“Absolutely, would you like me to tow them back to the shop so I can get a thorough look? Or I can also come to the motel and just poke around and see if I can figure out what’s going on,” I offer, and Teo looks a little taken aback.
“Oh, you’re the one who does the actual fixing?” he asks, surprised, and I try not to roll my eyes.
“Yes, this is my shop. What kind of cars are they?”
“They’re both Range Rovers. Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all caveman there; it’s just when Cassie said go to Griffin’s, I pictured someone more…” he trails off.
“Not me?”
“Yes, although as I’m saying that, I’m realizing it still sounds sexist, so I’m just going to shut the fuck up now and hope you’ll still look at the cars.”
I laugh and give him a kind smile. “Of course, don’t even worry about it,” I tell him as I push up the sleeves of my work coveralls and make a list in my head of things I should add to my toolbox for this call.
Teo’s eyes fix on the markings on my forearms, and I see them widen with shock and then confusion for a fraction of a second before he takes a deep inhale so he can scent me. I’m not all that surprised by his smelling me; I mean, I did the same thing when he walked in, but it’s like my marks themselves triggered something within him, and not just general curiosity.
His brown eyes move to my hands as I set them on the front desk while I wait for him to tell me what he wants to do about his cars. His shocked gaze flicks up to mine, and he opens his mouth to say something when suddenly “Who Let the Dogs Out” starts playing from his front pocket.
He takes a moment to sort of snap out of whatever stupor he’s currently in, and then he quickly reaches into his pocket for the phone.
“Fucking twins,” he mumbles as he swipes to answer.
“Yeah? . . . Shit. Where?” he asks, his face going hard.
I can hear someone on the other line answer, but I can’t make out what they say.
“I was just speaking with the mechanic. No, it’s fine, I’ll meet you guys there. Hold on one sec,” he tells whoever is on the phone, and then he looks back over to me. “Sorry, a work thing has come up. Can I come back later to make arrangements?”
“Of course, just text this number,” I tell him as I hand him my card.
His eyes flit back to my marks, and then he backs up and turns for the door, bringing the phone back up to his ear.
“I’m on my way now. Is the Witch there? . . . No, but something weird just happened, and I think it’s something we all need to look into.”
The door shuts behind him, making the bell ring again. Well, that was weird. I turn my attention back to my laptop. Maybe I’ll call Cassie and see what this dude and his pack are all about.
My skin prickles, and I can practically feel Pigeon on the brink of taking over. So I quickly put my parts order in and shut everything down. I lock the front door, double-checking that I actually got it this time, and flip off all the lights. I head to the back of the shop that now houses a gryphon-sized doggy door. It’s basically a metal shutter I fabricated to cover the hole an impatient little chicken wing put there a couple weeks ago. I’ve rigged it to go up and down like a manual garage door, so it worked out fine. But Pidge and I had a little chat about patience.
I start to strip out of my coveralls, tank top, bra, and underwear, and before I can say Pidge is a needy bitch, she shoves her way out of me like it’s Black Friday at Walmart and the doors just opened.
“Easy dude, I just finished that,” I growl at her when she uses a little too much strength to open the metal door.
She gives me a sheepish shrug, which is about as close as I’ll get to an apology from her, and we’re leaping for the sky and pumping our wings as hard as we can, aiming for the colors that are just starting to streak across the horizon.
We live on the outskirts of a keep-to-yourself town that’s more Supe than Non. I thank my lucky stars for that; otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to do this. I sit back and enjoy the view as Pidge works through her feelings with barrel rolls and corkscrew dives. She soars and races the wind and screeches out a dominant cry, claiming the sky for her own.
I try not to feel sad that there’s no one to answer her like there should be. I spend my days trying not to think about the what ifs, but when I’m trapped in my own head while Pigeon is in control, it’s hard not to. I’m not sure what happens to us if we can never get back. Sure, having jeans and underwear is not something I’m in a hurry to abandon, and fuck knows the food here is a million times better. I didn’t realize how much I had missed working on cars and talking to people who get my jokes or swear like I do, but this place could never feel right, because it doesn’t have them in it.
Pigeon sends me an image of Zeph trying to work the coffee maker, or Treno attempting to start the microwave, and I chuckle. This world would eat them alive. They’d probably try to fight cars, altogether thinking they were wild beasts, or yell at the TV because it wouldn’t obey their commands.
Pidge soars on a current,
