11. Sequin

11

SEQUIN

T he drive to Aunt Emerald’s sanctuary is an hour into the middle of nowhere. The land on either side of the road is flat and dry with only the occasional sagebrush to break up the sea of brown. Our mom’s old Volvo doesn’t have Bluetooth, so I turn on the radio to the oldies station she loves.

The turn-off to the sanctuary is a dirt road. The tires kick up too much dirt for me to keep the windows open. I sweat like a pig in the hot car as I follow the winding road up to my second favorite place in all the world. From a distance, I can see the big red barn where the horses sleep and the rag-tag collection of trailers where the rest of the animals live. The last trailer to come into view is Aunt Emerald’s. It’s green with a deep porch that has wooden chairs Coin made for her at Uncle Dagger’s woodshop. When we were kids, Link called it the Christmas house because of the bright red door and the hundreds of golden wind chimes hanging from the awning. The house always had an aura of magic. Mom would always insist that he should call it a Winter Solstice house, since Christmas trees originated from the Pagan holiday, but she never managed to change the nickname.

I drive past the fenced pen on the corner of the property where the dogs play in the cooler hours of the morning and park next to Aunt Emerald’s truck. It’s as deep green as her house. She emerges from her home with a warm smile on her face. The bangles are gone from her wrists, and she’s only wearing studs in her ears, so she must be working. It isn’t safe for her to have loose jewelry around some of the animals.

I climb out of the car. For a moment, I just stare at the barren land around Aunt Emerald’s place. There’s something peaceful about the desert. The blue Texan sky is brighter out here, and there’s no noise but the howl of the wind and the tinkle of her wind chimes.

“Hey, Quinny,” Aunt Emerald says.

I smile. She hasn’t called me that since I was little. “Hey.”

She holds out her arms to me without another word. I burrow into her embrace, even though it’s hotter than hell. I need comfort more than I need to cool down.

“How ‘bout you come inside, and I’ll pour us both some iced tea?” she suggests.

“Okay.”

I follow her up the old wooden steps. Cool air rushes at me when she opens the front door. It feels like heaven. I step inside, and the beauty of Aunt Emerald’s living room fills my heart with wonder. Hundreds of crystals reflect light around the room. Most of them are in the five curios tucked between the antique velvet armchairs and sofa, but they’re also on top of the piano and displayed on the coffee table. Like mom, she has a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s much smaller and, therefore, not jeopardizing the structural integrity of the house. But my favorite thing about Aunt Emerald’s home is all the spoons. She has collector’s spoons from all around the world hanging on the walls in every room. She bought them during her travels when she was younger.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back,” she says.

I sit down and let myself melt into the high of being surrounded by so many shiny things. The pain in my heart is almost bearable here. Almost, but not quite.

Aunt Emerald returns with two glasses of iced tea. She hands one to me. I take a big gulp of the cold liquid. It’s the exact same iced tea Mom makes—raspberry with a hint of lemon. Aunt Emerald sips at her glass too. She doesn’t say a word, she just lets the silence stretch between us. She does the same thing with frightened dogs. She doesn’t go near them or try to pet them, she just sits there and waits for them to come to her.

“I did something really stupid,” I finally say, when I can’t stand the silence any longer.

She sets her glass down on the coffee table. “What kind of stupid are we talking here?”

“I… put my paws on someone.”

She tries to mask her shock, but her eyes widen, ever-so-slightly. She probably wasn’t expecting that level of stupid.

“That doesn’t necessarily have to be stupid. Who is the lucky guy?” she asks.

“Slade. You know, the guy who lives next door.”

She nods. “I’ve heard about him.

“He, um, got arrested today?” My eyes well with tears. I wipe them away. “For, um, murder. He killed someone. He confessed and everything.” More tears run down my cheeks. I try to wipe those away too, but they keep coming.

Aunt Emerald gets up and walks around the coffee table to sit next to me. She wraps her arms around me and lets me cry. It feels safe to let her see my pain. She chose the wrong person, too. A whole torrent of emotion I’ve been tamping down bursts out in loud sobs. It’s horrible. I feel like I want to die because it’s so fucking painful. But it’s a little like throwing up when you have the stomach flu. After it comes out, a hollow calmness settles in my heart.

Aunt Emerald sits back, releasing me from her gentle embrace. “I’m so sorry, Quinny.”

“It feels like my heart is tearing in two,” I say.

Her lips tremble. “I know.”

“How do you live like this? I don’t know if I can get through the day.”

She places her hand on my knee. “You will. And you’ll get through the next day, and the day after that. I won’t lie to you. It will hurt for a long time. But eventually, the pain will fade until it’s nothing but an ache.”

“And then what? Do I just ache forever? Will I ever be happy again? I won’t ever have a mate or… children.” I sob at the last word. I’ve never been certain of what I wanted with my future, but I knew kids would be a part of it. And now… now I can’t have that either.

Aunt Emerald gives me a warm smile, her own eyes brimming with tears. “Do you know what raccoon shifters call an older omega without children or a mate of their own?”

I think back to the old raccoon shifter folk tales Mom used to tell us when we were kids. “A wise one.”

“Yes. We are an important part of raccoon shifter society. We have our place, just like everyone else.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. I can’t tell her that I don’t want to be a wise one without insulting her.

“Do you know why they call us wise?” she asks.

“Because you learned something from your mistakes?”

She winces. “No. Although, I’m sure that’s true too. The reason they call us wise is because Fate has given us a beautiful gift. In other shifter cultures, alphas can sometimes smell when they’ve gotten their mate pregnant. But with raccoon shifters, it’s the wise ones who can sense a pregnancy. We don’t smell it, we can see it.”

I’m not sure I understand. “How? What does it look like?”

“When an omega is pregnant, I can see a twinkle in their eyes. It’s beautiful, like a crystal reflecting light. Whenever I see it, joy fills my heart.” She grasps my hand and brings it to her chest. “Like right now. Quinny, your eyes are twinkling.”

I pull my hand away. “No, that can’t be right.”

She doesn’t argue with me. She just sits there, waiting—letting the truth sink in. She knows I’ve heard all the stories where young bonded omegas visited the wise ones and discovered they were carrying a litter. I thought the wise ones were healers, but that was never it. They were just Aunties or Uncles, like her.

That means I’m pregnant.

“I’m only eighteen. I have no money. My moms will be so disappointed.”

Aunt Emerald shakes her head. “No, they won’t. I know my sister better than anyone in the world, and she isn’t the kind of person to think less of you because of this. She’ll either love her grandkit to pieces or she’ll drive you to the nearest abortion clinic. Whatever you choose. But if it’s the latter, we need to keep this quiet. The laws here in Texas aren’t kind to omegas with unwanted pregnancies.”

I already know that. Living in Texas comes with disgruntled conversations at the dinner table about the state’s crazy laws. I just never thought I would be one of those omegas they talked about who travel in secret to an abortion clinic in another state or take a pill that someone’s friend of a friend got for them.

The thing is, this might be my only chance to get pregnant. Raccoon shifters like Uncle Dagger who are conceived before a bond takes hold are rare. If I abort the twinkle in my eye, I probably won’t ever have children of my own.

“What if I want to keep it?” I ask.

Aunt Emerald smiles. “Then you have a whole family of people who will help you out. Like I said, it’s completely up to you. We will support your decision, no matter what it is.”

For the first time since Mom told me about Slade’s arrest this morning, I feel a bit of hope. Having a little kit would be wonderful. Or kits, if I’m pregnant with a litter. Sure, it would be hard, but Aunt Emerald is right. I’d have everyone’s support. My moms would be the best grandparents a kit could have, and I know my brothers would be great uncles.

But any children I had would also be Slade’s. They would have his genes.

“Do you think people ever inherit personality traits from their parents. Like, I don’t know, violent tendencies?” I ask.

Aunt Emerald presses her lips together. “I think violence is learned. Your children will grow up loved. That will counteract anything bad they may inherit.”

I wonder if Slade’s parents loved him. Maybe they tried, but they couldn’t be there for him the way they wanted to. Or maybe they weren’t loved by their parents either, and they didn’t know how to love him.

I don’t know. The way he kissed me and held me makes me think that someone did love him at some point. Maybe there was a reason he killed someone. A part of me wants to believe that his actions were justified.

But what if he really is a bad person, and I just don’t want to see it? What will happen to our kit if I expose them to someone dangerous because I can’t face the truth?

“Do I have to tell Slade about the kit?” I ask. “Legally, I mean.”

She shakes her head.

“Do you think I should?”

She pauses for a long beat. “I don’t know. That’s a tough decision. At some point, I think you’ll have to tell your kits who their alpha dad is, though. We all deserve the right to know where we came from.”

It’s all too much to process. My whole life has changed in just a few days. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Slade or how I’m going to tell my moms that I’m pregnant. But I do know one thing.

“I don’t want an abortion,” I say.

She brings me in for another hug. “I’m glad you know what you want.”

For now, that will have to be enough.