Nevermore (Crossbreed Series Book 6)

Shepherd sat on one of the bottom steps of the stairwell and smoked his cigarette. He stared at the winged statue in the foyer, his thoughts as clouded as the air in front of him. A lot had been weighing on his mind lately. Stuff he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with others.

Gem suddenly flashed by, nothing visible but a blur of purple hair and a kimono. She didn’t float in the swimming pool every evening, but the drizzle from earlier had let up, and the night air must have called to her. The heated pool made it comfortable to swim after sundown, regardless of the weather. Heating the pool alone was probably six hundred a month, no doubt one reason Viktor disallowed electricity through most of the house. Only Gem swam in the winter. She had few outlets to indulge in. Didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, wasn’t into working out, and spent long hours holed up somewhere doing research for Viktor. Sometimes it was as if she’d completely disappear, so Shepherd suspected she had a hidden room somewhere in the mansion where no one could disturb her. She probably hoarded stacks of top-secret books or antiques from the pawnshops they occasionally raided.

Wyatt emerged from the hall to the dining room. Hunter rode his shoulders while pulling Wyatt’s hat off and putting it back on again. Wyatt’s head was forced down, but he was also distracted by the bag of french fries in his hand.

He sat down next to Shepherd. “Want some?”

“That shit’ll kill you.”

Wyatt held the bag up, and Hunter plunged his arm into the sack and came out with a fistful of fries. “Live a little, Shep.”

Shepherd reached in and grabbed a fry. Then he waved it at Hunter. “This isn’t a vegetable.”

“Kid, you’re killing my neck.”

Hunter slid off Wyatt’s shoulders and then squeezed between them so he could sit with the men.

Wyatt rubbed his neck, stretching it to either side.

Shepherd liked to see Hunter wearing the Sensor gloves. They let him pick out his own clothes each morning to give him a sense of identity. Some days he wore his shirt backward, but it was part of the deprogramming process Shepherd had put in place to reverse the damage Patrick had inflicted.

Wyatt licked salt from his fingers. “Do you think Raven’s coming back?”

“What makes you think she won’t?” Shepherd stamped out his cigarette beneath his boot and pinched the filter between his fingers.

“She found out her dad’s a trusted human and went back home. I’m willing to bet she’s done with vigilante work.”

“Doesn’t sound like Raven.”

“Care to make it interesting?”

“Keep your money. It’s bad mojo to bet on someone’s future with Keystone.”

Wyatt pulled off his hat and raked his hand through his tousled hair a few times to get it out of his eyes. Most women considered him handsome until he opened his mouth. Wyatt was flirtatious, but he also had an offbeat sense of humor that turned a lot of people off. His personality was more youthful than his age.

Hunter stole the hat and put it on his own head, pulling it all the way down to his chin before peering up at Shepherd through the tiny holes in the fabric.

Shepherd tossed the butt of his cigarette in Wyatt’s bag. “Maybe you should stay out of everyone’s business.”

“What else have I got to do?” Wyatt reached in the bag and kept eating his fries. “I don’t like having all this time off. I spent two hours this morning watching videos on the internet of people eating. Do you know how much money they get paid for that? I could make a small fortune.”

“Maybe you should call your show Dining with Spooks.”

Wyatt nudged Hunter. “Your dad has a real sense of humor.”

Shepherd couldn’t get used to that word.

Dad.

He felt undeserving of the title, especially since he was having difficulty bonding with Hunter. Shepherd didn’t want to force anything, and he wasn’t an affectionate guy. It was hard to tell what the kid thought about him. He didn’t say much, and it didn’t feel right reading his emotions. Hunter was family, and he deserved to have emotional privacy whether he asked for it or not.

He looked down at Hunter. “Is it bedtime?”

Hunter shook his hat-covered head.

Shepherd peeled the hat up past his nose. “You need some oxygen, little man.”

“Want another fry?” Wyatt offered Hunter the bag.

Shepherd scowled. “Don’t give him that. I put my cigarette butt in there.”

“Oh, but it’s okay for me to eat it?”

“You’re half dead anyway.”

“Grease is good for the body,” Wyatt argued. “It oils the joints.” He flexed his arm and then his bicep, sending Hunter into a fit of giggles. “Don’t listen to your old man. He smokes like a chimney. Now that’s a bad habit.”

Shepherd gave him an icy stare. “Zip it.”

Wyatt snapped his beanie off Hunter’s head and pointed at the statue. “Why don’t you go over there and climb that thing.”

Hunter dashed off.

Wyatt rolled up his sack of fries and lowered his voice. “Did you pick out his room yet?”

“I’m waiting on them to deliver the bed.”

“Doesn’t it already come with a bed? If not, Viktor probably has a few spares lying around.”

“No. And he shouldn’t have to sleep on a dusty old mattress. It was one of Viktor’s storage rooms. I spent all day yesterday moving shit out.”

“Which one?”

“My hall. The last door at the end.”

Wyatt looked upward, probably recalling the house’s layout. “I don’t think I’ve been in that one. Come to think of it, I haven’t been in half the rooms in this house. We had so many spooks wandering around for a while that I was afraid I’d bump into a new one, so I just got used to minding my business.”

They both sat there watching Hunter as he anchored his foot on the statue’s knee and grabbed one of his wings, using it to pull himself up.

“Maybe you should take him to the rock-climbing room,” Wyatt suggested. “Boys that age have a lot of energy to burn.”

“Viktor doesn’t like him on the statues, but look at him.” Shepherd chuckled when his son held the edge of the sword to climb onto the statue’s shoulders. “He’s a natural climber.”

“Do you think he’ll ever talk?”

Shepherd’s smile withered. “What do you mean?”

Wyatt leaned back with his elbows on a higher step. “He just whispers in your ear, but he doesn’t talk. That’s not normal.”

Shepherd cracked his knuckles one at a time. “Patrick had a rule about not speaking unless spoken to. I have a feeling he didn’t like the kid making noise. Kids are loud. They laugh, squeal, make animal sounds—it’s what they do. Guess it didn’t fit in with his perfect world. Plus it was just another way to control him.”

“Don’t give him toys, don’t give him an imagination, don’t give him a voice. Guess who never won the Dad of the Year Award? Asshole. Too bad I wasn’t there when he died. Maybe it would’ve been worth seeing the freshy just so I could tell him what a no-good scumbag he was. And to think Patrick was the fastest swimmer.”

“Huh?”

Wyatt stood up with his sack in hand. “You know. Semen. That’s why we’re all here.”

“Don’t say that shit around my kid,” Shepherd hissed.

Wyatt scrunched his face. “You said ‘fuckhole’ at dinner. But you’re worried about a little semen? What do you have against semen? It’s biology.”

“If you don’t pipe down, I’m gonna knock you out.”

Kira appeared, carrying a wicker basket filled with fresh candles. She was doing her usual nightly rounds, replacing candles in the main halls. Shepherd had once suggested oil lanterns since they were safer than kerosene, but Viktor liked his candles. He thought they were cleaner, cheaper, and didn’t cause carbon monoxide poisoning.

Wyatt leaned against the railing and stared at the tattoos on his fingers. He didn’t seem interested, let alone curious, about their new tenant.

A blue kerchief covered Kira’s head, her fiery hair visible in the back. In her dowdy dress, she looked like a demure Cinderella covered in streaks of soot. Shepherd pondered how the hell she had time to do it all. Sweep and mop floors, clean ash from the fireplaces, cook, do laundry, wash dishes, change and put out candles, and all the other monotonous tasks that had once filled their days. He’d even seen her pruning the rosebushes and other plants in the garden, getting them ready for spring.

“I think he’s losing a tooth,” Wyatt remarked.

Shepherd swung his gaze up. “Huh?”

“I noticed him wiggling it. Or have you forgotten that kids lose all their teeth? That’s a freaky thing when you think about it. And then they stuff the tooth beneath their pillow in exchange for money. Humans and their twisted fairy tales. And what exactly does the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth? Nobody ever thinks of that. But it’s all magical.” Wyatt made air quotes. “I bet the real magic is the Tooth Fairy uses those teeth to build her castle.”

Kira reached up to coax Hunter down, but Hunter wasn’t listening. He was having too much fun. As much as he wanted the kid to keep climbing, Shepherd also didn’t want Hunter to think it was okay to disrespect people who were just looking out for him. This was the part where he had to be careful with disciplinary actions.

Shepherd got up and walked over, hands on his hips. “Come on, little man. If you’re not tired, you can play in Kira’s room. The house is too big to be wandering around in late at night. You might run into a ghost.”

Kira watched the two with interest, but the way she looked at Shepherd made him self-conscious.

“He has to meet Viktor’s wolf,” Wyatt called out.

Shepherd turned on his heel. “What?”

“Blue’s falcon too. They don’t want any accidents in the house. Hunter’s new, and you know the drill.” Wyatt walked up a few steps. “I think they said tomorrow, but nobody tells me anything. Do me a solid and call me when it happens. There’s nothing exciting going on around here, and I’d hate to miss out on all the action.”

Shepherd looked up at Hunter and realized the kid wasn’t coming down. So he reached up and touched his ankle, sending a flurry of tickles his way. They were the tickles he’d saved up from Maggie—all her laughter and emotions. He had never let them go after all these years, and it was the only emotion he’d freely given to others in the house. Storing her laughter was his way of keeping her memory alive.

Hunter giggled and giggled, as if the funniest thing in the world had taken hold of him. He squirmed and tried jerking his leg away, but Shepherd had a firm grip.

“Stop!” the boy shouted, still laughing.

Shepherd let go.

Hunter’s voice hadn’t been timid or even childlike in that moment. They’d marveled over his naivety and innocence for weeks, but it wasn’t until that moment that Shepherd realized a part of Hunter’s innocence was gone. He might never know the cruelties his son had endured when he misbehaved, got too loud, or even spilled a glass of water. Shepherd’s eyes stung with tears, and he turned, realizing there was nowhere to look without someone seeing his weakness.

Without his realizing it, Hunter had climbed down from the statue and was standing in front of him. Shepherd pinched the tears out of his eyes and looked down at his son.

The boy’s touch was so featherlight and discreet that Shepherd hadn’t noticed it at all. Hunter’s blue eyes widened, brimming with uncertainty as Shepherd’s emotions poured into his hand. Had he ever experienced someone else’s pain or sorrow? Could he distinguish the difference between grief and empathy?

The catch in his throat left him speechless, so he mussed up the kid’s hair and jerked his head toward the back of the house, signaling it was time for bed.

As long as someone could keep an eye on Hunter, Shepherd didn’t care how long he stayed up. But for now, the boy needed to learn that running through the house alone wasn’t an option. There were too many halls, too many rooms, and too many chances to lose him. He might accidentally lock himself in some secret closet, never to be heard from again. Aside from that, Shepherd wanted to teach him respect, and the only way to do that was to set boundaries.

When Kira approached Hunter to take him to bed, she handed Shepherd a fresh candle before walking off. It was the first time he’d felt a glimmer of any emotion besides fear. She hadn’t touched the candle but a moment, and her curiosity was so fleeting that it felt like a bird escaping from Shepherd’s grasp.

He retrieved a matchbook from his pocket and used it to light the wick. The candle illuminated his immediate surroundings, most of the room alight from sconces affixed to the walls.

Wyatt had split, so Shepherd sat down on the stairs, cupping the candle in both hands. He stared at the flame for countless minutes until he lost himself in the light. Hunter probably thought he had a big weirdo for a father—some chain-smoking lug who was always drinking. A guy who came off as too abrasive one minute and too quiet the next. Was Shepherd fooling himself into thinking this was the best situation for his son?

Maybe Hunter would be better off with real parents. Shepherd could see the pros and cons of each. How the hell was he supposed to know which choice was the right one? His worst fear was Hunter not having the very best life that he deserved.

“Give me a sign,” he asked quietly. “Just one sign so I’ll know what to do.”