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Theo scrubbed his face. “I don’t know.”
“You said one of them had a knife.”
“He did.” Theo tried to replay the fight, but it was a blur of impressions: vivid, snapshot moments, and then fragments of other sensory details. “I don’t know. They might have been trying to kill us, but if they were, they were pretty incompetent. The one said something at the end about asking questions, so I think it was a warning. They were trying to scare us off.”
“From what?”
Theo blinked. “From this—this investigation. That sounds silly, but you know what I mean.”
“Yes, but I’m asking, which investigation? Do you think this has something to do with the Cottonmouth Club? You were there last night; is it possible someone came after you? Or do you think this is about looking for Shaniyah? Or for Leon? I know those things feel connected, but the reality is that you might be dealing with multiple perpetrators.”
The snow-out in his brain made it hard to think. Theo knew he should have recognized that; he should have started trying to puzzle it apart as soon as the fight was over. He struggled for an answer and finally said, “I don’t know.”
John-Henry nodded. “Frannie says she doesn’t think you have a concussion. She says Auggie’s fine except for some scrapes. I think you might want to go to the hospital anyway, though, and get yourself checked out.”
“No.” Shaking his head, Theo spoke over John-Henry before the man could press the point. “Lana’s had a rough night. She needs to go home. She needs her routine.”
After a moment, John-Henry gave a nod. He stood, and he didn’t say anything when Theo struggled to stand—the combination of exhaustion and his bad knee stiffening up. They moved slowly back down the length of the strip mall, toward the maelstrom of lights. Auggie was a silhouette, but Theo would have known him anywhere. He was carrying Lana, never mind that she was ten and that she must have been killing his arms and back. Her head was tucked into his shoulder, and he leaned his head against hers, rocking her slightly as he walked.
“He’s really good with her,” John-Henry said.
Theo nodded. He felt it again, like some other Theo was walking through the burn, mile after mile of blackened rubble, wings of ash rising, hovering, drifting away. He had felt, during some parts of that hike, like he was floating.
“I’m going to have a patrol car on your house again tonight,” John-Henry said as they approached Auggie. “How do you feel about houseguests?”
Theo barely heard the question. “I can hold her.”
Auggie shook his head. “She just fell asleep.”
“Do you want to sit down? Why don’t you sit in the car?”
Shaking his head again, Auggie gave him a small smile. The bandage on his arm looked so small, so insignificant—a part of Theo wanted to believe that Auggie had given himself worse in those damn kickboxing classes.
“She’s too big for you to carry,” Theo whispered.
“I’m fine,” Auggie whispered back. Then Lana murmured, and he walked off, rocking her as he said something in a low voice.
“He’s kind of a wundersquirt,” North said as he and Shaw joined them. “Ass-kicker, baby-whisperer.”
“Plus he’s so pretty,” Shaw said.
“He’s not that pretty,” North said.
“He’s basically got perfect human male features,” Shaw said. “I mean, people would kill to look like him.”
“He’s a runt.”
“You said he has a beautiful smile.”
“I said he’s got an ok smile because you wouldn’t stop talking about how pretty he is.” North’s volume was rising. “I never said he had a beautiful smile.”
Shaw’s pause had to be deliberate because his tone was different when he said, “You know what, though? I actually prefer blonds.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I do. I mean, I don’t even care that Auggie is a perfect human specimen. I like guys with these weird clumps of blond fur—patches, patchy fur—”
“Listen here, you son of a bitch: it wouldn’t be patchy if you didn’t think it was a hilarious prank putting Nair in my body wash! And for the record, he’s not half as pretty as John-Henry.” Then he squared his body with John-Henry’s and said, “What?”
