Page 8 of Caretaker

So I sped to his house—where I continued to stay, despite my resolve to move out—to prepare for the trip to Byrd Island. It’d take me a little over an hour to drive there, and though I had a special pass, I wasn’t sure what the prison’s policy was on visitation. They might give me a couple of hours, or they might give me fifteen minutes.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and drove a little faster. After six long months, I would finally get to see Angus. I was eager to see him, but I was scared to death to see what six months in the Byrdcage had done to him.

Some of Angus’s children were waiting when I slammed into the house. They had lined up in the entryway, silent and hopeful. The littlest ones held hands, their eyes huge, and as soon as they saw me, one of them began to cry. That set off the rest of them.

“It’s true?” Derry asked. She stared at me, her body stiff, her face pale. She’d grown up over the last six months. She’d had her seventeenth birthday without Angus, but her mother had printed and framed a beautiful photograph of Angus and Derry, taken when Derry was eight years old. He’d held her small hand in his and stared down at her with so much love in his eyes it was almost hard to look at. Derry had clutched the frame and sobbed into her cake, inconsolable.

I was sure the picture had been a terrible idea until she’d told me it made her believe her father would be all right.

“He’s invincible,” she’d murmured. “And they can’t take him from us. Not for long.”

“Trinity,” she repeated, stoic. “It’s true?”

I opened my arms. “Yes.”

She flew into my arms and the others followed, and I managed a smile as I was crushed beneath the weight of sweet shifter children, tears, and joy.

“I’m going with you,” little Cory said, resolute.

I knelt and took his hands. “I wish you could, sweetheart.” I didn’t want to get their hopes up just in case I couldn’t find the missing Madelyn Bennett, so I didn’t tell them I might be bringing their father home in a few days. I wanted to, but I resisted. “I’ll tell him you miss him,” I said, instead.

“Tell him I’ve been taking care of the little ones while he’s been gone,” he said, fiercely. “Tell him I’ve got my shift.”

I stared at him, stunned. “Cory. You got your shift?”

He nodded, and before he could control himself, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m a man now.”

He was nine years old.

I stood, then pressed my fist to my lips and looked at Derry, who nodded. “He wasn’t alone,” she whispered. “Rhys and Clayton carried him through the night.”

“Where was I?” I asked. “How did I not know this?”

A child getting his shift for the first time was a huge deal. It was difficult, frightening, and stressful. But in the end, it was nothing but pure joy.

“You’ve been busy.” There was not a single accusation in Derry’s eyes, but there should have been.

I looked down at Cory, swallowing my own tears. “Your dad will be so proud.”

He sniffed, then nodded, and his smile lit up his face. “Most boys don’t shift until they’re eleven or twelve.”

I leaned down and hugged him, then stepped away from the horde of children. “I have to go.”

I hurried up the stairs and into Angus’s bedroom, hesitating for a second as his faded, irresistible scent wafted to my sensitive nose. Then I rushed to the safe hidden on the wall of his closet, punched in the code, and placed Silverlight within its secure confines.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised.

After I used my bathroom, I rushed out of my bedroom and into the hall, then remembered Rhys’s request that I wear the protective piece of jewelry he’d given me.

I found the gift—a beautiful old pin--lying on my nightstand, exactly where he’d said it would be. He hadn’t bothered to put it into a box or protective bag, and I raised my eyebrow at his casualness. He wasn’t usually so careless with things that mattered to him.

The pin was a rather large silver piece in the shape of an eye. A ruby decorated the center, bracketed on either side by two black, curved blades. I grimaced. “You’re a gaudy little bauble.”

Sighing, I started to pin it to my shirt—I was wearing a faded blue t-shirt and jeans and the old brooch was going to look pretty damn odd—when the sharp pin slipped and jammed itself into my thumb.

I yelped, then stuck my sore thumb into my mouth for a few soothing moments before affixing the brooch to my shirt. Finally, I ran down the stairs and left the house.

Shane was leaning against my car, waiting for me, and he wasn’t alone. “You driving, baby hunter?”