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.”