Spirit

“Hunter, I’ve been missing you since the day your father died.”

He jerked his head up. “You couldn’t prove it by me.”

She blanched. It should have been satisfying. It wasn’t.

But then she recovered. “Will you sit and talk to me?”

He sat. He crossed his arms on the table and didn’t look at her. He felt weak now, for breaking down upon seeing her.

She put a hand on his arm. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you cry since your father died.”

He left her hand there. She had bracelets just like his, only hers were strung on ribbons and braided leather instead of twine. He might have made one of hers when he was little—he couldn’t remember.

He didn’t move away from her touch. But he made his voice hard. “I think you did enough crying for both of us.”

“Is that what you thought? That I missed him too much to care about you?”

“Didn’t you?”

“No! Never.” Now both her hands were on his arm, and her voice was so soft. “Is that what this is about? Are you angry with me for missing him?”

“No. Yes. I don’t—yes.” He pushed her hands away.

“Is that why you hit that girl? Because you were angry at me?”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t hit Calla!”

She flinched from his anger. He didn’t even regret it. His breathing was fast, almost to the point that he couldn’t catch it.

Then his night caught up with him again, and he put his face in his hands. “Forget it.” His voice was thick now. “Just go away.”

It took everything he had to keep tears from falling again.

She touched his wrist, her fingers light against his skin. “I do miss him, Hunter. I do. But I’m your mother—”

“No!” He flung her hand off. “No. A mother wouldn’t have just sat there.”

Her eyes were wide. She didn’t have to ask what he meant.

She cleared her throat, but the words still sounded strangled. “I am your mother. But this has all been difficult for me—”

“You’re right,” he said, sharpening his voice with sarcasm. “I’m the one being selfish. I probably should have left earlier.”

She sat there looking shocked. He felt vindicated for about three seconds.

Then she started crying.

He hated her for it. Hated her.

And he hated himself for it, too.

“I miss him,” she said, and her voice was full of tears, but anger, too. “I loved him, Hunter. Do you understand that? I loved him. He understood me. He was my best friend. And can I tell you how much it hurts me that you look at me with such resentment every time I express any grief? Do you have any idea?”

Hunter went absolutely still.

No. He had no idea.

“I am your mother,” she continued, her voice still shaky, but strong. “I lost my husband in that car crash—thank god I didn’t lose my son. But you came home from the hospital with nothing but hatred for me. Every time you looked at me, I felt it. So then I wasn’t mourning one loss, but two.”

“I didn’t hate you,” he whispered.

But she was right. He had.

“Yes,” she said. “You did. And I knew you were grieving, too. I tried to understand it. I thought we could come here and start over. But it just got worse.”

“You wouldn’t even look at me!”

“Because every time I looked at you, you looked at me like I was the one who caused that accident! You’re getting in fights at school, hanging out with a rougher crowd, staying out all night—do you really think it was that far a jump to think you’d hit a girl? Especially knowing how you felt about me?”

“Yes! It was!”

But no. It wasn’t.

He felt so much guilt about Kate that it was impossible to think his mind could handle any more. But here it was, piling on.

He was my best friend.

“He was my best friend, too,” said Hunter, and it wasn’t until he spoke that he realized he was crying again.

His mother put her hand over his. He didn’t deserve it, but she left it there and squeezed. “I know,” she said quietly. “I know.”

“And I don’t hate you. I just—I just—”

She touched his face. “You just what?”

Hunter brushed her hand away. He didn’t deserve her kindness. Not with what he was about to say. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“He was using you,” Hunter said, almost choking on the words. “You’ve spent all these months crying over a man who was using you. He wasn’t your best friend. He wasn’t mine.”

Then he couldn’t hold on to the emotion anymore, after weeks—months—of trying to keep it at bay. He was crying in earnest.

His mother shifted closer and put her hands on his face again. “Hunter, your father was not using me. And he definitely wasn’t using you.”

“He was. He told me he was.”

She sighed, and then her mouth set into a thin line. “Your father and I had a lot of disagreements about the things he was telling you.”

He frowned and wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

She continued, “He’s not here to defend himself, so I won’t criticize the choices he made. But I loved him, and I never doubted his love for me.” Her hand went over his. “Or for you.”

His throat felt tight again. “He never thought I was good enough.”

“That’s not true. He didn’t want you to have to do the things he did. When your abilities became clear, he didn’t want to send you off to have the compassion beaten out of you. He trained you himself so he could claim that he did a better job. He told you that I knew nothing so I’d be safe if anyone ever found out about you. Do you understand that? Do you know enough now?”

He felt like he understood nothing.

She squeezed his hands fiercely. “He told you to use people so you’d protect your heart, Hunter.” Her voice broke again. “Because love always carries the risk of loss.”

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut and thought of Kate.

“He was never disappointed in you, Hunter. Never.”

“You don’t know that.”

She sighed and touched his cheek. He didn’t want to accept her comfort—but he so did.

“Remember those files I gave you?”

His eyes opened. “Yes.”

“Your dad set those aside before he left. He said to give them to you if he didn’t make it back.” She frowned. “But then he took you with him, and then the car crash—”

“Why didn’t you give them to me before now?” he demanded.

“Because I didn’t want you in danger!” She paused to compose herself. “And you were just so furious, and you wouldn’t talk to me—you went so far as to change how you looked—”

“Because I hated looking like him! I hated the reminder every time I looked in the mirror! I hated knowing I’d failed him—”

“You didn’t fail him, Hunter. You never failed him.” Her eyes were shining with fresh tears. “You wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t know what you’d do if I gave you those files. But then the fires happened, and the news released information about the pentagrams—I realized you were in the thick of it, firing blind. I realized I’d been wrong to keep the information from you.”

Hunter rubbed his hands across his face. “It didn’t help. I don’t know what it all means. Did he expect me to kill all those kids on his behalf? Did he expect me to kill the Merricks if he failed?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is that what you think? That he wanted you to kill them?”

“I’m a Fifth!” he cried. “That’s what we’re supposed to do!”

“That’s not what your father was doing, Hunter. He knew how to run a mission his way. He didn’t always report the truth.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her eyes were fierce, level with his. “When he got the report that he was assigned to kill those boys, he wasn’t heading down here for that.”

“What was he doing then?”

“He was coming here to help them.”

Everyone else was picking through a bucket of KFC, but Hunter didn’t feel like eating. His mom had offered him the choice of going home versus staying here. And while things between him and her didn’t feel quite so strained, the thought of facing his grandfather was too much just now.

Yet he didn’t want to sit at the table with a bunch of people with mixed feelings about him, either.

But Michael had asked for trust, and Hunter owed him this much.

He still couldn’t believe Kate was dead. He kept feeling that he should send her a text about his dad, just to let her know.

“You all right?” Nick was staring at him across the table.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t, but what else was he going to say? They knew everything, from the drive into the mountains, to Silver preventing the gun from firing, to Kate’s death.

Well, not everything.

Becca came around the table and put her arms around his neck from behind. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m okay, Becca. Really.” He couldn’t take the sympathy. He felt so guilty about all of it, and sympathy added to the weight. He refrained from pulling away. “Just . . . sit. Eat. It’s fine.”

When she dropped back into a chair, he felt Gabriel watching him.

He was the only Merrick who hadn’t said a frigging word to Hunter since he’d walked into the hotel room.

Hunter didn’t really feel like getting into it with him, either.

But he met his eyes and held them.

Go ahead, he thought. Fuck with me. Right now. Do it.

Gabriel didn’t move.

“What’s the plan?” said Chris.

Hunter cleared his throat and quit the staring match. “The last thing Noah Dean said to me was that Calla is planning something for Monday. Something big. I have no idea where she’s hiding—and I can’t exactly look for her while Silver is out there, waiting to shoot me.”

“Monday is tomorrow,” said Michael.

Tomorrow? Hunter blinked. The days had all run together.

“What about her plans?” said Becca. “Any idea what this something big could be?”

“Kate said . . .” He had to take a breath. “She was looking on her phone. She said there were two tunnels leading in and out of Baltimore City. They go under the harbor. She thought maybe those could be a target. But they’re miles long—and I wouldn’t have the first clue how to protect something like that. Not to mention I wouldn’t even know where to start. I mean—”

“Why the tunnels?” said Michael.

“That’s the only thing I could get out of Noah. He said ‘tunnels. ’ I can’t imagine Calla hanging out in the sewers, and I couldn’t find anything about caves in Anne Arundel County—”

“There are tunnels under the school,” Michael said.

Gabriel snorted. “You mean the old bomb shelter? That’s a joke they play on freshmen. Like the swimming pool on the roof.”

“No, it’s not.”

“How do you know?”

Michael gave him a look. “Gee. I don’t know. How could I possibly know about tunnels in the ground—”

“What are they for?” Hunter interrupted.

“They lead to the boiler room,” said Michael. “And they run the full length of both schools, connecting under the auditorium. It’s pitch-black down there, full of pipes.”

“Water?” said Hunter.