Destiny Binds (12 page)

“Mello Yello,” Jase automatically responded.

“Make that two,” said Charlie. “And some of those cookies with the red raisin things in them.”

“And a ham sandwich on one of those rolls with some hot pepper cheese and mayo,” Jase added.

“Oh, I want one of those, too. And a piece of pumpkin pie with the whipped topping that comes out of a tub, not the weird stuff from a can.”

The sad thing was, neither of them were kidding.

I grumbled to myself the entire way to the kitchen, resolving to only take back drinks.

Charlieʼs older brother was leaned against the counter, eating the last of the Snickers Salad directly from the bowl. “Hey. Whatʼs up?”

“Harper,” he mumbled, the only indication I got that he noticed my presence.

I was rummaging through the cabinets for some glasses the boys wouldnʼt accidentally crush into a million little pieces when I heard someone behind me. I jerked to the left, barely escaping the blow aimed at my head. My feet were immediately swept out from under me, sending me face-first into the counter. I rolled, my leg arching through the air until it made contact, sending my assailant into the pie safe. My fist shot out, but he managed to catch my wrist and pin me back onto the counter.

“Youʼre getting rusty, Scout,” Toby chuckled, letting me up.

I rotated my shoulder, certain I would have a new bruise in the morning. “Sorry, Sensei.” Of course, it might have been more appropriate for Toby to apologize since he was the one that attacked me for no good reason. Not that I was going to hold my breath for that one. Toby wasnʼt big on the whole admitting he was wrong thing. Itʼs not that I dislike Toby. Really, I admire him in many ways. After knocking up the head cheerleader in high school, he joined the Army so that he could support his new family while making the old one proud. After serving two tours of duty in Iraq, he came back home and joined the police force. When his child-bride left him a year later, he took on the job of raising Layne by himself. And he managed to do it all while still looking like a rock star.

On the other hand, he was a bit arrogant, somewhat moody, and excessively sexist. Toby had always helped out at Uncle Charlesʼs martial arts school when he was around and pretty much took over when he got out of the Army. He always expected Jase and Charlie to excel at every move. He pushed them hard, and was very expressive with his disappointment when they didnʼt live up to his exceedingly high expectations. If I managed to do well in any way the only emotion he ever managed to show was shock.

Tobyʼs biggest insult? “You fight like a girl.”

His biggest compliment? “Thatʼs showing youʼve got balls.” Imagine how proud Mom was when an eight year old Scout asked her what balls were and why it was good to have them.

“If you wanted a real fight you shouldʼve ambushed one of the boys,” I said with more than a little sass in my voice.

“A lot of good that wouldʼve done me. Youʼre the one with all the talent.” Well, that was unexpected.

“You think Iʼm talented?” It was still entirely possible that this was some big set up with my girly fighting skills serving as the punch line.

“Are you kidding?” Toby asked through a mouthful of pie. “Youʼre not as strong as Charlie or as fast as Jase, but youʼre the single best defensive fighter Iʼve ever seen. Itʼs like you can see the punch coming before your opponent even decides to throw it.” He was complimenting me? Really? Perhaps a zombie alien apocalypse was rapidly approaching after all.

I was grateful though that Toby had given me the perfect opportunity to bring up something that I had been thinking about for a while. I gnawed on the inside of my lip and focused my eyes intently on a water stain shaped like Abraham Lincoln on Grammaʼs ceiling. “I want to start training again,” I finally mumbled.

I was nervous as to Tobyʼs reaction. Toby was as abrasive and mercurial as Charlie was calm and consistent. I fully expected him to either laugh at me or complain about my attempt to waste his time.

“Really?”

“Iʼve been thinking about it for a while.” Since a snowy, icy day in November to be exact.

“Do you have a class I could join?”

“No, I donʼt.” My heart sank. “But I wouldnʼt mind giving you private lessons once a week.” My heart soared. That was even better than I had hoped.

We worked out a time that would fit both our schedules as I made a couple of ham sandwiches.

“Thank God, Iʼm starving,” Jase said, relieving me of half my load when I returned to the back room.

Charlie quickly grabbed the other half. “This white stuff is from a tub, right? You know I hate that can stuff. It tastes like metal.”

At some point I should have gotten used to their lack of gratitude, but I hadnʼt. What did they think I was? Some sort of personal servant eager to meet their every whim and desire?

Ummm, no. I donʼt think so.

“Wow, thank you so much, Scout,” I said sarcastically, repositioning myself between my brother and Charlie. “That was so sweet of you to fix us something to eat.”

“Thank you, Scout,” Charlie said, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Youʼre the best.”

Okay, so maybe I was somewhat wiling to meet Charlieʼs every whim and desire. “Is it good?”

Charlie took a big bite of his pie. His eyes got big as he struggled to swallow. “Itʼs great.” Charlie has always been a wretched liar.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. Itʼs great. Different, but good different.” I grabbed the plate from him and took a big bite, which I immediately spit out. “That Cool Whip is rancid!”

Jase leaned over and scooped a big glob of creamy white vileness onto his finger and plopped it into his mouth before I could stop him.

“Excellent work, Paula Deen,” Jase laughed. “Iʼm sure pumpkin pie with a nice sour cream topping is going to be all the rage at next yearʼs holiday gatherings.” I took a tentative taste and realized he was right. I had mistaken sour cream for whipped cream. At least Angel wasnʼt around to gloat over my disastrous culinary skills. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Iʼll go get you another piece of pie.”

Charlie grabbed the plate out of my hand. “No, you wonʼt. I told you, I like it.”

“You donʼt have to--”

“Scout, please shut up and let me eat my pie.”

He ended up eating the whole thing, sour cream and all. He tried to act like he was enjoying it, but I could tell he was just doing it so my feelings wouldnʼt get hurt. Charlie really was a good person and one of my best friends. He would do absolutely anything for me and trusted me implicitly. Which is why I felt really guilty as I dug into my purse when I was back home, sitting in the middle of my bed.

I grabbed the earbuds off of my iPod as the tape recorder rewound. The last thing I needed was for Jase to catch me.

The first thing I noticed when I pushed play was that my purse only slightly distorted the quality of the recording. I breathed a sigh of relief. My planning would have been for nothing if I couldnʼt hear what they said while I was out of the room.

The second thing I noticed was how loud and abrasive my voice was. Did I always sound like that? If so, how on earth does anyone manage to have a conversation with me?

The third thing I noticed was that boys can go a really long time without talking. I was just about to give up when one of them spoke.

“Why in the hell does she have that mongrelʼs pen in her purse?”
Yes! I made a mental note to thank Mr. Brenner for all of the useful information he taught us in our section on basic human psychology.

“I told you, she was working on that newspaper stuff with him,”
the other voice said. I was pretty sure that one was Jase. It was somewhat surprising how much they sounded alike.
“Iʼm
sure she borrowed a pen from him and didnʼt give it back. Itʼs no big. Seriously.”

“I told you to keep an eye on her.”
Was that really Charlie?

“I was.”
Well, that was definitely Jase.

“Not good enough.”
Okay, that had to be Charlie, although I wasnʼt used to hearing him speak so gruffly towards anyone, especially Jase.
“I swear, if he touched her...”
There was something on the tape that almost sounded like a growl. At first I thought it had come from Charlie, but then I remembered they were playing the stupid zombie alien game.

“Speaking of people keeping their paws off of my sister.”

“My paws have been over 300 miles away from your sister ever since August.”
Yep, definitely Charlie. And definitely not happy.
“I waited until Tuesday to come home just so I
wouldnʼt be anywhere near her. I didnʼt want you to worry your pretty little head even though
you know I could never do anything to hurt her.”

I glanced over at the calendar on my desk. Friday had been Charlieʼs last final. I had assumed he waited until Tuesday to come home so that he could celebrate all weekend. It appeared I may have been wrong.

“Thatʼs not what Iʼm talking about and you know it.”
The music from the video game was adding a dramatic edge to the conversation. Well, that or the pounding of my heart.
“You know
how she feels about you, man.”

He did? Oh God, no. No, no, no, no, no.

“And you know how I feel about her.”

How did he feel about me? I didnʼt know how he felt about me. Shouldnʼt I be the one with that knowledge?

“Sheʼs my sister.”
Even though his voice was slightly distorted, I could tell that Jase was talking through clenched teeth. It didnʼt take much imagination for me to visualize the hard look he was sure to have on his face.
“Anyways, donʼt you already have a girlfriend?”
Charlie had a girlfriend? Since when? And what did that have to do with me?

This wasnʼt exactly the sort of information I had been seeking, but I found it infinitely fascinating. And humiliating. And confusing.

There must have been a noise that the recorder hadnʼt picked up, because one of them asked,
“What was that?”

“Toby and Scout.”
That was Charlieʼs voice.
“Toby is trying to convince her to start training
again.”

“How? By throwing cookware at her?”
Well, that wasnʼt too far off the mark.

“Who knows with Toby, but he’ll do whatever it takes. He thinks it’s his job as Pack Leader to keep her safe. I’m surprised he hasn't assigned someone to guard her 24/7.” Pack Leader? Huh? And guard who? Me? From what? Alex? Did everyone know he was a werewolf?

“Well, he can back off now. The Coles are gone.”

Yep. They were talking about Alex. I wondered if I was the last person in Lake County to know about his split personality.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I went over to their place Monday night and the scent has almost completely
faded. Theyʼve been gone a full cycle. We are once again the only Shifters in Western KY.”
I sat, not breathing. My eyes were still frozen on the calendar. I had been unable to look away from it since I realized Monday had been a full moon. Charlie waited until after the full moon to come home.

Because he was a werewolf. Charlie and Jase were werewolves.

I pulled a long, shaky breath into my lungs. This was crazy. My brother was
not
a werewolf.

I would have known.

I walked over and tore my calendar off the wall and began flipping through the pages. This theory was going to be very easy to dispel. All I had to do was remember seeing Jase, fully human, on a night of a full moon. No big.

Or, it should have been no big. But of the twelve nights we had a full moon over the past year, I couldnʼt remember doing anything with Jase on any of them. On the contrary, I could specifically remember
not
seeing him on several of them. In February, he missed a basketball game and spent the entire night in his bed, deathly ill. In April, he had been on a camping trip with Charlie during the full moon. Septemberʼs full moon coincided with the night he spent at Gramma Haganʼs after she had a short stay in the hospital. Monday night he had went to do some last minute Christmas shopping in Nashville and spent the night at the Base.

Still, that didnʼt prove anything. I was not going to accept that my brother had a secret identity as a supernatural being without something a bit more concrete.

I grabbed a stack of books from underneath my bed and began thumbing through them, acting more out of habit than anything else. I was just about to grab another stack when something caught my eye. On the inside cover of a local library book was a plaque that read,

“In loving memory of Jason Anthony Hagan.”

Donating books to the library in honor or memory of a loved one was a common practice in our small town. Miss Nancy encouraged people to do it as a way to keep the library well-stocked, despite the countyʼs flimsy budget. When someone in Lake County passed on, their family would almost always purchase a book by an author or on a topic with which their dearly departed had a special connection. It was like sharing a piece of that person with the community.

Jason Haganʼs book was
The Voice of the Coyote
by J Frank Dobie.

The pieces started to slowly slide together and click into place.

I turned on my computer, grateful I had the foresight to dig it out from under a pile of Jaseʼs dirty clothes when we got home. After a brief debate with my morals, I managed to hack into the libraryʼs newspaper database.

The first thing I found was the obituary. It solemnly stated that Jason Hagan passed away on November 23. He was survived by his mother, one brother, and his wife, Rebecca Lowery Hagan. It did not mention that she was two months pregnant with his son at the time.

I finally found what I was looking for a few pages later. The headline read, “Local man dies in an early morning accident.” Below was a picture of a man decked out in camo, displaying the rack of a large buck. Although I never met him, I could imagine the way his green eyes shone with pride. Mom always said that Jase was a carbon copy of his father.

“Jason Hagan, 30, of Timber was fatally wounded in an accidental shooting at 4:36 am Tuesday morning in a wooded area approximately 15 miles north of Princeton,” the article stated. “Royce Pearlman of Fredonia states that he saw what he believed to be a coyote approach his deer stand. It was not until he reached the place where he thought the animal had fallen he realized his grave error. Hagan was pronounced dead on the scene.” Click, click click went the pieces of the puzzle in my head. Of course a large pack of wolves would draw attention running around Western Kentucky, but not coyotes. Coyotes were a dime a dozen. Just last summer Dad swore that he saw a huge one in our back yard.