Trial by Fire
Page 28

“Nice meeting you all,” Ali said in a tone that suggested it was anything but.
Archer was the one to reply, and despite Ali’s warning, he directed the words at me, not her.
“Six days.”
I turned. Ali turned. We walked back to the car in silence. I knew what we were up against now, better than I had before, knew at least part of what they had in their arsenal. I’d marked the way they looked at and interacted with each other. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that they considered Caroline to be the biggest threat.
I climbed into the car. Ali climbed into the car. We shut our doors.
If anything, this recon mission had assured me that my earlier assumptions were correct. If we fought the coven, there would be bloodshed, and a large portion of it would be ours. If we gave in to their demands and let them have Lucas, he would be better off dead.
Six days.
I had less than a week to decide between two evils. Less than a week to find out what kind of deal the coven had made with Shay.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE RIDE BACK TO THE WAYFARER WAS SIGNIFIcantly quieter than the ride out. Ali seemed calmer somehow, like the interaction, which had sent a rush of adrenaline surging through my veins, had sedated whatever worries she’d been holding on to all day.
Instead of thinking about Shay, or the coven, or the partly unhinged werewolf waiting for me to save him from both of the above, I thought about Ali and the way she was handling all of this. We’d been hypnotized. A natural hunter had pulled a knife on me. Violence had been promised and there was every indication that this group, family, coven, whatever could deliver.
Ali was taking it in stride.
She’d pushed them and prodded them and borne their presence in her mind without so much as blinking. She hadn’t shown any sign of weakness, any sign of fear.
Any surprise.
People are allowed to have secrets, Bryn. Even from you.
The words Ali had said in our conversation about Chase came back to me with a vengeance. Ali was handling this well—too well—and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was keeping secrets from me, the same way she’d never bothered to mention that Callum could see the future.
The same way I hadn’t told her when I went off to hunt the Rabid.
The same way I probably wasn’t going to tell her that I already had plans to go on a second recon mission. Alone.
The coven had a deal with Shay. I needed to know what it was, and I wasn’t going to find out by letting my foster mother ask the questions. For whatever reason, she knew psychics, but I knew alphas, and I couldn’t imagine Shay giving Lucas to the coven without asking for something in return.
I also couldn’t imagine that the werewolf Senate would be happy to find out that one of the pack alphas had made some kind of alliance with a group of werewolf-hating humans. Once I found out what the deal was, once I had proof, I might actually have something to hold over Shay’s head. And if I had the backing of the Senate, I might be able to convince the coven to back off.
“What are you thinking?” Ali asked. After ten minutes of silence, I was surprised to hear her voice.
“I’m thinking about secrets.” I leaned the side of my head against the window and watched the mounds of snow pass by as we drove. “Yours. Mine.”
“If you want to know something, Bryn, just ask.”
People were allowed to have secrets. Being alpha didn’t mean I had to know everything—I didn’t need to know how Ali felt about Mitch, or what she was planning to do about Casey, or why she would never consent to running with the pack.
But I needed to know everything I could about psychics, so I had to ask. “You handled that well.”
“That wasn’t a question,” Ali commented, her tone completely neutral.
“You knew what to expect. You knew how to read them. And I can’t shake the feeling that you got more answers out of that little exchange than I did. Am I wrong?”
“No.” Ali pulled the car over to the side of the road and slid the gearshift into park. She left the key in the ignition and the heat blasting, but unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face me. “Did you see the look in their eyes whenever they talked about werewolves?”
Hatred, undiluted and pure. “Hard to miss,” I said.
Ali inclined her head slightly. “Did you happen to notice the size of their pupils?”
I was used to watching Weres’ eyes for hints of the Change, so it only took me a second to walk my way back through the scene and pinpoint the moment Ali had referenced.
“Their pupils got bigger.”
“And when do humans’ pupils dilate?” Ali asked me.
How was I supposed to know? I couldn’t even diagnose the full meaning of eyelash batting.
“A human’s pupils dilate when they walk into a dark room, when they’re attracted to someone, or when they’re under some form of external psychic influence.” Ali paused, and I saw her weighing her next words very carefully. “I spent most of my childhood with dilated pupils.”
Somehow, I didn’t think Ali was suggesting that she’d spent her formative years in the dark.
“It’s not the kind of thing most people notice—at least, not at first. Most knacks, to use your expression, are like Keely’s—subtle enough that even if you know what to look for, you don’t realize what’s happening. It’s like … Imagine that for every natural ability in the world, there’s a spectrum, and on one side of the spectrum, you have all of the people who are really bad at that thing, and on the other side, you have all of the people who are really good at it. And occasionally, once every ten million or fifty million or however many people, you’ll get someone who’s really good at it.”
I nodded, afraid that if I said a word, she’d stop talking and wouldn’t start again.
“My mother was like that, with emotions. She always knew what everyone was feeling, and whenever she smiled, it made you want to smile, too. If she was sad, I was sad. If she was angry, I was angry. I loved her so much, because she was my mother, and because she wanted me to.”
Ali’s eyes were completely dry, but mine were stinging, because I knew already that this story wasn’t going to end well. Ali had cut off contact with her human family to join Callum’s pack and take care of me. It hadn’t ever occurred to me that she might have had other reasons for leaving her old life behind.
“When I was six, a group of people came through town, and one of them realized what my mother could do. They told her she was special. They offered to train her. They took us in.”
I digested that information. “You grew up in a coven?”
Ali nodded. “Until I was twelve.”
I tried to process, but couldn’t keep up with her words.
“There were twenty or thirty of us, lots of children, and everybody fell at that far end of the spectrum—the gifted end—except for me. It would have been hard, growing up with other people poking around in my dreams and my head, sneaking up on me, playing cat and mouse with me even when I didn’t want to play, but my mother wanted me to be happy, so I was happy.”
Suddenly, I could understand why Ali had always kept her pack-bonds closed. Why she’d never let the others in, never risked losing herself to the pack mentality and—up until I’d broken with Callum’s pack—encouraged me to do the same.
“We used to move around a lot. One person with a knack is subtle. A couple dozen aren’t, and one day, when I was twelve, we’d been staying at an RV camp near the Kansas-Oklahoma border, and I went out to run an errand someone had told me to run. When I came back, everyone else was gone. It took a couple of days for my head to clear. I used to get these headaches, and these nosebleeds, and I remember looking in the mirror at social services and seeing my pupils, and they were small enough that you could tell that my eyes were hazel and not just brown.
“I don’t think I’d ever actually seen my eyes look like that before. I was twelve years old, and that was the first time I could ever remember being able to feel something just because it was the way I felt. I went through eight foster homes in six years, then I went to college, and one of the girls I’d kept in touch with from one of the group homes disappeared. The rest of the story, you know.”