Page 104 of Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

“Uh, Guns and Roses? Metallica…” I try to remember. Haven’t listened to much music since Connor died. “Queen, The Who…”

“Classic rock, then? Or are you just listing all the groups you remember?”

“Hey, I love the Who. Tommy is my favorite.”

“Tommy’s great.” Merc nods, appearing mollified. “Your dad’s influence?”

“Merc,” Gigi says sharply, sitting up.

“Adopted dad’s,” I say, and put a hand on her to keep her down. I like her curled beside me, our bodies touching. It keeps me centered even as it pushes me off balance.

Merc gives me a long look, putting his mug down on the table. His eyes, so similar to Gigi’s, narrow, then look away. “I see. Well, you’ll learn a thing or two about music in this house.”

It sounds like a threat.

Or a promise. Like I’ll be coming back a lot to this house, and it makes me wanna smile, but it’s dangerous. Everything, from the warm, comfortable room, to the sweets, the pretty girl sitting by my side and her nice brother offering to teach me about music, is fucking dangerous.

It makes me wanna stay.

Merc’s rambling about Massive Attack and trip hop music some time later, Gigi replying to him or laughing at something he said, and I’m dozing on and off, my head propped on the backrest, my bad leg stretched out under the coffee table.

I’m as cozy as I’ll ever be, toasty warm. Comfortable. It’s peaceful, safe, and being next to Gigi is twisting up all my thoughts into a maze until I can’t find a way out, lost in a jumble of dreams and strange feelings.

Then a new voice sounds from behind me, and I jerk upright on the sofa, trying to remember where I am, my heart pounding its way out of my fucking chest.

Fuck, fuck.

“Hey, Mom,” Merc says, and it takes me a few long seconds to process the words.

Gigi stirs beside me, but instead of getting up, she lays an arm over my stomach, as if to keep me down. “Just my mom,” she whispers.

Not sure who I thought it was.

Sebastian, in one of his moods.

Angel or Mav or Declan or Jorge.

The kids from the halfway houses.

The blood and darkness and screams from my dreams.

Merc gets up and kisses a slender woman on the cheek. Her hair is caught in a ponytail and if not for the deep laugh lines of her eyes and mouth she’d look like her son’s older sister.

I remember Mrs. Watson. Haven’t seen her in so many years. Time hasn’t touched her, unlike my mom. Since they moved away from our neighborhood, everything changed for me.

I rub at my chest.

Merc goes away, to get her a hot chocolate, or to go off to party, no fucking clue. If he said, I didn’t hear, my blood rushing in my ears.

Last time I saw Merc and Mrs. Watson was before it all went to hell, and here they are, same as ever.

> It’s reassuring. For sure. The world is still turning like before.

It’s also a mindfuck and a half. Maybe that’s why it takes me a long moment to realize she has sat across from me, in Merc’s vacated seat, and is reaching out a hand to me.

I meet her warm gaze and sit up once more, catching her hand. It’s small like her daughter’s, a bit rougher, and feels dry and brittle like a fallen leaf. “Mrs. Watson.”

“Please call me Maggie.” She smiles, tugs on my hand and my sleeve rides up, baring lines of my ink. “So you’re the boy my Gigi likes so much.”

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