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If he didn’t get shot, that would be good.
He started to reach for the pendant hanging around his neck under his shirt, but more guns came up. Everyone was a little twitchy. Not that he blamed them after the massacre that had just happened on the front lawn. He lifted his arms, gun still in his hand.
“Who sent you? Why are you here? How did you get past the pestilents?” the tattooed one asked.
“Geez, Clay. Let the poor guy get a word in edgewise.” A man with a lopsided grin snickered.
“Or we could just shoot him for being in the house in the first place,” the ridiculously tall Black man suggested.
“I can’t read him at all,” another dark-headed man growled. A sprinkling of gray threaded through his hair at the temples. “His thoughts are completely blocked.”
His thoughts? That must be the Soul Weaver.
“Does he belong to John?” the leader demanded. The Soul Weaver frowned, his eyes narrowing on Harrison while his lips pressed into a hard line of concentration.
“He saved me,” Hale burst out. The young man’s hand gripped Harrison’s shoulder as he pulled himself forward to now stand in front of Harrison. “He shot pestilents trying to kill me. He brought me in here to be safe.”
The tattooed one lifted one empty hand and beckoned Hale with a couple of fingers. “Why don’t you step away from him, Hale?” The gun remained trained on Harrison, pointed just over Hale’s shoulder.
But Hale didn’t take a single step toward the head of the Weavers. “I believe he’s a friend.”
“Seriously,” the Soul Weaver continued. “We can’t trust someone I can’t read. This could be John’s handiwork.”
“I’m not doing anything to block my thoughts from you. I don’t even know who John is,” Harrison argued. He was a normal human, so his thoughts shouldn’t be shielded.
“Dane, can you come look at Cort?” the leader directed. “He’s holding his arm funny.”
A sandy-haired man stepped forward and went to the slender Black man.
“It’s nothing serious,” the man argued again.
The one called Dane made a tsking noise. “All the more reason for me to just quickly fix it.”
Harrison’s eyes widened as a glow started from his hands where he laid them on the man’s arm. The other man’s shoulders seemed to slump, and a happy sigh slipped from his parted lips. Lines of pain fell from his face. They had a healer? There was nothing in the books about a healer.
Dane smiled. “There you go. It was a pretty deep cut, but it’s all taken care of now. Anyone else? Baer, you’ve got blood all over you.”
The redhead grinned. “It’s not mine. I’m fine.”
Dane moved to the others, healing cuts from glass.
With his possible boyfriend healed, the Soul Weaver turned those piercing eyes on him again. “We still need to settle him. Who sent you? Why are you here?”
“We sent him,” a hard, gruff voice declared. “Move it, Big Stuff.”
Nearly everyone in the room jumped at the new female voice. They shifted and turned toward the entrance to allow three old women to shuffle inside. Harrison lowered his arms, a wave of relief crashing over him. The goddesses. They’d clear all this up for him.
That relief froze into a hard knot in his stomach as they stepped into the center of the room, giving him a good look at them. They seemed somehow…frailer. Faded and older, and this was the first time he’d seen Willie without flowers. Or a welcome smile. Normally, she flitted about all made of cheer, and now she just kind of stood there.
“He’s the Keeper,” Jo said as she came to stand beside him. Deep lines marred her features, and her normally shoulder-length curls fell almost flat. “Lucien, put your gun down. You too, Clay.” She waved at the man with the tattoos.
Clay lowered his gun, his brow heavily furrowed. “What do you mean by ‘keeper’?”
Willie walked to Harrison and hugged him. “I’m so glad you made it through all that outside. And you saved our Air Weaver, too.” She moved away quickly.
Flo, her gray hair back in its usual bun, moved to the Air Weaver’s side and patted him on the shoulder. “You doing better yet?”
“I’m fine.” He looked at Harrison. “Thanks for the help.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Hale.” He lifted the corner of his mouth as he turned his gaze to Lucien, who still hadn’t lowered his gun. “You really can lower that thing now.”
“Sorry,” Lucien murmured as he did, though his expression was still grumpy. “You can’t be too careful around here, but if the goddesses know you, I guess you’re okay.”
Harrison brushed his hands down the lapels of his blazer. He’d dressed to impress, knowing he was finally going to meet the Weavers. Unfortunately, he’d not dressed properly for the war zone he’d been forced to wade through. Now he was sweaty and bloody, and there was quite possibly a grass stain on one knee that had no hope of coming out. He would have been better off in cargo pants and a T-shirt.
