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I don’t know if his powers have some kind of sway over them, but the red dot on his chest wavers. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s had a gun held on him, maybe even from before the Convergence.
“You one of them?” a voice calls from the watchtower. I vaguely recognize it—maybe Tom, an old farmer who came down from New Braunfels a few years ago.
“They don’t want to hurt us,” I call out. “We just want to talk to Patrick.”
“You the only one here?” another voice calls from inside the gate.
Patrick—he’s been watching the whole time.
“Yes,” Reyes says. “I swear, we’re only here to talk. I don’t mean you or your people any harm.”
I hold my breath as I wait for a response, that red dot still trained on Reyes’ chest. This could be the end, all the hopes I’ve built up in the past week crumbling around me.
I only exhale when Patrick steps outside. “Keep your guard up,” he yells at the watchtower.
I take a steadying breath, wishing I could reach out to Reyes and at least grasp his hand. We don’t want them to know what’s between us, though—not yet, anyway.
“Howdy, Tilda,” Patrick says, lifting his chin. “Thought you were a goner.”
He’s wearing the same damn ten-gallon hat he always does, his sleeves rolled up and his jeans snug on his hips. Patrick has to be about fifty, balding with bushy grey eyebrows and a scruffy beard. He’s been in charge of Homestead as long as I can remember, a sometimes hard, but fair ruler.
And he knows how to negotiate. I hope that will carry us through this conversation.
“I would’ve been, if the Austin pack had been everything we thought they were,” I say. “But they never laid a hand on me, even though I went to their camp with…violent intentions.”
Patrick chuckles—like it’s funny that I approached the den with a rifle and intent to kill. Reyes doesn’t blink an eye. “I didn’t authorize that mission, if I’m remembering correctly,” Patrick says.
“You didn’t,” I say. “I assume that’s why you didn’t send anyone after me?”
“Correct,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Your sister here has been keeping an eye on you, though. Told us you were okay, even though the damn wolves shot you.”
I frown. “Is that what David told you?”
Enid glances back toward the gate, her brow furrowed. I catch a glimpse of David lurking in the shadows, the damn coward unwilling to come out.
Patrick narrows his eyes. “Thatisn’twhat happened?”
“Nope,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “It was an accident.Davidgot spooked and shot me in the gut.”
Enid’s jaw drops, her head snapping back toward the gate. “David? You…you shot my sister?”
“I was aiming for the monster behind her,” David mutters from inside the gate. “I just…I haven’t had a lot of practice.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have put a gun in his hand, Tilda,” Patrick says. “You should’ve known better.”
“Fair,” I say. “That’s on me.”
“But back to your guest,” Patrick says, looking over my shoulder at ‘the monster behind me.’ “You must be the famous Father Garza.”
There’s a condescension in his tone that makes me want to spit. Reyes doesn’t budge, though, staying still as a statue with his hands in the air.
“I am,” Reyes says. “And I’m here to negotiate, if you’re willing to talk.”
Patrick twists his mouth in a sneer. “What could you possibly have that we want?”
Reyes cocks his head, a small smile on his face. “Medicine.”
A few people murmur on the other side of the gate. Enid isn’t the only one who needs meds—we have quite a few elderly people in Homestead, too, and they need a clinic as badly as my diabetic sister.
