“I don’t suppose the Grimms were big on cognitive therapy.”
“I could totally do a weekend locked up in a tower though. As long as I had books and a window seat. And no witch. Imagine how safe you’d feel if the only way anyone could get in was if you let down your hair.”
“Sounds vaguely metaphorical. Let your hair down. Take a risk.”
“I’d let my hair down for you,” she said, grinning.
“You might not get much reading done.”
She laughed. The sound carried louder than she’d expected, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I’m laughing. Someone is coming after us with a gun! Though, to be fair, all this is a little other-world-y. Like being stuck in a fairytale.”
“More Grimm than Disney, I’m afraid.”
“Perhaps a little of both.”
Tom could definitely make the cut for a Disney hero, though he might have to lose the cynicism about love to get his happy-ever-after.
They fell quiet again. She got the feeling he was letting her set the pace, even though he was in front, so she tried to go as fast as she could. As they came to a stream, something rustled in the bushes ahead, and he raised a closed fist and signaled her to get down. An Army thing? They crouched beside a large log. He raised the gun to his shoulder. Something streaked past them, a blur of ginger and white.
“My first fox,” she whispered.
Tom smiled, and signaled with his hand that they should continue.
“What did you do in the Army?” she asked, as they resumed walking. “I mean, beyond being a major … Tom.”
“In theory, counterinsurgency and training local security forces. In practice, bugger all, though I did enjoy the tactical and leadership side of things. And I was a good shot. I was broughtup shooting rabbits and clay pigeons with a .22, and stalking deer. I just didn’t much like training weapons on…”
“People?”
“Yes. Thing is, you’ve got this super-high-tech scope on your rifle. You get a crystal-clear picture of what happens when you pull the trigger—biologically. A hostile might be a hundred meters away and they’re blindly taking potshots, and they stick their head above a wall and… And you want to close your eyes—you don’t want to see it—but you have to watch because you have to confirm the… Confirm you neutralized the threat. You have to watch.”
“I couldn’t imagine,” she said softly.
Tom seemed so different from the charmer she’d first met, even in appearance. His eyes seemed deeper set. He was mostly unshaven and his skin had a touch of gray—perhaps a reflection of the cloud cover, in the way the sea took on the shade of the sky.
“When I left the Army, I vowed I would never again pick up a weapon. But here we are. Though I’m hoping we’ll get through this without having to use it, especially seeing as we’re literally outgunned. If it’s us or them, I’ll do what I have to, but…”
“Totally understandable that you’d be conflicted.”
He took a deep breath. “It’s hard to put things back into perspective after you’ve watched yourself do that to someone, even if they tried to do it to you or your mates first. They had their reasons, same as you. They were following orders, they believed they were defending their way of life, whatever. And I don’t believe anyone is truly evil. Or, to be precise, I think the number of truly evil people in the world is tiny. The rest are doing what they believe to be right, however misguidedly.”
“What about whoever’s hunting us?”
“Seems obvious that they’re coming after us because they think we saw something, so self-preservation, I guess.”
“If only we knew what we’re supposed to have seen.”
He drew to a halt. “We’re here.”
She’d been so absorbed in their conversation she hadn’t noticed the foliage thinning. They’d climbed a ridge and were almost out of the trees. Below them was a field and an old stone house, much smaller than Tom’s but grand in its own right. As they watched, a pickup emerged from a tree-canopied driveway and screeched to a halt outside the front doors. The driver jumped out and ran to the front door, his dark gray coat flapping—no, not the driver. Wrong side of the car. It was the passenger.
That coat. It reminded her of something.
The man let himself in and disappeared. The driver, wearing a blue puffer jacket, hopped out, and walked to the bed of the pickup. Amelia went rigid.
Tom stepped out of the tree line and did a big wave, to get the driver’s attention. As he went to call out, Amelia sprang forward and planted her hand over his mouth. He mumbled something, as she dragged him under the canopy. She looked at the house, nervously. The guy hadn’t seen. The front door stood open.
“That guy,” she said, releasing Tom, “the balding one in the blue jacket—I saw him in your grandfather’s study yesterday.”
