Ravensong (Green Creek 2)

“What song?”

“I don’t—maybe Peggy Lee. That… sounds right.”

“Yeah. It does. Peggy Lee singing ‘Johnny Guitar.’”

I didn’t move as Kelly’s voice broke. His brother did. He reached across the console and took Kelly by the hand. The tires rolled against the cracked pavement. I didn’t look away. I was enraptured by the sight in front of me. Somewhere to my right, Joe breathed but didn’t speak.

“Johnny Guitar,” Carter agreed. “I always liked that song. And Peggy Lee.”

“Me too,” Kelly said, sniffling quietly. “She’s real pretty. Song is sad, though.”

“You know how Mom is. She likes—she likes that kind of music.”

“What else?”

“She’s in the kitchen with Peggy Lee asking Johnny to play it again. And she’s getting dinner ready because it’s tradition. There’s roast and mashed potatoes, the kind with sour cream and potato skins.”

“And probably some pie too, huh?” Kelly asked. “Because she knows how much you like pie.”

“Yeah,” Carter said. “Apple pie. There’s probably some ice cream in the freezer. Vanilla bean. You get warm pie topped with melted ice cream and I swear, Kelly, there’s nothing better.”

“And she’s not alone, right? Because the others are there with her.”

Carter opened his mouth once, twice, but no sound came out. He coughed and cleared his throat. Then, “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. “Ox is there. And he’s smiling, okay? He’s smiling in that way he does. A little goofy with the side of his mouth. And he’s watching her dance and sing and cook. She’s handing him a basket filled with rolls fresh from the oven, covered in that green dish towel. He’ll take it outside and put it on the table. And when he comes back inside, she’ll ask him if he remembered to put the cloth napkins out, because we aren’t uncivilized here, Ox, we may be wolves, but we have some decorum.”

Kelly was crying quietly, head bowed. His brother squeezed his hand tight. These men, these large, intimidating men, were clinging to each other, and almost desperately so.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, when Carter said, “And Mark’s there too,” and I nearly bit my tongue clean through. Carter looked straight at me in the rearview mirror. “Mark’s there too. He’s watching over them both. He’s humming along with Mom and Peggy Lee. And he’s thinking about us. Wondering where we are. What we’re doing. If we’re okay. He’s hoping that we’re coming home. Because he knows we belong with him. With them. Because it’s Sunday. It’s tradition. And he’s—”

Joe growled angrily. It sent a chill down my spine.

Carter fell silent.

Kelly wiped his face with the back of his hand.

I looked over in time to see a single tear fall from the Alpha’s cheek.

No one spoke for a long time after that.

BIRCH BAY, Washington.

There lived an old witch, someone I didn’t want to even think about, much less see. But none of the wolves argued with me when I told them to point the SUV west. They were out of ideas. We hadn’t had a lead in months. Richard Collins was playing with us, and we all knew it.

The witch didn’t seem surprised when we rolled up to his tiny house on a cove. “I see things,” he said from his chair on the porch, even though I hadn’t said a word. “You know this, Gordo Livingstone.”

His eyes were milky white. He’d been blind since he was a child, early in the last century.

He stood, back hunched. He shuffled slowly through the door.

“You know,” Carter said, “this is the point in horror movies where I usually shout at the screen for the people to not go inside the house.”

“You’re a werewolf,” I muttered. “You’re the one that’s usually waiting for the people inside the house.”

He looked

offended.

I ignored him.