the boundaries, I had only to look at the kids who'd grown up on the run--Ash, Derek, Simon, Rafe, Annie, and Sam--and see them relaxing and flourishing, and I'd know we'd made the right choice.
"Okay," Daniel said as we picked our way along the boggy path. "You stay right there while I find a place to release these guys. And no peeking. I don't want you knowing where I'm hiding potential snacks for cougar-time."
"Ha, ha," I said as I hopped over a wet patch. "I keep myself well fed before I shift. Fixing animals up only to hunt them down would be kind of pointless."
"Or diabolically clever. They'd smell you, think food was coming, run over to greet you, and . . . chomp."
I made a face at him. "It's Ash we need to worry about. Ever since he started shifting, I've noticed him gazing longingly at the animal shed. I've told Dad we need pick-proof locks."
Daniel laughed and waved me off the path. We'd left Kenjii behind. Fitz was out here, somewhere, but he knew to keep away when I had prey animals or he'd find himself locked in the shed. We continued to a drier spot, over by the cliff. I found a deadfall and we opened the box. The rabbits--orphaned by a mama-bunny-killing hawk--made their way out. They sniffed around, then zoomed off, some making a break for freedom, some zipping under the deadfall to safety.
"You're welcome!" I called after them, then muttered, "Ingrates."
Daniel laughed. "Good prep for having kids, I bet." He glanced over. "Back to the subject of snacks, did I hear that there's food in that basket?"
"Yes. For those of us who didn't eat five slices of pizza and two pieces of cake."
"I'm in training."
"You're always in training."
"That's why I'm always eating."
We kept talking as we continued on a little, closer to the cliff, looking until we found just the right picnic spot. Then I set out the blanket and we ate. We talked more, mostly about issues we were working on with our powers. Dr. Fellows--Lauren--had been monitoring me over the winter and concluded, after consultation with others doctors, that my "rage attacks" were indeed a form of regression. She'd been treating me, like they'd treated Annie, but I'd asked for fewer drugs and more training to learn to control it. That seemed to be working.
Daniel was dealing with some anger-management side effects of his own. In his case, it wasn't misplaced rage, but a disproportional reaction to a threat. Like a bull seeing red. Sam was experiencing the same side effect, and probably had been for longer. Daniel was dealing with his in the same way I was--some drugs, lots of training, and talk, the two of us hashing it out, what caused it, how we dealt with it. Mutual support and kicks-in-the-ass when needed.
As we finished, we compared schedules for the week. Life was busier now than it had been in Salmon Creek. Busier and more complex. Not just the added complications of dealing with and working on our powers, but personal stuff, too. I had Ash and Antone to factor into my life. Daniel was dealing with his brothers, one of whom wanted to come live in Badger Lake for the summer. He was pre-med and the Cabal had offered him work here, then wanted him to go to medical school in Toronto. Daniel was happy to have his brother around, but not really sure how he felt about him joining a Cabal. He was coming tomorrow for a birthday visit . . . and a recruitment chat. So, yes, complications.
"Is your Wednesday still free?" I asked. "I can slot you in for Wednesday."
A short laugh. "Yeah, it's starting to feel like that, isn't it? Yes, keep Wednesday night free and we'll hang out. Also, don't forget we're driving into the city Saturday. Just the two of us. Not a word of it to the others until we're five kilometers away."
"Trust me, I know better. Mention 'field trip' and we'll be stacking them into your truck like cordwood."
Yes, Daniel had a truck. No, it wasn't his old, falling-apart one. It wasn't brand-new, but the Nasts diligently rewarded responsibility. Daniel could be trusted not to take off at midnight and go partying in the next town, so Daniel got his own truck. Corey had a bicycle.
"Do we have plans for this trip to town?" I asked.
"Lunch and a movie, I thought. Maybe dinner, too, if your folks are okay with you coming back late."
"Oooh, that almost sounds like a date."
Spots of color flushed his cheeks and he forced a laugh. "Yeah."
I reached for a brownie and asked, as nonchalantly as I could manage, "And what if I wanted it to be a date?"
"What?"
I steeled myself, struggling to calm my racing heart, and forced my gaze to his. "What if I wanted it to be a date?"
He tried for a laugh, but didn't quite find it, then rubbed at his mouth, his gaze dipping from mine. He cleared his throat and unfolded his legs, shifting position. Then he looked at me again, his gaze wary, guarded.
"Is that a no?" I said.
"No. I mean . . ." He struggled for the smile again. "I'm just waiting for the punch line. Something about making it a date so I need to pay. Or you expecting flowers. Or . . ." He trailed off.
"There isn't a punch line," I said.