“And what did you say, Maggie?”
“To Hastiin? Nothing. He died before I could answer him.”
“What will you do?”
I rub a hand across my face, belatedly realize that I’m raining flakes of dried blood onto my shirt. “Honestly, Tah? I haven’t got a clue.”
He pats my knee. He takes the empty cup from my hand and stands. “Tomorrow, then,” he says.
I nod, close my eyes, and fall asleep sitting up on the couch.
Chapter 9
I wake to barking dogs. Watery dawn filters in through the curtains of the living room, and at first I think my pups must be doing their morning all-clear. But then I hear voices, definitely human and definitely outside my window.
“Maybe she’s not here.” A male voice.
“Her truck is here,” says a female voice.
“But—”
“Just knock before I shoot one of these fucking dogs.”
I know those voices. And the shock of hearing them after all these weeks makes me momentarily forget the horrors of the day before. My pulse ticks up, and a fluttery feeling tickles my stomach. If Rissa and Clive Goodacre are here, then maybe he is too. Maybe Kai’s finally come.
I realize I’m still in my blood-crusted hunting clothes, so I hurry to the bathroom and scrub my face clean. No time to change, so I’m stuck in the same shirt, but I wear black for a reason—it hides bloodstains. I think about brushing my hair or doing something—I’m not sure exactly what—to make myself look more presentable. My hands are suddenly clumsy, and I wipe them on my pants, telling myself to calm down. That if he’s waited this long, maybe it’s not what I think it is. Maybe this isn’t some happy reunion. Maybe he’s not here at all.
My heart slows back to normal with that sobering thought, just as a thick hand hammers on my front door. I retrieve the Glock from where I left it last night. I raise the gun to eye level, shift my angle up slightly to adjust for the twins’ height, and pull the door open.
Despite having a gun in his face, the man on my doorstep breaks into a grin. His brown face brightens under the relative dimness of my porch light, the freckles on his cheeks glowing like tiny brown stars. I can’t see his kinky red hair under the black beanie he’s wearing, but I know it’s there. He’s wearing a dark green bomber jacket over a tan T-shirt only a shade lighter than his skin. The T-shirt stretches taut over athlete-size shoulders, showing off impressively massive muscles. But Clive’s muscles are the last thing on my mind.
“Is he here?” I ask, my breath hitching on the last word.
He doesn’t need to ask who. The man shakes his head, his smile dimming.
I press my lips together, hold back something that feels like a wail. Swallow that down and blink my eyes to clear the unfamiliar tears. It’s a moment of weakness I resent, and more than anything, I hate that someone saw it. But I’m still holding a gun, so that helps a little.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I say, my voice sounding falsely nonchalant, “but what do you want, Clive?”
Footsteps and Clive’s twin comes forward out of the night. She’s wearing the same jacket, tan shirt, and dark green pants tucked into combat boots, the same assault rifle slung over her shoulder. But no hat and her thick red curls are braided in two long plaits down her back. Something about Rissa seem to repel the light, coiling in shadows around her head. I know they’re twins, but there’s something hard about Rissa that her brother doesn’t possess. Something more dangerous. Something that pricks my senses and tells me to “Beware.”
“We come in peace,” she says.
I shift the gun to point at her. “I heard you threaten my dogs. You touch my dogs?”
“No.” She sounds irritated, but I heard what she said, and I take Rissa’s threats seriously, whether they’re against my dogs. Or against me.
I scan the yard for my pups. They’ve gone back to their patrolling now that I’m at the door and taking care of things. Satisfied Rissa was only being an ass, but still wary of the twins’ intentions, I say, “Speaking of threats, you know what my next question is going to be, Rissa.”
She nods. Holds up her hands in innocence. “I said we come in peace.”
“Because last time we saw each other you said you’d try to kill me if you ever saw me again.”
Clive makes a surprised face and looks back at his sister. Interesting. Did Clive not know?
“Things have changed,” Rissa says.
“And?”
“And what?”
“And I think you owe me an apology,” I say.
She sighs audibly, and her brother frowns. I can tell Rissa would rather eat nails than apologize. Too bad. I’m not going to forget the way she ran me out of Black Mesa at gunpoint, threats of murder over my head. Even if was a misunderstanding. Hastiin came and apologized, so Rissa can too.
Oh, Hastiin. The twins don’t know.
“It’s not my fault that you and that medicine man were keeping secrets,” Rissa says. “How was I supposed to know he could come back from the dead? And you still put Neizghání in that trap. He’s the hero of Dinétah. It’s still wrong what you did. And I don’t owe you shit.”
That medicine man? Is that how she sees Kai now? A knot of uneasiness twists in my belly. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with Kai. There’s a reason he’s not here. Relief, quickly followed by worry. But I’ll be damned if I let Rissa see that.
“Then we’re done here,” I tell her. “See yourselves out of my yard.”
“I knew she wouldn’t help us,” she says, throwing up a hand in irritation.
“Maggie, wait,” Clive says, reaching out as if to touch my arm. I arch an eyebrow at his outstretched hand. He freezes, maybe remembering what happened the last time he tried to touch me without permission. Not that I’d draw a knife on him now, but you never know. I’m jittery like that.
“Rissa’s just upset. She doesn’t mean it.”
“Sounds like she means it.”
Clive looks meaningfully at his sister. “She doesn’t. We need to talk to you. Can we come in?”
“What do you want, Clive? Why are you here?”
“That’s why we’ve come,” he says. “Kai’s in trouble.”
Reluctantly, and against my better judgment, I let the Goodacre twins in. They squeeze into my living room, broad shoulders taking up all the space, Rissa’s attitude sucking the air out of the room. Whatever it is, my demand that she apologize or something else that’s bothering her, hangs like a foul cloud around us.
I gesture with the Glock for them to move past me so I can stay close to the door. They do as they’re told.
“Can we put our hands down now?” Rissa asks.
“No.”
She stops in the act of lowering her hands and raises them back up. Gives me a look of disgust. But it’s fine. I’m getting used to her disapproval. Clive waits, his face patient.
“Lower your hands,” I say. “But keep them where I can see them. You carrying anything besides those rifles?” It’s sort of a rhetorical question. I remember well enough both the Goodacres’ love of a firearm.
Rissa hesitates.
“A .44,” Clive says. “Rissa’s got a .44 Magnum in a shoulder holster under her jacket.”
“Jesus, asshole,” she mutters.
“Hey, be grateful,” I say. “Clive is the only thing keeping you inside my door right now, so I suggest you thank your brother for his honesty.”
“This is so unnecessary. I already said that I come in pea—”
I cut her off with a look.
“Fine.” She tears open her jacket and reaches for the sidearm.
“Slow.”
She grimaces, but moves nice and slow, holding the gun away from her body. Lays it on the floor. They both do the same with the ARs.