Spirit

She pushed Hunter and his text messages out of her mind. “I don’t understand all this caution. They’re not organized. There are only four of them.”

“Every Guide who has come to destroy them has disappeared. That begs caution. Don’t let your age make you impetuous.”

“My age.” She glared at him. “You’re not that much older than me. How did you get assigned to this?”

“I’m twenty-one. And I followed orders.”

“You followed orders.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her.

She narrowed her eyes. “Well, that’s not too impressive.”

“Perhaps not.” He leaned in. “But I do it well.”

His voice was full of the promise of danger, lending more weight to the words than they’d carry on their own. She quickly took a sip of soda and glanced away.

Time to change the topic.

“I sat with Nick and Chris at lunch today. They were nice.”

“Nice?”

It was the wrong thing to say. She could hear the judgment in his voice. What the hell had made her say that?

They were nice? The people they were here to kill?

Was she insane?

She quickly added, “They bought my story. I should be able to work an invite back to their house by the weekend.”

She’d thought Silver would be pleased, but his expression darkened. “I don’t like you going there alone.”

“Jealous?”

“It’s a risk.” A little part of her wondered at the thought of him worrying about her—but then he crushed it. “Surrounded by all of them, you may give yourself away. And if they kill off my decoy, I’ll have to start from square one.”

“Stop it. You’re getting me all hot and bothered.”

“You may be talented, but you aren’t strong enough to take all of them by yourself, Kathryn.”

Just like before, it was an insult and a compliment all rolled into one. She took another sip of her soda. “I can take care of myself.”

Silver regarded her silently for a moment. “Find another way to spend time around them. We’ll figure out a way I can monitor the situation.”

He was making her feel like she was about twelve years old. “What did you learn today?”

“I sat outside the school and read police reports on the recent arson cases.”

“You sat in the truck all day? Why?”

“I didn’t just sit in the truck.” He hadn’t touched his soda, but now he ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “And I wasn’t sure whether you’d need help.”

“They have laws against stalking high school students.”

“No one saw me.” He paused. “They arrested a boy for these arson attacks, and the fires have stopped. But from what I can see, this Ryan Stacey has no connection to Elementals. The police are chalking up the pentagram patterns at the arson locations to simple cult obsession.”

Kate snorted and took another sip of her soda. “Idiots.”

“According to the police reports, Gabriel Merrick was arrested and released. He was never charged with the crimes. In one article, it’s claimed that he and another boy—” Silver checked his phone. “—a Hunter Garrity, rescued students from the fire in the school library—”

Kate choked on her soda.

Silver raised his eyebrows. “Problems?”

“I met him. Today. Hunter Garrity. He’s the one who fought with Gabriel Merrick in the cafeteria.”

“The plot thickens.”

Kate wiped at her mouth with the napkin. “It does? Why?”

“One of the first Guides sent to take care of our friends the Merricks was named John Garrity. He never made it. While I believe in coincidence, that strikes a bit too close to home, does it not?”

Kate froze. She remembered the way the air went still around Hunter in the school office.

“Can you get close to him?” said Silver.

She nodded, thinking of those text messages.

“Find out what really happened to his father.”

“What else?”

“Find out whether he had something to do with it. It concerns me,” said Silver, leaning in, “that there may be more Elementals at play here than we realize.”

“More than you can handle?” said Kate.

“Never.” He laughed, low, under his breath. “I’m worried, my dear, that they’re more than you can handle.”

“I can do this,” she said, losing any trace of humor. “I can.”

“Good,” he said. “Then prove it.”

Hunter found his mother and his grandparents sitting in silence when he walked in.

Then he stopped short.

His gun was on the kitchen table between them. His two knives were laid out beside it. And the spare magazine, plus the box of bullets.

They’d searched his room.

Casper nosed at his hands, begging to be petted, but for the first time, Hunter couldn’t even acknowledge his dog. His emotions were wildly vacillating between fury and fear, and they couldn’t decide where to settle. His heart felt like it was beating a path out of his chest.

His mother looked like she’d been crying—but that seemed to be a daily occurrence, so Hunter didn’t read too much into it. His grandmother looked disappointed, as usual.

And his grandfather looked like he wanted to load the gun and use it.

Hunter was tempted to go for it first.

He cleared his throat, and his voice didn’t want to work. “What’s going on?”

His mother opened her mouth, but his grandmother put a hand over hers and squeezed—hard, it looked like.

His grandfather’s eyes were like steel, solid and unwavering. “You tell us,” he said.

Hunter bristled. “No, you tell me. You searched my room?”

“A good thing, too, considering what we found.”

Hunter glanced at his mother. She wasn’t looking at him now. “Those are Dad’s,” he said, his voice low. “You knew I had them.”

She didn’t answer. His grandfather did: “I don’t care whose they were. Look at me.”

Hunter dragged his eyes back to his grandfather.

The man gestured to the table. “You think it’s appropriate for a fifteen-year-old boy to have access to these kinds of weapons?”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Don’t get smart with me, kid.”

Hunter gritted his teeth. “I’m not getting smart. I drove here, for god’s sake—”

“Cut the attitude.” His grandfather was suddenly on his feet. “You’re this close to being on the street.”

Hunter was so sick of the empty threats. Especially today. He moved to brush past him, to go to his room, to burrow under the covers until he had to wake up and start another day.

His grandfather grabbed his arm. “Don’t you walk out of here. You’ve got friends breaking in here at all hours of the night, you’re in trouble at school for roughing up your girlfriend, and now we find weapons in your bedroom.”

So Vickers had called the house. Great.

Hunter kept his voice even. “Let me go.”

“You’re not walking out of here until you apologize to your mother.”

Hunter looked at his mom again, wondering how she’d turned into this unraveled mess of a woman who had to be held together by her parents.

He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be apologizing for, but she was looking at him for the first time in days, and the disappointment there was more painful than anything his grandfather could say.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her eyes filled and she swiped at them quickly.

Hunter swallowed—but then his grandfather shook him. “You’re selfish, putting her through this stress when she’s already going through a difficult time.”

Hunter felt guilty and resentful all at once. He couldn’t look at his mother anymore, but he didn’t want to look at his grandfather, either. “Just let me go.”

“You’re not staying under this roof until you tell us what you’re going to change.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in the car.”

His grandfather let him go with enough of a shove to make Hunter fall back a step. “Good,” he said. “You’re already packed.”

Whoa.

Wait.

“What are you talking about?”

His grandfather pointed. “Come back with a new attitude.”

Hunter looked. Two duffel bags—his duffel bags—were by the baker’s rack, stuffed full of what looked like clothes.

He couldn’t breathe. It felt like he’d swallowed hot tar.

He glanced at his mother. She wouldn’t look at him now.

“You’re throwing me out?” His voice almost cracked and he didn’t care.

“You’re not going to break the law and live here,” said his grandfather.

“I’m not breaking the law!”

“Something is going on with you, boy, and I’m sick of it. Do you understand me? I don’t know how your father raised you—”

“Don’t.” Hunter had to take a deep breath, and it shook. “Don’t you talk about my father.”

“What do you think he’d say about you hitting women?”

“It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then?”

Hunter almost couldn’t speak through the tightness in his chest. “It’s—it’s a misunderstanding.”

“Is this a misunderstanding?” His grandfather hit him.

The blow snapped Hunter’s head to the side. He’d seen it coming, but his brain couldn’t quite believe it, so he didn’t make a move to defend himself.

It hurt.

He’d been hit before, but there was something different about it coming from his grandfather, as if their history—not all of it bad—was loaded into that backhand slap.

Hunter sucked in a breath through his teeth. His mother’s hand was over her mouth, but she hadn’t said a word.

“You want to hit someone,” said his grandfather, “you pick on someone your own size.” His grandfather hit him again, an open hand slap this time. “How’s this feel?”

Hunter forced his hands to stay at his sides, but he couldn’t keep them from curling into fists. “Stop it.”

“Stop it? Can’t take it? Did she ask you to stop?”

Casper barked.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t—” Another hit, and Hunter flung up an arm to protect his face, but it didn’t help. His grandfather wasn’t being gentle. These were full hits with strength behind them.

An adult had never come after him this way. His eyes were burning, more fury than tears. Anger lay coiled in his chest, ready to spring free and slam his grandfather to the ground, but Hunter was having trouble fighting through this layer of bewilderment and disbelief.

His grandfather was hitting him. Hitting him.

And his mother was letting it happen.

Then his grandfather caught him on the cheek, a sharp hit that stung. Hunter shoved him back. His breathing was loud in the sudden silence.

He had to get out of here. Hunter turned, hunching his shoulders, keeping his hands tight at his sides.

His grandfather grabbed his arm, and it was like pulling a trigger. Hunter whirled and struck.

The man wasn’t ready for it—or maybe he just didn’t expect Hunter to hit back. His grandfather hit the counter and fell.

His grandmother cried out. Casper was barking, bouncing on his hind legs, waiting for Hunter to give some direction.

His mother was crying again. “Hunter, stop.”

As if he’d started this.