If what I’m thinking is right … then we’re screwed.
No, more than that. We’re royally and utterly fucked.
How is it that I’m the only one of us that seems to realize that?
Marlowe’s voice is quiet, careful. Whereas Kaleb is practically bouncing on the edge of the bed, his energy still unchecked and wild thanks to the mess of a pack we adopted him from, Marlowe at least seems to have some grasp of the situation.
“You can’t keep it a secret from Lydia forever, you know,” he says. “For all we know, she’s sensed it already.”
That low growl issues again at the back of my throat.
“Stupid gift,” I mutter again.
As if just thinking of Lydia’s uncanny ability to sense our thoughts has summoned her, our mother appears suddenly at the doorway into the hall. She cuts a willowy figure in the white, flowing clothes that contrast against her dark hair. Sometimes I think the hair is the only thing I inherited from her.
If it weren’t for my striking resemblance to my father, I’d think I was adopted like these other two mongrels.
“Why is it that every time I see the three of you together these days, I get the impression you’re scheming about something?” Lydia says, her turn to cross her arms across her torso as she levels a glare at each one of us in turn.
“And why is it that you always seem to be listening at doors?” is my counter.
To that, she grins.
“That’s my job,” she says. “Or have you forgotten?”
Normally, Marlowe and Kaleb would be rolling their eyes, but now they just look at me. Waiting.
For once, they want to get caught.
I’m the only one holding back. The only one who doesn’t seem ready to face the truth.
But that’s because I think I’m the only one who really knows what this could mean for us.
That girl … Sabrina.
As if reading my thoughts already, Lydia’s gaze comes to rest, finally, on me.
“You know you have a terrible poker face, Rory?”
I keep my face steady, even as she stares me down.
“No one else seems to think so.”
She eyes me for a minute, her own face inscrutable. Behind me, I can hear Kaleb’s breathing pick up, sense his restless energy on the bed. Even Marlowe shifts uncomfortably on his feet. I know they’re dying to ask about this new sensation, about this new girl. It’s to their credit, as much as I’d hate to admit it, that they’ve kept it a secret this long already.
Finally, after the moment drags on just a little too long, Lydia’s eyes slide from me to the door leading out onto the porch outside.
“Why don’t we go out into the garden, you and I, Rory? There’s something out there I’ve been meaning to show you.”
I couldn’t turn her down even if I wanted to.
Marlowe and Kaleb exchange a glance as we leave. I know what they’re thinking, and I have a feeling Lydia does too.
Lydia’s garden is still blooming well out of season. The plants here grow surprisingly hardy. I’ve seen bluebells poke up out of a surprise snowstorm below, their tiny leaves and bell-shaped flowers seemingly impervious to frost.
Call it another one of Lydia’s talents. She’s always seemed able to make life appear where it seemed impossible. It’s how she ended up with Romulus rather than torn apart by another pack.
We take a few steps before she bends down to examine a tiny yellow flower. Like the rest of the garden, it has a wild, stubborn quality to it.