16. Sixteen

sixteen

A fresh wave of spasms rocketed through me when a giggle bubbled up.

“Don’t move,” Penn mumbled.

“Don’t try to tell a joke,” I panted.

Penn almost smiled, though his expression grew serious as his hands roamed my face. His touch was warm when it should’ve been cold. His fingers slid into my hair, gently probing for skull fractures. I nearly assured him my head was fine, but I liked the way his rough hands felt tangled in my hair.

And, in a twisted way, I liked his concern.

“Can you grab my hand?” he asked, holding it out to me.

It took considerable effort to lift my arm and slide my palm over his.

“Good. Now squeeze,” he ordered.

The command proved difficult to execute.

“What’s wrong with me?” I demanded, panic making my voice pitchy.

He blew out a long breath. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin with such a loaded a question.”

I let a little pained laughter through. “Aww, you told another joke.”

He used that moment of levity to scoop me into his arms and rise to his feet. I howled. Penn hugged me more snugly against his chest.

Normally, in these situations, shifting would speed up the healing process. But even if I remained human, my injuries would mend themselves. The hard line of Penn’s jaw and the determined set of his mouth suggested this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill situation.

Is it true that bad things come in threes? I wondered to occupy my mind. Did that mean I had another trauma in my near future?

Penn didn’t run, but his pace was close to it. I managed to get a loose grip on his sweatshirt.

“We’re almost there,” he promised.

I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming and pressed my face into his chest. Strangely, I welcomed the agony. When the pain engulfed me, I stopped seeing my father’s murder for a few precious seconds.

Penn slowed and then came to stop, kicking at what sounded like wood. “Frann! Open the door!” he shouted, a bite in his words.

Several seconds passed before I heard the door open, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Young man—bring her inside.” Her initial annoyance quickly shifted to a graver tone.

The house was warm and smelled like peppermint. Penn gently laid me down on a hard table beneath a bright display of floating candles. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hand gripping Penn’s sweatshirt tighter. His fingers curled around mine.

“Frann can heal you,” he said, leaning down so his head blocked the worst of the light from above.

I opened my eyes and ground my teeth. “What’s wrong with me?”

Penn hesitated. “You broke your leg in the fall.”

“And your spine,” Frann added.

Ah. So that was why Penn had rushed me here in human form. Shifting with a spinal injury was risky, not to mention excruciatingly painful.

“It’s going to be fine,” Penn promised, slowly unfurling my fingers from his clothing.

A small, wrinkled hand appeared on his shoulder. “I can only fix her if you stop hovering, boy,” Frann said.

Penn’s mask was gone, and I saw so much in the depths of his swirling irises. I attempted to prop myself up with my elbows to see what was happening. Penn shook his head and guided my shoulder back down.

“Don’t look.” His blue-gray eyes pinned me in place. For a brief second, I saw into his tortured soul. “It isn’t pretty.”

Are we still talking about my leg? I wondered.

“Is it your intention to prolong the girl’s pain?” Frann demanded.

Penn squeezed my shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.”

I had the ridiculous urge to demand he stay and not hand me over to this woman I didn’t know. Instead, I let him step away. A wrinkled, hunched woman with thick black hair hobbled forward. Her keen eyes widened when they landed on my face for the first time.

“Penn, you naughty boy, you forgot to mention your friend’s name,” Frann said as she unscrewed a jar of something that smelled foul.

Sweat soaked my hair, and the spots dancing at the edge of my vision weren’t a great sign. Still, I stared straight up into Frann’s knowing gaze.

“Are you going to refuse to help me?” I panted.

She cackled and brought the jar closer to my face. The smell burned my sinuses and made my eyes water.

“Oh, no, Drake.” She pressed the cold glass to my mouth. “I intend to fix you up better than new. Now drink this.”

“Wh—”

Frann took advantage of my open mouth and poured the liquid down my throat. It tasted sweet, a little tangy, and only a little like spoiled milk. My eyelids grew heavy even before the jar was empty.

Panic set in as the concoction made its way through my bloodstream. I’d just drank something from a stranger. Well, not a total stranger. Frann was Ophiuchus, but that only made my decision more foolish. The pack held no allegiance to me.

Warm fingers slid through mine, and I turned to see Penn through a magic-induced haze. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t need him to. Just having something familiar to hold onto calmed my heartrate.

I shouldn’t have trusted Penn, yet I did. He slept in my house every night. If he’d wanted to do away with me, he would have already done it. Elaborate ruses didn’t really strike me as his style—that was all Finneus.

“Let go, Drake,” he said, with just enough of an edge that it might’ve been a command. “Let Frann heal you.”

His words shouldn’t have affected me, yet they did. I finally closed my eyes and gave in to the quiet, painless darkness of sleep.

I woke to a muted world. All noises seemed to filter through cotton before they reached my ears. The smells flavoring the air lacked depth. My vision was blurry, and I couldn’t discern where one object ended, and another began.

I sat up and smacked my forehead on the floating candle display.

“You’re awake,” Frann called from what sounded like another room.

I blinked rapidly and rubbed the bump forming near my hairline. Frann appeared by my side and shoved the candelabra aside.

“I don’t know why I bother keeping that thing.” She shook her head and then examined mine. “The swelling should go down quickly.” Frann offered me her arm. “This table isn’t very comfortable, is it? Let’s get you over to the couch. Unless you’d prefer for me to call Penn for assistance?”

I swung my legs over the side of the table and didn’t feel even a twitch of discomfort. That only lasted until I realized my favorite jeans were gone. Loose sweatpants covered my legs instead of the tailored high-waisted flares made just for me. My sweater had dirt and grass stains complemented by a large tear down the right side.

“They’re just material objects, dear,” Frann whispered.

A tear leaked down my cheek, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. “I know. It’s just—”

“You’ve lost a lot, child.” She squeezed my hand. “Come on. I can’t ease your grief, but I do have chocolate chip cookies. You were very fond of them as a child.”

I stepped down tentatively, still unsure whether my leg would hold my weight. Aside from some general shakiness, everything seemed to work okay. Still, I held onto to Frann’s arm and let her lead me to an overstuffed couch across the room.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” I asked, frantically flipping through my memory banks of names and faces.

Frann gestured for me to sit. “A very long time ago when you were just a tyke. Basil would bring you out here when he came to visit.”

Hearing her call my father by his first name almost made me cry happy tears. It made sense that Frann would refer to him so informally; she had likely known him as a very young child. The woman had to be at least a hundred.

A fire blazed in the stone hearth, making the room toastier than necessary. Frann, however, draped a shawl over her shoulders and sat in a rocking chair close to the flames.

“I remember coming to your village, but I’m afraid the specifics aren’t very clear,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”

She rocked slowly back and forth. “Only apologize for things where you are truly at fault.”

I stared down at my hands, a little surprised by the rebuke. “Okay, then I’m sorry about your jars. I think they might’ve been lost or broken when I fell.”

Frann waved off that apology too. “Penn went out to retrieve the supplies. I’m sure he’ll manage to find most of it.”

“Does he really make a run out here every month?” I asked, unable to quell my curiosity.

Frann smiled. “Without fail.”

A timer dinged from another room. Frann rose from her chair.

“I can get the cookies,” I offered.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my guest, and I’ve still got some gas in the tank.”

I took my first real look around the room. A hutch beside the wooden table where Frann had fixed me up had shelves upon shelves of glass bottles. They ranged in color and style, no two alike. They were true works of art, and I wondered where she bought them.

Frann shuffled back into the room carrying a tray of cookies. My senses had nearly returned to normal, and the melted chocolate smelled amazing. My stomach growled audibly, which hadn’t happened in a while.

I only intended to take one, but Frann refused to move the tray until I grabbed a second.

“Thank you.” I bit into a cookie and moaned as it melted in my mouth. I swallowed the bite. “This is really good.”

Frann set the tray on the coffee table and took a cookie for herself. “I know,” she said with a pleased smirk.

The front door opened with a chilly sweep of wind. I expected to see Penn, but the older man beside him came as a surprise.

“We aren’t heating the entire den, Harold,” Frann shouted, though her words lacked real annoyance.

When he shouted back at her, I wondered if he was hard of hearing. “We made the rounds. Only a few jars were lost, but everyone was happy with their haul.”

Penn carried the box we’d abandoned. Three bottles remained of the dozen or so from earlier. Harold had a bag slung over his shoulder that looked like it only had a few jars inside.

“I can bring more soon.” Penn deposited the carton on the table. His gaze finally met mine, though he’d known I was there since he crossed the threshold.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, tone carefully schooled to read as neutral.

“Good.” I held up my remaining half of a cookie. “I have treats.”

“Of course you have feet, girl,” Harrold yelled. “You’re a shifter, aren’t you?”

“Treats! She said ‘treats’!” Frann shouted.

I stuffed the rest of the cookie in my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh. Penn’s amused snort didn’t help. The sound coming from someone as controlled as him nearly made me choke on crumbs as I swallowed.

Penn pulled one of the bottles from the box and flashed the label. It was champagne. The real stuff, from France.

“Don’t tell me you found that in an Italian street market,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“These were a gift. From a friend,” he replied. Wrapping a hand towel over the top, he deftly untwisted the metal coil and uncorked the bottle.

Harold had taken his bag to the kitchen, swapping it out for four mugs. Penn poured champagne in each and then handed them out. Harold stood behind Frann’s rocking chair, and I suddenly understood what had been obvious since he walked in the house.

Penn leaned near the fireplace, watching me as he lifted his mug. He spoke the only words of old faerie I knew—a toast of sorts. Roughly translated, it meant “seize the opportunity”. Ander used to say it before a night of breaking rules back in high school.

The others sipped the bubbles, so I followed their lead.

“I don’t understand. Why are we drinking?” I looked around the room.

Harold either hadn’t heard my question or pretended not to.

Frann smiled at me. “Why not?”

I liked her response so much that I didn’t argue against her logic. Even still, I refused a refill when the bottle was passed again. Penn did too.

“He’s driving precious cargo down an icy road in the dark—what’s your excuse?” Frann asked me.

“I have to walk down an icy road in the dark. It didn’t go well in the daylight while sober, so I probably shouldn’t risk it.”

Frann brayed like a donkey, and then yelled at Harold, who didn’t understand anything either of us had said. She patted his face affectionately.

“I’ll brew you some tea, dear.”

Penn caught my eye. “We should get going. I still need to stop by Nora’s house before we head back to the truck.”

Frann turned to me but spoke to Penn. “You will bring this sweet girl back, I hope.”

Amusement flickered in his gaze. “If she wants.”

The old woman smiled toothily. “Good boy.”

“Thank you for everything, Frann,” I said. “Whatever you gave me, I feel great. You saved me, truly.”

Her expression turned serious. “Don’t squander this gift.”

“I won’t,” I swore.

I shoved my feet into my boots, which had apparently survived my ordeal unscathed. Harold and Frann stood at the door and watched us leave, waving until we were out of sight. Penn steered me down a darkened path toward a house with candles burning in the windows.

“Nora is a little out there, but she means well,” Penn said, his breath coming out in little white clouds.

I shrugged. “I sort of like that about the older wolves. Makes them less formal.”

Unlike Harold, Nora’s shifter hearing was undaunted by age. She opened her front door and stood under the awning as our footsteps crunched in the snow up to her house. Penn had left the champagne and sacks of jars at Frann’s place, so I wasn’t sure what we were delivering.

“You found it?” she called out as we neared.

Penn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Nora reached for it like a greedy child. My gaze bounced between them, silently inviting someone to explain the importance of the package. Nora lifted the lid and sighed happily.

Then, she carefully lifted a tiny crystal unicorn from inside the box and displayed it on her palm.

“I believe this belongs to you, Drake.” She held it out to me. Until that instant, I hadn’t been aware she’d noticed my presence at all.

“I don’t understand,” I stammered, looking to Penn for guidance.

His eyebrows drew together, looking as clueless as I felt.

“You are unique,” Nora said, eyes spinning like tops. “Basil knew it, and he embraced it. You must too, Drake. Before it’s too late for us all.”