Page 54 of Fortress
Toby reviewed their research aloud as they ate. Jake could imagine him ticking off each of the known victims on his fingers: Carrie Allemand, the science teacher, and Amelia Saint-Rome, the principal whose school seemed to be the epicenter of the trouble.
“We aren’t going to get anywhere digging in public archives, since it seems like a fairly new witch problem. We should ask the principal about problem students or employees who left disgruntled.”
“So, time to check out the principal.” Jake dusted powdered sugar off his fingers. “Ready when you are. Have I got sugar all over me?” He gestured toward his face.
Jake heard Toby’s hesitation in the silence before his cautious query. “You want to... come along?”
Jake shrugged, trying to keep it more matter-of-fact than defensive. Being blind was screwing with his reactions, Jesus. “I know I’m not gonna be much use in a gunfight or identifying victims, but I can at least keep an ear on your back.”
“You could,” Toby said slowly. It did not sound like agreement. “But Jake, you might be... safer here. Fewer things can go wrong, and I could—it would be easier, I think, for us to focus just on finding out what we need to catch the witch and get your sight back.” After a pause, Toby rushed to say, “I know I can talk to her and follow up on anything she mentions. I can interview whoever I need to, Jake. I can do this.”
“’Course you can,” Jake said automatically. “I just thought, I mean. Sure, whatever rocks your boat, Toby.”
Toby drew in a sharp breath, and Jake felt Toby’s fingertips on his hand. “I don’t want to leave you, if you’re not comfortable—if you’d rather go with me.”
“Nah, you got a point.” Jake turned his hand to squeeze Toby’s once, then let go. “You can’t be worrying about me tripping over shit. I’ll slow you down. Just, uh—we better come up with a good cover story for the civvies. The ladies could never resist me, but I still had a hell of a time getting info out of anyone else when I was seventeen.”
“I could say my parents are planning to move here, but they’d heard about some troublemakers at her school,” Toby suggested. “Though it might be weird if I’m there by myself.”
“She might want to talk to your parents instead, yeah. Hey! You could have her call me—I can totally be a dad.” He deepened his voice to prove it.
Toby huffed out a laugh. “If you think that will work, okay. You... I’d like you to keep your phone handy, just in case, anyway.”
Toby dawdled another fifteen minutes, going over the plan, how to dial the phone for emergencies, the available TV channels, and weapon locations until Jake finally waved for him to go, go already.
But after the door closed behind Toby, Jake became aware of the silence in a way he had never really been before.
Every move he made—exhaling, drumming his fingers on the table, knocking his boot against the table leg—was amplified. He managed to turn the TV on, channel surf, adjust the volume. But he could still hear the noise outside—voices shouting, car doors slamming, footsteps moving quick and heavy and closer.
Jake muted the TV, unconsciously holding his breath until the footsteps passed the door and faded away. Only then did he release his knife hilt.
It didn’t get much easier after that. The minutes ticked by—fifteen minutes, half an hour, Jake couldn’t tell because he couldn’t even look at a fucking watch. He switched off the TV infavor of the clock radio because at least the DJs announced the time every so often.
Toby was fine. No news was good news. Toby was in his super-focused badass mode, whennothingcowed him, when he could charm the pants off anyone, and he didn’t need Jake’s help. He’d find out everything there was to know, and then he would come back. Probably with food, because Toby was thoughtful like that and because Jake might have made an impression, early on, when he insisted on Toby getting three meals a day.
Jake wasn’t going to think about anyone giving him a hard time, hassling him about why a teenager was driving a sweet old ’67 Eldorado. Jake had gotten shit himself once, and he’d made sure the assholes left with a few bruises to remember him by. Toby could handle himself, no question about that, but there was always shit to handle. Jake wasnotgoing to think about his father showing up now, though that would be just perfect Hawthorne luck.
And if it was one ofthoseassholes... Toby might shut down. He might be unable to run. But they probably wouldn’t recognize him; he had come so far in almost a year, with meat on his bones and clothes that fit him. And even if he froze at first—he’d get his breath back, find a chance to run, and get back to Jake. Of course he would. That was how they’d planned it.
That was theonlyway it could go down when Jake couldn’t rescue him himself.
It was hard to avoid the list of things he shouldn’t think about when he had nothing to distract himself but the radio. Ads for Toyotas and mattresses didn’t really do the trick. He got up, pacing the room with one hand on the wall, counting steps from the door to the bathroom. He found the bag with their first aid kit and opened it up, trying to identify items by touch, but he could barely distinguish packets of Advil from fucking wet wipes.Then he had to add stitching-up-Toby-while-blind to the list of things he wasn’t going to think about. Along with how the hell he could help Toby in a hospital, again, while not being able to see.
The DJ announced it was half past noon. Jake was not going to call. Toby was busy, and that was all it fucking was.
When a quick knock sounded on the door, Jake shot off the bed to his feet before he realized it had been their code. Then the door swung open, and Toby called, “Hey, Jake.”
Jake sat back down on the bed, but he couldn’t force himself to look any more relaxed. Toby was back, but Jake couldn’tseehim, couldn’t check how he moved or even if he had a huge-ass bandage around his head or if some potato-faced creature had just stolen Toby’s voice and memories and was about to rip Jake’s throat out. Paranoid? Sure, but he couldn’t rule out the possibility becausenothingwas impossible when it came to Hawthorne luck.
“Hey,” Toby said again, closer yet quieter, and goddammit, Jake actually jumped when Toby touched his hand. Then the mattress dipped, and Toby took his hand. “You okay?”
Jake tried for an easy laugh. Not even he could pretend it worked. Without thinking, he reached for Toby’s face. His fingers found Toby’s forehead and the stray flop of hair that nearly reached his eyes. He traced the curve of Toby’s cheek down to his chin. “You okay?” he asked again, even though he hadn’t answered before.
“Yeah.” Toby didn’t move away, didn’t change his grip on Jake’s hand. “Nothing exciting happened, but I found out some things. I talked to Mrs. Saint-Rome, and she was really helpful. I just mentioned that I’d heard about a troublemaker, and shetold me that particular student had graduated and wouldn’t be welcome back on campus.”
“Did she give you a name?” Jake left his hand on Toby’s jaw. He would move it soon. Just not yet. It was good to feel it move as Toby talked.
“No, she wouldn’t. I—I didn’t know how to find out without her wondering.” Toby’s voice was low, almost ashamed, like he was confessing a failure.
