minutes.”
She laughed quietly. “He’s a good kid.”
“Both of them are good kids.” He nodded. “Is there any way I can talk you into lunch?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t think it would be a good idea, Will.”
“Why not? It’s not like I’m going to maul you.”
She looked into his eyes and caught a glimpse of the same thousand-yard stare he’d trained on Peter Padrake back in the comic shop. He hid it right away, but it was there, waiting inside him. Rose hesitated. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Sometimes two people meet and there is a connection of sorts. An instant attraction. You look at somebody and wonder what it would be like. I don’t wonder that about you. You’re a nice handsome guy. And I want to like you in that way, honestly I do, but there’s just nothing there.”
He just kept smiling, his grin plastic on his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s harsh, and I feel bad about it, but I don’t want to lead you on.”
“Rose Drayton.”
The voice stopped her in mid-word. She turned on her heel, her hands clenching into fists. “Brad Dillon,” she said, her voice dripping with venom.
Brad looked just like he used to look in high school, when they’d dated. He had picked up a couple of new tattoos and his nose was now pierced, but other than that, he was same old Brad. Still the same hot brown eyes and handsome face. Still looking like he wanted to punch somebody, the arrogant prick. She used to think that smirk was sexy. Now she wanted to slap it off his face.
Her gun was in her tote inside the van, and Brad wouldn’t exactly let her get it. Without her gun, out here in the Broken, Brad had an advantage. He was bigger and stronger, and Rose had seen him fight enough times to know she couldn’t take him by herself. But she would make it expensive for him.
Brad fixed his gaze on William, sizing him up. “Don’t know who you are and don’t care. Just want to know what you’re doing with my leftovers?”
Rose braced herself. In a second William would slug him, and when he did, Brad would come right back at him. William looked strong, but Brad was no pushover and he fought hard and dirty. She tensed, ready to jump right in.
William looked at Brad with a slightly bored expression.
“She’s a lousy fuck,” Brad said. “I feel sorry for you.”
William said nothing.
Brad tried again. “I’d wear two rubbers if I were you. If you go bareback with that whore, your cock might fall off in the morning. You don’t want what she’s got.”
William’s stare gained a harsh edge, but Rose couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or scared. “This thing you’re trying to start isn’t worth my time,” William said. “Are you done?”
“No.”
“Get on with it. I’d love to chat, but I’m getting kind of hungry.”
Brad looked slightly confused. “Screw off, asshole.”
William shrugged. “Anything else?”
Brad glared at the two of them. She tensed, expecting him to leap at them, swinging. He hovered on the edge of violence, muscles playing along his jaw. Come on, she thought. Bring it. She almost wished he would.
“Your new man’s a pushover.” Brad sneered.
He was backing down. Rose waved her hand, trying to hide relief. “Keep on walking, Brad.”
Brad turned on his heel and stalked off. Must’ve decided the odds were against him.
William smiled, looking nice and pleasant, that same flat smile glued onto his lips. “Old boyfriend?” he asked.
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“Back to what we were talking about,” he said. “I appreciate that you leveled with me. But I think if you gave me a chance, I’d change your mind.”
“I doubt it,” she murmured.
The door of the office swung open, and Teresa emerged into the sunlight. Short, stocky, and dark, Teresa took one look at William and stopped, drinking him in.
“I have to go,” Rose said.
“Till next time then.” William took a step back and strode off.
Teresa raised her eyebrows at her. Rose shook her head and climbed into the van. She had enough trouble as it was. She needed to get through the day, get home, make sure the boys were okay, and think up some challenge for the blueblood. She felt bad about cutting William’s wooing short, but it was best this way. It wouldn’t go anywhere between them. Concentrate on important things, she told herself.
THE day slowly cooled down to evening. Jack slipped outside the door and sat on the porch. The old wood was warm under his legs, heated by the late afternoon sun. He squinted at it, a bright yellow coin in the sky. Shiny.
Rose said to stay inside, but inside was boring. He stayed inside the whole day, in school, and he was good and didn’t fight with anybody, didn’t even scratch Ayden when he tried to steal his eraser. He ate the nasty fried fish sticks without complaints, even though they tasted like dirt mixed with some kind of mystery meat. He didn’t get any warnings or yellow tickets, and now he wanted to be outside. What’s the point of going to school if you can’t go outside after? Besides, it was only four, and Rose wouldn’t be home until five-thirty or even six.
He sat silent, watching the woods with wide-open eyes. Listening. So many little sounds. A bird, somewhere far to the north, screaming at an intruder to its tree. Angry, feisty squirrels swearing at each other in their squirrel chatter. He watched them play chase up the blue spike pine. The skin between his knuckles itched, wanting to split under his claws, but he sat still—the pine’s branches were too skinny. He couldn’t climb them. He’d already tried twice, and they’d broken under him both times, leaving him scratched and smudged with sticky tar.
A big bug landed on the board next to him. It was dark blue and glossy. Jack held absolutely still.
The beetle waddled along the wooden plank on black chi tinous legs. Jack tensed, following it with his gaze. Pretty, shiny bug.
Footsteps approached from inside the house. Georgie, about to ruin the fun.
The beetle’s back split, releasing a light fan of shivering, gently unfurling wings. The bug waddled on across the porch. Jack crept after it, soundless and slick.
“Jack, we’re supposed to stay inside,” Georgie scolded through the screen door.
The bug stopped at the end of the wooden plank, as if considering the plunge to the green grass below.
“Go away!” Jack mumbled through his teeth.
The beetle’s wings trembled again. The two halves of its back rose, like another pair of hard blue wings above its insect shoulders.
“Jack, get back inside! Rose said . . .”
The beetle’s wings sped into a blur, and it launched itself into the air.
Jack pounced.
He cleared the porch in a single leap, snapping at the beetle with his fingers, and landed in the grass, empty-handed. Missed!
Georgie jumped out onto the porch. “Come back here!”
Jack chased after the beetle. It flew left, then veered right, a fat bright buzzing thing on a whirl of cream wings. He leaped, so high for a second he was flying, and caught the beetle between his palms. “Gotcha!”
Sharp legs pierced his skin. He laughed and peeked between his fingers.
“Jack!” Georgie’s voice rang like broken glass.
A stench lashed his nose, bitter and harsh, followed by a creepy feeling that something cold and slimy had dripped on the back of his neck. He whirled.
A beast stood on the grass. Five feet tall, it balanced on four skinny legs, its body turned at an angle, its head facing Jack. Its chest was deep, and past it, its body slimmed down, each of its ribs clearly visible, before terminating in powerful hindquarters. It looked like a racing dog. At first glance, the beast’s hide seemed almost black, but when the sun touched its spine, the thick skin stretched over the beast’s back turned a dark smoky purple tinted with black and green, like a bad bruise. It had no fur, only a row of short, sharp spikes running down the
