“Fucking Gordon.” I groaned, shuffling away from a recovering Laken. Rushing to the fish dying on the floor, I gagged. I’ve always hated fish.
“Is there a net or something?” I turned to Laken, who finally stood straight. Ignoring the depth of his dark eyes, I waited for his answer, frantically raising my brows and waving my arms. A fish lay dying at my feet.
As if he were stuck in a trance, he shook his head and blinked. He didn’t say anything but walked around and picked Gordon up with his… bare hands. I’d rather skin my palms than touch a fish with my bare hands.
Grossed out, I relaxed my downturned lips and opened my mouth to speak.
“We should probably get going,” Laken started before I could. He took a step back, and in that moment, something changed in his features. He’d erased something, moved past it, or shoved it behind to somewhere I couldn’t see. Behind a mask. “We need to get to the market, get Indo’s medicine, and”—he glanced down at my boots—“get you some new shoes.”
“Then get to it.”
He moved past me, walking toward the door. Not saying another word. Closing my eyes, I breathed.
“Coming?”
Erasing the thoughts from my mind, I grabbed Blaze, placing him on my shoulder. Snatching my bag of coin from the counter, I followed him out as if nothing happened. Because nothing did.
Nothing happened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I didn’t sleep much at all that night.
Shopping wasn’t much fun considering we were both pissed off. Sure, there was a lot between us that I didn’t understand, but one thing had become crystal clear: Laken and I could no longer read each other.
We’d stopped by one of Honey Brooke’s boutiques and I bought new boots. Neither of us spoke; we hardly dared to look at each other. At the vet’s office, I’d spent most of my time trying to avoid throwing up from the foul scents. Thomas Everdeen, the veterinarian, chatted with Laken about Indo. Apparently, stomach problems among dragons aren’t uncommon. He said they eat things they shouldn’t and because of the heat in their guts, it can harden or turn to a violent gas.He sent us on our way with a gallon glass jug of some concoction, and we continued our silent journey.
Dragging myself into Goldie’s Market, her stone walls and air crisp with fruits and vegetables welcomed me. Market by day, Rabbit’s Foot by night—she did it all. The market was one of the places in town that almost felt like home—or made me long for it, at the very least. A warm hue of light fell over the shelves and baskets, a buttery tone gifted from the sun peeking in from outside. Pastries, bread—a carb lover’s dream.
My mother loved it as well; we’d come weekly for groceries and to put in orders for the creatures. She’d pick out fruits, knocking on melons and feeling the softness of loaves through the wrappers. I could still see her with a bandanna tied in her hair—the same hair as me, a basket on her arm, the sun on her skin.
Then I’d started coming alone. I put orders in, I bought groceries that I cooked, and I hated every trip. I wasn’t sure what to feel now. Laken did the work, as he’d memorized the list, and paid in exact change.
Maybe it was the nostalgia, maybe it was whatever had happened between Laken and me, but my brain felt like Butters had squashed it with a paw. Fortunately, I had an idea.
When things go wrong, there was always my favorite option. Forcing myself from bed, I danced across my cold floors and grabbed a piece of parchment paper, ink, and a rallow feather. Throwing myself into the chair by my dresser, I wrote three words.
Dear Maggie,
Help.
A bit dramatic, maybe, but I needed her. She was visiting soon anyway; what did it hurt to call for her to come a day or two early? I needed to get my life into some sort of plan, and how else would I? By myself? I didn’t think so.
The next morning, after feeding the creatures, I bolted from Laken to get to the post office and be at Sweet Fang as soon as possible.
Honey Brooke’s post office sat near the middle of town, next to the very new town center, which I refused to step foot into. I swung the glass door open with the rolled-up letter in one hand, thankful nobody else waited inside. The smell of paper and envelopes hit me in the face, along with the scent of bird. I forgot how nasty it got in here with the rallows. Open bird cages were stationed at both sides of the front desk and two more in the corners by the door. Cawing and squawking made it difficult to hear, but I read Franny’s lips as she said, “Reece! Welcome in.”
Ducking and covering my head, I tried to smile. “Hello,” I yelled as I reached the desk. “It’s been a while, Franny, how are you?”
She shrugged, but in her own prissy way. Her blond hair came to her shoulders, her skin fair. Every family had that rich aunt who never wanted children and instead spent her money spoiling her nieces and nephews. Franny was that, but for all of Honey Brooke. She’d happily married a member of the courts who lived in the city and visited on weekends. When we were young, she’d pick us up from parties so we didn’t ride horseback drunk. She only worked to entertain herself. “Same old same, you know how it is around here. How’s Archie?”
“He’s good,” I said. “Archie’s still Archie.”
“I heard you guys have a lot going on over there at your place. How is everything? Some of the girls were giggling about how Laken is running it now. That’s great to hear! It’s easier to let the men—”
“I’m sorry.” I stopped her, leaning in. “What did you say?”
“Oh.” Franny sat up. “That a couple of the girls in town said Laken was running the sanctuary.” Each word came slower than the last as she picked up on my turmoil setting in.
