Wild Hunt (15 page)

I pulled off my shoes and sank onto the futon. Bike
gone, leads gone, a ghost latched on to me, and something weirder following me. And worse, there was Abigail, now in the hospital. At least I hoped she still was; that would mean she was still alive. I sighed in guilty frustration. I’d known she was worried, I knew she’d been scared of something, and yet I’d let her walk out. I hadn’t wanted to deal with her problems, not in the midst of my own, not when she was the cause of some of mine.

The downside of doing something big enough to change a city is that people expect it again. And the downside of
that
is that when you turn them down, what comes after is pretty irrevocably your fault.

I put my head in my hands. My cell phone burred against my hip, and I didn’t answer it till I’d locked Woodfin’s clip in my desk drawer. “This is Scelan.”

“Evie?” Katie, speaking faster than she usually did and with a high, nervous edge to her voice. “Can you come over? Like, right now?”

I
t took took me far too long to get over to Nate’s apartment on foot, long enough that the stars had already come out and the street was quiet. I couldn’t tell if the lights in their apartment were on; hell, had she even been calling from home?

I rang at the main door to their apartment, but either the speaker was broken or Nate didn’t bother to ask who I was before buzzing me in. The hallway was darker than it had been the night before; a bulb on the second floor had burned out and no one had replaced it yet. I knocked at Nate’s door, then tried the knob and found it unlocked.

The apartment was dark, save for a light in the kitchen. I closed the door behind me and edged around the dining table, trying not to knock anything over.

The scene in the kitchen was one I knew well, although from a different perspective. For a moment the remembered greasy smell of our old oven rose up in my mind, along with the taste of the dinners Mom had left for me on the nights that she’d worked late. But I’d been at least ten when that had started, and a lot bigger than Katie.

She’d pulled the stepstool up to the stove and was using it to stand on as she worked. Bubbling away on the front burner was a full pasta pot that must have
weighed ten pounds. A smaller saucepan lying empty by the sink explained how she’d managed to fill it, and the starchy smell of cooking pasta thickened the air to the point of stifling. Katie turned and smiled brightly at me. “Hi.”

I leaned against the door frame. “Hi.” Nate’s kitchen was about half the size of mine, even though his was, technically, a larger apartment. But while mine served as the only real private room I had—since the office was my bedroom and aside from one notable incident, I hadn’t had many conversations in the bathroom—his was clearly only a place where cooking got done. “Katie, why’d you call me over?”

“For dinner,” she said, but there was a calculated innocence in her voice. “I’m making mac and cheese.”

“Where’s Nate?”

“At work.” She caught a piece of macaroni on the end of the spoon and blew on it before popping it in her mouth. It crunched audibly.

I sighed. “Katie…”

The phone rang. Katie glanced over her shoulder at it, then at me. “Could you answer that? Please?”

A suspicion started working its way to the front of my mind, but I went and picked up the phone anyway. “Hunter residence.”

“…Good God.
Evie
? Is that you?”

Nate. Crap, how was I going to explain this? “Yeah, it’s me. Katie invited me over for dinner.” I leaned back to see into the kitchen, and Katie gave me a thumbs-up. I glared at her. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“Um. Thanks! I didn’t know she’d…er.” He sounded about as awkward as I felt. “I was calling to let Katie know that I’d be home in an hour. My advisor’s asked me to sit in on another meeting, and I can’t really get out of it. There’s sandwich makings in the fridge—but I guess that’s moot now.”

“Apparently. I’ll stay here with her. See you soon.” I hung up before he could ask any more questions. “Katie?”

She kept stirring the pot. “Yes?”

I went to stand next to her at the stove. She’d used far too much water for the amount of macaroni, I noted; probably wanted to make sure she didn’t get it wrong. “You called me in to cover for you, didn’t you?”

Katie gave me a smile that was equal parts shame and glee. “He doesn’t like it when I use the stove. And I didn’t want a sandwich.”

“I see.” In his place, I wouldn’t be too happy about Katie using the stove either. “Okay, kid. I’ll join you for dinner. But if you ever,” I leaned down until we were on the same level, practically cheek to cheek, “
ever
do this again, I will make sure every single article of clothing you own has a My Little Pony on it somewhere.”

She giggled, then stopped as she saw my face. “You wouldn’t do that. There’s no way you could.”

“Can’t I? Ask Sarah sometime about the twinkle incident.” I stood up, ran my hands through my hair, and sighed. “So. Do you want a hand with that stuff?”

She shook her head. “Only I’m not so good at draining it, so you could do that if you wanted.”

Did she honestly thing I’d stand by while she did the rest? Christ, the kid was just like her brother, infuriatingly self-sufficient. “When’s your bedtime?”

“Eleven,” she said, but the sidelong glance she gave me betrayed the lie. She saw my raised eyebrow and corrected herself. “Ten thirty.”

Sure it was.

We lasted till nine thirty, Katie talking most of the time about day camp and the books Sarah had loaned her. (I didn’t even know there was a book of
The Black Cauldron
. When I asked about what I remembered from the movie, Katie got a pitying look on her face, and I changed the subject fast.) I put the last of the mac and cheese in the fridge, cleaned up with Katie pointing out where everything went, and nodded in all the right places until Katie wound down. When she did, it was like a current shutting off: one minute
she was bouncing up and down, talking about when she got kicked out of the local Brownie troop (telling the troop leader’s future was apparently a big problem if you were scary accurate), the next she was slumped against the back of the couch, mouth open in a silent snore.

I picked up a few of the stuffed animals she’d brought out to show me, looked around for a clue as to where they belonged, and settled for stacking them next to Nate’s laptop. For a moment I considered letting Katie sleep where she was, but my neck hurt just looking at her, and so I finally slipped an arm under her shoulders. “Come on. Bed.”

“’m not tired,” she muttered.

“I
am. So, bed.” I picked her up—she had bones like a bird’s, and about as much body mass—and nudged her door open with my hip. Her room looked out on the street, and for a moment the weird red light coming in startled me until I realized it was from the stained-glass decals she had pasted all over her window.

“Evie,” she mumbled, clinging to my shirt. “Nate won’t be mad, right? That I used the stove.” She blinked at me; each time her eyes closed, they began to roll back.

“Maybe. But he’ll get over it.” Her head lolled back as I set her down on the bed. This morning’s outburst notwithstanding, there was a stuffed pony in first place next to her pillow, complete with a fraying yarn bridle. I pushed her hair back from her forehead, then leaned over and turned the fan on. She could sleep in her clothes tonight; I didn’t have the patience to find her nightshirt. “Don’t worry about it now,” I said. “Go to sleep.”

Even before I’d said it, she was out. I got up and closed the door behind me, then turned out the lights in the kitchen. Just as I did so, the light in the hall came on again, a flicker under the door.

Nate didn’t seem to remember I was there. He un
locked the door and dropped his bag, then slumped against the door, moving like a man who’d already run a marathon today and had twenty more miles ahead of him. “She’s in bed,” I said, and he started. “You okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He went to Katie’s door and opened it a crack, the same way he’d done the night before. “She called you over?”

I nodded. I’d keep her secret for now.

“Thanks. Christ, I don’t know why…I’m sorry, Evie. I didn’t expect to be gone this long.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I make a lousy dad.”

“Good thing you’re just her brother.”

He smiled, but it was gone in an instant. “And this was after you had a rotten night too.”

Not that rotten
, I thought, remembering those few moments of sleep with Nate’s arm around me. “It wasn’t, wasn’t anything big. Well, aside from the ghost latching on to me, and I think I have some idea how to get rid of him…” I stopped. Nate was staring at me, one hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to hide a disbelieving smile. “What?”

He laughed, the sound coming out of him startled and happier than I’d heard in a while. “And just like that, all my problems are put into perspective. You had a
ghost
on you?”

I shook my head ruefully. “Something like that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Uh-huh. And do I get to say that to you when you tell me my schedule’s too full?”

“I—” I caught a laugh, then stepped back, hands on my hips. “Okay. Fine. You want to compare crappy days, let’s go.”

Nate nodded slowly, his smile widening. “Okay. Advisor meeting.”

“Double shift, two days running.”

“Chapter three of my dissertation due next week.” He leaned against the little table that passed for his desk.

“Crazy preacher practically kidnapped me,” I countered, making my way around the end of the sofa.

“Tutored the guy we ran into on Memorial Drive.”

I stopped. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” He grimaced. “Henderson said that would be the best way to get him through the course.”

“Jesus. Um. Okay. Ghost summoning went wonky on me.”

“Last-minute committee meeting that turned into creating three new committees.” Nate paused. “Hang on. You mentioned that last night. Did it get worse?”

“Well, I’m not dead. And I’m not on a committee, so I call that a toss-up.” I thought about including Abigail, but that wasn’t my misfortune, and to claim it as such would be disrespectful. “Jackass ran over my bike.”

He winced. “Ouch. Bad?”

“Totaled.”

“In that case, I think you win.”

I put my hand over my heart and bowed. He laughed, and for just a second the air felt clear again, in spite of the lingering scent of mac and cheese. For a moment we just stood there grinning at each other like a pair of loons.

Then something in his bag chimed, and Nate’s brow furrowed into its usual lines. His face fell as he dug out his phone and read the glowing screen. “Damn. I’m supposed to be meeting my father in half an hour. Maybe I should just call it off.”

“I can stay here,” I offered. Hell, it wasn’t any less comfortable than my office, and I’d already slept on this couch once before. “If you need someone to keep an eye on Katie.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. I’ve—well, I know I can leave her here for an hour on her own, as long as Greta downstairs knows. But you ought to get on home—”

“No.” We both turned at the same time. Katie stood with one hand on the door to her room, sway
ing a little, eyes wide from sleep held at bay. “She has to go with you,” she said. “You have to take her with you, Nate. Or you’ll get mad at him.”

Nate crouched by his sister and smoothed his hand over her tangled brown hair. “Go back to bed, Katie.”

“You
have
to,” she repeated, the creepy prophetical aspect of it fading away into a child’s whine. “Promise.”

“I promise. Okay? Now go on back to bed.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, and she received it with somnambulant dignity before walking back into her room.

Nate stood and glanced at me. “Well.”

“I think,” I said slowly, “I’d better do as she says.” Had I ever told Nate about the flicker of Sight on his little sister? It had been one of those things that I’d meant to do, but between the Red Sox and the lost time and the damn idiot ghosts it had fallen out of my mind.

“If it were anyone else telling me this…” He exhaled slowly, then nodded. “All right. I’ll let Greta know.”

I waited outside while he negotiated with his downstairs neighbor—not, as I’d expected, one of a gaggle of BU students, but their summer sublet, a Danish woman in her late fifties. “She’ll check on Katie every hour or so,” he told me as he descended the porch steps.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

“No. Not really.” We walked in silence for a moment, threading our way closer to the more vibrant parts of Allston. An MBTA bus roared past in a cloud of dust and diesel fuel. “But I do think I owe it to him. After the last time we met, and I lost my temper…Katie’s probably got a point about that, at least. But if it’ll keep him out of our lives from here on out, yes, I’m happy to meet him.” He glanced back at me, the light catching the early gray in his hair. “That’s the most important thing.”

We arrived at the agreed meeting place: a micro-brewery bar, the kind that had about twelve thousand
kinds of beer on tap, where the waitresses would chuck you out for ordering anything that could be found in a can. Or at least so I remembered from my days before I went on the wagon, and honestly, those memories weren’t exactly crystal clear. Nate scanned the room as we entered. “He’s not here yet.”

“Then sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

“Anything with caffeine.” He managed a smile that turned a little more real as he met my eyes.

I smiled back and went off to mightily disappoint the bartender. She insisted on giving me some kind of weird microbrew version of ginger ale, and sniffed as she poured a Coke for Nate.

The bells at the door jingled as I moved away with our drinks in hand, and I automatically looked to see who’d come in. “Shit,” I muttered, and hurried over to Nate. “Excuse me a moment,” I said, setting the glasses down. “The asshole who crushed my bike just came in—I didn’t realize he’d been following me. I’ll make this quick.”

“Who?” Nate asked as I turned back around. Janssen saw me and paused in the middle of focusing the dregs of his charm on the bartender. For a very brief moment he looked scared—no, not just scared but shocked, as if he’d spent hours constructing an elaborate structure only to have a stray breeze threaten to knock it all down. “Evie—” Nate said.

“Just a moment.” I walked up to Janssen, and he retreated a step. “I don’t know what you’re doing here,” I told him, “but you crushed my goddamn bike, and so help me if you’re still following me—”

“What are you talking about?” Janssen spread his hands. A battered shopping bag dangled from his wrist, its gold logo flaking off. It made him look like someone who’d gotten stuck carrying his society wife’s shopping, and it stank like old shoes. “I’m not here for you at all.”

“Then what—” I should have seen it before. I turned, moving a little out of the way, to see Nate
standing at the far side of the bar, watching Janssen with wary recognition.

I looked from one to the other, my eyes filling in the details that my brain hadn’t wanted to synthesize. The line of the forehead, the curve of cheekbone and jaw…the deeply set eyes that were watery blue in this man and Hunter gray in Nate…Even their builds were similar, Nate’s frame a leaner version of Janssen’s bulk.