Spirit (17 page)

K
ate glared at the edge of the guidance counselor’s desk and wondered if she’d get in more trouble if she just pulled the knife out of her boot and stabbed Hunter right now. What a jerk.

He was glaring at Ms. Vickers, his expression somewhat exasperated. “I didn’t even hurt him.”

Ms. Vickers was glaring back at him. “He said he thought you were trying to break his arm.”

Hunter snorted. “It was a joke. I popped the joint. He passed out.” His tone clearly said,
wuss
.

Kate couldn’t blame the kid. She’d almost passed out herself.

The guidance counselor was still studying Hunter. “He said it was a joke, too.”

“Good. So I can go?”

“Not so fast.” The woman turned toward Kate. “Where do you come into play?”

Kate wasn’t sure what to say—this hadn’t exactly been part of the plan. She had a phone number in her file, but it was Silver’s cell phone number, and what if they asked him to come in and pick her up?

Before she could say anything, Hunter said, “She didn’t have anything to do with it. She didn’t realize we were just goofing off. She was trying to stop me.”

His voice was lazy, almost blasé. Kate shut her mouth and tried to look innocent.

Ms. Vickers glared at Hunter across the desk. “Hunter, we’ve had a discussion about physical altercations twice now. If this continues, I’m going to be forced to suspend you—”

“Great.” He stood and turned for the door.

“We aren’t finished here.”

Hunter paused. “He said it was a joke, right? So I’m not in trouble?”

Ms. Vickers’s mouth tightened into a line. “Don’t think I won’t be watching you more carefully regarding this young man, Hunter. I’m not entirely convinced of this
joke
.”

“Good for you.” Then he was through the door.

Ms. Vickers swung her head around to look at Kate. “Your transcript from St. Mary’s is impeccable. Were you genuinely trying to help the young man?”

Kate was sure her forged transcript read like a bestseller. She tried to get it together. “I—yes—I saw Hunter run after—”

“Fine. Go.” Ms. Vickers flicked a finger toward the door. She was already dialing a phone with the other hand.

Hunter had made it to the parking lot by the time Kate caught up to him. The sun had burned off the clouds, and she felt heat prick at her neck. She grabbed Hunter by the arm.

“Are you insane?” she hissed. “I thought you really broke that kid’s arm. What was the
point
of all—”

“Now he’s afraid of me. I need them to be afraid of me.”

She wished Hunter would just stop and
talk
to her. “Why?”

“Because Calla always had the upper hand, and that meant people got hurt. I need time to figure out what else they’re planning.” He shoved a key into the door of his jeep. “To figure out where she might be hiding.”

“Damn it, Hunter, if you’re going to work with me, then you need to
work with me
. You need to tell me what you’re doing. We don’t work like—”

He turned and caught her arms. She tensed to retaliate—but then she realized she didn’t need to fight him off.

Because he was
kissing
her.

She lost a moment to sheer surprise. His hands were strong and gentle at the same time, sliding under her jacket to trap her waist—not that there was any danger of her going anywhere right this second. She couldn’t read him at all today. First, she’d thought he hated her, then he was brutalizing that kid, and now . . . now . . .

Her back hit the side of his jeep before she even realized he’d turned her. The heat of the sunlight became a living thing, tracing power down her skin to match the sparks from his lips against hers. He was pressed against her, almost full length, his hands creeping up her sides to send heat through her body in a way that had nothing to do with sunlight or power. Silver could have had a gun trained on her right that instant, and
she wouldn’t have cared
.

Hunter tasted like cinnamon and smelled like the woods, pine and bark and something very male. His mouth was so sure, and when his tongue brushed hers, a sound escaped her lips. He did it again, letting his thumbs trace over her breasts so lightly that she found herself arching into him. Suddenly she wished they were somewhere else, somewhere private, with curtains and less clothing and—

Hunter broke the kiss. Her breathing was quick, loud and desperate in the space between them.

He closed his hands on her waist again, and turned her away from his car.

Her brain was spinning its wheels, trying to find traction.

Hunter leaned close. “Just to be clear: I’d know exactly what to do if you threw yourself at me.”

Then he was in his car, starting the ignition, leaving her in the parking lot, nothing more than a melted puddle of hot, bothered, and seriously pissed off.

Hunter waited at the end of the cul-de-sac and watched the two-story house from the cover of a maple tree. Someone around here was having a Friday-night party; his car blended with a dozen others without any trouble. A basketball hoop hung over the garage door of the house he watched, and someone needed to attack the yard with a lawn mower. A tricycle with pink streamers sat in the driveway, next to about sixteen different chalk-drawn rainbows. It was too dark to see the rainbows now, of course, but Hunter had watched the sun trace shadows across the lawn until darkness crept over the neighborhood, and he knew the layout of the yard so well that he could make a diorama.

The house next door had been destroyed by a fire and was now surrounded by construction fencing.

The first house Calla had burned to the ground.

According to the file, Noah Dean, that kid with the dark hair, the one with the not-broken arm, lived in the house with the rainbowed driveway.

Hunter was waiting for everyone to go to bed so he could break in and continue the interrogation.

He was waiting here, instead of somewhere else, in case Noah decided to leave.

Hunter’s cell phone buzzed, and he sighed.

So far, he’d ignored five text messages.

Two from Becca.

And three from Michael.

He hadn’t read any of them.

He glanced at his phone now, just out of idle curiosity. Another from Michael.

Where are you?

Hunter rolled his eyes and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Like Michael gave a crap. He probably wanted to know when Hunter was going to get his stuff out of the house so they could move on to the next city. Hunter had only one reason to go back to the Merrick house tonight: Casper.

Lights in the Dean house were slowly ticking off. Only a matter of time now.

But then the front door opened, and Hunter straightened.

Moonlight reflected on dark hair, a trash bag crinkled, and Hunter recognized his mark. He was out of the car in a heartbeat, creeping along the sidewalk.

It was one of the first things he’d learned from his father. He’d been six.

Noah Dean never saw him coming. Hunter had him on the ground between the houses before the kid could draw enough breath to scream.

He was fighting now, though, and his flailing foot caught a trash can.

Hunter bit back a curse and braced an arm against Noah’s neck, using enough pressure that the boy whimpered and froze.

“That’s better,” Hunter said.

Noah’s breathing was shaking. “My parents will know something is up. I was just taking out the trash.”

“You and your friends have been killing people. You think I give a crap about your parents?”

“They’ll call the cops—”

“Then maybe I should work faster, huh?” Hunter added another few pounds of pressure, until the boy’s eyes squeezed shut.

“What?” he cried. “What do you want?”

“I want to know where Calla is hiding. What you’re planning.”

“I don’t—I can’t—” The boy choked and gasped and squirmed under Hunter’s grip.

Hunter held him there for another minute, until the fear in the air was potent.

“If you think I won’t hurt you,” said Hunter, “you’re wrong.”

“Fuck you.” The boy squeaked out the words. “You’re just proving our point.”

“And what point is that?”

“The Guides are the ones who should be destroyed.” Noah squirmed again, trying to ease some of the pressure on his throat. “Your talents don’t make you better than the other Elementals. They make you
worse
. Just look what you’re doing
right now
.”

His rage practically hit Hunter in the face.

The guilt that followed was his own. But he couldn’t let this kid go. This was so much bigger than just the two of them.

“What are you planning?” said Hunter. “What’s Calla planning?”

Noah choked and squirmed. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be around here on Monday.”

A door creaked around the front of the house, then a female voice called out, almost wavering. “Noah? Are you okay?”

Hunter looked down at the boy he had pinned to the ground and knew he had about three seconds to figure out what to do.

“Tell me where Calla is or I’ll shoot your mother.”

He must have sounded pretty convincing, because the boy’s breathing shook. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t know about this. My mom’s not an Elemental.”

Hunter had told Kate that he needed these kids to be afraid of him.

Now that Noah was, it felt horrible.

“Tell me,” Hunter hissed.

“Noah?” Mrs. Dean was coming closer. She sounded worried.

Hunter drew his weapon and cocked the hammer. He added weight to Noah’s throat.

“Tunnels,” gasped Noah.

“Tunnels? What tunnels?”

“The—the tunnels—”

The woman’s flip-flops smacked the driveway. Hunter was either going to have to shoot this woman or let Noah go.

If he couldn’t shoot Calla, he sure as hell couldn’t shoot an unarmed non-Elemental who was looking for her son. He let the kid go and slipped into the shadows.

The boy hadn’t made it to his feet by the time his mother came around the side of the house, but he was sitting up, rubbing his throat.

She was at his side in a heartbeat, touching his face, asking if he was all right, assuring him he could take a few days off from school if that mean older boy wouldn’t leave him alone. Then a hug and a promise of chocolate chip cookies.

Hunter felt his fists clench. It took a while to figure out this emotion.

Jealousy.

He had to shove thoughts of his mother out of his head.

Thoughts of Kate were quick to replace them. Not the feel of her body in the parking lot, the way she’d yielded to his kiss and practically melted under his hands. Instead, he thought of that moment in the woods, when she’d breathed power on his neck to heal the knife wound there.

The way she’d put a hand on his wrist that morning when he’d told her what happened with his grandfather.

The way she’d acted like she cared.

He wished, for just an instant, that one moment of it could be real.

H
unter got to the top of the driveway and sighed.

Michael was waiting on the front porch.

It was almost midnight, and the brothers’ car was in the driveway already, so Michael had to be waiting for him.

Casper was on the porch next to him, but the dog bolted to Hunter’s side when he climbed out of the jeep. Hunter rubbed his muzzle absently, wondering how it was possible his dog could take to this new home so readily while Hunter felt more like an outsider now than ever.

He still had no idea where Calla was hiding.

He had no idea why her friends were drawing Guides here.

He had no idea what else they might be planning.

And here he had a whole weekend where he’d be trapped in the Merrick house.

Michael had a mug beside him on the step, and he was leaning back against the bannister. He didn’t move when Hunter approached. “Forget something?”

Hunter frowned. “No.”

“Do you remember me promising your grandfather three hundred bucks? Remember saying you’d help with jobs until it was paid off?”

Hunter flushed and looked away. He
had
forgotten.

It was starting to feel like he owed everyone a piece of himself.

He steeled his shoulders and looked back at Michael. What did the debt matter when they might not be around long enough for him to work it off?

“Sorry,” he said.

His voice was flat, and Michael studied him for a minute. Hunter watched him back, looking for any indication that Michael was going to get into it.

But Michael remained still. “You want to sit down for a minute?”

“No.”

“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?”

Hunter offered the only thing he figured Michael wouldn’t question. “I went by the house. Tried to work things out with my mom.”

“You know I’ve got three younger brothers, right?”

Hunter frowned. “What?”

“It means I’ve got a pretty finely tuned bullshit detector.”

Hunter turned away, his fingers forming a fist around the keys in his pocket. Michael shifted on the step, and Hunter hoped that this was
it
, that Michael would come after him, that he could rage and fight and come out on top, just once.

But the only thing that came after him was Michael’s voice. “Hunter.”

He kept walking.

“Hunter, come back here. Right now.”

The command in Michael’s tone stopped him, more effectively than a fist or a grip on the arm would have. Something about it felt reassuring and immeasurably painful at the same time, because it reminded him so much of his father.

Emotion coiled around his chest again, clouding his mind with memories he didn’t want right now, memories that had him turning to face Michael, to respect authority, before realizing that nothing was stopping him from just getting in the jeep and
leaving
.

But he’d already turned, and he met Michael’s eyes. He didn’t move back toward the porch, however.

Michael’s voice was hard. “Quit running from confrontation and sit down.”

“I’m not running from you.”

“No, you wouldn’t run if I tried to take a swing at you. But every time I try to have a conversation, you bolt. Sit down.”

Was that true? Hunter considered.

It was.

He didn’t like that.

He sat down on the stoop, leaning against the post opposite Michael. “Fine. Talk.”

“If you’re going to stay here, you can’t just disappear after school. You understand me?”

Hunter kept his voice even. “I said I was sorry about the job.”

“I don’t give a shit about the job! I care about the fact that you’re a sixteen-year-old kid who might have a target on his back.”

Hunter stared back at him until Michael looked like he wanted to reconsider taking a swing.

Then Michael sighed, a long breath that he blew out through his teeth. “Jesus, kid, I wish I could get inside your head and figure you out.”

Hunter wished the same thing because maybe then Michael could explain it to
him.

Michael was still studying him. “What happened the other night? After we went to get your stuff—I thought you’d loosen up a bit. But it’s like the opposite happened.”

The other night. Michael’s promise to repay his grandfather.

The carnival. So much
Kate
that he almost blushed now, remembering.

The fire. Calla. The gunshot.

For an instant he wanted to tell Michael everything, just so he wouldn’t have to carry it all on his own. He just wanted to crumple on these wooden boards and let all this anxiety and worry and anger and rage pour down the steps.

But the memory of his father was still too fresh, and he could only imagine how his dad would react to him breaking down. Especially with someone he was supposed to
hate.

Buck up, Hunter. It’s not anyone else’s responsibility to solve your problems
.

Besides, how would that go?
“Well, Michael, I’m glad you’re leaving town, because I’m about ready to screw you all over. Mind if I cry on your shoulder for a sec?”

Yeah. Sure.

He’d already lost it once, and he wouldn’t do it again.

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Well, then, there’s a whole lot of that
nothing
rattling around inside your skull.”

“Was there a point to this conversation?”

Michael’s eyes flashed, and Hunter braced for more lecturing, but the oldest Merrick simply picked up his coffee. “Can you help with a job on Sunday?”

Hunter blinked, suddenly off balance. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved the grilling was over—or disappointed.

Like it mattered. “Sure.”

“Don’t forget this time, all right? Nick and Chris said they’d help, too, but it’s a big job, and I don’t want to lose the income.”

He didn’t want to lose the income. Probably stocking up for the big move. But what could he say? Hunter forced words past his lips. “I won’t forget.”

Chris’s and Gabriel’s doors were closed when Hunter climbed the stairs, only darkness visible under the doors, but light flooded the hallway from Nick’s room. Hunter half knocked before entering.

Nick was reading a paperback, something with an old-fashioned painting on the cover. Had to be a school assignment. He looked up when Hunter came in. “Hey.”

Hunter dropped his backpack next to the air mattress, beside the two plastic crates. “Hey.” He paused, trying to get a read on the feeling in the room. The air told him nothing, but Nick’s voice had carried the slightest edge. “Reading for school?”

“Yeah.” He held up the book.

“Heart of Darkness?”
Hunter bent to unlace his shoes. “I think I’d use Wikipedia for that one.”

“Sounds about right.” Nick turned back to his book.

Hunter almost wished he’d left his shoes on. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I had to help Mike dig an irrigation trench because you didn’t show up.”

“Sounds like your problem.” Hunter felt his voice gain an edge.

Now Nick looked up. “You’re going to pick a fight because
you
screwed up?”

Hunter hesitated. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in something. I didn’t know you’d get stuck with it.”

“I have three papers due Monday. I really could have used the time.”

“I said I’m sorry, all right?”

“All right.”

But Hunter didn’t feel like he’d been forgiven.

At least Nick shut up after that, and Hunter left him to his super exciting novel in favor of getting ready for bed in the bathroom.

Gabriel was waiting for him when he came out. He blocked the doorway.

Hunter sighed. He probably should have driven to the Target parking lot. “Can’t you all just confront me at the same time?”

“Meaning?”

“Nothing. What? I’m tired.” And he was. As he said the words, exhaustion climbed on his back, grabbed the coils of tension holding him together, and gripped tight.

“I want to know what’s going on with you.”

Hunter snorted and pushed past him. “Join the club.”

Gabriel grabbed him and shoved him into the wall. His voice was low. “I heard someone from the high school went after that Noah Dean kid when school let out.”

Hunter shoved back, breaking his hold. “So what?”

Gabriel wouldn’t let him pass. “What are you doing, Hunter?”

Hunter glared back at him, wondering if he should tell them what Noah had said. About Calla being alive.

Then Nick appeared in his bedroom doorway. “Hey. Leave him alone.”

Hunter didn’t even know which one of them he was talking to.

Gabriel got closer. “What are you doing?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “It was you, wasn’t it? You went after Noah. After agreeing that we should stay away from them.”

“Back off.”

“Are you fucking with us again?” Gabriel shoved him harder.

The corridor was narrow, with drywall on one side and a bannister on the other, and Hunter got leverage to shove him back. “I said,
back off
.”

But Gabriel would never back off, and really, Hunter didn’t want to be left alone. This was someone who’d
fight
. When Gabriel swung at him, Hunter blocked, throwing real force into it, unleashing the anger he’d been holding on to all day. That coil of tension slipped free, and Hunter threw power into his strikes until the air was ice cold and biting the inside of his chest.

But the narrow hallway worked to Gabriel’s advantage, too, and he knocked Hunter’s feet out from under him. Gabriel might have been stronger, but Hunter was faster and knew how to work an enemy’s weight to his advantage. Hunter got leverage to roll him, throwing extra force into it.

He just hadn’t considered how close to the stairs they were.

Or that Gabriel’s momentum in the roll would throw Hunter
ahead
of him.

They both went down. Every step hurt like a
bitch.
The slate flooring of the foyer hurt worse, first on his shoulder, then on his head.

Especially since Gabriel landed on top of him.

Then the weight was dragged away. A relief, since Hunter needed to figure out which way was up. By the time he had it straight, Michael was glaring down at him.

Then Gabriel kicked him in the stomach. Pain exploded through the base of his rib cage, and Hunter curled in on himself, forgetting how to breathe.

God, he hadn’t been hit in the stomach in . . . forever. He couldn’t decide if that hurt more than his head.

Voices were yelling overhead, but he couldn’t make sense of them through the overwhelming need to breathe. It felt like he’d been choking for half an hour. There was a good chance he was drooling on the floor.

And Gabriel was leaning over him, and his voice was fierce. “Guess you picked enemy over friend, huh, jackass?”

Hunter saw Gabriel’s leg move, and just when he thought he might have to draw his weapon to avoid getting kicked again, Michael’s girlfriend appeared in front of Gabriel and put a hand on his chest. “Go on,” she was saying. “Take a walk. Cool off.”

Hannah got Hunter into the kitchen before he was fully aware that he was off the ground and walking down the hallway. None of the Merricks followed him, so he was alone with her, following directions like
sit there
and
don’t move
.

The chair came up faster than he was ready for, and he wondered how hard he’d whacked his head. He touched a hand to his temple and was surprised when it came away wet.

Blood.

Hannah was in front of him again, a folded paper towel in her hands. “Press this against your forehead. I need to get my bag from the car.”

“I’m bleeding,” he said, like an idiot.

“I know.” Her eyes weren’t too concerned, though. “Can you hold that and remain upright?”

Either he answered and didn’t remember, or she left without bothering to wait for one. Whatever, she was gone, and he was sitting there, dazed and trying to make both eyes focus.

Then she was back, pulling a chair close to him and pressing gauze to his forehead instead of the paper towel. She had purple latex gloves on now, the kind doctors wore. “Hold that again,” she said, grabbing his wrist to put it in place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. For a second, his addled brain wondered if she’d been on the porch with Michael during their argument, but he couldn’t make that line up.

She was digging in her bag. “I just got off work. Mike sent me a text ten minutes ago saying everyone was going to bed and we could have a quiet cup of coffee.” She laughed a little, but not like it was funny.

“Sorry,” he said.

She had a tiny flashlight in her hands, and she shined a light in his eyes. “It’s not every day I walk in the front door of a house to see two guys fall down the stairs on top of each other.”

Put that way, it sounded insanely childish. He looked away.

She tapped his chin. “No, look at me. What were you fighting about?”

“It’s not important.”

The light flicked to his other eye. “It rarely is.” She paused. “No concussion. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. I saw him kick you. How are your ribs?”

They felt like they’d be cussing him out tomorrow. He pushed her hand away. The haze was already starting to wear off, letting the ache settle in. “I’m fine.”

“I want to put some butterflies on that cut on your forehead.”

Now that his thoughts were clear, he didn’t want this. Gabriel was probably out in the hallway snickering, planning his next attack. Hunter pulled the gauze away from his head. “I’m
fine
.”