Ryan opened his hands in a very grown-up gesture of resignation. “All right. If you must.” He looked up at Kenzie. “You look terrible, Mom. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” Kenzie caught him in a hug again, crushing him to her. Nothing could be wrong as long as she was holding her cub; the adorable boy who was the joy of her life. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “Thanks, Pierce. If you find any information on this guy, will you get in touch right away? Come on, Ryan. Let’s go home.”
* * *
Bowman stopped the motorcycle in front of his house and killed the engine, but remained in place, straddling the bike.
He knew Kenzie was home. Her Harley was in the driveway, complete with her helmet. He could also feel her presence inside—he knew she was in there, waiting for him.
The thaw today had rendered a stunted snowman Ryan had built in the yard into shapeless lumps of white. Bowman’s feet were damp and cold, the only thing that made him haul his leg over the bike and walk up into the house.
Kenzie was cooking, humming as she stirred something on the stove. Bowman realized, with a start, that it was lunchtime. After his strange night and little sleep, he’d lost track of the hours of the day.
Ryan was setting the table. Three plates, three settings of silverware, three glasses. It was to be a family meal.
“I made my grandmother’s stew,” Kenzie said without turning around. “Nice and warm on a cold day.”
Her voice was bright, but Bowman heard the tremor in it. He was tempted to back out of the house and go elsewhere, but Ryan grinned at him. “Better stay and eat it, Dad. Mom’s been cooking up a storm, and if you don’t stay, she might throw it at you.”
She would, and Bowman knew it. He slid off his jacket and dropped it on one of the sofas in the living room.
“It’s almost ready,” Kenzie said, still not looking at him. “Make sure you wash your hands, Ryan.”
“I will. You too, Dad.”
Bowman leaned on the post between living room and kitchen, feeling as though he’d just stepped into a stage production of a family play. He had no doubt Kenzie was doing that on purpose.
Ryan came to Bowman, grabbed him by the hand, and towed him down the hall to the bathroom. Ryan kept up a running talk as they bent over the sink about what he’d done during the sleepover with his friends. Bowman listened in silence, liking to hear his cub rattle on.
Ryan handed his father a towel, and they went out together to the kitchen table.
The food did smell good. Kenzie dished it out at the stove, her grandmother’s recipe for a spicy beef stew and dumplings. She’d told Bowman once that humans in Romania had a similar dish with about twenty different vegetables in it. Kenzie’s grandmother didn’t include all the veg, because Shifters preferred meat, and a lot of it.
Kenzie carried the steaming, shallow bowls to the table and handed each to Bowman, who, following his usual ritual, passed one to Ryan, then to Kenzie as she sat down. Bowman reached for his fork to start on his, but Kenzie held her hands over her bowl and closed her eyes.
“The blessings of the Goddess be upon us and this meal,” she said.
“Blessings of the Goddess,” Ryan echoed.
Bowman said nothing. Kenzie opened her eyes and smiled at him.
It was a shaky smile, but one that hit him in the gut.
“Mom has some news,” Ryan said as Bowman at last picked up his fork.
Bowman skimmed the tines through the thick stew. He’d use a spoon later, to slurp the last of the juices.
Only, today, he wasn’t sure he could eat. He didn’t want to hear any news—he still hadn’t processed the last piece of news Kenzie had given him.
“Later,” he said curtly. He dug into his jeans pocket and drew out the silver charm. “What do you make of that?”
He slid the charm to Kenzie, and Ryan looked at it with interest.
Kenzie lost her artificial smile. “It’s Fae.”
“No shit,” Bowman said. “So what do you make of it?”
“Old.” Kenzie turned it around in her hands, her food forgotten. She lifted the charm to catch the light. “Looks like it has some runes scratched on it, but I can’t read Fae. Pierce might be able to.”
“What about your uncle? Could he read it?”
Kenzie pursed her lips, a pucker that made him want to leap across the table and nibble on her mouth. “Doubt it. Uncle Cris loathes everything Fae. He only puts up with the Guardian’s sword because it’s necessary. But don’t ask him to read the runes on it.”
“I’ll learn Fae,” Ryan broke in. To Bowman’s frown he said, “We should know as much about them as we can, right? The Fae bastards are plotting to drag us back to them to fight their battles again. I don’t think they’ll stop trying anytime soon, even if they lose out on controlling us through our Collars.”