She flopped back in her chair. “Jonah. A three-year-old. Our boys are eleven and eight. A three-year-old. One who’s never seen a toilet or bathtub—or hadn’t until a couple of days ago. And our boys—”
“We’d need to talk to them. They’d need to be okay with it.”
“Henry would be. Soft heart. But Luke … harder sell.” More like her, Rachel thought, in looks and temperament. “And I’m not sold. You are.”
Still a little baffled himself, Jonah spread his hands. “The minute I looked at him, him at me. It was immediate. Not like the first time I looked at Henry and Luke, held them. That overwhelming, stupefying love. But more … Oh, there you are. Yeah, I see you.”
“Is it your gift or your soft heart?”
“Truth? I think both.”
“We’ll talk to the boys.”
He gripped both her hands, brought them to his lips to kiss. “I love you. Thanks.”
“I love you, too, but there’s a way to go before thanks.”
Duncan walked toward home after a stint at the academy with his best friend, Denzel, a shifter. As Denzel had yet to pass combat-and-weapons training, he’d never fought in an actual battle, worked an actual rescue. Simulations only. So, as usual, he wanted every detail of the fight in the Shenandoah.
Antonia walked several paces back with April. Duncan could hear the girls giggling—mostly April—as April fluttered in circles. Talking boys, Duncan decided. The faerie girl was obsessed with romance.
“Gimme your score, man. How many’d you take out?”
“It’s not like that. I told you. It’s not like one of Chuck’s games or sims.”
“Cut me some breaks.” Denzel, a big guy who shifted into a panther—that was cool—gave Duncan a shoulder bump. “Word is you took on three, at the same time, and nearly got your ass crisped by a freaking flamethrower. Is that the straight shit or not?”
Duncan had a flash of the kneeling man, dirty robe, dirty beard, eyes blank with fear and … something like rapture. And the way the flames caught him. The way they ate him alive.
That wasn’t something he would share with Denzel, best friend or not. Denzel was a lot softer than he thought he was.
“What I did was break ranks, which is why I’m stuck writing a stinking essay on chain of command.”
“Unfair, man. I gotta get me some action.”
“You flunked archery, hand-to-hand, and still can’t hit the target with the rubber bullets. You keep tanking chem, and you need it, man, you need it because you might not have a witch around to make fire or throw a blast, whatever. You barely passed basic tactics.”
Denzel rolled his huge dark eyes, then flashed a wide, white grin. “I just bring out Kato and tear ’em up.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Personally Duncan thought Denzel should stick with sports, where he shined, whether it was catching a football, dunking a basket, or swinging a bat.
Not everybody belonged in battle.
“Hey, wanna hang tonight? Magna got a horror flick in the DVD rotation.”
Magna, eighteen, and the only lazy elf Duncan knew, lived in an apartment in what everybody thought of as Elf Central because so many of them lived there.
Magna’s place often reeked of dirty laundry, unwashed dishes, and garbage he’d neglected to haul to the community waste and recycling center.
Not that Duncan considered himself overly fussy—his own room could and did resemble a trash heap until his mom laid down the law.
Though Magna refused to fight—claimed it was against his moral code—and often slipped and slid around any community work, he was harmless and good-natured. Duncan liked him fine.
But.
“Essay, remember?”
“Bummer. You ought to ditch it, man. Trot’s going, and he’ll bring Shelly. Where Shelly goes, Cass goes. You’ve had half an eye on Cass.”
He’d had both eyes on Cass right at the moment, the pretty brunette who went to what he thought of as the civilian school. She’d grown really interesting breasts the previous summer.
But if he ditched the essay, he’d pay for it. Not only with Mom Wrath, but an automatic cut from the next operation.
“Can’t do it.”
“Sucks for you. Want me to help you on it?”
He would, too, Duncan thought. He’d blow off the fun to huddle over a damn essay if Duncan asked.
“Nah, I got it.”
“If you get it done early, come hang out. I gotta book it. Later, gator.”
“Yeah.”
He watched Denzel, broad shoulders, beefy arms, lope across the street with his tightly curled tail of hair bouncing. He saw the kid from the rescue late last year—Garrett, he remembered—with his pack, racing along the opposite sidewalk. One of them rolled into a wolf and back out again, making the others laugh.
Garrett paused, shot Duncan a huge grin, waved. Then shouted out to Tonia.
Crushing, Duncan realized. The kid was crushing on Tonia—which could afford significant ammo for teasing his sister relentlessly.
Good intel.
Pleased, he slipped his hands into his pockets while Tonia caught up with him. April, with her flutters and giggles, had peeled off for home.
“Who’s she in love with now?”
“Greg.”
“Greg, the elf with the red hair and face full of freckles, or Denzel’s brother, Greg, or—”
“Freckles. She thinks he’s adorbs.”
“A what?”
“Short for adorable. She heard that on some DVD. It’s her favorite new word.”
Adorbs. Seriously? “Why do you hang with her?”
“She’s fun. She’s silly, but she’s fun. And she’s smarter than you think. She was smart enough to get over being in love with you.”
He hunched his shoulders, as the memory of having April giggle and flutter around him still mortified. “She’s not my type.”
Tonia snorted. “You’re fourteen. I know this because, hey, so am I. So you don’t have a type yet. Guys our age, the ones who like girls, have just one type requirement. Breasts.”
He thought of Cass’s—and the stupid essay. “What do you know about it?”
“I have breasts.”
He nearly gave a snort of his own, then it struck like lightning, pulled him up short. “If some jerk tries to touch you, I hear about it.”
“If some jerk tries to touch me, I can take care of myself.”
“Bullshit. If anybody tries to … with you, I break his hand, then his face.”
Tonia flipped back her hair, long and loose under her knit cap. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. And maybe I’d like somebody enough to let him try.”
“Screw that!”
The thought of some guy doing to Tonia what he imagined himself doing to Cass had his temper flashing like a grenade.
“I break his hand, then his face, then I deal with you.”
“You don’t deal with me, stupid.” She shoved him.
“Watch me.” He shoved her back.
“You just mind your own business.” She elbowed him aside.
“I am.” He grabbed her arm, yanked her back.
Right before she kicked him—hard enough to make him see stars—he spotted the blond girl, blue eyes wide with shock, as she tried to hide behind a snow-covered shrub.
He turned his grip on Tonia’s arm to a warning squeeze, shifted so they both faced the girl.
“Hey, ah … Petra, right?”
He nearly hadn’t recognized her, since she’d hidden a lot of pretty under the dirt. Her hair turned out to be a sunny, golden blond and her skin was sort of soft-looking. But she cringed back just as she had in the camp.
“We’re just messing around,” he said, with another warning squeeze for Tonia.
“Boys.” Tonia gave an exaggerated shrug. “Come on out.”
“I—I shouldn’t be outside.”
“Why not?” Tonia solved things by walking to her.
“Because … We’re supposed to stay separate. Mina said.”
“Not anymore. We live right there.” Tonia pointed toward the house. “Come on in for a while.”
“I don’t know if it’s permitted.”
“Sure it is.” In her take-charge way, Tonia took Petra’s hand, pulled her up, and kept it gripped as she walked. “How’s it going?”
“I don’t know.”
“I like your shoes.”
Petra looked down at the black, gently used Chucks. “They’re not really mine, but they took mine away. They brought others, but they were made from animal flesh.”
Tonia just led her up to the house, through the unlocked door. Then flicked a hand to start the fire.