A Matter of Truth (Fate, #3)

It doesn’t take a genius to know that Karl’s getting his ass chewed out big time. Yet another thing for me to feel crummy about.

Minutes later, when he hangs up, I realize he didn’t tell Zthane about the Métis or what went down with the Elders. When I question him why, he says tiredly, “Some things are better discussed face-to-face.”

His point is not lost on me.




Saying goodbye sucks. It flat-out, unequivocally sucks.

Despite my reservations (and fears, if I’m being honest with myself), I insist on saying goodbye to the Moose and its inhabitants in person. I’d insisted on walking on my own two feet despite Erik wanting to push me in a wheelchair. So Will and I, we were like the walking wounded hobbling through the front door, and when the bell above it jingled, tears sprang to my eyes.

The Moose was a haven to me. It was safety when I had nowhere else to go and needed a place to lick my wounds and grow up some. And now, as I glance around the cheesy décor, I worry that I might have taken it for granted like so many other things in my life. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll get to come back here, if I’ll ever get to go bowling with these people again. If there’ll be moments when I roll my eyes at Frieda’s snark, encourage Ginny to follow her dreams, or feel one of Paul’s nourishing hugs again.

Gods, I hope so.

Paul took the news of our leaving—well, not exactly well, but I guess better than we expected. I let Will do the bulk of the talking, because it just hurt. Every time I went to open my mouth, something inside me quivered and strained and I feared just flat-out ugly bawling, so I stayed silent, nodding at appropriate times. When it was all done and said, Paul mentioned he was disappointed and would miss us, but ultimately, he understood. Then he stupidly offered us severance pay, like he laid us off rather than us up and quitting on him with little-to-no notice.

In other news, Frieda raged. Ginny cried softly.

And now, the girls are here with me, hugging Will and me like we’re porcelain dolls, thanks to our injuries, and they’re not acting like themselves. They’re holding back, and I get it, but part of me resents it, too. These girls helped me in ways they’ll never know. Their honesty was one of the things I valued the most.

But I can’t hold this against them. Because, when Paul asks Will, “You’ll call us when you get there?” he’s referring to how we’ve told him we’re moving to Glasgow so Cameron can be close to a sick relative. And that stings, because while I value their honesty, I’ve never reciprocated in kind—not even here in the end.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Will says. He’s moving slowly today; Erik says he’s got three broken ribs for sure. The sooner he can see a Shaman, the better I’ll feel.

“Told you they’re shacking up.” Frieda knocks her shoulder into Ginny’s. She’s a strong girl—she’ll never let me see her tears. But I know she’s upset we’re leaving.

I’ll miss her. Miss them all.

I just give them a small, sad smile in response. There is more gentle hugging, more promises made to keep the ties we’ve created between all of us meaningful even though distance will spread us apart. And then we walk out of the Moose and into Lee Acacia’s nondescript rental waiting at the curb.

“Everything taken care of?” Karl asks. He insisted on coming with us, despite needing to rest, giving some bullshit excuse about needing to talk with Lee about a mission. I’m positive the real reason was that he doesn’t trust me anymore. He wanted to make sure I didn’t run again.

I don’t blame him.

I lean my head against Will’s good shoulder and stare out of the window as Lee pulls away from the curb. Anchorage is beautiful. It was home, if even for a tiny moment. “Yeah,” I tell him.




I’m holding onto Nell’s leash as Erik pushes me across the tarmac in a wheelchair. He got his way, saying there was no good enough reason on this green earth for me to walk to a plane when I can be pushed. Will and Cameron are already on the small bush plane Erik owns; he’s flying us to Juneau and then coming into Annar for the first time in nearly fifteen years, thanks to Karl’s suggestion that it might be helpful to have a Métis with us when we discuss the situation with the Council. At first, Erik and a number of other Métis were reluctant, saying they’d worked hard for years to distance themselves from Annar. But I think they also understand that we’re all interconnected—and that people stand more firmly on the ground when they have others to stand with them.