Oh,” Wyatt says, his eyes lighting up. “Sure does. More local brews and fancy IPAs than a single man or wolf could ever drink. I’m sure he won’t mind if we borrow one or two.”
And that’s how we end up in Caden’s backyard. The youngest Hayes sibling’s cottage sits at the top of a gentle hill. The back patio’s situated at its crest, the yard sloping away from the cottage until mossy, light-dappled ground gives way to the thicket, then the woods. He’s got those old-timey lights strung up on the trees ringing the little patio area and an assortment of battered, mismatched outdoor furniture. I sink into a chaise lounge with faded cushions that feature flamingos drinkingmargaritas, which is the kind of energy I probably need after all that excitement and, you know, mortal danger.
Wyatt collapses into the plastic Adirondack at my side, and Caden curls up on the stone patio in the sun. I wonder if he and Fern ever play when he’s in the change. I wonder if that’s a weird thing to ask.
“What’s proper werewolf etiquette?” I ask as Wyatt hands me some locally brewed concoction with an illustrated label featuring a jack-o’-lantern ringed by pixies. “Like, it’s stillhim, right? He’s not reverted to some kind of…dog-like intelligence level?”
Caden raises his head from the sun-warmed patio and shakes his head at me, which answers that question. “Still him,” Wyatt tells me after taking a very, very long pull of his beer—nearly a chug, if I’m honest, though I can’t exactly fault him. “But the change is hard at first. So much wolf, so little human. It takes time to level out. It’s why I was worried. Your scent is new to him, and I didn’t know how he’d react.”
Wolf-Caden quite literally grumbles in response, standing and stretching just to curl back up, this time facing away from us like a surly cat. I find myself smiling. I don’t know what it is precisely with the Hayes kids, but I just…instantly like all of them. And I very rarely instantly like people. Even less do people like me in return. But I feel as if we’re all the weird little puzzle pieces that got lost underneath the rug, and somehow we justfittogether. It’s too absurd to say aloud, so I don’t, but the feeling thrums pleasantly in my throat.
I look back at Wyatt to find his brow furrowed as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “You okay?” I ask, reaching over and placing my hand on his forearm without thinking. It feels so good. So natural. In the bright autumn sunshine, there’s no doubt in my mind that he blushes, which makes my stomach flip in turn.
“There’s just…” He presses his lips together and drags a hand through his hair. “Look, we hedgeriders never presume to know everything. Our traditions are good, and we make sure to pass down as much info as we can. But the Wild Hunt? That’s High Court shit. It’s not something we usually deal with, so we don’t know as much about it.” He pauses again, meeting my gaze. “I have no idea why They went after the redcaps like that. I’ve never seen ’em go after Their own.”
On the other side of the patio, Caden raises his head to yip—what I take as agreement. “Huh,” I say, turning the information over in my head. “I mean, you’re the experts. The Fe—Themexisting has all been theory to me for a while.”
Wyatt raises an eyebrow at me. “But?” he asks, like he can read me that easily, which makes me flush.
“But,” I say, setting down my beer because I know I’m about to start talking with my hands, and I’ve found it’s best not to have a beverage in them when that’s happening. “Let’s think about it. In folklore, the Wild Hunt is often a harbinger of bad shit, or associated with dead souls. Okay. But what else? In Welsh folklore, there’s this idea that Gwyn ap Nudd, Their leader, helps keep imprisoned demons from harming humans.”
Wyatt abandons his beer, too, his eyes bright as he follows my theory. I can see the thoughts flickering in his gaze, but he waits until I’m done to speak. “What if the Hunt’s actually got a function?” he says, his voice rising with excitement. “Beyond just doing fucked-up shit for fun. Because, if I’m honest, that’s what a lot of Them do here.”
“It would be unwise to anthropomorphize Them,” I say, leaning on the edge of my flamingo-patterned chair. “But that doesn’t mean the Hunt isn’t doingsomething. Sure, there’s the kidnapping and the death and blood. You know, the fun stuff. But what if They’re more like the Gwyn ap Nudd myth?” I twist at the waist, gesturing back toward the house and the utterlyravaged bedroom. “What if the hellhounds came to take care of the redcap infestation? Like, if the redcaps somehow infringed on some rule or law. I mean, Fallon said They don’t usually come this close to town, do They?”
My voice is growing louder and louder, and I know my face is probably getting red, the same way it always does when I feel like I’ve unraveled something. But Wyatt just looks over at me with utter concentration, as if the things I’m saying are completely worthy of his time—even though he’s the hedgerider, and he’s been doing this his whole damn life.
“We gotta talk to someone who knows more than us,” he says, steepling his fingers. Then his gaze slips to his brother, and his expression falls. “But Cade’s the one who normally sets up our liaisons with experts. He handles all that, the chat rooms and message boards.”
Disappointment echoes through me as I lean back into my seat. Sure, I know a few message boards, but with my six-month absence, I’m not getting anybody to agree to meet. “Which means,” I huff, “we’re gonna have to wait ’til after the full moon.”
Caden glances over and throws his head back, mocking us with a deeply mournful howl. Wyatt snatches some acorns off the ground, tossing them at his brother, but he’s laughing the whole time. And, I realize with a deep feeling of contentment, so am I.
By the timeI email my parents and we use our opposable thumbs—which Caden currently lacks—to clean up the bedroom as best as we possibly can, dusk has begun to darken the horizon. A chill climbs up my spine as I slide into the passenger seat of Wyatt’s truck, but I’m perfectly cozy. I’ve got my hands stuffedinto the corduroy-lined pockets of my coat, and the smell of the truck’s cabin is familiar, comforting—sun-warmed leather, damp soil, pine trees.
“I would’ve happily stayed and done more,” I tell Wyatt as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“I know,” he replies, flashing me a smile. He puts the truck into reverse and backs out of the driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. “But with the moonrise, Cade was getting more uncomfortable. More unpredictable. It’s for the best that we headed out, even though he was incredible today.”
