Wayward Secrets: The Raven Brothers of Fallen Mountain

by KT Strange

  She’s missing.

  Lacey’s missing, and the guys knew it, and didn’t tell me yesterday, and-

  “Nope,” Beau says. I wait for him to say more, and so does the officer, but Beau stays silent. Kyron takes a noisy sip from his mug and burps. I turn and glare at him. He lifts the mug in my direction like a salute and winks. If he weren’t so… hot… that would be a gross look on him. But instead it’s just cheeky. He’s enough to get away with… murder.

  The girl that was helping them set up their website is missing and he’s acting like this is all a joke? I swallow down the twinned feelings of outrage and shock.

  “That so?” The officer says mildly, pulling a notepad from his back pocket, and a pen. “That’s real interesting. Care to elaborate at all?”

  “Nope,” Beau says, and then lifts his chin. The officer stiffens. It’s a challenge from Beau, clear and obvious. “Care to get your leather off my property?”

  The officer’s eyebrows lift behind his sunglasses.

  “There’s a reason nobody in town likes you,” he says before glancing at me, touching his fingers to the brim of baseball cap. “Ma’am,” he says and I stiffen.

  “It’s Miss,” I say, and his lips quiver, like he’s about to laugh. So he knows. Nobody calls you ma’am unless you’re married with five kids at your feet, or you’re going on sixty years old, or…

  My face flushes.

  He’s calling me a whore. He’s saying I’m fucking Beau, and Kyron, and probably Grady, and I’m here because I’m their whore, and that’s why I’m in a long t-shirt and nothing else.

  Beau growls, his hand flexing into a fist.

  “If that’s all, officer,” he grates, his teeth so tight they near as squeak together. The officer shakes his head.

  “You know my number. If any sign of her shows up, you call.” He starts walking toward his truck, backward, like he isn’t sure if he should turn his back to Beau. Kyron walks up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder, heavy and warm.

  “You fuck along off now,” Kyron calls, sing-song, as the truck door slams behind the officer. “Ass,” he mutters under this breath as the truck, left to idle, turns, the officer watching us as he pulls away. Kyron looks at Beau as the officer passes through the entrance to the clearing, his truck sliding under the swinging sign. “Baiting him like that won’t make him go away.”

  I squirm out from under Kyron’s heavy hand. It makes my belly feel… fulla something.

  “Yeah, well,” Beau says, voice dark and shadowed. He shoots me a glance, eyes slipping down my body. My face flushes. “You should get dressed,” he says, pausing for a moment. “You shouldn’t… sleep in that.” He gestures to my shirt. Kyron snorts.

  “Oh this is gonna go over well,” he says, heading back to the cabin. “I’ll be in here when she’s done ripping a strip off your face,” he calls behind him, kicking the door shut after he disappears in inside.

  “Excuse me?” The words are laced with frost and drop to the ground with the weight of my anger as I say them. Beau’s eyebrows pull together and he glares down at me, like I’m the one who offended him with my shirt. “Sorry, nobody told me there was a dress code. Would you rather I wear pants and no shirt like you do? Cause what’s good enough for me is good enough for you. You guys seem to run around without shirts on often enough.” I cross my arms defensively and match him, glare for glare.

  They didn’t tell me about Lacey being missing. This is a distraction. Him picking on my clothes, he’s trying to pull my attention away. I know it. He knows I know it. The way his eyebrows quirk together, tell me he’s thinking hard, trying to figure out a way to get my mind off of it.

  “So when were you going to tell me that Lacey wasn’t out of town, she was gone, as in missing, huh? That’s a little suspicious. Even creepy. Thanks for the heads up.” I chew on my lower lip, my heart rate speeding up, because this is a different kind of conflict from anything I’ve encountered before, and I know I’m baiting the bear in his cave. But I have to know.

  Beau’s jaw clenches, it’s a beautiful thing, his longish, curling brown hair falling into dark eyes that narrow furiously.

  Like he’s insulted I’m insinuating, no, I’m outright saying, he’s a sneaky creep and maybe-probably also a murderer.

  Well he is. Who has someone stay on their property, when the last person to hang around them vanished?

  “How long have you known she’s been gone?” I ask.

  “None of your business,” he says, “and get dressed. It’s not good to go to bed in next to nothing. If there’s an emergency, you need to be prepared out here in the woods. This isn’t the fucking city. It’s not a damned playground.” He walks past me, ignoring the bombshells that have just dropped all around us.

  “Emergency?” I call after him, my tongue getting the better of me. It’s going five million miles an hour faster than my self control. “Like what, getting kidnapped in the middle of the night like Lacey was?”

  He pauses, one foot on the first step. His shoulders shift, he’s taking a deep breath, and he’s furious with me. That’s it. I’ve done it. He has every right to tell me to fuck off, to get out of his face, to get off the property and not come back.

  I’ve blown it. I deserve to be banished. Nothing about him, other than being kind of a jerk, would make me think that he’s a murderer or something. It’s weird, the whole situation, but I’ve got no right to assume and say he’s killed a girl just because he’s an asshole.

  But he says nothing to me. He just climbs up onto the porch and goes inside, the door shutting behind him with a quiet click. The curtains swing in the window and I immediately feel like dirt. I deserve to slink back to my cabin and get covered in wasp stings.

  A truck bombs into the clearing, jerking me out of my circling self-hating suck-fest, and it’s Grady. He waves at me from behind the windshield, a much more welcome greeting than the officer just minutes before.

  “Hey!” He calls as he gets out, reaching around to the back of the truck, pulling out a shiny new bike. My eyes widen. “I got you wheels,” he says, setting it on the ground, and rolling it towards me. It’s electric, just like the one I’d borrowed from Val and Lena. He pause half-way to me, frowning. He’s staring at my bare legs. A blush creeps up the back of my neck. His eyes flicker, and then he stares determinedly at my face. “I figured you’d need a way to get around, if you’re staying here for a few days…”

  “I mean, hopefully,” I reply, although I’m pinning my chances at probably one million to one right now. The bike is shiny, candy-blue, and even has a little bell on it, to let people know I’m coming. It’s thoughtful. “I hope it didn’t cost-”

  He waves a hand at me, shaking his hand.

  “Nah, nah, we needed one anyway, for female guests who want to sight-see around town,” he says. “Got you a helmet in the truck and everything, and a basket for the back and-”

  My eyes water at the edges. It’s so thoughtful, even if it’s not a gift specifically for me, it’s more than I deserve.

  “Thanks,” I say softly. “I really appreciate it.” He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, up into his hair and sighs.

  “Sorry things are so, y’know.” He shrugs and his arm drops to his side.

  “Yeah,” I say, putting my fingers on the handles. They’re soft and squishy under the pads of my hands. “Well, anyway-” I start wheeling it away as he nods, the most awkward split up moment on the face of the planet.

  “Yeah,” he says lamely, confusion infiltrating his expression. I cross the clearing, away from him, fighting my feelings.

  I just don’t know how to tell him I know, about, well, Lacey. I’ll let Beau tell him. And then Grady’s gift, this bike, will sit even lower in my gut like a rock. My cabin is quiet, no sign of buzzing, when I approach it. Movement at the edge of the trees makes me pause though.

  There, twenty feet in, a deer stands, looking back at me. I stand stock-still. It’s beautiful, a doe, fat
and ready for the winter. My heart lifts and warms. Not everything in this world is hard and bad.

  Maybe Lacey just left for someplace else like I’d left Twocities for here. I let that thought try to keep me comfort. It’s better than thinking about her out there, under the same sky as me, lost or… worse, in the woods. And it’s better than thinking that one, or all three of the men I’m living with had something to do with her going missing.

  7

  Cordelia

  “Y’know, we’re not used to Twocities folk strolling on in here like they own the joint,” the voice drawls from behind me as I look at the selection of baked bread. The small grocery store is thin on selection of pre-prepped foods unlike how it is in the city, but the baking is obviously supplied by Lena and Val, or at least I suspect they are the reasons I’m going to gain a few thousand pounds. There’s trays of fresh lemon loaves, fragrant and peppered with cloves. Cinnamon buns swirl like pastry crowns, dripping with icing and begging to be torn apart by eager fingers.

  The rude person behind me isn’t a part of the display though. I turn around, the air thick with the scent of baking, and look at the person who’s decided to take issue with my existence.

  Joke’s on them. I won’t be around for very long.

  It’s a guy, hair so blond it’s nearly white, and he’s leaning against the cake display, the glass threatening to cave in under him. I hope it does, and they charge him for the sin of crushing those tempting red velvet cupcakes on the top wire rack.

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” I ask, as polite as I can be. My basket is weighing heavy on my arm, already filled up with potatoes, carrots, and a chuck steak that I intend to slow-cook until it’s falling apart.

  The guy looks me up and down, his lips curving down in a frown. I roll my eyes. Back home, nobody gives you guff for any reason, unless you get in their way or stand still too long on the sidewalk, gawping upwards. Nobody has the energy to fight. The city wears you down at the edges, and steals the light from your eyes.

  “Bakery’s all yours,” I say, grabbing a fresh loaf, the fragrant scent of white bread wafting up towards me. I can’t wait to slather it with thick butter, curl on my bed, and eat it slowly as rain beats down on the roof of my tiny cabin.

  “Oh I wouldn’t want anything you’ve been near,” he says, rude as ever.

  “For shame, Derrick, your poor mother, forest rest her, would have a litter of kittens if she heard you talking to new ones that way,” someone else speaks, a young woman, a few years younger than me at any rate, with bright red hair that’s pulled up into thick, messy matching buns on either side of the top of her head. Her eyes are heavy with dark, sparkly shadow, and she gives me a quick smile.

  “Kat,” she says, “this asshole’s my cousin.”

  The asshole, with his blond hair and his easy, lazy gait, has turned away from us and is walking down the aisle toward the fresh vegetables.

  “Don’t mind him, seriously, nobody listens to him in town, and he’s just sour because he hates change.” She falls into step with me as I start to walk toward the front of the shop where an old man sleeps behind the til, his head nodding down to his chest and his arms folded over the curve of his ample belly. She glances at the man and then grins at me. “Here,” she says, “let me count up and we’ll put our money in the pot.”

  That’s when I notice the bowl in front of him, small paper bills in it weighed down by coin.

  She peeks at my basket, counts off on her fingers and then raises an eyebrow at me. Flustered, I pull out my coin purse, and count out the precious few bills in there. She flicks through them, and lays them down in the bowl, pulling out a few coins to make it roughly even for what my total would be.

  “Round down this time, round up next time,” she says and then nudges me toward the door. “He won’t wake, not even if his wife’s screaming at him.”

  “Thanks,” I say, once we’re outside. It’s a fair day, although the sun may be on this side of the lake, I saw clouds cumulating over by the peak of the mountain at the far end, and I’m eager to get on my little bike and get back to the cabin.

  “No problem,” she replies, glancing down the street. “I haven’t seen you in the Moon Witch,” she comments.

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  “The cafe down at the end,” she hitches her shoulder as she speaks. “No relation to the Black Moon tea shop. We just like our moon-themes around here. But I’m in the cafe most days. You should come in. I’ll brew you up your favorite pot without even getting you to tell me what you like. Black Moon is nice, but I know a person’s tea preferences on sight.”

  Her gaze slides down me and up again, and I can’t help but think she’s looking at my scuffed leather sneakers, repaired over a few times and re-soled at least thrice, and the little run in my black woolen tights that goes from my knee to my ankle under the fluttery edge of my skirt.

  “Cream tea, right? With a buttery scone, skip the raisins,” she guesses, and her smile is infectious, making me grin right back at her.

  “That sounds like a tea shop meal,” I tease, and she laughs.

  “We do share probably the same thirty recipes between us.” Her eyes twinkle. They’re blue, I realize, and we’re so close I can see the copper flecks in them, like freckles on her iris. “Don’t tell them, but I make everything better. One taste, and you’ll be begging for me to stop.” She laughs and I cock my head. “Stop you from ever setting foot in the Black Moon ever again. Plus I do tarot readings out of the little herb shop off my cafe, y’know, if you have questions about your future. First reading is on me, since you’re new and all.”

  So many people are obsessed with their future, and they forget all about living their lives, waiting for the ‘someday’ when they get ‘something’ or meet ’someone’ and are finally happy. I already know what Kat’s cards will say. My future is written in a thick stack of medical paperwork, languishing in the front office of my doctor’s office back home. The next few months hold absolutely zero mystery for me, and I’m not that interested in it.

  “That’s nice of you-” I’m trying to come up with a polite way to tell her that I don’t need someone to confirm for me what I already know to be true, when a low growling interrupts my mental scrambling. Gato shoots out from under a low bush, his fur fluffed up and claws extended, slashing through the air like silver needles.

  I yelp, and grab at my groceries, jumping away as Kat’s eyes widen.

  “Scat,” she hisses back, and Gato screeches at me, before racing underneath a car. Kat grabs my hand. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “that’s Lena’s cat, he doesn’t really like me.” Kat rolls her eyes.

  “He’d make a tasty link of sausage,” she says, toward the car. A low grisssss responds and she snorts, reaching over and adjusting my bag of groceries in my arms so they don’t fall everywhere.

  “He’s not so bad,” I say, but she’s looking past me, over my shoulder. I turn to see what’s grabbed her attention. Down the street, Grady is standing in the back of his truck bed, bending down to grab a load of lumber from Beau. Both are shirtless. I roll my eyes. So fucking typical of them.

  The only thing that isn’t typical is Grady pausing when he sees us, his hand going up to shield his eyes. His lips move, but I can’t make out what he’s saying, he’s too far away. Beau glances up, and then over at us, a frown setting in on his face.

  “Oh boy,” I mutter. “Thanks for your help at the grocery store, I’m gonna go though.”

  Kat blinks at me, but I’m not in the mood to pretend to be nice. Beau is always, always scowling at me, like my existence offends him on some deep plane inside him. Today, despite the nice weather and the fact it’s warm enough he’s shirtless (again), is no different. I walk over to my bike and load up my bag in the pannier at the back, settling myself on the seat.

  “Nice to meet you, I’ll take you up on that tea offer sometime soon,” I say as she gives me a confused wave. I pass the truck
where Gato is hiding, and see his eyes glinting out at me, and a lash of his tail. If he wasn’t Lena and Val’s cat, I might have been tempted to run him over, but I’m also not a total monster, and it’s not his fault that he’s a cat and all of his kind are allergic to me.

  It’s just seeing Beau that puts me in a bad mood, and I whip past them standing by their truck, kicking my bike’s little electric motor into gear. I don’t even look at either of them, head up, back straight as a fire-poker. Grady’s not so bad, even nice enough as people go, but not even him at his best can take the rough edges off of Beau.

  Grouchy idiot.

  My bike bounces over the road, the wind picking up my hair and some of the bad mood circling over me starts to fade. I should stop in and say thank you to Lena and Val, but maybe another day, after I’ve put a few home-made pancake breakfasts between myself and when I last saw them. The Black Moon is coming up on my side, and I wonder if it’s like Kat said… similar to her place, with the same recipes, but not as good. A sign is in the window, hand-drawn, with a photo on it, and I pause at the light, reading it.

  MISSING: LACEY PATTON.

  HAVE YOU SEEN ME?

  PLEASE CALL INTO THE SHERIFF’S.

  My heart drops a little at the sight, and for the first time, I know what Lacey looks like. Wide eyes, framed with thick lashes, and a broad smile. She was freckled all over, the spots fighting with her hairline and dappling down her nose.

  I turn away and release the break. I just hope she’s okay, wherever she is. Twocities would eat her up if she’d gone there. Girls from the countryside don’t last long on the hard and crowded streets, with its towering buildings and the miasma of factory work blotting out the sun’s rises and sets.

  It’s the first sign, or hint, of Lacey I’ve seen since I arrived, and I wonder if Kat has a similar poster in her window, or if any of the other shops might as well.

  I should ask Grady.

  The trip home is quick on my trusty bike, and I stretch my legs out toward the gravel and dirt as I jostle into the clearing, swinging under the sign with the Raven, my heart lifting at the sight of my cabin, nestled at the back behind the long log house.