Ravensong Read online

  Marty himself was the worst of them. His clothes were always stained with dirt and oil, and he had scowled constantly. His hair was thin and wispy, sticking up around his ears. Pock scars marred his face, and his rattling cough sounded wet and painful.

  I thought him fascinating, even from a distance. He wasn’t a wolf. He wasn’t imbued with magic. He was terribly, painfully human, gruff and volatile.

  And the shop itself was like a beacon in a world that didn’t always make sense to me. Grandpap was a couple of years in the ground, and my fingers itched to touch a torque wrench and a dead blow mallet. I wanted to listen to the purr of an engine to see if I could hear what was wrong with it.

  I waited until a Saturday when no one else was around. Thomas was with Abel, doing whatever Alphas and future Alphas did in the woods. My mother was getting her nails done in the next town over. My father said he had a meeting, which meant he was with the dark-haired woman I wasn’t supposed to know about. Rico was sick, Chris grounded, Tanner on a day trip to Eugene that he had bitched about for weeks.

  With no one to tell me no, I went to town.

  I stood for a long time across the street from the garage, just watching. My arms itched. My fingers twitched. There was magic in my skin that had no outlet. Grandpap’s tools had mysteriously disappeared after his old lady killed him, my father saying they weren’t important.

  And just when I’d gathered up enough courage to cross the street, I felt a little tug at the back of my mind, a simple awareness that was getting more and more familiar.

  I sighed. “I know you’re there.”

  Silence.

  “You might as well come out now.”

  Mark stepped out from the alley next to the diner. He looked embarrassed but defiant. He wore jeans and a Ghostbusters shirt. The sequel had just come out. Rico and Tanner and Chris and I were going to go see it. I thought about inviting Mark too for reasons I couldn’t quite understand. He still got on my nerves, but he wasn’t so bad. I liked the way he smiled sometimes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “You’ve been standing there for a long time.”

  “Stalker,” I muttered. “If you must know, I’m going to go to Marty’s.”

  He glanced across the street, a frown on his face. “Why?”

  “Because I want to see inside.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “It’s—you wouldn’t understand.”

  He looked back at me. “Maybe I can if you just tell me.”

  “You bother me.”

  He cocked his head like a dog. “That was a lie.”

  I scowled at him. “Stop it. You don’t get to do that. Stop listening to my heartbeat.”

  “I can’t. It’s so loud.”

  I didn’t know why I had a loud heart. I hoped nothing was wrong with me. “Well, try anyway.”

  He was smiling a little now. “I don’t bother you.”

  “You do. You really do.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “What? Go where? What are you—hey. What are you doing?”

  He was already marching across the street. He didn’t look back even when I hissed his name.

  I ran after him.

  His stride was longer than mine. For every step he took, I needed to take two. I told myself that I would be bigger than him one day. It didn’t matter that he was a wolf. I would be bigger and stronger and I’d follow him around, see how he liked it.

  “We’re going to get in trouble,” I whispered furiously.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Your dad is going to be so mad.”

  “So is yours.”

  I thought hard. “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”

  “Like a secret?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Like a secret.”

  He looked strangely pleased. “I’ve never had a secret with you before.”

  “Uh, yeah. You have. You’re a werewolf. I’m a witch. That’s like, so secret.”

  “That doesn’t count. Other people know that. This is just a secret for you and me.”

  “You’re dumb.”

  We made it across the street. The garage doors were open. An old boom box blasted Judas Priest. I could see two cars inside, and an old pickup. One of the guys was under the truck. Marty was bent over a 1985 Chevy Camaro IROC-Z with an older man in a suit. The car was sleek and red, and I wanted nothing more than to put my hands on it. The hood was up and Marty was fiddling with something. The man in the suit looked irritated. He glanced at his watch and tapped his foot.

  I leaned against the side of the garage, Mark at my side. His fingers brushed against mine, and I felt something like a pulse of magic along my arm. I ignored it.

  “—and when did the engine light come on?” Marty was saying.

  “I told you,” the man in the suit said. “Last week. There’s no stalling, no hesitation. It doesn’t shake, it doesn’t—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Marty said. “I heard you. May be a faulty wire somewhere. These sports cars, they look nice, but they’re built for shit. You get all the pussy you want for a chunk of change, but they fall apart and you’re stuck with it.”

  “Can you fix it or not?” The man in the suit didn’t sound very happy. I wondered if he didn’t get enough pussy. I wondered what pussy was.

  “Grab the owner’s manual,” Marty said. “It better be in English or it ain’t gonna be for shit if the repair book I got doesn’t tell us anything. Let’s go into my office and take a look.”

  The man in the suit let out a huff but did as Marty said. He leaned into the IROC-Z and grabbed the manual from the glove compartment before he followed Marty toward the back office.

  Now was my chance. The pretty girl was just sitting there, wide open. Waiting for me. I was going to lube her up and put my fingers inside, just like Grandpap had taught me.

  “I’m going in,” I whispered to Mark.

  “Okay,” he whispered back. “I’m right behind you.”

  Judas Priest gave way to Black Sabbath as we stepped inside. It smelled of man and metal, and I breathed it all in. The guy under the truck shifted slightly but otherwise didn’t move. Marty and the man in the suit were back in the office, blocked by a car on a lift.

  The IROC-Z was there, waiting for me. She was gorgeous, a candy-apple red with black trim and silver rims. The man in the suit didn’t deserve her.

  I bent over her engine, searching for something, anything.

  “Light,” I muttered to Mark.

  “What?”

  “I need a light. When I ask for something, you hand it over. It’s how you work on cars.”

  “How am I supposed to find a light?”

  “With your eyes.”

  He mumbled something, but I ignored him, taking her all in.

  “Light,” he eventually said. I stuck out my hand. It was a small flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it’d do.

  “Come on, you little bitch,” I said.

  “What? You don’t need to call me names. I got the—”

  “Not you,” I said. “It’s something you do when you work on cars. You curse at them while you figure out what’s wrong. My grandpap taught me that.”

  “Oh. It helps?”

  “Yeah. When you curse at it enough, you finally figure it out.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It works. Trust me.”

  “I trust you,” Mark said quietly, and I felt another little curl of magic crawl along my skin. He pressed along my side, bending over the engine with me. His shoulder brushed against mine. “So we just call it names.”

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling slightly flushed. “I mean, that’s… yeah.”

  “Okay. Um. You… asshole?”

  I laughed. “You’re so bad at this.”

  “I’ve never done it before!”

  “So bad.”

  “Whatever. I’d like to see you do better.”

  I tried to think what
Grandpap had said. “Come on, you insignificant bastard. What the hell.”

  “Whoa,” Mark breathed. “That… your grandpa taught you that? My grandpa had hair sticking out of his ears and always forgot who I was.”

  “He taught me a lot,” I said. “Everything, really. Try it again.”

  “Okay. Let me think. Uh—how about, what’s wrong with you, you strange whore?”

  I choked. “Oh my god.”

  “Why won’t you tell me your secrets, you fucking shithead.”

  “I don’t know why I even let you come with me.”

  “Asshole motherfucking dick—”

  He was good. I could give him that. But before I could even think of telling him so, I saw it.

  “There,” I said, pointing the flashlight. “See? Right there? That’s what’s wrong.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Mark said.

  “It’s—ugh, just give me your hand.”

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Later, much, much later, I would think about this moment. The first time we’d held hands. The first time we touched of our own choice. His hand was bigger than mine, his fingers thick and blunt. His skin was darker and warm. The bones felt brittle, and I knew of the blood that thrummed just underneath. My father had made sure of it. I belonged to it, to the Bennetts, because of what was in my own blood.

  But I was only eleven years old. I didn’t understand then what it meant.

  He did, though.

  Which was why he inhaled sharply when I took his hand in mine, why out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of orange in the dark underneath the hood of the car. He growled a little, deep in his chest, and I swore in that moment the raven took flight. I—

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I dropped his hand, startled at the angry voice coming from behind us.

  Before I could completely turn around, Mark was in front of me, pushing me behind him. I stood on my tiptoes, peering over his shoulder.

  Marty stood there, looking flushed and pissed off. The man in the suit was confused, his tie loose around his neck.

  Marty’s eyes narrowed when he saw me. “You. I know you. I’ve seen you before. You belonged to Donald.”

  Donald Livingstone. My grandpap. “Yes, sir,” I said, because I’d learned early on that if you were polite to adults, maybe you could get out of trouble.

  “And you,” Marty said to Mark. “I’ve seen you following this one around.”

  “I keep him safe,” Mark said. “He’s mine to protect.”

  My hand tightened on his shoulder. I didn’t understand what he meant. We were pack, yeah, and—

  “Boy, I don’t give two fucks what you do just as long as you don’t do it here. Get the hell out of here. This is no place for—”

  “Spark plug electrode!” I blurted out.

  Marty blinked at me. “What?”

  I pushed Mark out of the way. He squawked angrily but crowded back into me, not letting any space between us. I didn’t have time for his werewolf idiocy. I had a point to make. “The check engine light. It’s because of the spark plug electrode. There’s motor oil built up around it.”

  “What is he talking about?” the man in the suit asked. “Who is this kid?”

  “Spark plug electrode,” Marty said slowly. “Is that right.”

  I nodded furiously. “Yeah, yes. Yes, sir. It is.”

  Marty took a step toward me, and for a moment I was sure Mark was going to wolf out. But before he could, Marty brushed by me and bent over the IROC-Z. “Flashlight,” he muttered, hand extended.

  “Flashlight,” I said promptly, handing it over.

  It took him a moment, but then, “Huh. Would you look at that. Must have missed it. Eyes aren’t what they used to be. Getting too old for this shit. Kid, come here.”

  I went immediately. Mark did too.

  “Excess oil,” Marty said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Could be an oil consumption problem.”

  “Or something with the emissions system.”

  “Or the ignition system.”

  “Fuel injection. The hose, maybe.”

  He shook his head. “Fuel isn’t leaking. No deterioration.”

  “What are they talking about?” the man in the suit asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mark said. “But Gordo knows a lot. More than anyone I know. He’s good and smart and smells like dirt and leaves and—”

  I banged my head on the hood of the car. I yelped at the bright flash of pain. Mark was there in an instant, hands on my shoulders. “Would you stop telling him what I smell like?” I hissed at him through gritted teeth. “You sound so weird.”

  Mark ignored me, putting his hands on my face and tilting my head down as he inspected what I assumed was probably going to be a gushing wound that would require stitches and would leave a horrific scar that—

  “A little bump,” he murmured quietly. “You need to be more careful.”

  I pulled away. “Well, you need to—”

  “Easy fix,” Marty said. “Should only take a couple of hours, barring the need to order any parts. Go have a cup of coffee at the diner. A slice of pie.”

  The man in the suit looked like he was going to argue, but nodded instead. He glanced curiously at Mark and me before he turned and walked out of the garage and into the sunshine.

  Marty turned back to me. “Gordo, right?”

  I nodded slowly.

  He rubbed a hand through the gray stubble on his jaw. “Donald was a good man. Stubborn son of a bitch. Cheated at cards.” He shook his head. “Denied it, but we all knew. He talked about you.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “He taught you?”

  “Yeah. Yes. Everything I know.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Mark coughed.

  Marty snorted. “Want to try that one again?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Eleven.”

  “Your pa do cars?”

  “No.”

  He looked at Mark. “Bennett, ain’t ya?”

  “Yes,” Mark said.

  He nodded slowly. “Strange bunch.”

  We said nothing because there was nothing to say.

  Marty sighed. “You’ve got an eye, kid. Tell you what.”

  “YOU CAN’T tell my father,” I told Mark as we walked away from the garage. “He won’t let me go back. You know he won’t.”

  Mark glanced at me. “This is what you want?”

  Yes. It was. It was what I needed. I didn’t know much else outside of pack life. Nothing I had aside from Chris and Tanner and Rico was mine and mine alone. Father didn’t like them and went so far as to try to forbid me from seeing them outside of school. But my mother had stepped in, one of the few times she’d ever stood up to him. I needed normal, she said. I needed something more, she said. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he’d relented. I’d hugged her for a long time after that. “Yeah,” I said. “This is what I want.” Then, “It’s another secret. Just between you and me.”

  His lips twitched at that, and I knew I’d won. “I like having secrets with you.”

  There was a strange twist in the pit of my stomach.

  “TETHERS,” ABEL said as he sat behind the large desk in his office. My father stood at the window, looking out to the trees. Thomas sat next to me, quiet and serene as he always was. I was nervous because this was the first time I’d been allowed into Abel’s office. My arms were sore from days under my father’s needles. “Can you tell me what you know about them?”

  “They help to remind a wolf they’re human,” I said slowly, wanting to get it right. I needed Abel to see he could believe in me. “They keep a wolf from getting lost in the animal.”

  “That’s true,” Abel said. He spread his hands out on the desktop. “But it’s more than that. Much more.”

  I glanced at my father, but he was lost to whatever he was
seeing.

  “A tether is the strength behind the wolf,” Abel said. “A feeling or a person or an idea that keeps us in touch with our human sides. It’s a song that calls us home when we’re shifted. It reminds us of where we come from. My tether is my pack. The people who count on me to keep them safe. To protect them from those who would do us harm. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, though I didn’t really. I looked at Thomas. “What’s yours?”

  “Pack.”

  That surprised me. “Not Elizabeth?”

  “Elizabeth,” Thomas said with a sigh, sounding dreamy like he always did when he mentioned her. Or saw her. Or stood next to her. Or thought about her existence. “She’s… no. She’s more to me.”

  “Who would have guessed,” Abel said dryly. Then, “Tethers aren’t just for wolves, Gordo. We’re called by the moon, and there is magic in that. Like there is magic in you.”

  “From the earth.”

  “Yes. From the earth.”

  It hit me then, what he was trying to say. “I need a tether too?” It was an immensely terrible thought.

  “Not yet,” Abel said, sitting forward. “And not for a long time. You’re young and just beginning. Your marks haven’t been completed. Until they are, you won’t require one. But one day you will.”

  “I don’t want it to be just one person,” I said.

  My father turned. He had a strange look on his face. “And why is that?”

  “Because people leave,” I said honestly. “They move or they get sick or they die. If a wolf had a tether and it was a person and they died, what would happen to the wolf?”

  The only response was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

  Then Abel chuckled, eyes crinkling kindly. “You are a fascinating creature. I’m so very happy to know you.”

  “I DIDN’T know about tethers,” I told my father as we left the Bennett house. “For witches.”

  “I know. There is a time and place for everything.”

  “Is there other stuff you haven’t told me?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. Some kids ran by us, laughing as they growled at each other. He sidestepped them deftly. “Yes. But you will learn, one day.”

  I didn’t think that was fair, but I couldn’t say so to my father. Instead I said, “Who’s your tether? Is it Mom?”