by eden Hudson
“Thanks.”
I went into the kitchen and started a couple, staring into the toaster slots while they cooked to make sure they didn’t burn. I was looking for a plate or paper towel when I heard the screen door bang and the rustle of grocery bags.
“What’d you do, buy out the store?” Jax asked.
A feminine laugh. Harper?
“They had a two-for-one deal for the same orange juice that was on sale, so I got four of them,” she said. I could hear her footsteps approaching the kitchen, so I raked my bangs out of my eyes and turned to face the doorway. “It’s not like I’m never going to drink them.”
I wouldn’t say Halter-Top from the bar was the absolute last person I expected to see, but I was definitely surprised. Maybe as surprised as she was to see me.
“What are you doing here?” Halter-Top—Harper today, because she was wearing a black tank top with a mockingbird airbrushed onto it that said her name in purple letters—stopped in the doorway and put her hand on her hip, grocery bags and all.
“That’s Desty,” Jax called from the front room. “Tough brought her home last night.”
“Bullshit he did,” Harper said.
My voice came unstuck, but I said the wrong thing. “He just let me stay the night because I didn’t have anywhere else to go and I’d have to stay at the Dark Mansion if—”
“The Dark Mansion?” Harper dropped the grocery bags and crossed the room. She was a good five inches shorter than me, but she got up in my face the way some redneck girls can when they’re mad. I backed up against the sink, and she followed me, getting close enough that I could smell the shea butter on her skin. “What are you, some kind of spy?”
“I’m not—”
“Or maybe you got a vampire fetish? Finn moved on to someone else so now you’re after Tough because he used to be a vamp’s fuck-puppet? Is cold-by-proximity enough for you or are you hoping he’ll put in a good word with someone who can make you?”
Jax popped into the kitchen. “Harper, what the hell? Leave her alone.”
“She left Rowdy’s with Finn the other night,” Harper said, not backing down.
I held deer-in-the-headlights still and tried not to breathe.
“So?” Jax said.
“So if Logan doesn’t trust Finn, I don’t either. He’s no one’s protector, he breaks the rules, sucks off of tourists, has sex with anything warm—”
“I didn’t have sex with Finn!” I said.
“Well, I guess even he’s got standards,” Harper said, cocking her head to give me a look like I was the one wearing the shirt too small for my boobs.
“I’m not a spy or a vamp-groupie, either,” I said.
“Ever been to Nashville?”
“No, I—”
“Know anyone named Jason Gudehaus?”
“The Country Idol guy?”
“Harper, give her a break—”
Harper turned on her boyfriend and I used my newfound freedom to put the kitchen table between us. I didn’t feel like getting bitch-slapped less than twenty-four hours after my sister had sucker punched me.
“Don’t even get me started on you,” Harper said, jabbing a finger at Jax. “Every NP in the whole freaking world is trying to screw Tough to the wall and you’re cool with letting someone you don’t know wander around the house?”
“Tough’s a big boy and he’s at the Matchmaker’s right now. He’ll probably come home with a protector.” Jax grabbed Harper’s pointer finger and pulled her into his arms. “And you were the one who said there’s a rule about not messing with someone the Matchmaker’s got under contract. Besides, Desty’s okay.”
“You don’t know that. She’s been hanging around Tough since the night before last.” Harper’s shoulders were relaxing and it sounded like she was losing steam. “Throwing herself at him and stuff.”
Jax gave her a kiss and let her go.
“Scout hangs around Tough all the time,” he said. “When was the last time I accused Scout of having a vamp fetish or being a spy?”
“You know Scout. And, anyway, Tough wouldn’t just bring some tourist home,” Harper said. She gave me another you’re-a-dirty-skank look. “He’s easy, but he’s not that easy.”
“Jeez, I didn’t sleep with him,” I said. “And I’m not a tourist. I don’t give a crap about the whole NP-run-town thing. I’m just in Halo to get my sister. Or something like that.”
Jax snorted. “You’re supposed to use specifics when you lie so people will believe you.”
“Well, she’s Kathan’s familiar and she hit me in the face when I tried to get her to come home, so I’m sort of in the rethinking phase right now,” I said. For a second, my mind tried to spin things as hopelessly out of hand. I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. “Also, Kathan mentioned having foot soldiers in Hannibal looking for me, so going home probably isn’t the option it used to be. At least, not yet.”
“Why’s Kathan searching for you?” Jax asked.
When I looked up, Harper was still glaring at me, but she didn’t say anything.
“Tempie and I are identical twins and our mom and aunt are twins, and I guess that’s one of the things that would make it possible for him to—”
“No way!” Jax closed his eyes. His eyelids flickered like he was dreaming. “There hasn’t been a commander since pre-human. Like, angels-falling-from-Heaven pre-human.”
Harper said, “A what?” at the same time as I said, “You know about that?”
“Yeah, but I only have some of the info about it,” he said. He opened his eyes. “What I need to do is go talk to the Witches’ Council. They’re going to want to hear this.”
“Kathan said all the books that have records of commanders were written by non-people,” I said.
“That’s why I don’t have much about it,” Jax said. “Bailey’s been working on some translations of these really old texts, but so far she’s only had me input a page of the one that mentions commanders.” He looked at me. “Want to come with?”
I’m such a big, giant, ridiculous nerd that the first thing I thought was how exciting it would be to read something not written by humans.
Then I saw the way Harper was trying to rip my face off with her eyes.
“I, um—”
She pushed past me to open the fridge. The door banged against the kitchen wall and she started slamming orange juice cartons down so hard the shelves shook.
I looked at Jax. He was trying not to laugh.
“I’ll go get my boots on,” I said.
He nodded.
I was halfway up the stairs when I heard him say, “Hey, Goddess, you’re not jealous of a mere mortal, are you?”
Tough
After I let Dodge know I hadn’t missed the Welcome Home bonfire because I’d skipped town again or gotten eaten, I headed over to the Matchmaker’s office.
“Hey, Tough!” Addison bounced to her desk and typed something into her computer. “Oh my gosh, I was at Rowdy’s last night. You guys were incredible. I don’t know how Morning Fang got by without you. If you were still singing, I bet Cris would have to get a set of those velvet ropes and people would be lining up down the street. No wonder Jason won Country Idol with your voice. That’s got to make you feel a little better, huh? Knowing you were good enough to be a star, even without your body?”
She smiled up at me and I wondered whether all that hair-bleach had given her brain damage over the years.
“You can go on back, she’s ready for you.”
I tried to shake it off as I headed back to the Matchmaker’s office. If I didn’t know any better, I would think Addison had said all that so I would feel like someone had smashed my face into a concrete slab.
“Have a seat, Tough,” the Matchmaker said. “How’s the job search going?”
The good thing about getting your face smashed into concrete is that it makes everything else feel numb. I only half-noticed the twinge in my side when I handed the Matchmaker the pap
er with the band’s information written on it and how much Rowdy paid. Surely no one but Addison was stupid enough to think I’d be happy that dumbass and his icy nympho wife had stolen my voice and ran off to win a million bucks with it.
“This is how much you make each week?” the Matchmaker said. She sounded like she couldn’t believe it.
Well, we did the tip jar thing for a little while, then Rowdy figured out it’d work better on his taxes if he took the tips and paid us per set. Makes it look like he’s losing money or something.
“You don’t do any work on the side?” she asked. “This is what you live on?”
It wasn’t like I spent a lot on gas or clothes. Just split the groceries and utilities with Harper and Jax, get a bottle of SoCo and a case of beer every couple days or so. People at Rowdy’s had bought me and the band enough drinks that our tabs were paid up for the next year.
Then I got what the Matchmaker was saying.
Oh, you mean banging chicks for money. No, I don’t gigolo on the side. I’m a one-vamp man-whore.
She looked back down at the paper and tried to change the subject. “Morning Fang?”
It’s a joke about screwing a vamp and morning wood, I told her. A classy, respectable chick like you probably wouldn’t get it.
“I wasn’t trying to say anything about who you are or what you do, Tough.”
Maybe she really wasn’t, but when you grow up to be the shittiest possible version of who you should’ve been it seems like all anyone’s ever trying to do is remind you. I leaned back in my chair. The Matchmaker propped the paper up in front of her computer screen. She clicked on something, then started typing.
After a while, I thought at her, You know I went to Nashville once before?
“I heard something like that at our class’s memorial service for Ryder,” she said.
I nodded. You go to the service when someone in your class dies, even if they were the biggest dick that ever lived. Jason would probably go when Colt died. Addison would go when I died.
It took the Tracker eleven weeks to catch up to me that time because I kept moving around. I slept on crosstown buses and played two or three different bars a night. I thought if I could make it big before he found me… But I talked to a guy from a label. They won’t sign anyone under eighteen without parental consent and since we never legally had a guardian after Mom and Dad died— I made the jacking-off sign and let my fist drop open.
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” The Matchmaker said.
Can’t have a prison with just three walls.
She looked up from her computer for a second. “You’re pretty gloomy today.”
I shrugged. I got that way sometimes. Especially when I woke up early with an I’m-really-back-in-Halo hangover. That little story was just the first time I realized there was only one way out of this damn town.
“Contemplating suicide?” The Matchmaker shook her head. “That really won’t look good on your protector application.”
I snorted. She wasn’t as much of an NP bitch as she seemed like.
“And you’re not as dumb as you look.” She typed something else on her computer and waited. “You’re sure you won’t consider any of the fae folk?”
Faeries love music and they’re great singers, but there was a lot of other stuff about them that freaked me out. Like how even the guys shimmer. And how fae glamour can turn you on whether you’re into guys or girls. I didn’t want to take the chance that someone might misunderstand the arrangement with Jason and Mitzi and think I’d be cool doing stuff with a guy, even if he did sparkle.
The Matchmaker clicked on something, trying not to smile.
“Okay, no faeries it is.” She looked at the screen. “There aren’t any matches yet, but you’re in the system. I’ll let you know as soon as something comes up.”
I nodded.
The Matchmaker opened a desk drawer, found a folder, and pulled a piece of paper out of it.
“Now, Tough, about your payment.” She looked down at the paper in her hands, rolled her lips together, then handed it to me. “Because of your financial status, I thought we could come to an agreement based on your previous arrangement with the Gudehauses.”
Under Payment Due, it said, “services rendered.” It took me a minute to get what she meant.
Oh, shit, she wants me to nail her.
The Matchmaker half-winced, half-laughed. “If you find it that distasteful—”
No, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re pretty. I just sort of have somebody I like and I don’t want to fuck around on her.
That seemed to help a little. It made the Matchmaker smile, anyway.
“That’s sweet, Tough.”
Sure. So, if we could work something else out, that’d be great.
“The monetary price for my services is over a thousand dollars,” she said. “I was going to permit the exchange because I knew you couldn’t afford the payment.”
A thousand bucks? I couldn’t keep a damn bank account open, so I probably couldn’t even get near that kind of money.
“I could call Mayor Dark,” the Matchmaker said. “I’m sure he would agree to make the payment for you.”
Yeah, I just bet he would. Then I could spend the last couple weeks of my life sucking Mikal’s dick.
“This is serious, Tough. You agreed to payment.” The Matchmaker stood up and came around to lean against her desk in front of me. “I thought this would be easiest for you since you’ve already done this sort of thing before. If you have something else to offer—”
A crappy truck, a crappy house I didn’t own even half of, some crappy hand-me-downs from Ryder who this bitch had obviously had a crush on in school and who she’d said she thought I looked like. Why the hell hadn’t I remembered that earlier?
“If you’re so damn against this, you have guitars,” the Matchmaker said. “Shannon Colter’s tattooed acoustic alone—”
No way in Hell.
I took off my hat and rubbed my eyes. Blew my breath out. What had I thought she was going to ask me for? A beautiful song? Trick-ass whores pay the bills with sex. That’s how the real world works.
“Tough?”
I’m kind of in bad shape right now, I told her. Messed up rib. Would you take a hand job?
“A thousand dollar hand job? You can do better than that.” She looked down at the rips in the knees of my jeans. “Can’t you?”
Colt
“Just being a pussy is all, and he gets away with it because he’s the baby,” Ryder said. He glared back across the snowy pasture toward the house, then shook his head like he could see Tough sleeping.
I shut the gate behind the last cow and Ryder hooked the hotwire back up.
“He didn’t know we were putting Mom in the ground,” I said, thinking back to the pallbearers lowering the casket into the grave and Tough losing it. Could eight-year-olds even understand death? Dad’s sermon had said Mom’s soul wasn’t in her body anymore, but I was eleven and still having a hard time getting my head around that.
“Tough cried more than Sissy did and she’s a fucking girl.” Ryder was fourteen, shorter than me and most of the guys in his class, and a preacher’s son. He knew every cuss word there was, plus some I was pretty sure he’d made up.
“You cried, too,” I said because Tough was my brother and I stuck up for him. When he was born, Mom had said she got him for me because Sissy had Ryder and Ryder had me, but I didn’t have anyone.
Ryder stared down a heifer as it hoofed past us to the hay ring.
“So did you,” he said, “But you didn’t start screaming and make Sissy miss her own fucking mom’s funeral.”
“Mom’s safe now, isn’t she?” I asked. “Nothing can get her in Heaven.”
“Dammit, Colt, don’t start bawling again.” Ryder’s voice cracked. “Dad’ll see you.”
I nodded and wiped my face on my jacket sleeve.
Dad had dumped the bale in the hay ring and shut the tractor off. Now he wa
s leaning against the side of the bale stabber, watching the cows come running. It was weird to see him in his Sunday pants and Carhart coat doing chores, not even wearing mud boots. He hadn’t changed when we got back from the burial. All he did was take off his suit jacket, put on his coat and tell us to come on, but Sissy had made us put on work clothes before we went out.
“You all remember to shut the gate?” Dad asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good deal.”
We stood there while the herd crowded around the hay ring. They breathed huge whooshes of steam out their noses and banged against the metal. Muddy hooves, manure, piss, and coarse, warm hair. Mom was dead and the cows came up to eat anyway.
“Dad—” Ryder’s voice cracked again, but I was the one who started crying.
Dad grabbed us both, one arm around each of our necks, and hugged us.
“It’s over,” Dad said. I could feel him shaking. “The time for preaching is over. What they’re doing is wrong, and if we let them keep doing it, it’s like we’re helping them. Do you boys understand? If we just turn a blind eye, it’s like we killed Mom. You guys remember the verse from the service?”
“‘On the day when I cried, You answered me, my strength of soul You increased,’” I recited. It had been running through my head since I’d heard Dad say it.
“That’s right, but that’s not the one I mean.” Dad let us go and sat back on his heels to look us in the eyes. He was crying, too. “‘Blessed be the Lord, my Rock, who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle.’ Boys, I cried out to Him and He answered me. The final battle is coming. I won’t be around for it, but we can’t allow Mikal to be around for it, either. Without her, Kathan can’t command his army. God chose us to stop them. He anointed our family as His soldiers with Mom’s blood—”
Leave it to you to put off escapism until the very end, Mikal said. I could feel her studying the memory. Are you giving yourself a pep-talk or trying to lose yourself in the good old days?
You know, before I met you I thought you were a man whenever Dad said your name, I told her.