by Bella Jacobs
“We do, too.” The trembling voice comes from the other side of the van, out of my line of sight, but I recognize it instantly.
“Mom,” I croak, my knees going weak as Abby steps out from behind the vehicle, Hank close beside her and Kite not far behind.
Chapter 34
Wren
That’s where the worst of it was coming from, I realize as I take in my mother’s tear-streaked face and my father’s equally ravaged expression.
They are the source of the fiercest waves of love-pain-regret. My glass wall shatters in the face of it, tinkling to the ground in slow motion, leaving deadly shards littered on the ground between me and these people who are the only family I’ve ever known.
My family killed Kite’s family.
My parents and my friend led those monsters to Kite’s people.
My parents must have given them the blanket the dogs used to track me down. I almost died because of them, and for a moment, I wish I had.
The guilt and despair are crushing.
“Why,” I force out through my whip-tight throat, backing away as my mother takes several swift steps toward me. I hold up a hand, shaking my head, willing her not to come any closer. “Why did you do this? Why!”
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. We didn’t know. The doctor said he would help us find you. He said he had special tracking animals and money to fund a real search and…” She breaks off with a sob. “The police and the elders weren’t helping us, Wren, and we just wanted you back. We wanted to find you and keep you safe.”
“We just wanted to protect our baby girl,” Pops adds, the quaver in his voice making my gaze shift his way. His eyes are shining with unshed tears that hit me like another punch to the gut. This is only the second time I’ve seen him cry.
The first was at my sister’s memorial service.
“Protect me by poisoning me?” I ask, anger helping me piece my wall back together, thicker and stronger than before. “By poisoning Scarlett?”
“No, baby.” Mom shakes her head so fast it sends a tear flying from her cheek into the air beside her. “Never! We were trying to help you, heal you. Give you a normal life.”
“She was never sick or abnormal,” Dust says, his tone simmering with barely controlled rage. “She didn’t need to be healed. She needed to be rescued from the likes of psychotic fanatics like you.”
Hank’s forehead furrows miserably. “No, son. We saw what happened to the kids who were allowed to start shifting. They became savages, monsters that killed their sisters and brothers.”
“Those are propaganda films, you fools,” Dust shouts. “Lies produced by your own cult to keep their idiot minions drugging and killing innocent kids. Real shifter kids aren’t any more prone to violence than human children.”
“Like those babies you helped kill last night,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes. “They were sweet, innocent souls, and you sent monsters in to slaughter them. I barely saved one little girl. She almost died crying for her mother like any baby would, and she’ll spend the rest of her life without the big sister she loved. I wasn’t in time to save her.”
My mother’s entire body trembles as she sobs. “We didn’t know. I still don’t know what’s happening. I’m so confused, Wren. I just—”
“Then let me help clear up the confusion,” I cut in as I step closer, wanting to be sure my parents can see the truth in my eyes. “You killed Scarlett. You destroyed my sister. As far as I’m concerned, her blood is on your hands.”
Abby’s knees buckle as she breaks down, and Hank steps in behind her, holding her up as he says in a tortured voice, “Please, Wren, don’t do this. Please, baby, you know we love you. We love you so much. You and Scarlett were the best things that ever happened to us.”
“And you were the worst to happen to her,” Dust says, his voice so cold it makes me shiver.
But looking at my parents, seeing the devastation writ large on their suffering faces, feeling the tortured waves of emotion rolling from their hunched bodies, I know it isn’t true.
They aren’t the worst things to happen to me.
They’re victims, too.
Victims of lies and deceit and a cult that rationalized their hatred by decreeing shifters to be something less than human. It’s the same thing the Nazi Party in Germany did, using cartoons, movies, even children’s books to demonize and dehumanize the Jews, gradually making it “okay” to lock innocent people in concentration camps, torture them, and slaughter them in increasingly horrific ways.
Most people can’t make the leap from resentment to hate to murder without some help, without more diabolically evil, wickedly intelligent people yanking their strings. And once most propaganda believers have been sucked into a web of lies, they never find their way free.
Humans don’t like to be deeply wrong, especially about matters of good and evil and which side they fall on. It’s terrifying, triggering a flight or fight response that mimics threat of imminent death. Rather than face that terror, most people will cling to their dogma.
Admitting they’ve been wrong opens the door to being forced to admit that they are complicit, if not outright guilty.
Guilty of discrimination, brutality…maybe even murder.
But my parents are standing in front of me devastated and confused, questioning and suffering, but still loving me. I can feel it—real, true, undeniable. The mate bond I’ve formed with Kite has enhanced my empathy until it truly has become more like telepathy.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that, in spite of all the lies, one thing is true.
Love. It was always there, it was always real, and it still is.
“I can’t forgive you for Scarlett,” I finally say, trembling. “The chance for that died when she did, but…”
I take a deep breath, meeting my mother’s tortured gaze as she lifts shining eyes to meet mine. “But if you’ll promise to leave the movement, to stop helping drug children, and to accept that shifters have as much of a right to life and freedom from persecution as you do, then maybe we can find a way to move forward as a family.”
My mother sobs softly, clinging tighter to Dad’s jacket as she says, “Yes. Oh, yes, baby, thank you. That’s all I want.”
Dad nods, and adds, “Anything it takes. We’ll do anything.”
“What the fuck?” Luke curses as Dust turns to me, his jaw slack with shock. Even Creedence looks skeptical—his brows lifting until they disappear beneath his tousled hair—but it’s Kite I’m most worried about.
What will he think? Will he ever be able to forgive me?
But when I meet his gaze, he’s smiling ever so slightly. Almost like he’s…proud of me.
Then he silently mouths, “I love you,” and my eyes fill with tears of gratitude.
Any shred of doubt that I might have jumped into this too fast with him vanishes in a wave of gratitude. He understands, this man I love, this ally of mine, this hero whose heart is so big there’s room for forgiveness even now, only hours after he lost so much.
I turn back to Carrie Ann, answering the fearful hope in her eyes with a nod. “You, too. If you promise never to betray me again, we can try to move forward.”
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she sucks in a deep breath. “You won’t be sorry, Wren. I’m going to do everything I can to make this better, to make up for what I’ve done. Starting now.” She motions to my side. “There’s a tracking device in your arm. We have to get it out. That’s how Dr. Highborn was able to find you.”
Brows pulling tight, I turn to my parents.
“It was put there when you were taken in by the movement,” Mom says, looking a little steadier on her feet. “The Seattle adoption center implants all the children they put up for adoption. But Dr. Highborn did something to yours. When we went to the elders for help, they couldn’t find your signal anywhere.”
“They said you were dead,” Dad adds, his jaw clenching. “But we knew it wasn’t true. We
could feel you out there. We knew you were still alive.”
“We think the doctor scrambled your signal or something,” Carrie Ann says. “Recalibrated it so that only his devices can find you. Like I said, we cut power to his house before we left, and took the portable radar he was using to track you, but he’ll be back online within a day. Maybe less. Which means we don’t have much time to put our plan in motion.”
“You don’t get to decide anything, blondie,” Luke snaps, pacing back across the parking lot, finger pointed at Carrie Ann’s chest. “Wren may have decided to play Mother Theresa, but the rest of us have more fucking sense than that. I don’t trust you, and I never will.”
“I understand,” Carrie Ann says before I can tell Luke that his attitude isn’t helping, lifting her hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t trust me, either. But our plan doesn’t require trust.”
“We thought we could take the tracking device,” Mom pipes up as she watches Luke with anxious eyes. “Take it and drive in the opposite direction you’re going, hopefully tricking the doctor and buying you more time to get away.”
“You don’t have to tell us where you’re going,” Carrie Ann adds. “Not even the general direction. Just tell us where you want us to lead the bad guys, and we’re out of here.”
“You’ll be putting yourselves in danger,” Dust says. “Don’t assume you’re safe because you’re human. This man is used to working outside official channels and taking the law into his own hands.”
“That’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Dad says, hugging Mom closer to his side. “As long as you and your friends promise to keep Wren safe. To look out for her.”
I shake my head. “I can’t let you do this. It’s too dangerous.”
“Not if they drop the tracking device somewhere on the way south,” Creedence says, evidently having decided we should head in a different direction. “I’m assuming this thing is waterproof?”
Dad nods. “It should be.”
Creedence shoots Dust a meaningful glance. “There are a fuck ton of rivers around here, Captain. All they would have to do is tape the implant to an inner tube, send it downstream, and get the hell out of Dodge.”
Dust sighs, but I can tell he’s wavering.
Kite offers, “Maple Falls isn’t far from here. That would be a good place. I can draw up directions.”
“And I’ll grab the first aid kit.” Creedence backs toward the Hummer as he thrusts a finger Luke’s way. “You’ve got a knife on you, right, wolfie?”
Luke bristles. “Because I’m Latino? So I automatically carry a knife?”
“No, because you’re an ex-gangbanger, asshole,” Creedence says pleasantly. “Just whip out that knife I know you have stashed somewhere and get it sterilized. We need to get moving.”
“What do you think about this?” I ask Dust, crossing to stand beside him as Luke pulls a pocketknife from his jean pocket and glances down at the selection of blades.
“We have nothing to lose by trusting them with the implant,” Dust says softly. “And as far as I can tell, they’re truly repentant and trying to help.”
I press my lips together as I nod. “They are. I can feel it.”
“But I don’t like this. I don’t trust them, and I…” He shakes his head, his gaze going flat as it shifts my parents’ way. “I don’t understand how you can let it all go so easily. All those years, your entire life compromised…”
“I haven’t let it go,” I say. “And this is anything but easy. But if we refuse to forgive, if we forget how to trust, and we stay walled away from each other out of fear and anger, then things are never going to get better.” I rest a hand on his arm. “And then the bad guys win, Dust. They want us to be isolated and afraid. They want to keep us apart so we can never learn how alike we are, how much we have in common. How much we all just want to love and be loved.”
He turns to me, pain and wonder mixing in his expression. “I’ve underestimated you, Snow.”
“Yeah?” Tears prick at the backs of my eyes again.
“Yes,” he whispers. “You’re not soft or weak. You’re…sweetly ferocious.”
I smile, chest tightening as his fingers thread through mine. “I want to stay as kind as possible, Dust. I know there will be times when fighting is our only option, but I want to make sure we’ve explored every nonviolent one first. I want every choice we make to prove that we deserve to win this war. To prove that we’re truly going to make the world a better place.”
“All right,” he says, respect blooming in his eyes. “It won’t be easy. But it was never going to be easy, so…”
“And I need you to help me get everyone else on board,” I whisper, casting a pointed glance at Luke, who is now holding a small knife over the flame from the lighter in his other hand. Apparently, he comes prepared for stabbing, shooting, and setting things on fire.
Dust squeezes my hand. “I’ll do my best.” His forehead wrinkles, and sadness tinges his voice as he adds, “But you have to tell them all goodbye for now. We can’t risk contacting anyone with links to our enemies. Not until our work is finished.”
I nod. “I know.”
I do know.
I also know that I might never see my parents or Carrie Ann again. We could be caught, captured, or killed before we make it to Atlas’s doorstep, and the chances of triumphing over a supernatural being who has had thousands of years to amass power and arrange his defenses are slim.
So when I hug Mom and Dad goodbye, I linger longer than I usually would, focusing on the love, not the anger or regret.
“Please be safe,” I whisper into Mom’s hair. “Be safe and get out of the church and live a beautiful life filled with love and happiness.”
“I’ll try,” she says, her breath hitching. “For you. But we’ll be watching and waiting, baby. Any time you want to come home, our doors and our hearts are open.”
“And we’ll do what we can to help the others.” Dad rests a warm hand on my back. “To get the other kids out and to people who can help them.”
“I can give you some contacts,” Kite says, appearing with a map he’s drawn on part of the paper bag our clothes came in. “There are a few church members secretly working for the resistance. They can let you know how to help.”
“Thank you,” my father says, resting a gentle hand on Kite’s shoulder. “And I’m so sorry, son. So very sorry.”
“I believe you,” Kite says. “And I’m glad to have you as an ally instead of an enemy.”
“It’s time.” Carrie Ann steps into our circle with Luke close behind her. “We should get going, and so should you. Take care, Wren. And know that if there’s anything I can ever do for you, all you have to do is ask.”
“Keep an eye on them for me,” I say, nodding toward my parents. “Maybe head over to help weed the gardens once in a while?”
“I’d like that,” Carrie Ann says, smiling up at my parents as Mom adds, “So would we.”
“So where is this thing?” Luke asks brusquely, clearly sickened by all of us.
“Just above her wrist.” Mom points to my left arm, to the silvery scar I always assumed was sustained sometime before I came to live with Abby and Hank, in the dark time that I can’t remember. “It should be just beneath the skin.”
“All right. Arm up.” Luke curls his fingers impatiently, and I place my wrist in his palm. He looks up with a baffled huff. “Just like that? You trust me that easily? A few days together, and you’ll put your life in my hands?”
“All of our lives are partly in someone else’s hands, Luke,” I say, adding with a smile. “But I’m getting better with the fire thing, so try to be gentle okay?”
His lips quirk, up and down so fast I’m not quite sure it happened, but his tone is definitely more respectful as he says, “Will do, princess.”
He draws the knife across my skin, using just enough pressure to pierce the puckered flesh at the center of my scar. I feel heat and then a flash of pain as he slips the tip
of the knife into the incision he’s made, but by the time it really begins to hurt, he’s pulling out a tiny black dot no bigger than the tip of a ballpoint pen.
“That’s it,” Carrie Ann says, glancing down at what looks like a large black remote control in her hands. “Let’s find something to carry it in and get ready to go.”
“One step ahead of you.” Dust trots back across the gravel from the convenience store, carrying a child’s size inner tube already inflated.
It’s shaped like a flamingo, reminding me of his sweet boxer gift, with a pearly pink finish and a long neck that bobs as we use the packing tape he’s purchased to tape the implant onto one wing.
And then it’s time to go.
Our entire encounter took no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish, but so much has happened, so much has changed.
I hug my parents and Carrie Ann one last time—saying goodbye to my old life. As we load into the car, bound east as my parents and Carrie Ann head west to a bridge near Maple Falls, high in the mountains, I’m no longer Wren Frame.
Wren Frame never had a choice.
About anything.
She was taken from her parents when she was so young her babyhood memories were shredded and tossed to the wind, leaving nothing but fragments behind, tiny pieces too small to form a picture, too thin to build a girl upon. Wren Frame was poisoned before she had a chance to grow, shut down like a weed in a garden, kept so weak that each day was a battle for survival, leaving little energy for dreams or goals or becoming the person she was born to be.
But like a weed, I kept going, kept surviving until I found my way free of the dark garden and out into a wild, wonderful, terrifying world where I’m going to have to catch up fast.
I don’t have years to make up for lost time. I have months, maybe weeks.