least graceful landing ever. He was exhausted and breathing hard, and he stumbled as his feet hit the driveway. We both pitched ass over teakettle into the dirt. Phin twisted around at the last moment and took the brunt of the fall.
His arms loosened, and I rolled off his chest, giving him as much room as possible. He hadn’t pulled his wings back in whatever way he does when he bi-shifts (a gift only a few of the Clans possessed), and I realized I was kneeling on one. I scrambled away on my knees, about to apologize.
“Go,” he said, flapping one hand at me even as he gasped for air. “I’ll be right there.”
I didn’t argue, just squashed down that seed of guilt, rolled to my feet, and ran toward the house.
It was a two-story log cabin style, with a wide front porch and lots of windows. It was also completely dark, not a single light on in the house or the yard. The moon provided a bit of illumination, but I didn’t have super sight or even very good night vision. I grabbed a large, smooth stone out of the row lining the flower beds, and then crept up onto the porch.
My heart thundered in my chest, so loud in my ears that I swore anyone within a hundred feet could hear it. Boards creaked beneath my feet. The front door was ajar. I inched closer. Toed it open a bit farther.
A brown blur flew in past me—Phin in osprey form.
Dammit
.
I busted in behind him, one hand holding the rock back and ready to swing, and the other reaching for a light switch I knew was there somewhere. The house was nearly silent, save the whispery sounds of flapping wings. Phineas was usually the epitome of caution. The fact that he’d barreled inside like this spoke volumes about his state of mind.
My questing fingers finally found the damned switch. A table lamp blazed to life, casting a yellow glow on the cozy front room. A rocking chair was knocked onto its side, and several books were scattered around on the floor as though shoved there. Nothing else seemed out of place.
The downstairs held the living room, kitchen, and a bathroom, and I checked them quickly. Then I hit the stairs, taking them two at a time, confident that if anyone was lurking upstairs to attack, Phin would have let me know. The second floor was basically a short hallwaywith four open doors. I went into the first on the left—Ava’s room—and froze.
It was a mess. The crib lay on its side, bedding and stuffed toys scattered about. A framed picture of a dancing princess had fallen, and its glass littered the pale yellow carpet. A curtain was ripped off the rod. Toys spilled out of an upset basket. Aurora had been so proud of this room …
“Phin?” I said.
“Here.”
I followed the sound across the hall to Joseph’s room. Phin had shifted back and stood stark naked in the middle of the bedroom, staring down at the floor. The bandage was gone, and his cut from the rave fight had healed a bit; it was still red and puffy, but no longer bleeding. I couldn’t tell if anything in the room had been disturbed, because it looked like a monk’s cell—single bed, single piece of framed art, a few books on a side table, nothing else.
“They’re gone,” Phin said. The utter heartbreak in his voice chilled me. He turned his head to look at me, devastated blue eyes glittering in the semidark.
Furious tears stung my eyes. As I approached, my nose told me what he’d been staring at on the floor before I made out the stain. I squatted. Touched it. Cool, but still damp. “We didn’t miss them by much,” I said. “Blood’s fresh. Not Halfie blood.” I hadn’t even realized Halfies were my top suspects for this until I said it.
It made a horrific kind of sense, and Felix had been the perfect distraction.
“It’s Therian,” Phin said.
“You can smell that?”
“Yes. Our blood is … earthier.”
I touched his shoulder. “We’ll find them, Phin. I swear to you, we’ll find them. Alive.”
He met my gaze. Blinked. A single tear tracked down
Learning to Kill: Stories