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“Away,” my mother said. “Away, we’re going away. While there’s still time.”
“But it’s Sunday. It’s tradition. They’re going to wonder where—”
“Gordo.”
She never yelled. Not really. Not at me. I flinched.
She gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white. The sun was in our faces. It was bright, and I blinked against it.
I could feel the territory pulling at me, the earth around us pulsing along the tattoos. The raven was agitated. Sometimes I thought it would one day just fly from my skin into the sky and never return. I never wanted it to leave.
I pushed my hips up so I could reach into my pocket.
I pulled out a little wooden statue and clutched it in my hands.
Up ahead, a covered bridge led out of Green Creek and into the world beyond. I didn’t like to go out into the world very much. It was too big. Abel told me that one day I would have to, because of what I was to Thomas, but that was far away.
We didn’t make it to the bridge.
“No,” my mother said. “No, no, no, not like this, not like this—”
The car fishtailed slightly to the right as she slammed on the brakes. Dirt kicked up around us, the seat belt pulling at my chest. My neck snapped forward, and I clutched at the wooden raven in my hand. I stared at her with wide eyes. “What happened—”
I looked out the windshield.
Wolves stood on the road. Abel. Thomas. Richard Collins.
My father was there too. He looked furious.
“Listen to me,” my mother said, voice low and quick. “They are going to tell you things. Things you shouldn’t believe. Things that are lies. You can’t trust them, Gordo. You can never trust a wolf. They don’t love you. They need you. They use you. The magic in you is a lie, and you can’t—”
My door jerked open. Thomas reached in and unbuckled my seat belt, then pulled me out of the car as neat as you please. I was shaking as he held me, my legs wrapped around his waist. His big hand was on my back, and he was murmuring in my ear that I was safe, you’re safe, Gordo, I’ve got you, I’ve got you and no one can take you away again, I promise.
“All right?” Richard asked me. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.
I nodded against Thomas’s shoulder.
“Good,” he said. “Mark, he was worried about you. But I suppose that’s what happens when someone takes your ma—”
“Richard,” Thomas growled.
Richard raised his hands. “Yeah, yeah.”
My mother was shouting. My father was talking to her quietly, jabbing a finger pointedly but never touching her.
Abel didn’t say a word, just watching. And waiting.
“SHE’S SICK,” my father told me later. “She has been for a long time. She thinks—she gets these thoughts in her head. It’s not her fault. Okay? Gordo, I need you to understand that. It’s not her fault. And it’s not yours. She would never hurt you. She’s just… she’s sick. And it makes her do things she doesn’t want to do. Makes her say things she doesn’t want to say. I’ve tried to help her, but….”
My voice was small when I said, “She told me not to trust them. The wolves.”
“It’s the sickness, Gordo. It’s not her.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is she sick?”
