Page 29 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
Wyatt leads me down the hill, taking the first left to abandon the main street and head into what looks like a residential area with tall, narrow houses and small front yards lined by what I suspect is iron fencing. He glances at me over his shoulder, the sun turning his dark hair bronze.
“What about ’em?” he asks, his brow creasing.
“Well,” I say, jumping across a puddle, the cool air fresh and energizing against my skin. “How do you keep them safe?”
Wyatt snorts, swinging the burlap sack. It’s a few more seconds before he speaks again. “Wedon’t, Alice.”
I halt abruptly on the sidewalk in front of a cottage with mossy stepping stones leading to its front door, painted a bright blue. “So you’re just gonna hope they don’t get taken?” I demand, unease curling in my belly where heat bloomed only a few moments ago.
He stops and turns to face me, his broad shoulders blocking out the sun as he considers me, saying nothing. The unease becomes a stab of fear.
“You aren’t hoping they don’t get taken,” I say slowly, measuring the words. “You’re hoping theydo. That strangers who come here just to look at leaves and drink cider get taken and your people don’t.”
Wyatt looks away from me, but it’s not with shame. He’s stalwart, resolute, though his jaw works back and forth. When he finally meets my gaze, his mouth parts and his shoulders shrug. “What exactly would you have me do, Alice?”
Chapter 14
Wyatt
Alice makes this terrible disapproving face, and for half a second I feel a little bad. But then I realize that while she’s wise to a lot of what’s happening here, it’s all just theory to her. She’s never seen one of Them. When she comes close to one—and she will sooner than she’d probably prefer—I think she’ll get it.
Besides, there’s no use sugarcoating much of anything for Alice Blythe. I want her to know exactly who we are and what we do here. I saw her getting comfy with me in the truck, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I liked it. But if there’s even a hair’s breadth of a chance that she won’t run off at the first redcap sighting, she has to know the truth of things.
Nikhil jogs toward us as we head out, his long legs swishing with the sound of his track pants. He’s got his hair in a bun, and he looks a little like a romance hero. For the first time in my life, I feel a little nervous about what a woman might think about another man. The deep voice, with which he booms, “Widow Harkness said you wanted to talk?” doesn’t make me feel any better.
Alice stands next to me, stony-faced, not sparing even a glance for Nik. I try not to smile. She’s obviously still mad at me. Instead, I clear my throat. “You were one of the last to see the most recent missing hikers, weren’t you? Can you tell us anything about them?”
Nik frowns. “Were they white people dressed up like equestrians?”
I shrug. There’s a touch of a smile on Alice’s lips. Either she’s warming up in general, or to Nik. I try not to wonder which.
Nik shakes his head. “They all look alike to me. Sorry.”
Alice snickers as Nik jogs back the way he came.Does he have to run everywhere like he’s in an episode ofBaywatch?I think to myself.
“C’mon,” I finally say. “We can pass out the iron while you decide how much you’re gonna hate me for letting innocent leafers get snatched by the Hunt.”
She makes a hateful little face at me, and I can’t help but think that if she’d just eaten the burrito, she might be in a better mood by now, but a hangover’s a hangover. I whistle for Fern, who’s refereeing a game of stickball with a bunch of kids in the field out back. The kids all groan when they hear me, and my little girl takes a victory lap around the bases before she trots up to us and shoves her head right under Alice’s hand.
Alice’s eyes soften for a moment, until she remembers she’s supposed to be angry with me. She glares again to strengthen her resolve, I reckon, but when I walk, she walks. We’re quiet as we skirt up and down the streets, following the list we were given.
She doesn’t say much, but I notice with each house we go to, with each door that opens with welcome and thanks, that she mellows more and more. She sees what I hoped she would—that Blackbird Hollow is special. It’s not that we don’t have our troubles and petty grievances. We do, but in times like this, wesure as shit pull together and take care of our own. We always have, and as long as I have something to say about it, as long as Cade and Fallon and the coven do, we always will.
Lizzie Bishop comes walking towards us, a redheaded witch of about sixteen. She waves at me and blushes, giving Alice a bit of the stink-eye. Someone’s already been out to hang the rowan boughs on all the fences on Whitethorn Drive, but Lizzie’s job is to activate them.
I nudge Alice with my elbow. “You wanted to see magic. Watch Lizzie work.”
Alice glares at me again, reminding me so much of Fallon flirting that I almost laugh. But that might hurt her dignity, and I might be wrong and that would hurt mine, so I don’t tease her. At any rate, she does as I ask, watching as Lizzie trails a hand through the dried rowan as she walks, humming an arcane folk song as she goes.
The boughs green up. They don’t exactly come alive again, but their faded colors glow with vibrancy, with magic. But I don’t watch that. I’ve seen it before, and I’ll see it again. I watch Alice’s hazel eyes get big, and her pretty mouth falls open. She’s got a young look to her face, countered by those old-soul kaleidoscope eyes, but at this moment, she could be the same age as Lizzie. Something in my heart aches for her.
She looks up at me and shakes her head a little, clearly working through some complicated shit in her head. “I think I get it.” Fern sits on her foot, pushing her big old head into Alice’s hip, grinning like a fool. Alice scratches her chin, almost absently, repeating, “Yeah, I think I get it.”
Lizzie nears us, sticking her tongue out at Alice rather pointedly as she approaches. She stops near me, blushing again. “Are you going to the Hallows party?”
I smile as gently as I can. “Probably, but you’re not old enough for that shindig.”
“I will be soon,” Lizzie replies. “Just two more years.”
