Tracks

The next morning, I just lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. I’d slept relatively well last night, minus the memory of Aaron’s death that played as it usually did while I slept, and had woken about an hour ago to rid myself of the tear stains. After that, I’d fallen back into bed to let my mind wander.

Here’s what I wanted to do: I wanted to tell myself it wasn’t real. That everything that had happened last night at the railroad had been a dream, or that I’d accidentally breathed in some hallucinogenic drugs that had screwed up my mind or my memory. I wanted to tell myself that Tracks didn’t have wings, that he hadn’t flown through the woods with me, and that the castle I’d stood on had been nothing greater than a tree house.

But come on, who was I kidding? Even I wasn’t dense enough to believe all that. But I was dying to.

Growing up, Ma’s Irish bedtime stories had always been a particular highlight for Aaron and me. They’d brought the family together before bed, acted as an easy way to keep us all close as the two of us made our way through preschool to elementary and even middle school. They were what made Dad stop reviewing spreadsheets in the middle of the evening, what had Ma setting aside her gallery logs after supper. If Aaron or I was ever at a friend’s house, her stories were brought us home; if we ever didn’t want to finish our vegetables, they were what made us. Faery tales had once been the lynch pin of our household.

And then we’d hit eighth grade. Or rather, Aaron had. Being a teenager had its perks. Later curfew, more parental trust, babysitting his little sister all alone. We both began to stay out later, wanting more time to hang out with our friends. Slowly, so slowly neither of us really realized it, the stories became a weekend occurrence, then a once a week treat, and then they had just died out.

Every now and then, Aaron had asked Ma to tell us a quick tale—never me. Over dinner, during long car rides, or whenever one of us was sick. But by that point in my life, they didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t ask questions, didn’t think about the story. I just listened to words I’d heard a hundred times and let them go in one ear, out the other.

For an artist, I was far too much of a realist.

Aaron’s songs had always held a bit of Faery magic in them. Whether he’d sing of diamonds in the sky or love or battle. He’d absorbed the Faery tales and culture of Ma’s younger years where I’d ignored them. Which, I’d always assumed, was why they’d wanted him to go to Ireland without me first. Give him time to enjoy it before my practicality could get in the way.

Like now, when I’d seen what shouldn’t be possible, shouldn’t be plausible, I was trying to find the realism in it. Trying to convince myself that what I knew had happened, couldn’t have, because it didn’t fit with what I’d always told myself.

But even if I was able to convince myself that there was no Faeryland, I couldn’t convince myself that there were no Faeries. Tracks was as real as anyone else, and if I asked, he’d show me again that his wings were too.

So what was I to do with all this information? My whole belief system had crumbled in an instant and I had no idea how to put it back together again. How could a person be so certain of everything one day, and then of nothing the next? How did you cope with that; how did you bear it?

I can’t, I told myself closing my eyes. If I could, then Aaron would be here right now.

I don’t know how much longer I laid there, but I knew at some point, I’d have to get out of bed and face the world. It was a different world now, again changed from what it should’ve been. But there were other questions I needed answered, and I wouldn’t be able to find them buried in my pillows.

Tracks had said last night that I should’ve been able to see the Otherworld from the beginning. He hadn’t explained why he’d thought that, but he’d also clarified that it was hidden from the eyes of the average person. Was “average” another term for non-Irish? Had I been prevented because I’d grown up an American, despite my blood? Or was it because I refused to believe in Faery tales and only had faith in an “average” world? Tracks’ confusion about why I hadn’t noticed the castle on my own was the most perplexing aspect of last night. When I’d asked, I’d fully anticipated him to just simply say “because you don’t have wings.” He’d given the question a whole new level of gravity.

I dressed and dried my hair, pulling it back for the day, letting a couple purple strands hang loose. C’mon, was purple hair ever an attribute of the average person? I considered, still pondering Tracks’ response.

I couldn’t talk to Tracks yet. He’d made it very clear last night that he wanted me to talk to Brenna and Leila first. I couldn’t understand what difference it made—someone just needed to give me some facts. But he’d insisted more than once, so there really wasn’t any other way.

The problem was this: how in the hell could I ask them about the Faery world they’d all but warned me against?

I’d try Brenna first, I decided at length, thinking I could work the whole “tell me some of Mom’s stories” angle. She seemed to be the storyteller of the house.

I went downstairs, expecting to find her in the kitchen cooking breakfast again, but it was empty. No people, no food. Slightly depressing, as I thought back to yesterday’s awesome meal.

Well, someone had to come downstairs eventually, I decided. I could wait.

I dug around in the pantry until I found a box of cereal I recognized and a bowl, then sat at the table prepared to make it last until one or both of the Callaghans made an appearance. I sat there for a good forty-five minutes before I realized one of two things: either they were really deep sleepers and yesterday had just been a fluke, or neither Leila nor Brenna was actually home.

Damn it.

On impulse, I leapt to my feet and hurried upstairs, blowing into Leila’s bedroom without bothering to knock. If she’d been in there, it could’ve been bad. Possibly even embarrassing. But as I gazed around her room at her made up green and pink bed and tidied bathroom, any embarrassment was gone. Leila wasn’t home.

I went back to the kitchen, dropped into my chair again, and picked up my Captain Crunch. Now I was just confused. Leila had all but begged me yesterday to spend all of my waking hours with her—if was possible, I bet she would’ve begged for my sleeping ones too. So where could she have gone where she wouldn’t have even considered or attempted to drag me with her?

You’re overthinking things, a voice inside my head whispered. Besides, yesterday you wanted nothing to do with her or your aunt. Your wish came true.

I rolled my eyes. What’s your point? Because of course that stupid little voice was right, damn it all. But it’s not like I suddenly wanted to hang out today; I hadn’t gone back on my earlier “spare me from Leila” mantra. I wanted her because I needed answers.

If that’s not selfish, I don’t know what is.

I didn’t even bother to argue.

I got up and dumped the remainder of my cereal down the drain. Well, if Leila was skipping out than that gave me the right to skip out too. At least this way, whenever she got back, I wouldn’t be around for her to force or coerce into going shopping with her. Again. Seriously, the girl had bought half the town yesterday and, had Chris not talked her out of it, she would’ve kept going. Where does she even get her cash from?

I grabbed my skateboard and my cell phone, and headed toward the town. Halfway there, I realized this would be the extent of my summer: going back and forth between the house and town because there was absolutely nothing else to do. Well…nothing except the railroad. But I couldn’t count on being able to go there every day.

I saw Mary sweeping the welcome mat outside her shop as I skated into town and waved to her, barely managing to suppress a laugh at what she was doing. Sweeping outside? How very Disney of her.

I veered toward her and gave her a hug when she held out her arms.

“G’morning, lassie. And how are ye today?”

“Doing all right. How about you?”

She smiled and nodded. “Indeed, I’m wonderful. Finished yer cousin’s adjustments just last night and I’ve already started on with yours. Would ye like to see it so far?”

I wrinkled my nose involuntarily, making Mary laugh. “A surprise it shall be then,” she teased and patted my cheek. “Oh, yer just like that brother of yours!”

And just like that, my smile began to fade. “What?”

Mary continued to smile as though she didn’t notice the abrupt drop in my attitude. “I remember when he came to be fitted last summer. Nice lad—strong, tall. And spent the whole while whining—whined more than ye!” She chuckled. “And when he wasn’t whining, he was warning me. ‘Ye’ll have to deal with me sister next summer, Mary. Brace yourself. She’s not going to take this well!’”

Mary sighed and leaned on her broomstick. “I should’ve taken him up on that wager of his. I would’ve won.”

I swallowed, trying not to let myself cry. Of course she knew Aaron; it only made sense. He’d been around town; Leila had already made it clear she’d forced him to go to the ball. If Mary could remember my mom twenty years ago, why wouldn’t she remember a wager from last summer? But for some reason, the thought of her with Aaron, of Aaron without me, shredded the few layers of spine I’d managed to put up.

“You remember Aaron?” I managed.

Mary nodded. “Of course I do. He was quite a boy, he was. Always whistling or singing. Purebred Irish as I ever saw one. He’d dance the night away at Benjee’s when there was music for it.” She grinned, gesturing across the street. “Been to Benjee’s yet?”

I turned, even though I knew I hadn’t, and looked where she’d indicated. It was a small little restaurant, taller by a floor but half the width of Bobby’s pub.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Oh, ye must go see them. Catherine would love to get a look at you. Aaron showed a picture of ye to everyone who had eyes. And oh, the stories he would tell! Did ye two really ride a bike off a cliff?”

The guffaw escaped me before I realized it. God, I hadn’t thought about that day in years! During the same camping trip when he’d written the song about the teardrops, we’d decided to test our luck by jumping into the lake. But, of course, we had to add a risk factor—something to make it more exciting, more adventurous. So he’d grabbed his bike—a two hundred dollar mountain bike he’d gotten for his birthday a year and a half before—and while I’d held on to the front, we’d ridden right over the edge.

Ma had screamed; Dad had nearly followed us over before she’d stopped him. And of course, we’d popped up laughing and howling like a couple of idiots a few seconds later. Suffice to say, we were grounded when we got back home.

How many years ago was that? Two, three? That was one of those moments that was just so us it had blended in with the rest of our stupid schemes. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about it.

But I could totally believe that was the story Aaron had told to describe me to his Irish friends.

I smiled a little when I realized Mary was still waiting for an answer. “Yeah,” I said softly. “Yeah, we did.”

Mary giggled. “How wonderful that must’ve been! I wish I’d been as brave as the two of ye in my youth! Where is he, now? Is he already at University?”

It took me a moment to realize she was serious. I stared at her, brows knit together, waiting for her to realize her mistake. It had been a year since she’d seen him and the poor woman was getting on in years; it was forgivable that she’d forget he was dead. Especially after just discussing him so fondly. But Mary just stood there, smiling, waiting patiently for my response. And then it hit me.

She didn’t know.

But…how? This was a place where secrets couldn’t be kept. It was an off day if news took longer than a few hours to spread, according to my ma. How could it be possible that Mary didn’t know Aaron was gone?

Unless Leila and Brenna were keeping it quiet.

But why?

“Leslie?” Mary’s voice broke into my thoughts.

I started and looked back at her. She was still waiting for my answer. I opened my mouth to tell her the truth, that Aaron was gone forever, but I couldn’t get the words to come out. I still couldn’t let him go. And I couldn’t bring myself to break the heart of such a sweet, adoring lady.

So I forced a smile and fought the tears. “He’s hanging out with his friends right now. College doesn’t start till August but he’d already been here. He…he wanted to have plenty of time t-” I hesitated. “To say goodbye. To them.”

Mary smiled, oblivious to the grief in my voice. “That’s nice, isn’t it? Bet ye miss him madly.”

I sniffled. “Yeah. It’s kind of unbearable.”

“Oh, don’t get so down, lass. Ye’ll see him again soon.” She took my hand in hers and squeezed gently.

Oh, Mary. If only you knew.

I squeezed back and tried to smile, then said goodbye and walked away. I no longer had any interest in finding my cousin. Now, I just wanted to escape—I needed to. I put wheels to cobbles and took off down the road, going as far away from Mary and Benjee’s as I could. Aaron was everywhere, I realized as I skated past a music shop. As involved in life here as he’d been in Connecticut. But where there should’ve been comfort in that, there was only more pain. Back home, there were memories—of me and him and us. In Calaway… There was him and then me. We were divided. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t right.

I skated until I came to the edge of the village, to the long stretch of road that led to Galway. I pulled up short in front of an old, stone church, long ago abandoned by her priests. According to Lincoln’s quick description the day before at Bobby’s, it hadn’t been a place of worship for a hundred years; instead, it was a banquet hall used for festivals and public events. And the summer ball in five days.

Right now, it looked quiet. There were no people nearby, no cars or bikes. Maybe, just for a few minutes, I could disappear inside and cry, and not even Tracks would find me.

I picked up my board and hurried to the double front doors. Yanking the nearest one open, I slipped inside, started for the long drapery that divided the foyer from the main room. I came up short when I heard a voice.

Leila’s.

Of all the fucking—

Seething, my eyes burned with the tears I’d been holding off and fresh ones of rage. Of all the places Leila could be, why did my luck have to bring her here? It was like she was stalking me and didn’t even know it.

I started to leave, to get out before the tears gave away that I was here, but then I heard my name and the anger gave way to curiosity.

My brows drew together as I crept toward the purple velvet drape. It was long enough and wide enough that I was completely shielded from sight, but I needed to see. I just had to be smart about it. Laying my board down quietly by the entrance, I slid closer and pulled a corner of the drape aside.

I ducked quickly. The church wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Instead of the usual long aisle lined by pews leading to the altar decked, there was a staircase. Narrow and stone that lead down to a huge atrium. The walls were lined with drapes and tapestries, all depicting Christian Irish myths and icons. The ceiling extended another dozen or so feet above me, culminating in a huge chandelier, lit with electric candles and made of brass.

My cousin and her friends stood in the center of the atrium, directly below the chandelier. And they weren’t alone.

Back against the far wall stood four people I didn’t recognize. All male, all dressed as if for a business meeting. From the distance, I couldn’t make out much about them except they were young. Near my age. But the feeling I got from them, the emotion they were exuding… They couldn’t have been any more pissed if they tried.

I was tempted to go down there. There was obviously a reason Leila had skipped out without mentioning this get together. If meeting with the Four Horsemen had been an accident, she wouldn’t have had any reason not to drag me along for Shopping Day Part 2.

This event had been planned—it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. And by going downstairs, I’d most definitely start getting some answers.

But something kept me from moving. Well, not something. Common sense. The second I walked down those stairs, whatever meeting was happening would come to an end. Leila wouldn’t want me to know why she was here; she certainly wouldn’t let the conversation continue if I made an appearance. So I stayed where I was for the moment, hidden in the drapes and the shadows, and held my breath as I watched and listened.

“Ye like to tell us what we’re doing here?” Leila wanted to know, crossing her arms. From where I sat, I couldn’t see which guy she was addressing until the one on the left kicked himself off the back wall and stepped forward.

“You know what we’re on about, Callaghan,” he spat coolly. “Your game is over.”

I started. He was British.

“What game?” she shot back. “Who’s playing?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, swaggered a step or two closer, a wave of dark chocolate hair falling across his forehead. “You tried to keep it a secret for so long,” he sneered. “Well, guess what, sweetheart? Secret’s out.”

“And what secret would that be?”

The guy looked at Chris, who’d cut in right before Leila could respond, and lifted a brow. “What, they answering for you now?” He smirked at Leila. “Mutiny in your ranks, princess?”

“Hardly,” she retorted and I couldn’t help wincing at the bite in her words. It didn’t suit Leila Callaghan at all. “See you’re missing a member or two, though. Mutiny in yours?”

He smiled and it sent shivers down my spine. “They’ve other engagements at the moment. Don’t worry; we’ll pick up the slack.”

“Oh, I’m much assured.”

“As you should.”

Leila folded her arms. It was evident that she was running things for her team, and she clearly didn’t like the way the conversation was going. But since when had bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Leila become someone capable of taking the lead? Since when had she become…well, Captain Hook?

And what about her friends? I glanced at the three of them, all standing behind Leila, like officers waiting for their general’s command. Owen stood with his arms over his chest, his feet spread, as if expecting someone to attack at any minute. Chris was on the far side holding something in his hands—a bar, maybe? From this angle, that’s what it looked like: an iron bar.

Lincoln was off to Leila’s left, the only one covering that side, bouncing on the balls of his feet—ready for anything. Meanwhile, the guys they were facing, the trio against the back wall, were casual and unthreatening, the only sign that they were here for a fight the conversation at hand and the tension radiating from them.

“Why’d you call a meeting, Fitz?” Leila demanded at last, obviously having become tired of the back and forth. “Communication isn’t exactly your style.”

The guy in front rocked back and forth on his heels, his smile spreading. He was clearly enjoying himself. “Thought I’d try something different. Play things under the table. After all, I know how concerned you are with drawing the attention of your newly arrived cousin.” He smiled, and it sent shivers down my spine.

Leila lifted her chin. “What’s she got to do with anything?”

The guy—Fitz—threw back his head and cackled as if she’d just cracked the joke of the century. “You’re kidding, yeah? ‘What’s she got to do with anything?’ Never heard such shite come out of your mouth before, Callaghan. Care to try again?”

“Leave her alone, Fitz. She’s not your concern.”

“Okay, I lied. Second biggest load of shite.”

Leila took a step forward. “She’s nothing to do with this, Fitz. Not with her brother around.”

I reeled, so taken aback that I almost missed what Fitz said next. With my brother around?

“You don’t believe we’re to buy that again, do you, princess? We know the truth—unlike the rest of this bleeding town,” he added under his breath. “We’re not fools.”

Lincoln snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Fitz looked past my cousin and glared at Lincoln. From his group, one of the guys leaning against the wall stepped forward and spat at his feet. “You’re one to talk, prod.”

Lincoln moved forward. “Oh yeah? Like to make a wager on that, butterfly?”

“Why you little prick—”

“Hey!” Leila grabbed Lincoln as he surged forward, swinging him away from the kid and positioning herself between them. She shoved Fitz’s guy back to his spot twice before Fitz finally held up his hand and ended it.

“What happened to communication?” she demanded, whirling on Fitz. Apparently, it was understood that he and Leila were leading their respective sides.

“Sorry, princess. Rules for this little meet-and-greet weren’t properly outlined. We never said we’d be gentle.”

Lincoln started forward again but Chris grabbed his arm.

“You stay away from me cousin,” Leila hissed. “I mean it. She’s no part in this further than her blood.”

“She’s the main part in this, sweetheart—she’s the leading role! Just as her halfwit brother was before her. We’re not as daft as you’d like to believe, Callaghan.”

“Aye, and ye are if you’re believing as you do.” She put a hand on his chest and shoved him back. ”Stay away.”

Fitz smirked, amused, and took back his position, her hand still on his chest. “Aye,” he mocked. “I’ll be staying away. After I make certain she’s as deep in the ground as that brother of hers.”

My stomach twisted as my body went to ice and, for a split second, I couldn’t breathe. I grasped the edge of the drapery and felt the fabric tear beneath my fingers.

Fitz saluted Leila, a sarcastic gesture intended to undermine and insult. It had its desired effect. Lincoln surged again but Christ continued to hold him back. Grinning, Fitz turned and gestured to his friends.

“We’ll be seeing you, princess.” With a final wink at Leila, the suits leaped into the air. I jerked away from the threshold, my still damaged hands slamming into the linoleum and shaking me to my core.

They could fly.

They had wings.

The guys in the suits had wings.

Just like Tracks.

They were Faeries.

I couldn’t understand the tears pricking the back of my eyes. Were they out of shock; out of fear? More of my grief; a wave of fresh pain?

Whoever these guys were, they hated my brother and they knew he was dead. Even though the rest of the town was convinced he was still breathing, the suits were certain he wasn’t.

And it wasn’t because of Leila that they’d figured it out.

So who had told them?

And why did they want me dead too?

What did I have to do with the winged suits? What did Aaron?

Winged suits.

Tracks…

Maybe Tracks knew what this was all about.

As I sat there, my body shaking from the ice in my veins, I realized Tracks was my best bet to any answers. Not only because of the physical similarities to the men who’d just flown off, but because of Leila.

All of her secrets and silence culminated in this moment: four guys I didn’t know, who knew of my brother and were out for me now too. They wanted me dead and they were glad he was. And she couldn’t be bothered to inform me of any of that.

Through the ice, I felt fresh rage build in my blood. New anger, spurred by Leila’s secrets and lies. She was family, she’d claimed for days, but she’d missed the biggest fundamental of that statement: family stuck together. Aaron and I had known that better than anyone else. But Leila went around making deals and fighting battles behind my back, while all the while it was my life, not hers, on the line.

Is that what got Aaron killed?

No! I squeezed my eyes shut, pressed my hands into them as the possibility that Leila was involved in Aaron’s death bit my already sensitive heart. The pain at the thought of it outweighed the pain in my palms by a million.

No, I told myself again. If that had been the case, if Aaron had lost his life because of Leila’s mistakes, there was no way she would’ve let those guys leave without retribution. There was no way she’d make the same mistake again. I had to believe she was better than that.

So what had Aaron died for?

And why hadn’t he ever told me that he knew about the winged suits?

I wasn’t sure which hurt more: knowing that there was a part of Aaron’s life Leila knew that I didn’t, or knowing that Leila didn’t think I had a right to know any of it. This wasn’t just about her and my brother anymore; Fitz had made that perfectly clear. She’s the leading role, he’d said of me. If Leila didn’t believe that I was now involved, she wouldn’t have been so adamant about keeping them away from me.

So what was I supposed to do, just stick it out and pretend I didn’t know what was going on behind my back? Leila had had the perfect opportunity to be up front with me, be straight. But instead, she’d spent an hour having her mother tell me bedtime stories.

Who the hell did she think she was?

I was about to get up and leave—I needed to have a few words with Tracks now—when Leila said something that froze me on the spot.

“We cannot tell her, lads.”

I spun around and flipped the curtain open again.

Leila faced her friends now, her arms crossed over her chest, every part of her emanating a “don’t fucking argue” aura.

Lincoln and Owen exchanged a look but Leila shook her head.

“We can’t,” she said, her voice quieter now, weighted. “Leslie’s been through enough. This would kill her. And I won’t lose another cousin.”

“Lei, we can’t just keep it from her,” Lincoln argued. “You heard Fitz. They know about Aaron; they don’t bloody care.”

“Well, I do. And I’m going te do whatever I can te keep them from winning.” She sighed. “We’ve been at this our whole lives; we can do it for a little longer.”

“How much longer?” Owen wondered.

Leila took a deep breath. “Until she goes back home. She’ll be safe there.”

“Are ye sure about that?” Chris asked, and his implication was clear.

“Better to die by mortal hands than by theirs,” she said softly.

Her words punched through my chest.

“But Lei—” Lincoln began.

“This conversation is over. Now, come on. Forget the Edges. We’ve got planning to do before the ball.”

And just like that the conversation was over.

I picked up my skateboard and hightailed it out of there, hiding around the corner to wait until I saw them come out of the church and head back toward town. The moment they were out of sight, I sank to the ground and dropped my head on my knees, suddenly completely spent.

I couldn’t believe this. I didn’t understand. What was happening to my life?

First Tracks, then Faery tales, and now this? What else was there in this stupid town? Were there witches and vampires too? Was that Fitz’s master plan—have Dracula drop in for a spell to suck my blood? And what else did Leila know that she wanted to keep from me? What had she gotten my brother into last year that had resulted in such hatred for the person who was the best man I knew?

These thoughts and more swirled around for a good twenty minutes before I finally accepted I had no answers for any of them. And I couldn’t get answers without admitting to Leila that I’d been spying on her. And that would get me nowhere, just a lecture about my imagination or something. If Leila wasn’t willing to tell me anything yesterday when I’d all but dropped Faeries into her lap, or now after those threats, then confrontation would solve nothing.

Who could I talk to, then? Tracks was the obvious choice and I did intend to have a word with him at some point, but he’d also made it clear he wanted me to try Leila first. That he wanted me to get my information from my cousin rather than him.

Was he like the suits, though? I wondered idly. He’d been good to me so far. Kind, understanding. Honest, in telling me who he was and what was Faeryland. Thought I didn’t like admitting it, he’d been more a friend to me than my cousin over the past couple days.

But then again, how many people with wings dressed as he did and came from England? There was clearly a connection between him and Fitz.

What had he said the other day? About Leila? We run in different circles. But did that make him as…dangerous as the others?

And what did any of this have to do with me? What did I do that had pissed Fitz off so much? What had Aaron done? What was Leila doing? How could I have the starring role in his epic, if I’d only arrived two days ago and she’d been here for years?

I sighed and leaned my head back against the wall of the church with a thud. Next time Ma and Dad want me to go on a vacation, I have got to remember to just say no.

I smacked my head into the wall when I heard somebody scream. Leaping to my feet, I bolted back into the street and looked around anxiously, my palm braced against the old church.

Tracks? Leila? I didn’t see anyone nearby, but I was tucked away at the edge of town. There was nothing to see.

I was thrown off balance as the church suddenly shuddered, one among many buildings abruptly shaking as the ground rumbled. A second scream ripped through the alley and I whipped my head toward the center of the village.

Earthquake? I wondered, gripping the stones of the church tightly.

Once the ground had settled and I’d caught my balance, I bolted from the alley, throwing my skateboard on the ground and jetting toward Mary’s. The scream had come from somewhere up there. When the seamstress shop came into sight, I picked up my board and started running.

Where the hell is everyone? I wanted to know, looking around for someone who knew what had happened. But the town was empty, the shops were quiet, the way it gets in westerns when there’s about to be a shoot-out in the middle of the road.

I rounded the nearest corner and pulled up short just beside Bobby’s.

I’d found the crowd.

Standing in front of Ripper’s, every citizen of Calaway had formed a wide, cluttered, terrified perimeter.

There was a woman off to the right, a middle aged lady with a flower in her gray hair. She was shaking in the arms of the man beside her.

I ran over. “What’s happened?” I demanded.

She whimpered, shaking her head, and pointed toward the liquor store. “That poor man,” she mumbled.

“Who?” I insisted.

But she didn’t seem capable of forming words; she was hysterical. She gave a cry and threw herself into the man again. With a groan, I raced toward the crowd, elbowing my way through until I was in the front. I stopped short at the sight before me.

Through the front window, the spidered front window, I could see what was left. A cloud of dust and plaster fogged the room, created shadows and ghosts where there were none. The ceiling had caved in; the remnants hung like sagging skin from the walls. Thousands of shattered bottles covered the floor, paperwork and posters soaking up the alcohol. Every window had either shattered or splintered, and the owner—Jimmy—was nowhere in sight.

Was he still alive?

I turned to the person closest to me. “What happened?” I asked again.

He shook his head, staring at the building in something between fear and distress. “I’ve no idea, lass.”

“Where’s the owner?”

This time, the man looked at me. “I don’t know.”

“Leslie!”

I whirled when someone’s hand descended on my arm. For completely logical reasons, I’d expected to find Tracks there. My heart sank when I found Leila.

“Are ye all right?” she asked, throwing her arms around me, hugging me close. “Were you inside when—”

“No.” I pulled away from her. “No, I wasn’t. What happened?”

She didn’t answer. Chris called out to her, from somewhere to the far left, and she dragged me with her to meet him. “Any sign of him?” she wanted to know.

He shook his head. “None. He’s got to be inside, though.”

“Where are Lincoln and Owen?”

“Owen’s run to phone the garda,” Chris said at once.

She waited. “And Lincoln?”

Chris bit his lip. Leila glanced at me, as if she could decipher her boyfriend’s brain in my eyes, and then looked back at him. “Chris, where’s Lincoln?”

“He’s gone inside.”

“What?” Leila and I shouted together.

“He ran off before I could stop him.”

“Chris, that building’s gonna fall!” I yelled. “He’ll never make it out alive.”

Leila clenched her jaw. “Aye, and he will.”

“Leila, what—”

“Chris, go get Owen,” she ordered at once, taking her boyfriend’s arm and shoving him away. “Now—wherever he is, find him and tell him to hurry.”

Chris did as he was told without question. Then Leila started pulling me away from the shop. “Whoa, what are you doing? We can’t leave him!”

“We’re not. You are. I’ll not have me cousin risking herself on her second day. Go back to the cottage.”

“What? No! Lincoln’s trapped inside!”

“We’ll get him out; don’t worry.”

The calm in her voice snapped my patience. I twisted out of her grip and glared at her. “I am worried, Leila. Lincoln’s stuck inside there and there’s no telling when it will crumble!”

“We’ll get him out; trust me. We always do.”

My jaw clenched. From the expression on her face, it was clear that last bit hadn’t been intended. In trying to reassure me, she’d nearly given herself away. Too bad I already knew more than she wanted me to.

“How?”

Leila blinked. “What?”

“How? What are you gonna do to get him out that a couple men from the village can’t do?”

“Leslie, there’s not time to—”

“We still have to wait on Owen. How?” I crossed my arms over my chest. She might think I was being silly, but if she had time to argue with me, then she certainly had time to confess. I was giving her the perfect second chance.

And the last.

Leila looked at me, as though trying to figure out if I was serious. Impulsively, I stepped closer to her and kept my voice low.

“Leila,” I murmured, “what game are you playing?”

Her eyes widened, and I knew she understood. I waited, guiltily banking on Leila’s friendship and concern for Lincoln to force her to swallow her fucking pride.

Her response was the last thing I expected. Instead of saying ‘we’ll talk about it later’ or ‘what do you know’ or just flat out giving me the cliff notes version in three seconds or less, she did the one thing I hadn’t seen coming.

She blew me off.

“I’m not,” she said firmly, then turned and shoved back through crowd before I could stop her.

I watched her go, too stunned to react. It was one thing to be determined to protect me; it was another to lie.

“Where’d Leila go?”

I turned suddenly and found Owen standing beside me, his face flushed. Behind him, I could see Chris making his way toward the building with a couple police men. “She went inside—” I began and then threw up my arms in exasperation when Owen abruptly raced through the crowd after her. “Owen!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

“You’re not going to get his attention that way.”

My shoulders tensed as I turned to the guy who’d appeared beside me. ”You, I’ve got a bone to pick with.”

Tracks’ raised a brow. “Oh? Which one?”

I glared at him a moment, then turned to look for Chris. He’d disappeared too. “What—where the hell is everyone?” I shouted. I started forward again.

Tracks grabbed hold of my arm and held on. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Is it?” I retorted, yanking my arm out of his grip. “Now, is that because the building’s about to cave in or because your little duplicates might be waiting for me inside?”

He had the nerve to look confused until I picked up the end of his tie and flicked it in his face. Understanding dawned behind the glasses. “Oh…”

“Yeah.”

“Leslie—”

“I don’t want to hear it right now,” I interrupted. “Right now, I just want to get my friend outta there.” I managed to escape him then, diving head first into the crowd and elbowing my way back to the front. I stopped short when I saw the building shudder.

“Lincoln!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Lincoln!”

“They’ll get him out, love.” Tracks was at my side again. “Don’t worry.”

“Shut up. Lincoln!”

“Leslie—”

“I said shut up!” I snapped, nearly slapping him as I shoved him away. “I just found out that one: you’re not the only winged person in Calaway; two: the other winged people apparently have some kind of grudge against my cousin and, by extension, me; and three: my cousin is trying to keep all of it a secret. So, sorry to burst your bubble, but I really don’t want to talk to either of you right now!” I was so furious, I was panting by the end.

Tracks, thank God, didn’t have to be told twice. He held up his hands in surrender and took a step back. “Leslie, there’s a lot more to it all than you think. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. He didn’t come back when Ripper’s caved in.