Kelley Armstrong - The Gathering

Daniel’s mom had taken off three years earlier. She’d never really been there much anyway—always vague, distracted, caught up in her studies at the lab, no time for Daniel and his two older brothers. The one who really missed her was her husband. That’s when the drinking went from “a case of beer on the weekend” to “dead drunk by ten most nights.” It was just Daniel and his dad now—his brothers were in college.

Sometimes when Mr. Bianchi drank, he ignored Daniel, which was fine. But sometimes he didn’t. He said stuff. Not the usual “you’re lazy/stupid/worthless” insults either. These were … ugly. He’d say that Daniel wasn’t his son. That Daniel was a mistake. That he was a freak, an abomination, evil.

Once, after Serena died, I was over there, and his dad started in on me, calling me a freak, too, and saying that I killed Serena to get Daniel. Daniel coldcocked him. Then he took off to my place and stayed for two weeks. He went back, though. He always does.

His dad had apologized. He always did that —told Daniel he’d been drunk and he didn’t mean it and Daniel should never tell anyone what he’d said. Which showed how little he knew his son. Whatever happened in that house stayed in that house, and I kept my mouth shut, too, even if sometimes I thought I shouldn’t.

“He’s been worse lately,” Daniel said after a while.

I looked over. He was toying with Fitz now, dragging a long piece of grass over the porch as the bobcat chased it. Daniel was looking the other way, and all I could see was a sliver of his face. I didn’t need to see his expression, though. Just hearing his tone, seeing the set of his broad shoulders, the way his bare arms tensed, muscles bunching, I knew what his face would look like: lips tight, dark eyes distant and sad. That’s the part he didn’t like me seeing—the sadness, the shame.

I moved to sit on the edge of the deck. Kenjii slunk over. Fitz gave both of us a watch your step—he’s playing with me look. Daniel kept trailing the grass over the deck, leaving seeds behind.

I wanted to reach out to him. Put my arm around him. Rub his back. Do something that said, I’m here . But I never did. Couldn’t.

After Serena died, there’d been long days and evenings, just the two of us, grieving, and sometimes he’d hug me, and that was fine because I knew it was just comfort. But I didn’t feel like I could do the same back without a really good excuse or he might take it the wrong way.

It’s not just because of Serena. Obviously, I don’t want to be the slut making a move on her dead pal’s boyfriend. But more than that, I don’t want to do anything that might make him uncomfortable staying here when he needs a place. I’m pretty sure I could give him a hug without him misinterpreting it, but I can’t take that chance.

So I sat, and said nothing. After a minute he slid over beside me. Fitz grumbled, then stalked off, with a halfhearted swipe at Kenjii, as if this were her fault. We watched as he disappeared into the forest.

“Hunting time,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else.

“He does a good job of it,” Daniel said.

“As long as he can catch his dinner off guard.” Missing a back leg meant Fitz could walk fine—he just couldn’t run, either after prey or away from predators.

“And as long as he doesn’t climb a tree to get it.”

I gave a soft laugh and pulled my knees up. After another moment of silence, I said, “You said your dad’s getting worse?”

“Yeah. I’ll be glad when he goes on that business trip tomorrow. Bet you will, too. Birthday party time.”

He jostled my shoulder and I forced a smile. After a minute he cleared his throat and said, “He had a teleconference with the St. Clouds last week. I think he told them he wants to leave Salmon Creek.”

I looked over sharply. “What?”

“Lately, when he’s drunk, he goes on about how he wants out, how he’s trapped. Trapped in Salmon Creek because of me and because of his contract with the company. Once he sobers up, he never wants to talk about it. Then he had this meeting.”

“How’d it go?”

“Bad. I think he tried to get out of his contract. They told him no. He should have known that. Everyone’s contract is tight for security reasons. You remember how the whole town council had to lobby the St. Clouds to let Serena’s folks go after … well, after.”

I nodded. From what I understood, it hadn’t been much of a fight. Mayor Tillson and everyone took their case to the St. Clouds, who’d given Serena’s parents a generous severance package. For that kind of thing, you really needed a good reason. You couldn’t leave the project halfway through and take your expertise to a competitor.

“So now he’s mad,” I said, “which means he’s drinking more.”

Daniel nodded.

“Well, he can’t blame you for that.”

Daniel tossed a stick for Kenjii.

“He doesn’t blame you, does he?”

“Yeah, he does. Who knows why. Finally, tonight, I just had enough. I told him I wasn’t holding him back. As far as I’m concerned, he can go. I’ll take care of myself. Not like I don’t do that already. He flipped out. He called me an ungrateful brat and came at me, and I—I—”

“Hit him again?”

“I—I think so. I mean—” He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes closing as he grimaced. “I must have. I just don’t—”

His gaze went distant, the way it had that morning, staring after the hiker, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing.

“Daniel?”

He shook it off. “Yeah, I hit him. I just got so mad that I didn’t even realize … Well, you know.”

“Your boxing instincts kicked in. He came at you and you hit him without realizing it.”

“Right. Exactly.” Another exhale, this one sounding like relief. “Anyway, he’s fine. Just seriously pissed off, which is why I’m here.”

“You could stay here,” I said softly. “If he does leave.”

He rubbed his arms, like he was getting cold. His gaze was down, but his jaw was set in that way I knew well, ready to refuse. Only he didn’t want to refuse. He wanted to know that if it came down to that, his dad leaving, he could stay here. I could see that worry and that need wearing away at his pride until finally he grunted, “Yeah. Okay.”

After another second, he got up, and said, “Let’s feed the animals.”

WE PUT KENJII IN her dog run. If I go in the shed while there’s a predator in residence, it makes her anxious. And when she gets anxious—whining and scratching at the door—it really doesn’t help the sick animals inside.

As we left the dog run, Daniel said, “Don’t mention that stuff to your parents, okay? I’m sure Dad’s just talking crazy again.”

“No need to mention it until there’s a reason to.”

“Yeah.”

“You need a jacket? It’s getting cool.”

“I’m good.”

The shed is really a specially built wildlife rehabilitation building, designed by my mom. The roof is glass. It’s in the shade, so we don’t barbecue the critters, and there’s plenty of ventilation.

The shed is temporary lodgings. I don’t take any animal that has a good chance of recovering on its own, because no matter how careful I am, sometimes rerelease isn’t possible, and the animal has to go to the wildlife center outside Victoria.

Right now, the shed housed one snake, two fledglings, and a marten. The sharp-tailed snake was a young one that had been stepped on by a hiker, who’d recognized it as a rare species. The fledglings were orphaned bald eagles. The marten—a cat-sized predator that looks like a long-haired weasel—had been shot by a moron teenage tourist playing big-game hunter with a crossbow.