Page 41 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
My heart stops. “It was April eighth, and the hounds were baying.”
Fallon sits straight up, locking eyes with me. “Their wounds.”
Alice slides forward on the couch, questions in her eyes.
“We’ve tried to match the wounds we saw for years, but nothing we know of has ever caused that kind of damage,” I tell her, hoping to fill in the gaps Fallon and I just did.
Alice nods, her eyes thoughtful. “And April eighth isn’t anywhere near one of Their holy days?”
“Right,” Fallon assures her. “All the old-timers we’ve ever talked to have told us what we saw wasn’t possible… That because of how I was—after—that we must’ve got it wrong.”
She and Alice share a knowing look. They both understand what it’s like to not be believed, and it’s another brick in the wall of the sisterhood sprouting up between them.
My head shakes slowly, like I can’t stop it. “The Hunt paid us no mind. They were after something else. It was like we weren’t even there. All these years, I thought we got it wrong, Fallon.”
My sister’s eyes brighten. There’s nothing she loves more than a lead. “This is it, Wyatt. I can feel it. We’re gonna find out what happened to them.” She turns to Alice, and the look that passes between them is solemn. “You got here right on time, Blythe. Almost like Fate has her hand on us.”
Alice blushes deeply. “I’m not sure abou?—”
“No,” I interrupt. “Fallon’s right. Shit’s falling into place.”
It’s a selfish thing to say. I don’t know that for sure. But I know Alice wants to belong somewhere, and I want her to decide it’s here. It’s too soon for me to want that, but I can’t seem to keep my damn mouth shut. I should, but with her I’m reckless. That’s something I’m gonna have to rein in if I want to keep her safe.
Chapter 19
Alice
Iwant with all my heart to belong here. I didn’t know you could be homesick for a place that isn’t your home and that you haven’t even left—but that’s the best way I can describe the feeling curled up beneath my breastbone, bitter and sweet.
Last night, after the fire died and Fallon fell asleep on the big sheepskin rug, Wyatt stepped out to check the wards around the house. I sat there, Fern’s giant head on my lap in the lamplit gloom, and tried to imagine going back to the city. Back to OrthCon and my studies. Back to Amir’s internet café or my shitty apartment that’s probably Sector-bugged to hell and back.
And I just couldn’t do it. I’ve watched a hellhound tear a redcap apart. I’ve seen a real-life werewolf. I’ve been mocked by pixies and accepted by the wolfdog curled up next to me. I’ve been befriended by Fallon Hayes, the badass hedgerider matriarch who’s been through some serious shit—and, as such, doesn’ttakeany goddamn shit.
And, of course, I’ve been kissed by Wyatt Hayes. He tasted like bonfires by the river and the hot cider my grandmother used to make every autumn. It’s been a while since I’ve kissed anyone, but I know for a fact it’s never felt anything likethatbefore.And I know that I’ve never even dared to dream of a romance with someone like him—stupidly hot, yeah, but also kind and thoughtful and so fucking brave. I only met him a few days ago, but somehow he already knows more about me than most of my friends back at the university. How do I walk away from that?
I let out a long breath and reach through the shafts of early morning sunlight to trail my fingers along the spines of the books in Fallon’s library. The Hayes’ library, technically—a collection of every single piece of family hedgerider lore, records, and information that dates back at least a hundred years. It’s unprecedented in most academic fields given the Catastrophes; nearly everything that wasn’t digitized is lost to us.
There’s plenty of empty shelves in the library, which I was delighted to discover resides in the turret I’ve admired every time we’ve pulled up the driveway. Two kids can only carry so much, after all. The original collection they brought from that cottage in New Big Sur only fills about a shelf—no more than twenty-five books. But they’ve added so much in the time they’ve been here, and for some reason, that makes my heart swell with pride.
“One hot coffee,” Wyatt announces, startling me out of my reverie as he strides through the antique French doors. He’s holding two steaming mugs, dressed in his usual jeans and flannel button-down. I try to drag my gaze away from his broad shoulders and the curve of his mouth. I remind myself that Fallon showed me the library—just past the big formal dining room—so I could put my degrees to use.Notso I could make out with her brother.
I’m really good at multitasking, though.
“Thanks,” I say with a smile, reaching for the mug. He sets his down first on a low shelf, and then twists mine around so Ican grab it by the handle—to protect me from the searing heat, I can’t help but notice. Butterflies fill my stomach.
“Find anything interesting while I was gone?” he asks, meeting my gaze over the brim of his coffee mug.
“Everything in here is incredible,” I tell him, and I absolutely mean it. I gesture to the leatherbound journal I set aside on the scuffed table tucked up against the bay window. “I found some mentions of the Chosen.”
He flinches and then sets his jaw. “I don’t think the Hunt’s ever marked this many folks in the same spot,” he says, reaching for his mug. There’s shadows under his eyes I don’t remember seeing before, and I don’t think he shaved this morning. “What do you think the Chosen have to do with what’s going on here?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure,” I admit, twisting the sleeve of my sweater. “I guess I’m just trying to understand Them better. So if there’s any accounts of observed, repeated behavior the Hunt’s demonstrated, I’m interested.”
He watches me carefully, and I want to say something—anythingto alleviate the concern I can see weighing on him. But I can’t find the words, or maybe I’m afraid, so I take a big gulp of my coffee and then spread my hands.
“In my extraterrestrial research,” I begin, “abductions are obviously a commonly reported phenomenon. The thing is…alien abductees normally comeback.”
He nods grimly, taking a step toward me to lean against the bookshelf. “But the ones that get taken by the Hunt don’t.”
