Page 6 of Welcome to Blackbird Hollow
Fallon smiles, but the expression stays on her mouth, never reaching her eyes. That’s how Fallon smiles, unless she’s talking to animals. I don’t ever doubt that she loves me and Caden, but those dead eyes of hers are the reason I’ve always worried that someday she’ll just be gone.
Fallon changed when our parents died.
“Let’s get you some food, baby,” she murmurs to Fern, who gallops ahead of her.
I catch my dog and use the towel by the back door to clean her paws before letting her in the house. Fallon makes her way up the steps, limping a little bit. She’s got a bad hip and knee, but it’s more than that. Whatever got her in the face did more, andshe’s hurting. She wouldn’t have fought one of Them without telling me, so there’s only one other option. “You went to the Roadhouse last night, didn’t you?”
Fallon doesn’t answer me, but she doesn’t have to. The Roadhouse is about ten miles out of town, and the worst of “our types” end up out there, trading in illicit magic and other shitty substances. I’ve asked her not to go alone, but it’s not like she listens to a damn thing I say.
I follow her into the kitchen, where she’s already at the sink, washing the tomatoes and unloading eggs from her basket as well. Fern waits patiently until the tomatoes are drying in a colander. Fallon pulls a couple of random bowls from the drying rack and chirps, “Cat, you bastard, come and get it.”
Fern’s tail thumps heavily on the wide-planked wood floors as a giant black cat materializes out of thin air. Nobody knows when the cat-sìth showed up, or why it attached itself so firmly to my sister, but it’s been coming around for about a decade now, and has never aged a bit.
Fallon dumps crunchies into the two bowls she has on hand, not caring who eats what, and then goes about making more coffee. “Make yourself useful, Wyatt. Those omelets aren’t about to make themselves.”
Only Fallon would offer you an omelet and expect you to make it inherhouse. If asked, she’d say it’sourhouse. But we haven’t lived together since Caden turned. I finally sigh, not wanting to think about that this morning. We lived here together long enough that we have a rhythm in the kitchen, and before I know it, we’ve managed to rustle up a pretty good breakfast.
By the time we’re finished eating, the rain’s set in and the morning’s gone dark. Not so unusual for October, but the wind up here howls in an especially eerie way that doesn’t sound the same, even a block away, at my house.
I lean back on the cushions in the alcove bench seat and take a long sip of my coffee. It’s always better when Fallon makes it. Or maybe it’s always better in the mugs she collected over the years. Mine has a great big 40 on it and says “Over the Hill” in orange and brown letters.
“What happened at the Roadhouse?” I ask when it becomes clear that she’s never going to tell me.
She licks her lips, shrugging a bare shoulder back into her sweater and shaking her head. “Just got into it with a few pack members from Sunnyvale.”
My molars grind together. That’s down by the Groves. “Fuck, Fallon. What are they doing this far north?”
She shakes her head because I already know the answer. “They wouldn’t take no for an answer and that damn Shelly just about gave them his address.”
I let out a string of curses. “Itoldhim not to sleep with her. Godsdamnit, Itoldhim.”
Fallon rolls her eyes. “Shelly’s not the problem, Wyatt. Cade’s gotta say no for himself at some point. If he wants to stay a lone wolf, he needs to declare it and move on, or they’re just gonna keep coming for him.”
She says that, and she means it, but her face is still turning black and blue. “What’s the other guy look like?” I ask when my irritation with the both of them dies down.
Fallon’s head falls back, but when she looks at me again, she’s grinning. “So much worse.” Her brown eyes, just the same as mine and Caden’s, darken. “Lots of whispers about the Hunt coming over Big Hill this year.”
I shake my head. “That’s foolishness.”
Fallon shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I heard. People were saying they’ve heard the hounds…”
“What people?” I scoff. The riders have never come within a hundred miles of town, and are unlikely to start now.
Fallon opens her mouth to answer me, but the phone rings. She gets it, untwisting the long curlicue cord as she says hello. There’s a lot of hummed responses before Fallon says, “Sounds good, Wanda,” and hangs up.
“Job?” I ask.
Fallon nods. “You better go get those apples for Widow Harkness while I get dressed. It’s gonna be a long one. Leafers went missing two days ago out of Mill Creek. They were coming this way, and there’s no trace of them.”
I chew the thought over in my head, then frown. “How’d you know about the apples?”
Fallon laughs as she heads to the stairs. “She already told Wanda to remind you. You know how it goes with the damn coven phone tree.”
That I do. I sigh and go to get my coat out of the mudroom. No sense in missing out on a good cobbler just because we’ve got a job.
Twenty minutes later,and we’re rolling back down the hill. I send thanks to all gods that Fallon has deigned to wear pants today. The last thing I need is her biting some park ranger’s head off for taking too long a gander at her legs. In fact, all things accounted for, Fallon is dressed like an adult about to go traipse around in the woods. Corduroys, a Nirvana t-shirt riddled with holes, the Cowichan sweater, and Fern draped over her lap like a blanket.
Wanda’s out front with Widow Harkness, who’s still shucking while Wanda makes a corn dolly. “You stay, girl,” Fallon tells Fern as she slips out of the truck. Fern loves Cat, butisn’t much foractualfelines, and Widow Harkness is lousy with cats.
