Tracks

It was a hell of a day.

When Ripper’s fell, the town erupted. Anyone who’d known the owner began shouting for him, desperate to know if Jimmy was okay. Either no one had noticed my cousin and her friends go in, or no one was much concerned with it—which frankly wouldn’t have surprised me. I tried to get inside so I could search for Lincoln myself but one of the policemen—or garda, whatever—stopped me a few feet from where the door had been.

I was about to throw a fit, knowing that even police couldn’t handle a screaming teenager, when shapes appeared through the dust on the left. Leila was the first one I saw, then Chris, each with one of Lincoln’s arms thrown around their shoulders. Owen followed seconds later with the battered, but stable proprietor.

The rest of the morning flew by after that. The garda questioned everyone, townsfolk and tourist alike, about what they had seen and heard. Meanwhile, Lincoln and Jimmy were taken to the hospital the moment an ambulance arrived. To my shock—and chagrin—Leila, Chris and Owen weren’t even spared a glance by the cops; it was as if they hadn’t been the ones to run into a tumbling building and rescue the two people inside. The only positive thing about their police-avoiding capabilities was that they were able to follow the ambulance immediately—with me in tow, having jumped into the bed at the last minute. Good thing, too, as I doubt I would’ve been able to tag along if I’d asked.

The ride to the hospital was silent. Leila and Chris talked animatedly in the front seat, keeping their voices low and the back window closed, while Owen seemed off in his own world, staring at into the distance, obviously conflicted about something. A feeling I could definitely relate to.

When we got to the hospital, I was the first one out of the truck. Leila called out to me, but I ignored her. I knew Lincoln and Jimmy had already been taken by the nurses and were on their way for x-rays or whatever. But that didn’t mean I had to stay close to her. I paced up and down the lobby for the better part of a half hour, avoiding Leila at all costs—walking obvious wide circles around her when she tried to talk to me—and tried to stop my mind from remind me of the last time I’d been in the hospital… And who hadn’t walked out with me.

To distract myself, I tried my luck. Asked Owen and Chris what had possessed Lincoln to run inside. But no one answered. They made no excuses; exchanged no sidelong glances. They just didn’t respond. It didn’t take me long to realize that they all knew; they just didn’t want to tell me.

Did I have to respect that? Maybe. They’d all known Lincoln longer, knew him better. But that didn’t stop me from storming around the corner and punching the nearest wall, distressed but alone.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Leila’s voice came quietly around the corner. I straightened, my thoughts silenced by the possibility of hearing hers.

“They’ve never before involved the town,” she went on.

I scooted a bit closer to the corner, keeping my back to the wall.

Chris snorted. “Since when do the Straight Edges give a rat’s ass about the town?”

“They could’ve killed him, Chris.”

“I don’t think they care.”

Before Leila could respond—hopefully with something incriminating—the doctor who’d been with Lincoln walked up to them. I hurried back into the lobby.

“How is he?” I asked before Leila could.

The doctor—Dr. O’Malley—turned. “He’s been better. Mild concussion and a fractured ankle, but otherwise, he’s very, very lucky.”

“And Jimmy?” Owen wanted to know, laying a hand on O’Malley’s shoulder. I lifted a brow at the familiar gesture.

O’Malley nodded. “He’s resting. He made it out the back door before the structure fell, he claims; he didn’t even know Lincoln was inside.”

“Can we see Lincoln?” Leila asked.

“Aye, and ye can. But only one at a time, eh? He needs his rest.” He covered Owen’s hand with his, then walked off, disappearing down the hallway I’d been hiding in. The four of us looked at one another.

“Mind if I go first?” I asked, when no one else said anything.

When Leila nodded without pause, my jaw clenched. As his longtime friend, I’d have expected her to fight to see him first. Even hoped for it. Then at least I’d know she had compassion for the people she claimed to care about. Yet clearly, the secret keeping business was more important than the safety and concern of a lifelong bud.

Without another word, I walked off, looking back over my shoulder to see if my hunch was right. My gut twisted when I saw the three of them already huddled together. Suddenly, I wished I’d waited a little longer before alienating at Tracks.

I knocked once on Lincoln’s door before walking in. He lifted his hand to wave, but it was limp, tired.

I smirked and shut the door. “You look like hell.” I shut the door.

Lincoln chuckled, the laugh becoming a cough. He nodded, holding up his other hand neatly plugged into about five different machines. His fractured leg was boosted up in a sling, and both his legs were scraped and bruised. If I hadn’t known a building had collapsed on him, I would’ve guessed it.

I walked over and fell into the chair beside him, kicking my feet up on the bar of the bed. “What the hell happened, Lincoln?” I asked at last. “And don’t give me any of that ‘you don’t know’ crap. A guy doesn’t run into a shaking building for no reason. What went down?”

Just as I’d expected, Lincoln—who had a soft spot for little old me—looked away guiltily. “I honestly don’t know, Les, I just—”

“Leslie.”

He looked up.

“Leslie,” I repeated firmly.

He swallowed. “But really, darling, I can’t tell you. I saw the building shudder and I ran inside.”

“Why?”

“No one could find Jimmy.”

I shook my head. “While that was very gallant of you,” I said, putting a bit of emphasis on the pretty word, “normal teenagers don’t run into trembling buildings unless they’ve got a death wish. For a future soccer—football—player like yourself, I can guarantee you don’t.”

Either I was a really good interrogator or Lincoln had a very big conscious. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Honestly, Leslie. That’s all I saw.”

“Then why don’t I believe you?”

Now, when he looked at me, there was hurt in his eyes. I held up a hand when he started to speak. “Lincoln, you know what happened to my brother. I’m not in the market to see someone else I’m starting to like follow in his footsteps. You knew very well you could’ve died; why take the risk? Can you please just answer me that?”

Lincoln sighed and held out his hand for mine. I leaned forward and gave it to him, as much because I was worried about him as I hoped it would influence his response.

“Because I knew it wasn’t an accident,” he admitted at last.

“What?”

He let his head fall back against the pillows. “It’s a long story, darling, but I wasn’t going to let Jimmy and whoever else might’ve been inside die because of someone else’s vendetta.”

There it was.

“Whose?” I demanded.

“Leslie…”

“Lincoln…”

“Leslie, forget about it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Jimmy is safe and I’m no worse for wear.” He shrugged.

“No worse for wear? Lincoln, have you seen yourself?”

“I’ve had worse.”

I jerked to my feet, effectively tearing my hand from his. “Oh well, now I feel better! Lincoln, this isn’t some kind of game! You were lucky today—lucky! You’ve got to turn whoever did this in to the police!”

"No.”

The force in his voice made me pause. I stared at him as he shook his head.

“This isn’t a police matter, Leslie,” he said firmly. “It’s personal. Leave it alone.”

I gazed at him, his words running over me. “Personal,” I repeated.

He closed his eyes. “Drop it,” he tried again.

“Like hell. If you won’t tell me, I’ll find someone who will.”

“Leslie!” he called as I headed for the door.

I paused with my hand on the knob.

“Leslie, come on, just leave it.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. “Last chance,” I offered tersely.

Lincoln was silent.

“Fine.” I let the door slam behind me on my way out.

When I came to the waiting room again, I found Leila, Chris and Owen still huddled together, this time sitting in the corner. Leila was perched on Chris’ lap and Owen was kneeling in front of them. I paused. God, what was so awful that everyone had to keep it all so secret?

When Leila saw me, she immediately nudged Owen and Chris. And naturally, like in every good murder mystery, they stopped talking. With a roll of my eyes, I went over to them.

Leila rose. “Leslie, how—”

“Who was it?” I demanded, hoping to catch them off guard.

“Sorry?”

I gritted my teeth. “Who was it?” I said again. “Whoever leveled Ripper’s? Who does Lincoln—who do all of you—have a personal grudge against?”

For all their secret-keeping capabilities, none of them ever took a lesson in facial expressions. The boys’ eyes widened like two deer caught in a shit ton of headlights, and Leila’s jaw slipped ever so slightly. I had them.

I crossed my arms and waited for my victory.

“Leslie, I don’t know what ye’re talking about,” Leila murmured at last.

I clenched my jaw. Now her lies were blatantly obvious… She knew I knew what she was doing.

“Don’t lie to me, Leila. What was Lincoln talking about?”

But either Leila was too dense to understand the rift she was cementing between us, or she’d just stopped caring. “Leslie, the garda are still working the scene, I’m sure. When they know how Ripper’s collapsed, we will too.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And here I was hoping just one of you wouldn’t lie to me. Owen? Chris?” I tried, but neither of them so much as looked in my direction.

I scoffed, shaking my head in disappointment. “Thanks, guys. Thanks so fucking much.”

I started to walk away.

“Leslie, wait! How are ye going to get home?” Leila called, her attempt to keep me around weak.

I bit my tongue, realizing too late my skateboard had been left at Ripper’s. It had slipped my mind in my haste to hitch a ride in the truck. Unfortunate, but not a good enough reason to suffer driving back with her.

I didn’t look back as I headed to the exit. “I’ll hoof it.”

Actually, I grabbed a taxi. I was too steamed to walk all the way back from Galway; just my luck, I’d end up walking into the bottom of the ocean in my distraction. I let the cab driver rattle on about the fun stuff in town for tourists my age to do, while my mind went on a little ride of its own.

I didn’t understand it. What was so wrong with telling me the big secret? Leila knew by now that I’d witnessed the events at the church. What benefit was there when I was no longer fully in the dark?

Keeping me physically away from that Fitz guy would only “protect” me for so long before he came looking without their approval—for whatever reason. With his wings, I was totally unprepared for what he was capable of, and Leila and her pals weren’t doing me any favors by pretending I wasn’t involved. If anything, they were putting me even further at risk.

What had Leila said to Fitz? She’s not your concern. Not with her brother around.

First of all, Aaron was dead. Leila knew that beyond a shred of doubt. Meanwhile, as Fitz had pointed out, the rest of the town didn’t. If pretending that Aaron was still alive was some twisted form of protection, Leila really needed to work on her technique. The suits didn’t give a damn if Aaron was dead or alive; they were coming for me either way.

Second of all, why would I be of interest to a bunch of guys I didn’t know, with or without Aaron alive? What made a run-of-the-mill skateboarding painter fascinating to a bunch of Faeries? And finally, if Aaron was still alive, would it have actually made a difference?

Nothing made sense any more, I thought, letting my forehead fall against the window as the Bay slid past. When I’d lost Aaron, my world had shattered. I’d let go of things and people that used to matter, used to mean something. I’d lost as much of myself as I had him. Now, I was realizing the pieces left behind weren’t mine after all. They were Ireland’s, Calaway’s. The fragments of his life that Aaron had never mentioned.

How could I make sense of a world that I was being sheltered from? How was I supposed to trust anyone, stay sane? My cousin was keeping secrets from me, getting involved with gangs she definitely should stay away from; I was becoming buddy-buddy with a stranger who might very well be in league with the guys out to get me and—oh yeah—there were suddenly guys out to get me. It was as if Aaron had been the lynchpin, keeping the madness from spinning out of control. Without him, there was nothing to stop it from consuming everything—including me.

I had to get some answers, I decided as the cab driver pulled up outside Mary’s. I needed some answers. There’d be no more of this “keep Leslie safe” and “she doesn’t need to know” business. I would decide what was and wasn’t my business. And if it was Aaron’s business, then it certainly was mine. I wouldn’t never be able to move on until these fragments made sense.

I paid the cab quickly, then waited until he drove off before turning my attention to Ripper’s.

Leila wouldn’t talk, her friends wouldn’t talk; I’d basically exiled Tracks. The only other way to get my answers was through some old-fashioned, down and dirty detective work.

When had I become Nancy Fucking Drew?

With a quick look around to make sure the garda was gone, I hurried toward the establishment and ducked through what was left of the door.

I winced. Ripper’s was in ruins. Completely. There was no way Jimmy would ever be able to put the pieces back together. He’d have to spend something near half a million dollars to get it on its feet. There was no way an Irish ABC owner could afford that.

I picked my way through the remains, unsure what I was looking for. Proof, I supposed, that Fitz or some other Wing was behind this mess. They were the only enemies of Lincoln that I knew of.

I pushed aside broken shelves and shattered beer cases, ducking under the beams from the second floor that were still somehow attached where the ceiling had been. I hoped the police were done with their work because I was pretty sure I was contaminating the crime scene. I managed to make my way toward the other side of the building, slipping only five or six times, and pushed myself up on tiptoes to see through one of the holes that had been punched through the wall.

“Oh! Shit!” I hissed, picking my foot up, realizing in disgust that I’d stepped in a puddle of liquor. I groaned, wincing as I felt it seep through my shoe into my sock. “Nasty…” I muttered, shuddering at the feeling. As I did, I glanced down and caught sight of something in the puddle.

A reflection.

I gasped and whirled around, stepping back into the puddle as I found myself face to face with Fitz himself.

He cackled, folding his arms across his chest in amusement as he looked me up and down. “Well, well, well. I take it this is the cousin I’ve no business bothering?” He smirked. “Not much of you, is there?”

I swallowed hard, bile burning its way back down my throat as I stood frozen. I couldn’t explain it—there were no sunglasses, no gun, and it definitely wasn’t night outside but… This felt an awful lot like déjà vu.

“Wh…what do you want?”

“And a coward at that!” Fitz threw back his head and laughed, clapping his hands once for effect. “Oh, brilliant; just bloody brilliant.” He sighed. “I guess, then, you’re going to make this easy for me, aren’t you? Not much fight in you—just like your brother, eh?”

The mention of Aaron made my skin crawl. I didn’t care what Fitz said about me. It wasn’t like I expected him to be impressed—I was blonde, after all. But he was not going to insult my brother. If I hadn’t let Ronnie Halcorn do it two years ago when Aaron had backed down from drag racing to take me out for my birthday, than there was no way in hell I was going to let a complete stranger call him a wuss after death.

I lifted my chin and looked Fitz in the eye—the one thing I’d never have been able to do to Aaron’s killer.

“Leave my brother out of this,” I told him, my voice even.

Fitz lifted a brow. “Oh? Why would I want to do that? Your brother and I were very close.”

“I doubt it.”

“And you know him so well, don’t you?” He winced. “Oh, apologies, chit—knew.”

I folded my arms. “Yeah, actually. I do."

“Care to wager on that?”

I weighed my options. “What do you want with me?” I asked at last.

Fitz smirked. “What makes you think I want anything?”

I eyed him carefully. “I overheard you and my cousin…chatting," I told him. “I want to know what it was all about.”

“Ah, then she hasn’t told you.” He seemed to find the idea entertaining. “Oh, Callaghan…” He shook his head. “I would’ve thought she’d go running to you. Lack of trust there, Lucas?”

I didn’t like that he used my name so comfortably. “Why don’t you tell me, then?”

He smiled. “Because that would take all the fun out of it.”

“Out of what?”

He surged forward then, and in a flash his wings expanded like black flames. I stumbled back, partly in shock and partly from the force of them. His wings were so much more threatening than Tracks’.

Fitz chuckled. “What? Don’t like it when they’re not sweeping you off your feet?” he quipped, plucking a broken beer bottle off the ground. I took another careful step back, the look in his eyes crystal clear.

No fucking way, I started to think as he drew closer, raising the bottle like a dagger.

Aaron, I whimpered silently.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

Then I heard his voice.

“Seriously, Les?”

They flew open just as Fitz’s hand came crashing down.

I screamed and fell into the wall as a second pair of wings swooped down between us, the owner grabbing Fitz’s wrist before he could make contact.

I grabbed Tracks’ arm as he tossed Fitz away from us. The broken bottle shattered on the floor.

“Don’t touch her,” Tracks spat, his voice full of barely checked rage.

Fitz tore his gaze from me and glowered at Tracks. “What the bloody hell are you on about?” he spat. “She’s one of them!”

“I know who she is,” Tracks threw back, standing his ground. “And I’m telling you to back off.”

Fitz stared at him. “What are you playing at, mate? What—are you working with them now?”

“I’m not working with anybody!” Tracks snapped. “Certainly not you. Now back off. Leave her alone.”

“Like hell I will.” Fitz started forward again, but Tracks caught him around the waist and wrestled him away. “Oi!”

“She’s got nothing to do with any of this, Fitz, and you know it!”

The shock on Fitz’s face was immeasurable as he caught himself on a crate. “Are you saying you believe the Naturalists now? That you’re buying that load of shite they’re spewing?”

Naturalists?

“Whatever they’re saying doesn’t involve her,” Tracks said, his voice level now. “And if it does, she doesn’t know about it. She’s out of this, Fitz. Leave it at that.”

“Not a chance.” He reached for another beer bottle, smashing it against a broken beam to roughen up the edges.

“Don’t.”

“Stop me then.”

Fitz lunged at Tracks, aiming the bottle for his throat. Tracks caught him by the wrists, wrestling the bottle over his head, twisting in a way a body shouldn’t twist. But Fitz was either too pissed to forfeit or too stupid to quit. He surged forward, trying to ram through Tracks—I couldn’t tell if he was still trying to get to me or just take Tracks down. Either way, I knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Looking around, I picked up the first thing I could find. A broken wooden beam. Hefting the shorter half in both hands, I maneuvered to the side of the battle, raised it up, and brought it crashing down over Fitz’s head.

He crumpled to the floor in an instant, out cold.

Tracks stared at him for a time, too stunned to speak, still posed for the struggle. He was panting, his chest heaving with exertion; the abrupt end to the fight had caught him off guard. Then he looked at me.

“You shouldn’t have done that, love,” he said softly.

I dropped the board on the floor, my eyes never leaving his face. “We need to talk.”

His smile was wry, as he bent to brace his hands on his knees. “Breaking up with me already, Leslie?”

“Tracks.” My voice came out in a whisper.

He sighed and straightened, his wings folding in on themselves and disappearing. Where had they gone? I wanted to know. Where had they come from? For a split second, I was too dazzled to remember what I wanted to say. Then he moved, running his fingers through his hair, and it jolted me back to reality.

I gazed up into his face, those stupid black sunglasses still in the way of his eyes, and shoved my hands into my pockets. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. “I saw Fitz heading back this way; thought I’d see what he was up to.”

“Oh?”

He nodded.

“And you didn’t know I was here?”

He shook his head. “Not this time. I saw you drive off with your friends. I didn’t realize you’d come back.”

I laughed dryly. “My friends. Yeah, sure, we can call them that.”

“Leslie—”

“No, you know what? We can’t. You wanna know why? Because they know what’s going on with Fitz and won’t tell me. Because they know about the Faeries and won’t tell me. Because apparently they’re telling the entire town my brother’s still alive and I know better than anyone that he’s not.

“He’s not,” I murmured again as tears choked my throat.

Tracks looked away.

“You knew him, didn’t you?” I accused softly. “My brother. You knew him.”

Tracks nodded. “I guess so.”

“And you didn’t mention it.”

“I didn’t know you were his sister at first.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “You said his name at the railroad but I didn’t make the connection. It didn’t occur to me that he was the same Aaron.”

“Until?”

He sighed heavily. “Until I realized who you were at the pub.”

“And when you realized that, it never occurred to you to tell me I wasn’t the only person who knew your secret? That my very own cousin knew about the Faeries too?” He started to open his mouth to say something but I cut him off. “Don’t lie to me, Tracks. If you know Fitz than you had to know my cousin knew about the Faeries. Whatever beef he has with me, he has with Leila too. And apparently he had with my brother.”

Tracks took a deep breath. He glanced around, then sank down on one of the remaining intact beer crates. I watched him carefully, trying to see any signs of trickery or scheming, also hoping he wouldn’t go for the cop-out again. Because it could go one of two ways: Tracks would either be honest with me, as he’d been the other day, or he’d tell me I knew too much and was better off leaving well enough alone.

After a long time, he lifted his head, rubbing his hands over the back of his neck as he searched for words. What was that expression on his face? Concern? Consideration? Sorrow?

“Leslie, there’s so much more to all of this than you realize.”

“Then tell me,” I murmured, kneeling in front of him.

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I really think you need to talk to your cousin. I’m not the person to explain. I never should’ve gotten involved in the first place.”

“Well, you are involved, Tracks, and right now, you’re the one I’m asking. You haven’t told me everything, but so far, you’ve told me more than Leila has. Believe it or not, no matter how upset with you I am, that still means something to me. Please, what else don’t I know?”

Tracks’ face was strained. “A lot.”

I didn’t understand. ”Why?”

“Because you were never supposed to get involved.”

I gazed at him. “Tracks…” I pleaded.

“Leslie, I’m sorry. I truly am. But the rest of it is up to Leila to tell you; it’s not my business. She and I don’t see eye to eye any more than she and Fitz do.”

“Whose side are you on, then?” I wondered at length.

Because the sun was behind me, I could see—barely—the shadow of his eyes. They never left mine. “I’ll be honest; I’m not on hers.”

I let out a breath and sank down on the floor beside his crate. He watched as I leaned my head against a fallen beam. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I murmured at last. “This wasn’t what I came here for. For fights and gangs and secrets and threats. This wasn’t why I ran away.” I closed my eyes.

“What were you running from?”

“Myself.” I shrugged. “My parents. My friends. I don’t know.” I looked up at him. “I came here because my parents asked me to. They wanted me to have a chance to get to know Leila; I wanted them to have a chance to grieve without my misery overpowering them.

“I didn’t come here looking for anything, Tracks,” I said softly. “I just came because there wasn’t anything left for me in Connecticut. Are you telling me I walked into some kind of longstanding Faery war?”

His smile was pained. “Something like that, love.”

His joke was lost on me. “Is there anything you can do? Anything you can tell me until I can get Leila to open up?”

“No” he said softly.

I looked away.

“But there’s something I can show you.”