Page 61 of Muzzled

“No way,” Alex breathed out, side-eying him. “What really happened?”

Ryan glanced at his silent phone, shoved it into his pocket, crossed his arms, and stared at the empty conveyer belt. “That was it in a nutshell. He said some things, I said some things, he crossed a line, and I reacted accordingly.” He wrinkled his nose. “And then I got my ass kicked.”

Bags began to pepper the carousel, most snatched up quickly by impatient travelers, while the odd one circled around, unclaimed. Alex scooped up a small black bag and slung it over his shoulder, reaching over to help a woman heft a large suitcase over the rail before he turned. “So, where to?”

He led the twins outside, yanked his keys from his pocket, and fired off a quick message to Micah, glaring when no response came in. “We’ll drop your bags off at the motel and then scout the area where the shade and the Pirithous have been most active. You two can dog it while I lead you through the streets.”

He popped the doors open and got in while they threw their bags into the trunk and jostled for position in the front passenger seat.

Cursing a blue streak when Alex jabbed his elbow into his kidney, Bo flung the back door open and got in, smacking his twin upside the head as he settled. “You aren’t seriously thinking you’re going to walk us.”

“There’s no thinking about it,” he replied, adjusting his rearview mirror as he backed out of his parking space. “Your leashes are waiting in my room.”

*

Ryan stood atthe periphery of the festival crowd surrounding Micah, his hounds garnering as much attention in their canine forms as they did in their human ones. Bo had won the collar fight and wore the pink one, his lethal, skulking form at odds with the glitter and jeweled hearts ringing his neck. Alex had finally stopped nipping at his purple leash, but his paw periodically swiped over his tongue since he’d inadvertently dislodged a rhinestone butterfly and swallowed it, glue and all.

The twins were on guard, their attention on the shade flattened on the roof of the coffeehouse. Its blackened eyes were locked on Micah, with nothing more than the tip of her easel visible over the heads of the audience.

Stepping aside to allow a couple to pass, he glanced at the canvas they held. His heart thumped as he took in the charcoal image, a replica of the entrance to the shade realm, where familiar faces twisted in silent screams in the shadows.

“This way,” he muttered to his brothers. He led them around the throngs of people to the sidewalk and wrapped the leashes around his wrists to reassure passersby he had control over the massive beasts at his side.

He caught Logan’s eye before he saw Micah, the concern on her assistant’s face merely adding to the rising unease in his chest. Logan inched around her chair and beelined it to him, scanning the hounds with a mixture of awe and apprehension. “Thank god you’re here, man. Something’s not right with her,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair and glancing back. “Since you left, she’s gone through every canvas we brought and most of the poster paper we keep on hand. I don’t know if she’s sick or high or something. I mean, I’ve never known her to do any drugs but…”

Logan trailed off as Ryan pushed past him and crouched at Micah’s side, his gaze fixed on her eyes. “Hey,” he said quietly, uncertain how she would react if he broke the trance she appeared to be in. “Micah? Can you hear me?”

Her lips were pursed in concentration and her fingers covered in charcoal, as she used the palm of her hand to smudge the ghastly outline she’d drawn on the paper. Oblivious to his presence, she continued to layer images and shapes until the page was covered with familiar shades, their empty eyes and silent screams stretching out of the blackness. She tore it off the easel, shredding the top of the paper, and dropped it to the ground, the work forgotten as she snatched up one of the remaining pieces of blunt charcoal and began anew.

He swallowed, easing the leashes off of his wrists and slowly placing one hand on her arm. “Micah. Angel, I need you to look at me.”

Her eyes blinked unevenly for a moment before recognition set in. “Ryan? I—” She looked between the hounds and the rooftop. “It’s still there. It’s there and it’s scared.”

“It better be,” he growled, grabbing two of her unopened water bottles and a rag. “Let’s get you out of here for the night.”

She accepted one of the bottles robotically, drinking only when he gently nudged the water to her lips. “It’s still early,” she said slowly, her voice lethargic as she watched Logan carefully pick up her latest piece and roll it up despite the disappointed murmurs of the audience. “Logan?”

“We have all week,” he reassured her, his relief at her recovering coherence obvious in his face. “Why don’t I run home, refill the supplies, and I’ll take over tonight?”

Ryan poured a few drops of turpentine on the rag and lightly scrubbed her fingers. “He already pretends he’s you every chance he gets. Let him have tonight and you can rule the roost again tomorrow.”

“Just this once,” she warned, her faint smile easing some of the tension in his shoulders as Logan jogged through the crowds and down the alley, doubling back to snatch his key and an empty box from their stack of cases. She looked down at her hands as he cleaned the worst of the charcoal from her fingers. “He doesn’t like you touching me.”

Ignoring the gravelly snarl coming from Bo, he took a deep breath and monitored his hold on her wrist. “Itdoesn’t get an opinion.” The audience dispersed as Alex and Bo began to skulk around her, their raised hackles making them even larger than usual. “When Logan gets back, we’ll head to the motel if you’re good with that, okay? Do some formal introductions, maybe let you get some rest while we figure out our plan for the next few days?”

Although she nodded, her movements remained lethargic. He folded the rag and slipped it into the side pouch of her painting case, keeping an eye on her while he packed it up as neatly as he could.

“He doesn’t want to hurt me,” she muttered, opening and closing the empty box of charcoal, oblivious to the growl Alex emitted. “But he will if it keeps me safe.”

Bo beelined for the coffee shop, his nose high in the air until Ryan called him back. “We don’t have time to bail you out of the pound,” he snarled, grabbing the leashes and hooking them to the easel to provide the illusion the hounds were secure before he stood and held out his hand to her. “Logan’s here. Ready?”

She looked to the rooftops. “He won’t let you kill me.” Blinking rapidly for a moment, her eyes became clear, the daze that had clouded them since he’d arrived gone. “Ready.”

*

Ryan set theempty pizza boxes in the corner of the small room to clear up the table, glaring at Bo when he fumbled through the door with a chair from his own room. “She’s sleeping, not dead. Keep it down.”

His brother made a valiant effort, hoisting the chair over his head as he crossed the room silently, but dropped it to the ground with a thud. “Aw, fuck. Sorry.”

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