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“Thane,” I breathe, and when I meet his gaze, he yanks his hand away.
“Mind your own fucking business, Anora,” he snaps and climbs into his black Charger. I scramble into the passenger side before he speeds off, heading for Shy’s.
Thane’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wh
eel, his eyes focused on the dark road ahead. I can almost taste the air around him—shadowed and sad, tortured and adrift. I think he’s been drowning so long he doesn’t want the comfort of solid ground beneath his feet.
When he finally speaks, his voice shakes, his hatred barely restrained.
“I was with Shy the night I found out my mom was in the accident. His mom called him and he gave me the news. I demanded he take me to her and when he refused, I ran there.”
I must look shocked because Thane adds. “It wasn't far. This town isn't very big, remember? I broke through the police barriers calling her name before I saw her lying motionless on the ground. She was surrounded by paramedics trying to revive her, but she was already dead. I knew because her soul stood a few steps away from me.”
He paused a moment, and his next words are pained but thoughtful. “You know they usually wear their deaths, but she...she looked perfect.” He clears his throat, and I shiver, swallowing hard.
“Later I found out it was because her insides had exploded.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Everyone is,” he says. “But no one's sorry enough to do anything about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“In those few moments after her death, with that perfect body, her soul could have been returned and no one would have known the better of it. She might have been called a miracle. But no one—not Shy or Natalie or Jacobi—would help me.”
I remember what Lennon said about Thane—he wants his mother brought back to life. I shiver at the thought. Buffy the Vampire Slayer taught me resurrection is a bad idea. People always come back wrong.
“But…resurrection is illegal.”
Thane looks at me. “Keeping you from the Order is illegal, too, and they don't see that as a problem.”
I decide not to say anything else, but I wonder why he's still here, offering to take me to Shy's, if all of this reminds him of the day his mother died.
Shy's house is a charming, two-story cottage. I try imagining Shy and the others fitting their massive wings through the doorway of such a normal looking structure, but I can't. Even with everything I am and everything I saw tonight, I find it hard to accept shape-shifters. Maybe it’s because I can make sense of everything else—souls are lost, their energy creates creatures like the one I saw tonight, but whatever Shy, Natalie, and Jacobi are, well...that has no explanation.
We exit the car and approach the house. The windows are open and I can hear Natalie's raised voice.
“What are you thinking? Not turning her over to the Order?”
“I told you. I want to hear her story,” Shy responds.
“As if that changes anything! She's still the Eurydice. She's still the Order's responsibility.”
“We're part of the Order and we're being responsible.”
Thane slams the door closed behind me, announcing our presence, and all goes quiet. After a moment, Shy appears in the entryway. I meet his gaze, finding it angrier than I anticipated. That earlier feeling of recognition is back, knotting up my chest. Why does his disapproval hurt? His eyes slide behind me to Thane who’s standing so close I can feel the brush of his body against mine. His gaze falls to our feet.
“Shoes off.”
He turns and goes into the living room. I glance at Thane who has already stooped to unlace his boots. I follow his example, shucking off my shoes beside the others piled close to the door. I guess everyone but me is used to this when visiting Shy's house.
We meet the others in the living room. Jacobi’s sitting on the couch, bent over a laptop, Natalie’s beside him, and Shy’s in the arm chair across from me. We stare at each other, not even trying to hide it. I don’t know his excuse, but I’m trying to figure out why I suddenly feel like I’m having deja vu.
Thane clears this throat.
“Get your interrogation over, Savior,” Thane says.
“First, I want to know what that thing was and why it looked like my poppa,” I say.
