The town car in the driveway wasn’t one that I recognized, and it had Connecticut plates on it.
I tried to convince myself that this was somehow about me, that my parents had learned that I was enjoying my guards more than they approved of. That the horrible news was that they wanted to ship me out to some nunnery where I could be smacked until I kept my hands to myself. The whole thing was wishful thinking, buzzed thinking.
The town car meant something else was going on. It had to be about my sister.
I tried the handle. The door was unlocked.
“You guys wait here.” I went in alone, not giving them the chance to protest.
“Mom, I’m—”
Her arms crushed me, pulling me tight into her chest.
“Sparrow.” Her voice was tainted with anguish.
“Hey,” I said.
Voices carried from the living room behind her. One belonged to David, his voice like frozen steel, while the other I didn’t recognize.
“What’s going on?” I asked, tilting my head up to see Mom’s face.
“It’s Wren.” Her voice cracked.
The Connecticut plates. They had to do with where Wren was sent.
“You said she was missing,” David said. “Taken in the night.”
“She was,” the other man said.
I let go and walked past my mother. The man talking to David stood next to him, tall and bulky. His head was completely bald and he had a round face. The boyish shape of his features should have looked friendly, but instead he looked mean.
“How did you find her?” David asked in a choked voice.
“We found security footage of Ms. Geard’s men at a gas station twenty-five miles from the diner where she was taken,” the bald man said.
I stopped and listened to him speak. This was Chad Curtis. This was the man who lost my sister.
I took a closer look at him, and he turned sideways to evaluate me. His eyes had a dark, shiny look about them, like they were glass beads in a grotesque doll’s face.
I didn’t like this guy. It wasn’t so much his appearance as they way he held his appearance, how he stood, how he talked to David.
He turned away again without acknowledging me and said to David, “The next trace we found was at a motel, that’s where we found her.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
No one answered.
“You said you found her,” I said, raising my voice. “Where the fuck is my sister?” My fists balled at my sides. I would not be ignored.
Curtis looked at me, a strange twist playing on his tight lips. Was that sympathy? “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.
I didn’t believe he was sorry at all. I didn’t want his pity or his sorrow. I wanted his head to roll.
David’s eyes were a mix of fury and despair. He didn’t answer. No one was going to say it. No one was going to tell me.
“What is going on?” This time I yelled, my voice a storm in the silence.
A soft hand touched my arm. I whipped my head to the side. It was Mom.
“She’s dead, Sparrow.”
Her words reached my ears, but I couldn’t process their meaning. No. Wren wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be—I would know it. It wasn’t true.
Curtis said, “The body was found in the basement, in a walk-in freezer.”
“He’s lying,” I spat.
Curtis’s eyes lit with an expression I couldn’t read. Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t sincerity. Lying. Fucking. Bastard.
“He’s not lying,” David said. “I would be able to tell.”
I didn’t care that shifters were supposed to know these things. It could be the whole fucking world telling me that I was wrong and it wouldn’t matter. Wren was alive. She had to be.
“Her remains were burned, but not beyond recognition.” Curtis handed David a photograph.
David’s face paled as he looked at the photo.
“It’s not her,” I said.
My mother moved in front of me, giving me that look that I hated. This time was worse than ever, the desperation in it. She wanted to believe me. Hope was a thread, and I was supposed to hold onto it gently with my rusty scissors.
I closed my eyes and did my damnedest to focus. Blond hair, green eyes...
“Do you recognize the skirt, those shoes?” Curtis asked.
It was her clothes, but it sure as hell wasn’t her.
“Yes,” David’s voice was filled with anguish.
Blond hair…
“Sparrow?” My mother’s voice was soft, so soft.
All I could See was black.
I tried, and I tried, and I hated that I wasn’t more like Wren. I hated that I was me and not her perfect twin, with perfect Sight. Now more than ever, I needed to be just like her.
There was only black.
I opened my eyes and I watched as the last thread broke, and my mother fell to her knees.
“It’s okay, Sparrow,” David said. He turned to Curtis. “We trusted you to keep her safe. You failed.”
“I know, Mr. Solaris. You have our sincerest—”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” David said.
“We did everything we could,” Curtis said.
“Get out,” David said, picking up the coffee table and holding it in front of him.
I grabbed my mother and pulled her back with me—David would never, ever hurt either of us on purpose, but if he started throwing things, he might not pay much attention to where they were going.
But he was turned toward Curtis. It was Curtis who needed to watch out.
“The remains will be returned to you as soon as possible,” Curtis said, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. He turned for the door. “My condolences for your loss.”
As he left, his eyes flicked to me, the sharp gaze of a predator. I felt stripped, like I had at the poolside, but this time not of my clothes or my spirit, but of something else—like he could see straight through me.
After Curtis was gone, David paced back and forth. Then he tossed the table across the room. It fell against the wall, making a huge divot in the sheetrock, before crashing to the ground.
“The Curtis Corporation is done,” David said. “Ruined. He just doesn’t know it yet. That bastard won’t do this to anyone else. I’ll make sure no pack on the east coast hires his company again.”
I was sure he meant it. But it didn’t change anything.
From the window we watched the town car drive away. And it was over.
The tension left with him, and all that was left was grief.
I held my mother’s shoulders as she cried, and I looked to David.
He threw back a cup of his favorite whiskey, downing it in a single swig.
“He had to have been lying,” I said. “Somehow, what he said…it can’t be the truth.”
“Can you See her, Sparrow?” he asked, in that voice that was all command. “Can you See Wren?”
I sucked in a deep breath.
He poured another glass and downed that one, too.
Slowly, I shook my head. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He walked past me toward the kitchen without another word. I was left alone with my sobbing mother, who wouldn’t be consoled. I couldn’t blame her.
It couldn’t be true, could it? I couldn’t See her, but that didn’t mean anything. I could never See just because I wanted to, fucking needed to. The last vision I’d had was a waste of time—dead wrong with that one. What if I was wrong now, too. What if I was wrong?
Chapter Nine
Everything had changed in a single night.
The consensus was that Wren had been murdered.
I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t.
That’s what I told myself as I lay in my sister’s bed, clutching her pillow.
Wren’s alive.
I squeezed the downy puff ball against my chest. It did nothing to close the gaping hole where my heart had been.<
br />
This was where I’d come after my parents’ house. The guys had walked me back, had tried to talk to me, had tried to make me feel better. I couldn’t take it. Instead of opening up, I withdrew. The way shit was going, I was questioning every decision I’d made, every fucking thing.
Two days had passed, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave Wren’s room. Her belongings weren’t her, but being in here made me feel closer to her, and right now I needed that.
She had a nightstand that matched the demon table from the living room, and on top of it was her collection of sea glass bottles. A stack of old orchard crates were fashioned as bookshelves with some of her favorite thrift store finds scattered amongst the well-worn books.
Her paint-spattered “art” jeans that she wore when she was attempting to upcycle some old piece of crap lay tossed in a heap near the closet. I remembered when she was packing to go with Curtis’s men, she’d actually considered bringing those with her. I’d pulled the big sister card and said no fucking way was a sister of mine taking nasty-ass jeans to a new state full of new potential boyfriends.
I should have let her take the jeans.
And then there was the bottle of Don Julio, Wren’s birthday gift that I’d taken without a second thought. I couldn’t replace it now, I couldn’t make it up to her. I stared at the near-empty bottle of tequila on the nightstand, willing it to refill itself, willing myself to have used more self-control. As much as it hurt, part of me wanted to down what was left, dull the pain if only for a little while.
I knew it was stupid to think this way, but I couldn’t help but wonder—if I hadn’t opened up the Don Julio with Drake and Everett, maybe Wren would be here right now. If I’d let her take her art jeans with her, she’d be here next to me, laughing with tequila-scented breath over some hilarious work story.
It was stupid to think the tequila mattered, yeah. But I couldn’t help the thought.
I closed my eyes and remembered.
The party was suffocating.
Crammed in between hulking wolf shifters were smiling coeds and more wolf shifters. My parents’ house was stuffed way beyond comfort, all in the name of celebrating Wren’s big day.
I’d tried to steal a moment of her time, here and there, and instead ended up swept away in the sea of everyone else trying to do the same.
A shoulder slammed into the back of my head. I turned.
Dillan Schmidt. Great.
“Sorry, I—” When recognition hit Dillan, the smile slid right off his face. “Hi, Sparrow.”
“Hi.”
“Sorry I bumped you. I’m just going to uh…”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
He bolted, and I rubbed the sore spot on my head. Fucking exes. I was sure all of mine were here, all four of the shifters I’d screwed around with. The ones that I’d not called back, the ones who hadn’t looked at me the same since.
Whatever temperature the heat was set at, it was much too high. Had Dillan not been here, had I been at Magic instead, the music pumping, bodies thrashing together, it would have been a different story. I would have been in my element.
Here, I felt suffocated. It was hell.
I retreated.
I’d made an appearance, had attempted to play the part given to me—smiling alpha’s daughter. But that was a role better left to Wren.
When I stepped outside, I found solace in dark, wintery isolation.
Snowflakes fell from the black sky, appearing from nowhere when they hit the lighting over the patio. They floated slowly down, freckling my hair and cooling my face on contact.
Out here, it was quiet, tranquil.
The air was ice in my lungs, and with a single deep breath the party washed away.
I sat down on the cement step and listened to the cloud of noise and chatter I’d left behind. Out here I could breathe.
The door opened.
“Hey.” Her voice surprised me. I’d expected guests heading to their car, not the birthday girl herself.
“Hi,” I looked up at my sister. Her alabaster skin matched the snow that sprinkled her golden hair. Her cheeks and nose turned the same pretty pink as her lip gloss as soon as the night air touched her face. She was gorgeous, just like Mom, and nothing like me. Her long, billowy dress had long sleeves and modest hemlines, and the pale green lace matched her eyes. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” she said, and took a seat beside me.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked.
“Nah.” She wore twice the fabric I did, and she had shifter blood to keep her warm. I didn’t, but I didn’t need it; I’d always run hot. “Here.”
I handed her the gift bag I’d been clinging to all night, a bottle of Don Julio. The tequila had cost a week’s paycheck and then some, but it had been the first official drink I’d had on my twenty-first birthday. I wanted to offer my sister the same.
“You brought a gift.” Her eyebrows shot up.
“It’s your birthday, Wren. Of course I brought you a gift.”
She took in my scowl and smiled. “I figured if you wanted to give me something, you’d do it at home.”
“Well, surprise,” I said, and leaned back on my palms. The concrete was rough ice, numbing my skin on contact.
She pulled out the bottle from the bag.
“It’s Don Julio,” I said. “Your first legal drink should be something special, not some cheap crap.”
“Thank you,” she said, and slipped it back into the bag. She wrapped an arm around me and squeezed. “We should drink it together.”
“How about after your party,” I said. “You’ll know where to find me.”
“Sure will.” She rose to her feet. “It’s okay if you want to go home. I’ll cover for you with Mom.”
“Thanks.”
We never did have that drink.
I’d waited around for a few hours at our place, but when she didn’t come home, I’d gone to Magic. By the time I returned she was asleep. Some other time, I’d thought. Then over a year had passed, and now it was too late. Too late for everything.
If I’d just stayed at the party, if I’d waited at our place, maybe we would have had that drink. If I hadn’t had that damned vision, the one that told me Wren was in danger if she didn’t leave the compound right away, she’d be here now with me. Alive.
Her room smelled like her, a crisp scent of vanilla. Her smile was fresh in my mind, but more than that, I felt the sensation of missing her, stronger than I ever had before. She couldn’t be...gone.
Awash in the feelings of missing her, with my heart breaking, I barely noticed the gray seeping into the edges of my vision. The sounds outside of my guards talking quietly faded to nothing, and suddenly Wren stood before me.
I tried to rush to her, but I didn’t move. My heart broke again—this was a vision, not real life.
She spoke, and once again her voice sounded like it was underwater. Her eyes showed fear. “He’ll betray you.”
It was the same thing she’d said last time. Again, she transformed in front of my eyes. She became a bear, even though her shifter animal was a wolf.
“Wren, what are you doing?” I asked. I tried to hold out my hands, but they were rigid at my sides.
When the bear transformed once more, it became Everett, his kind brown eyes sad as they examined me.
Wren appeared one more time behind him, and she was crumpled on the ground, her shoulders shaking as if she was sobbing.
“Wren!” I shouted, but the vision was already brightening, and her room came back into focus. Everett and Wren both disappeared and I stared, unblinking, out the window. The world was ultra-saturated with color. The sky a brilliant blue, the forest a rich green.
Air rushed into my lungs as I gasped for breath. It was like being punched in the gut.
There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door. I snapped my head in that direction. I must have forgotten to lock the
front door. Whichever guys were on guard duty, it didn’t matter, I wasn’t up for seeing anyone. They shouldn’t have been inside anyway. Or it was Eveline. She’d been calling, and I hadn’t answered.
“Go away,” I yelled, before smashing my face down into my sister’s pillow.
I didn’t care that I sounded like a self-pitying child. Echoes of Wren pulsed through my head. She’d talked to me—she was alive. And she had it out for Everett. But she was alive.
Or it was all in my head. I needed to process. Alone.
“Sparrow, honey, it’s me. Mom.”
Apparently it was her turn to have her shit together and my turn to be a total fucking mess.
“We need to talk,” she said through the door.
“Can we do this later?” I asked, still shaking from the vision.
The door knob turned.
I sucked in a deep breath and smeared my hands over my eyes, hoping that I didn’t look half as crappy as I felt.
The door opened slowly and Mom walked in. She had on flowy white pants and a baby-blue blouse, dressed as perfectly as always, but her hair was pulled up in a ponytail instead of loose, and her eyes were sunken. Maybe she really was as much of a mess as I was, or at least her polished version of “mess.”
“Hey,” I said.
She took a seat on the edge of the bed beside me.
“Hey,” she replied. “How are you holding up?”
“As well as I look. You?”
“About the same as you,” she said.
“You wear it better than I do.”
We sat in silence for a while, comforted by each other’s presence, or at least she was a comfort to me. I hadn’t expected that.
“I’ve been making arrangements,” she said, breaking the spell. “For the funeral.”
“Oh.”
“I want you to take more time off work,” she said.
I’d called Mack the night after Curtis had come with the news and asked for time. I hadn’t explained why, but since I rarely flaked out, he’d given me the time, no questions. But more time?
“I can’t—”
“No one would blame you, Sparrow,” she said. “No one does blame you.”
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