Gordo sat forward, dangling the bottle between his legs. Mark appeared in the doorway, but he didn’t speak, his gaze on Gordo. “And here?”
Gavin thought hard. “Big,” he said finally. “Bigger. Wild. More. Territory is stronger. Older. Powerful. All the same, though. All Bennetts.”
“Yeah,” Gordo said. “All Bennetts. In Caswell they’ve had the Alpha of all going back hundreds of years. For a long time, it had nothing to do with the Bennetts. It wasn’t until Abel’s grandfather that it landed in Bennett hands. They divided their time between here and Caswell, though back then it took a hell of a lot longer to cross the country. I… read. In all those old books. The history is there for anyone who wants to see it. Wolves and witches and hunters, always fighting. The Bennetts. The Livingstones. The Kings. Three families, all intertwined.” He grunted. “Still pretty queer, though, as far as I could tell. How the lines didn’t die out by now, I have no idea.”
Gavin nodded. “Secret. This was a secret place.”
Gordo hesitated. “Not exactly. More like it was… well. I don’t like putting it this way, given my history with people who use religion as a weapon, but Green Creek was considered almost holy. And the Bennetts protected it fiercely.”
Gavin watched him for a long moment. Then, “He’s your father too.”
“He is. But he wasn’t my dad. I had my grandfather for that. And then Marty, the guy who owned the shop before I did.”
“Both gone,” Gavin said.
“Yeah. Both gone.”
“Your mom?”
“A victim,” he said. “Livingstone messed with her head. Used his magic to control her. I don’t know how long it’d been going on for. Maybe as long as he knew her. But it fucked with her, in the end.” He winced. “I think it’s why she did what she did.”
“To my mom.”
“Yeah.”
Gavin gnawed on his bottom lip. “A tree.”
Gordo arched an eyebrow. “What? What tree?”
“Family tree,” Gavin said. “Grows together. Bennetts. Livingstones. Kings. Twisted. Stuck. We’re in Bennett tree too even though you’re Livingstone. I’m Walsh.”
Mark was smiling as if he could see where Gavin was going with this. I wouldn’t put it past him. He had insights into people I never could. The raven on his throat bobbed up and down, almost like it was alive.
“I guess we are,” Gordo said. He snorted. “Though if you’d told me that years ago, I would have probably lit you on fire.”
“Limbs,” Gavin said, unperturbed by Gordo’s threat. “Trees have limbs. Sometimes get sick. Diseased. To save the tree, you cut off limb. It recovers. Grows healthy. New life.”
Gordo had a look of awe on his face. “Damn. I… yeah. I guess that’s right.”
Gavin nodded. “You’re Livingstone. But also Bennett. You stay in tree. You’re not diseased.”
“Gee, thanks. I think. But you know that means you are too, right?”
“Sick,” Gavin muttered. “Omega. Not Bennett. Not Livingstone. Walsh.”
“You’re not—”
“Will you show me?”
Gordo blinked. “Show you what?”
Gavin looked at me before turning back to his brother. “Where they died.”
SHE’D LIVED NEAR A PARK in the next town over.
She’d been a librarian.
She had a dog named Milo.