Sacrifice

  They hadn’t said much since the paramedics had left them alone. Michael couldn’t blame them. He didn’t feel like talking, either.

  He kept turning around to look at them, though. He couldn’t quite believe they were safe and unharmed, as if one of these times he’d swivel on the tailgate, and the ambulance would be empty and this whole night would be a cruel joke.

  He kept hoping he’d turn around, and Hunter would be sitting there with them.

  When he’d done it one too many times, Gabriel said, “We’re still here, Mike.”

  “I know.” He studied them, their drawn and filthy faces, the way they sat huddled together. “I thought . . .”

  He couldn’t finish that sentence.

  Nick nodded as though he knew what Michael was trying to say. He glanced at his brothers. “We thought we were dead, too.”

  Michael swallowed, remembering images of the bombing he’d seen first on television, and then firsthand. He’d never be able to forget the sound of Hannah’s voice in his ear, saying that they’d found body parts.

  But here were his brothers, safe and sound in front of him.

  Someone else’s kids hadn’t been so lucky. Hunter hadn’t been so lucky. Neither had Calla Dean—regardless of whether she’d deserved it.

  Tyler had been lucky. Hunter’s power burst had healed him as well as it had Michael.

  “We tried to warn them,” said Chris.

  “Warn who?” said Michael.

  “The people in the house,” said Gabriel. His face was paler than usual, and he kept glancing at the trail where the Guide had fallen—and where Hunter had vanished into a plume of power and elemental energy. “Nick felt it first—that someone had broken in—”

  “I didn’t know it was a bomb,” said Nick. His face was white, too. “I just thought the Guide was after us. We wouldn’t have run if we’d known. We would have helped—”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Michael. “I’m glad you ran. I told you to run.”

  “We tried to warn the others that someone had broken in, that we were all in danger—”

  “Yeah, we tried,” said Gabriel. “But they wouldn’t fucking listen.”

  Chris picked up his rage and ran with it. He scowled. “They thought we were trying to run away.”

  Michael understood the anger—it was so much easier to deal with than grief, which would sucker punch you when you least expected it.

  Hunter had given up everything to save them. And not just them—possibly the whole county. Maybe more. Michael thought of their conversation at Adam’s kitchen table, when he’d told Hunter that he tried to do what his father would have expected of him.

  Had Hunter taken that to heart? Had his decision been a direct result of that conversation?

  Was this really what Hunter’s father would have wanted? Or was that just what Hunter had believed?

  Michael had no idea. And he wasn’t sure it really mattered.

  He wasn’t sure he was worthy of the sacrifice.

  “How did the Guide know where to find you?” said Michael.

  “We don’t know,” said Nick.

  “We thought—” Gabriel started, but he stopped himself.

  “We thought he’d killed you,” said Chris. “We thought he’d gotten the information out of you somehow.”

  Michael realized that while he’d been feeling lost and alone, his brothers had been feeling the same. He shook his head. “They wouldn’t tell me where you’d been taken. Even David didn’t know.”

  Shoes crunched on the broken pavement behind him. “Didn’t know what?”

  Michael turned to find Marshal Faulkner standing there. He considered lying—but there’d been so many lies and secrets and half truths, and he just couldn’t find the strength anymore.

  “How did this guy find them? How did he know which home to target?”

  Marshal Faulkner glanced into the ambulance and then back at Michael. His voice was heavy. “Because he was a cop.” He paused. “He knew who to call, what to say, what to ask.”

  Of course. Michael didn’t know how to respond to that.

  He shifted and looked into the ambulance again. “When can I take my brothers and get out of here?”

  “You can’t.”

  “What?” Michael stood, and he was so tired and furious and desperate that his powers flared too. He fought to keep the earth still. “Why not? Am I under arrest again? Am I—”

  “Calm down. You’re not under arrest. Your friend, Tyler, either. Hannah and Irish have already made a statement. That guy had enough explosives strapped to him that I don’t think we’re going to have too hard a time proving self-defense. That doesn’t mean I don’t have some questions for you, however.”

  “I can answer your questions later. I want to get out of here. I want to take my brothers home.”

  “Oh yeah?” The fire marshal raised an eyebrow. “Where’s that, Mike?”

  Michael took a step forward. “Don’t fuck with me—”

  “I’m not.” Marshal Faulkner held his ground. “I’m telling you that there’s a court order in play, and if you want to have any hope of getting custody back permanently—”

  “You can’t seriously think I’m going to let them out of my sight again. You failed to keep them safe.”

  “So did you. If you’d been up front with me about the danger—”

  “I’m taking them out of here.”

  “Then you’ll be charged with kidnapping. I’m trying to help you here—”

  “Whoa!” Gabriel was suddenly on the ground, pushing Michael back. “Back off, Mike. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. You know what we’re dealing with, and—”

  “Yeah! I do!” Gabriel shoved him in the chest, some real fury behind it. “We all do! And we dealt with it.”

  Michael stared at him, more surprised by the anger than anything else.

  “We’re not twelve anymore,” Gabriel said.

  “You’re not adults, either—”

  “Yeah, well, we’re almost the same age you were when Mom and Dad died.”

  Michael didn’t want to fight—but he kind of did. Fighting with Gabriel felt easy, natural, and crowded thoughts of darker things out of his head. “I know how old you are. Maybe you could act like it.”

  Chris burst out of the ambulance with a vengeance. “Maybe you could! You don’t have to protect us all the time, Michael. You’re not our father. You’re our brother.”

  “Don’t fight,” said Nick. He stepped out of the ambulance, too. “There’s been enough fighting.” Then his eyes met Michael’s. “But I agree with them. We’re not helpless. You don’t have to keep acting like we are.”

  He knew they weren’t helpless. He’d known that for a long time.

  But if he didn’t have to watch out for his brothers, what else did he have?

  Marshal Faulkner put a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll be okay. Aren’t you appearing in front of a judge in a few days anyway?”

  Michael looked at his brothers. They looked so defiant—but strong and capable, too. He didn’t know what to say.

  “It’s not safe,” he started.

  “It’s never safe,” said Nick. “Never. And what are you going to do? Load us into the truck and take off?”

  “The truck is totaled,” Michael said. But yes, he’d been planning something exactly like that.

  His brothers looked stunned. “The truck—is totaled?” said Gabriel.

  “Yeah. From the restaurant bombing.” Michael leaned against the edge of the ambulance. He rubbed at his eyes. The fire marshal was right. Nothing had changed. He had nowhere to take his brothers. No vehicle to take them in.

  The night had been terrifying, and he’d been so relieved to have his brothers back that he hadn’t considered practicalities.

  This sucked.

  “What do we need to do?” said Chris.

  Michael looked up and sighed—but Chris wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to the
fire marshal.

  Marshal Faulkner glanced between Michael and his brothers. “Same as before.” He hesitated. “You’ll stay with someone approved for emergency custody for a few days.”

  “Fine,” said Nick.

  “Fine,” agreed Gabriel. “Let’s go.”

  “Not fine,” said Michael. He couldn’t let this happen again. He couldn’t go another night without knowing where his brothers were. Not now, not this soon. “I told you—”

  “Wait.” Marshal Faulkner held up a hand. “Would you feel better if you knew where they were?” He looked at each of them again. “If you all agree to behave until your brother has a court date, I can pull some strings.”

  Michael hesitated.

  “We agree,” said Chris.

  “We agree,” said Nick. He punched Gabriel in the arm and got the same response.

  “Besides,” said Gabriel. “You can’t be a pain in the ass from jail, so you’d better do this the legal way.”

  “I didn’t agree yet,” said Michael. “I want to know where you plan to take them, first.”

  “That’s easy,” said Marshal Faulkner. “I plan to take them to my house.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Hannah arrived home to find her mother carrying a stack of pillows and blankets into the basement.

  She stopped short in the foyer. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Shh.” Her mother tilted her head at the kitchen. “Talk to your father.”

  Like that’s what she wanted to do after the night she’d had. Hannah considered springing up the steps and locking herself in her bedroom, but she kept hearing Irish’s words. You are an adult. It’s okay to act like it.

  Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway before she could decide what to do. The early morning sunlight filtering through the window was still weak, so she couldn’t make out his expression, but it sure didn’t feature a big ol’ jolly smile.

  “Where’ve you been?” he said.

  She wanted to snap at him, because it wasn’t any of his business, but maybe she could start working on that whole communication thing.

  “Went for coffee with Irish.” She hesitated, thinking of all she’d learned, about Elementals and Guides and all the reasons Michael had hidden the truth from her. “I needed to unwind.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began.

  “Oh yeah?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “Do you want to come sit in the kitchen so we can talk?”

  She opened her mouth to say not really, but now her father’s words were an echo in her head.

  You’re impossible to talk to.

  I’m not the only one.

  She shut her mouth and headed for the kitchen. Instead of sitting, she leaned against the cooking island. “Don’t tell me. Mom found out about the shooting and you have to sleep in the basement.”

  “No.” His eyebrows went up. “You haven’t talked to Michael?”

  “No.” She shrugged but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Tonight . . . he kept a lot of secrets, Dad. I don’t . . . I don’t even understand all of it.”

  But she understood some of it. Thanks to Irish.

  She had no idea what to do. At least she’d been able to make a coherent statement to the cops.

  She had no idea where things stood with Michael—or where she wanted them to stand. He had a second life. A secret life, full of magic and danger and mystery. In a movie or a book it would have made him sexy and desirable.

  To a real live woman with a young child to raise, it made him terrifying.

  Her father gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand much either.” He paused. “That’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Fine.” She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade. “What, then?”

  “I don’t hate that you’re a firefighter. And I don’t hate that you got pregnant.” A moment passed. “And I didn’t mean for you to think I was trying to pin anything on your mother.”

  She stood there with the refrigerator door open, unsure how to respond. He was so direct. She kept her eyes on the bright white shelves and didn’t say anything.

  “I was disappointed,” he continued. “I won’t sugarcoat it. I think any father would be. I think any parent would be.”

  “Trust me,” she said, slamming the refrigerator door. “I got the memo.”

  “I don’t think you did,” he said. “I don’t think you understand me at all.”

  She waited, listening.

  “When you went to that party, when you got arrested—” He shook his head. “You acted like I was the one who showed up and shoved you into a cop car. You wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.”

  Her cheeks warmed. She remembered that.

  “I was worried,” her father said. “I didn’t want you to miss out on anything you wanted to do, because of one mistake.”

  “James isn’t a mistake.” The words came out of her mouth like an attack.

  “I didn’t say he was.” He paused. “Going to that party to prove a point to your overbearing father was a mistake.”

  She flinched. He was right. “I didn’t miss out on anything,” she said. Her voice was small.

  “I know. You’ve worked very hard. I’m proud of you.”

  Anything she could have said was trapped in her throat by sudden emotion. He said it so simply, like anything else. Like he didn’t realize how long she’d been waiting to hear him say those exact words.

  Before she could change her mind, she crossed the kitchen and threw her arms around his neck.

  If he was surprised, she didn’t feel it. He hugged her back as if he held her every day. His arms were warm and secure and familiar, despite the fact that she hadn’t hugged him in years.

  “I missed this,” she said.

  “Me too.” He didn’t let go.

  Then she remembered the pillows and blankets. “If Mom’s not making you sleep in the basement, then what’s going on?”

  James came bursting into the kitchen, full of the energy only kindergartners could find at five o’clock in the morning. He tackled her and her father at the same time, as if they did group hugs on a daily basis. “Mommy! Mommy! The big kids are here for a sleepover, and they said we could play the Lego game on Xbox later!”

  “The Lego game?” She drew back to look at him. “The big kids? What—”

  “I took your advice,” said her father. “You were right. I should have been more compassionate.”

  She was too tired. Her brain couldn’t process this. “What?”

  “Michael still doesn’t have custody. So his brothers are staying with us.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The day had been overcast for the funeral, but now the sun was peeking through the clouds. Michael took that as a sign. He turned his suit coat inside out, laid it on the grass, and sat.

  Casper curled up at his feet.

  He’d tried to give the dog back to Hunter’s mother, but Casper kept escaping from her house—and showing up on Tyler’s doorstep, scratching and whining to be let in.

  After the third time, Mrs. Garrity had asked Michael if he’d like to keep him.

  It hadn’t seemed as if it was up to him—and how could he refuse?

  Anyway, it was nice to have company.

  He felt someone coming across the field at about the same time as Casper raised his head, his ears alert. The service had been over for hours and his brothers had all gone home with the fire marshal. He wasn’t sure who else would be walking out this way.

  He glanced over his shoulder, expecting Hunter’s mother.

  No. Hannah.

  Surprised, he got to his feet and brushed dried grass from his pants. He’d seen her at the funeral, of course, but she’d stood with her parents and James while he’d stood with his brothers.

  They’d barely spoken all week—and when they had talked, it had seemed accidental, as if he’d caught her by surprise when he was stopping in
to see his brothers.

  Here he’d thought it was awkward before.

  “Hey,” he said, when she drew close. He couldn’t keep the confusion out of his voice.

  “Hey yourself,” she said in return. She gave him a clear once-over. “You look good in a suit.”

  Michael found himself blushing and told himself to knock it off. “I had to buy it for court.” He wanted to tell her she looked good in her wool skirt and boots, but he wasn’t sure how that would come across.

  But she did. She somehow looked soft and gentle, yet strong and fearless at the same time.

  His brothers had offered to talk to Hannah on his behalf, and he’d told them to stay out of it and keep their mouths shut. Right now, facing her, he regretted that. He’d do anything for a little insight.

  Hannah looked around. “At first I thought this was an odd place for a funeral, but now I think I kind of get it.”

  They stood at the edge of a large, open field by the water, part of Lake Waterford Park. Hunter’s mother had chosen the location—she’d wanted to have a service somewhere her son would have enjoyed spending time.

  A gravestone would be going next to his father’s, back at some cemetery in Pennsylvania.

  Michael preferred the atmosphere here. He was glad there’d been no body to bury. Watching a box get lowered into the ground, feeling every shovelful of dirt—he wouldn’t have been able to take it. His parents’ funeral had been bad for exactly that reason, but Hunter was different. Hunter was a kid. He’d trusted Michael. Relied on him.

  Michael wouldn’t get over this easily.

  He cleared his throat. “I get it, too.”

  Hannah looked up at him, wincing a bit at the sunlight. “Want to go for a walk?”

  He blinked, surprised, then grabbed his coat. “Sure.”

  So they walked, Casper ambling along between them. Maybe she wanted closure. Maybe his brothers were making her crazy. Michael had no idea. He expected her to talk, but she walked in silence.

  He didn’t mind.

  Eventually, she glanced up at him. “I’m sorry the judge denied custody.”

  That had happened yesterday. After everything he’d lost, Michael had hoped fate would cut him some slack.