Page 70 of Following Their Heart

“Hope it fits your ear,” he says while fiddling with my belt. The smallest of us, Scrap is a full foot shorter than me. Some of the guys call him pipsqueak. Not me. I don’t like being called out for how big I am. I imagine he doesn’t like being called out for his size, either.

“I put on the biggest tip I could find,” he’s saying, but I’m barely paying attention. I’m trying to figure out why a pleasant shiver is racing up and down my spine as he fiddles with my belt. “I know you like headphones better ’cuz earpieces fall out of your big Dumbo ears, but I didn’t have a set with the right jack for this receiver. Anyhoo.” He backs away, eying my side, apparently content with the receiver’s placement.

I realize I haven’t put in the earpiece yet, so I jam it in my left “Dumbo” ear.

“Thanks, pipsqueak,” I say with a smirk. Wiggled into place, the earpiece feels secure. “Perfect fit.”

“He-heh, that’s what she said,” Scrap quips.

I roll my eyes and am about to ask what I’m supposed to do to help him, but he jerks his head in the direction of Doc and Grim.

“Hey, what are they doing over there? Thought they’d have the front loader goin’ by now.”

“Don’t mind them. They’re just raising the dead.”

Scrap blinks. He looks up at me from under thick eyelashes. Have his eyes always been that color, Heineken-bottle green?

The hell?

I shake my head to clear that random-as-fuck thought.

“Raising the dead?” Scrap says. “No shit?” Expression curious, he turns to watch as Doc reaches out his hand toward the bird, and Grim’s hand. He shifts on his feet, and his shoulders make a tense line.“Uhhhh—”

“They know. They’re being careful. Just watch.”

In a few seconds, the bird—a blue and black stellar jay—flutters off Grim’s hand. It flies cock-eyed at first, like it’s disoriented, but then it rights itself and takes off into the trees.

“No fuckin’ way!” Scrap’s not just the smallest of us. He’s also the youngest—well, except for Cora. His youthful enthusiasm shows as he continues exclaiming and jogs over to them.

How have I never noticed the way his ass cheeks jiggle under the thin fabric of his trackpants?

Nope. Didn’t just think that.

I turn on my heel and get back to patrolling the grounds. I wish to fuck there was actually something out here to guard against, so I could focus on something other than the fact I’m apparently going to have Scrap in my ear all morning.

Chapter 27

Scrap

I came out hereto get Brawn to help me with an idea I had—I want to test the range of some old radios I had laying around and then try to extend that range using my Gift—but who the hell could walk away from a show like this?

So, instead of pushing my Gift and running security, like Rev said, I’m standing outside the lodge like the village idiot watching Grim pick up a limp seagull with a maggot on its eye. Doc reaches out and touches the thing, while Grim’s holding it, and it shivers and blinks. Its eye clears like some tiny window washer squeegeed it. It jabs its beak at Grim’s face and curses at him in angry Seagull-ese. Grim dodges the attack with a surprised laugh, and the thing flies away.

“That happened,” I say.

“Hell, yeah, it happened,” Doc says. We fist bump.

“Air-bump,” I say to Grim, and I do the motion, keeping my distance.

They’ve made a dent in the pile, but only a small dent. And the pile goesaaalllthe way around the lodge.

“Not to point out the obvious,” I say. “But, ah, you guys know we’re leaving the day after tomorrow, right?”

Sooner would be better, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t like sitting around while Jud’s in Raptor’s talons, but it’s not like I’m going to argue with Rev. He’s tight with the Working.

“He’s right,” Doc says. “We gotta move quicker.”

“Too risky,” Grim says.

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