My brows lower as I pull away from Apollo, turning to face him and Donatello. “What’s the deal with ‘pup’? I thought you two had quit the nicknames.” At least between each other. I liked the nicknames they had for me.
Apollo opens a smirk. “Ren’s the new guy. He has to be broken in.” Apollo skips down the steps of the porch like that was the funniest shit ever.
I glower at his back. “You know, you two only have a day or two over him.”
Donatello drops his arm over my shoulders, then he closes the door. “For the intensity of the two days, it might have been a lifetime.” And he drops a kiss to my temple. My body warms to his presence, and his heart beats against my ear as we walk together to the car.
The drive, this time, is much quicker. No one tries to chase us, and I keep my powers to myself. Apollo drives to the address I gave him, Donatello’s phone propped on his thigh. Ren sits in the passenger seat, his arm draped behind Apollo, his eyes constantly searching mine. Donatello’s knee brushes mine, and he keeps his hands close to his lap, out of the sun.
The longer we drive, the harder my heart thunders. Fuck. This is it. With all the stuff going on and the heated evening we shared yesterday, I put the weight of today in the back of my mind. I’m about to meet my mother. I peer down at my palms. My hands tremble. When I ask her why she abandoned me, what is she going to say? Is she going to reject me again?
The memory of her face, and the disgust written over it, is all I can see when I close my lids now. My stomach churns.
Donatello’s chilly hand covers mine. I meet his gaze, the only part of his face I can see. He doesn’t say a thing. He just looks at me with that fierce reassurance. With that promise that he’ll forever be by my side, no matter the shit that goes down.
I intertwine our fingers, tilt my lips into a smile, and look back out of the window.
We drive out of the road and into a small town. The sky is dark here, heavy and low like it’s about to rain. I swallow at the ominous atmosphere. The buildings are small, dark, brownish. There’s a motel at the entrance, a diner with windows so grimy I can’t see through them. Inside the car, there’s silence. Ren’s shoulders bunch together. The scent of something like herbs burning hits my nose.
“What’s that smell?” I murmur. The place has the sort of heavy atmosphere that makes you want to whisper. That makes you want to diminish until you disappear.
“Wards.” Apollo’s voice is taut, and his gaze flies from one side of the street to the other. Some people are out and about, though it’s early. They narrow their eyes at us with suspicion but do nothing else. “We’re not welcome, but we’re not forbidden from coming in.”
I curl my nose, looking outside at an old woman sweeping her porch. She stops and meets my gaze, gray eyes so deep I get lost in them. She’s old. Wiry, hoary hair tied back in a low bun, her dark purple dress hangs loose around her gaunt form. With the broom in her gnarly hands, she makes me think of...
“Witches,” Donatello spits, his hold around my hand tightening. “It’s a city of witches.”
I snap my gaze to him. “Seriously?”
He nods. “The herbs. They’re unmistakable. When you hire a witch to make a ward for you, they’re good, and they work, but they’re not the best. Now, with a city made up of witches? Oh, no. Their wards are much more powerful.”
“Is that why we can smell them?”
Donatello shakes his head, the head wrap swaying almost comically. “No. We can smell them because they want us to. They want us to know we’re not welcome, and the smell signs the wards stretching around us. The wards are supposed to let supernaturals in, maybe. Or maybe mages.” And he shoots a glance in my direction. My stomach plummets at the thought of me being a mage. I was never anything special, on the contrary.
Apollo takes a turn, then another. We drive to the edge of town, where the trees grow closely together, and the rain has started. We gape at the numbers in the houses, breath bated, looking for the right one. I count each of them with the beats of my heart.
Twenty-two. Twenty-four... Thirty-four...
“Here it is,” Apollo calls out, parking in front of the thirty-six. He kills the engine, and we stay there, looking at each other for a moment. Or with them staring at me.
Donatello strokes a circle in the back of my hand, speechless. Apollo reaches out and grips my shin between strong fingers. Ren turns to gape at me, his eyes full of expectation. It’s my call. No one’s going to do it for me.
I fill my lungs with fresh air and open the door. The early morning breeze wafts inside the car, bringing with it the scent of wet grass. It’s a wonderful thing. The kind of grounded smell that brings with it comfort. I raise my eyes to the house in front of me, but an empty feeling pulses inside my chest. There’s nothing. I feel nothing for it, nothing for the place.
I put a foot out of the car, then stop and whirl around. Apollo and Ren follow me, no questions asked. Donatello starts to slide in my direction when I stop him.
“You should stay,” I tell him, regret edging on my voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt again, and you’ll be safer inside the car.”
Donatello shakes his head, the turban moving dangerously. “It’s not sunny. And I want to be with you. If you’d have me.”
Pressing my lips together, my heart swells. Fuck, these men. These men and their loyalty, and how fucking brave they are for standing by me even when they don’t need to. I nod to Donatello, and he slides out of the car, turban and all. The four of us stand together in a circle for a moment, then Ren shoots me a reassuring smile, and I take the last step.
Onto the porch, I raise my hand and knock. It takes several of my hasty heartbeats for me to hear footsteps. They only make my heart beat faster. I’m nauseous now. It would be the cherry on top to vomit on my mother after all these years. And it would be the least she deserves.
The door creaks open like the maw of a beast, darkness beckoning. From the shadows, a woman in her sixties squints at me through sleep. She’s in her robe, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. The perfect sight of coming back home.
She widens her eyes when she sees my face. There’s the glint of recognition there, and it isn’t good. Her mouth drops for a second, then locks, and she tries to slam the door in my face. I’m faster. My foot shoots out, and the door slams on my boot. She gapes in surprise at me, then her brows lower in a glower.