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Page 28
We filed out of the living room and into the office, then took seats in our usual formations, centered on my father in his high-backed chair. When everyone was settled and Dr. Carver had pushed the door closed, my father’s gaze found me. “Faythe, go ahead.”
That’s right: my source, my idea, my party. I couldn’t help a little thrill of adrenaline at the knowledge that I’d made a vital contribution to the effort.
I sat straighter on the couch—between Marc and Jace, to my extreme discomfort—and faced Blackwell in the chair he’d claimed opposite my Alpha. “I just spoke to Brett Malone, who says he has proof that his father framed the south-central Pride for the murder of the thunderbird. Finn.”
Blackwell took a moment to process the information, and to his credit, I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. He’d had more than seven decades to work on his poker face.
Finally the elderly Alpha gripped the curve of his cane and trained a steady, surprisingly intense gaze on me. “Proof in what form?”
“His own testimony, and the dead bird’s feathers, stained with his killer’s blood.”
“And who is this killer?”
I desperately wanted my father’s guidance before answering that question, but couldn’t get it without making an obvious glance in the opposite direction. So I went with as conservative an answer as I could. “One of the Appalachian territory’s enforcers.”
Blackwell frowned at being stonewalled but did not press the issue. “Did the Malone boy volunteer this information?”
“No.” I fidgeted in my seat and had to remind myself that I’d done nothing wrong; I wasn’t usually under such scrutiny from an Alpha other than my father unless I was in serious trouble. “I called him looking for evidence. For your investigation.”
“And what did he ask for in return?” Blackwell may have been old, but he was no fool.
“Sanctuary.” I felt no obligation to reveal my father’s job offer because technically Brett hadn’t asked for that, thus it fell outside the scope of the question.
Blackwell went silent again, and I risked a glance at my father. He gave me a tiny nod, and I exhaled silently, then returned my attention to the elderly Alpha as he began to speak. “When will you have this evidence?”
“Brett should have already left. So…tomorrow, hopefully.” I wasn’t sure whether he’d fly to save time, or drive to retain possession of his car.
Blackwell stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “Unfortunately, I can’t wait that long. Present your evidence to Councilman Di Carlo, when it arrives. I’ll be waiting for his report.”
My father stood. “You’re leaving now?”
“I think that’s best. I’ll be ready in half an hour.” The elderly tom nodded to his grandson, who came to his side like a trained puppy.
“I’ll send an escort with you to the airport.”
Blackwell hesitated. Normally such precautions wouldn’t have been necessary. But if the sitting council chair were injured while leaving our territory, some of the other Alphas might consider that a reflection of our security. Or lack thereof.
Finally the visiting councilman nodded, and my father walked him to the office door. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
My mother checked on her chili, then rejoined us in the office and closed the door. My dad sighed and turned to Parker. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, Parker, but according to Brett Malone, it was Lance who killed the thunderbird.”
For an instant, relief was plain on Parker’s face. No one was dead. No one related to him, anyway. Then the ramifications sank in, and relief melted slowly from his features. He blinked, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “So Malone was protecting him by blaming us?”
My father nodded, and Jace leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, anger flaming behind his bright blue eyes. “Yes, but I can guarantee that your brother’s safety was not foremost on Calvin’s mind. He was saving his own tail, and framing ours.”
“We have a choice now, and I’d like to get your input before I make a decision,” my dad said. “Once we get in contact with them, we can tell Kai’s Flight the truth and try to clear our name, but in doing that, we’d be implicating your brother. Or we can keep quiet about it, in which case we have to find a way to either fight these thunderbirds or convince them to stop fighting us.”
Parker stared at the floor, straight strands of salt-and-pepper hair hanging over his face. “You want me to decide whether or not to turn my brother over to the thunderbirds?”
“No.” My father shook his head firmly. “That’s my call. But I am interested in your opinion.”
Parker sat up then, his face lined in pain and bitter conflict. “Okay, if we turn him over, they’ll kill him. Right?” he asked, and the rest of us nodded. Even my mother, who sat with her ankles crossed primly beneath her chair, her expression just as guarded as my dad’s. “But if we don’t, they’ll keep killing us.”
“Yes. But it’s a bit more complicated than that,” my father said.
“Because of my dad?”
Again our Alpha nodded. “I’m assuming that if we turn your brother in, our chances of gaining your father’s support drop dramatically.”
“You might say that.” Parker raked one hand through his hair, and in that moment he looked much older than his thirty-two years.
That’s right: my source, my idea, my party. I couldn’t help a little thrill of adrenaline at the knowledge that I’d made a vital contribution to the effort.
I sat straighter on the couch—between Marc and Jace, to my extreme discomfort—and faced Blackwell in the chair he’d claimed opposite my Alpha. “I just spoke to Brett Malone, who says he has proof that his father framed the south-central Pride for the murder of the thunderbird. Finn.”
Blackwell took a moment to process the information, and to his credit, I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. He’d had more than seven decades to work on his poker face.
Finally the elderly Alpha gripped the curve of his cane and trained a steady, surprisingly intense gaze on me. “Proof in what form?”
“His own testimony, and the dead bird’s feathers, stained with his killer’s blood.”
“And who is this killer?”
I desperately wanted my father’s guidance before answering that question, but couldn’t get it without making an obvious glance in the opposite direction. So I went with as conservative an answer as I could. “One of the Appalachian territory’s enforcers.”
Blackwell frowned at being stonewalled but did not press the issue. “Did the Malone boy volunteer this information?”
“No.” I fidgeted in my seat and had to remind myself that I’d done nothing wrong; I wasn’t usually under such scrutiny from an Alpha other than my father unless I was in serious trouble. “I called him looking for evidence. For your investigation.”
“And what did he ask for in return?” Blackwell may have been old, but he was no fool.
“Sanctuary.” I felt no obligation to reveal my father’s job offer because technically Brett hadn’t asked for that, thus it fell outside the scope of the question.
Blackwell went silent again, and I risked a glance at my father. He gave me a tiny nod, and I exhaled silently, then returned my attention to the elderly Alpha as he began to speak. “When will you have this evidence?”
“Brett should have already left. So…tomorrow, hopefully.” I wasn’t sure whether he’d fly to save time, or drive to retain possession of his car.
Blackwell stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “Unfortunately, I can’t wait that long. Present your evidence to Councilman Di Carlo, when it arrives. I’ll be waiting for his report.”
My father stood. “You’re leaving now?”
“I think that’s best. I’ll be ready in half an hour.” The elderly tom nodded to his grandson, who came to his side like a trained puppy.
“I’ll send an escort with you to the airport.”
Blackwell hesitated. Normally such precautions wouldn’t have been necessary. But if the sitting council chair were injured while leaving our territory, some of the other Alphas might consider that a reflection of our security. Or lack thereof.
Finally the visiting councilman nodded, and my father walked him to the office door. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
My mother checked on her chili, then rejoined us in the office and closed the door. My dad sighed and turned to Parker. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, Parker, but according to Brett Malone, it was Lance who killed the thunderbird.”
For an instant, relief was plain on Parker’s face. No one was dead. No one related to him, anyway. Then the ramifications sank in, and relief melted slowly from his features. He blinked, and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “So Malone was protecting him by blaming us?”
My father nodded, and Jace leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, anger flaming behind his bright blue eyes. “Yes, but I can guarantee that your brother’s safety was not foremost on Calvin’s mind. He was saving his own tail, and framing ours.”
“We have a choice now, and I’d like to get your input before I make a decision,” my dad said. “Once we get in contact with them, we can tell Kai’s Flight the truth and try to clear our name, but in doing that, we’d be implicating your brother. Or we can keep quiet about it, in which case we have to find a way to either fight these thunderbirds or convince them to stop fighting us.”
Parker stared at the floor, straight strands of salt-and-pepper hair hanging over his face. “You want me to decide whether or not to turn my brother over to the thunderbirds?”
“No.” My father shook his head firmly. “That’s my call. But I am interested in your opinion.”
Parker sat up then, his face lined in pain and bitter conflict. “Okay, if we turn him over, they’ll kill him. Right?” he asked, and the rest of us nodded. Even my mother, who sat with her ankles crossed primly beneath her chair, her expression just as guarded as my dad’s. “But if we don’t, they’ll keep killing us.”
“Yes. But it’s a bit more complicated than that,” my father said.
“Because of my dad?”
Again our Alpha nodded. “I’m assuming that if we turn your brother in, our chances of gaining your father’s support drop dramatically.”
“You might say that.” Parker raked one hand through his hair, and in that moment he looked much older than his thirty-two years.
