Chapter Seven
The next morning at eight, Mike marched from room to room, banging a spoon on a skillet.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" he said, barging into Shadow's room and tripping over a pile of DVD cases. "You are hereby invited to a round table of the greatest import!"
"Geddout," Shadow moaned into her pillow.
He popped her on the back of the head with the spoon. "Up, I say!"
"Mike!" Shadow howled, slinging a fist back at him. "Get out of my room!"
Mike dodged, stumbled on the DVD cases, hooked a foot around his ankle, and crashed to the floor. Shadow's mouth fell open and she rolled out of bed, dropping at Mike's side. I flattened myself against the wall, blinking sleep out of my eyes.
"Oh my god," she said. "Mike, are you okay?"
He coughed dramatically. "Do you know what we do to the people who kill messengers?"
"God! Get out!"
"I think I'm mortally wounded," Mike said. "You'll have to help me down to the kitchen."
Groaning, Shadow helped him up. He threw an arm around her neck and dragged her into the hall. All I could hear for a few minutes was her earnest swearing.
"You coming, burrito?" Mike asked from the stairs.
I pushed my sheet off and stumbled after them.
When we entered the kitchen, I stopped at the entrance. Don and April were sitting in front of the whiteboard, Dad at the head of the table. I don't think he had slept at all. There were circles under his eyes. Avoiding his gaze, I squeezed between Mike and Shadow and kept my head low. The minute Shadow hit the chair, she dropped her arms on the table and sank between her elbows. The only sign that she was conscious was the faint flutter of her eyelids.
"Tell me when it's over," she groaned.
"I'm sorry to wake everyone up so early," Dad said, "but we need a contingency plan. I think it's inevitable that the Foot finds us. Raphael is still out there, and eventually he'll think to come here."
"But Raph would never turn us in," April said.
"Perhaps not willingly." Dad's expression darkened. "Let's consider the idea that we are surrounded and that ninja come through the trees." He slapped a crude map onto the table. "Don's tunnels are going to be our ideal escape routes because each tunnel releases you into the trees from inconspicuous exits. April and Don will take the north exit; Shadow and Mike, the south; Saya, you take this one with me, to the east. There are locked grates at the ends of these tunnels—we'll get everyone the necessary keys. In case of danger, I recommend lying down in the brush until everything dies down—it will be hard to see you through the undergrowth unless you're moving. We'll go through some drills to make sure everyone has it. Don and Mike will escort our human friends to Northampton proper. Saya and I will try to draw their attention."
"What if they make it to the kitchen before we do?" Mike asked.
Dad shook his head. "Then we'll be forced to fight our way to the trapdoor. It's preferable to running out of the front and back entrances. The hope was that we could know they were coming with enough time to spare. I'm confident in Don's security system since it is… ah… overboard."
Donatello snorted into his coffee.
"It picked up earthworms," Dad said.
Donatello waggled a finger. "Ah, but it can isolate weights and vibrations of particular note, particularly those unique to human weight and speech…"
"Earthworms in the adjacent property," Dad said.
"And did it alert us? No. You're allowed to be anal about your pursuits, and I'm allowed to be anal about mine."
Dad lifted his hands in surrender. "In any case, everyone is going to carry a phone at all times, and we'll start keeping watch. Donatello has programmed a custom app that's tied into the security system, which will instantly warn us about possible intruders."
"But I don't have a phone," I said.
"We've ordered a couple," Dad said.
Elation welled up in my chest and I hugged my knees.
"What'll we do when Casey comes back?" Mike asked.
"We don't know exactly when he'll show up," April said. "He almost never calls ahead. All I know is that he's probably coming back in June."
"Then we should pretend he's coming back tomorrow," Dad said. "How are we going to dispose of the car? The evidence that we have been living here?"
"We shouldn't dispose of anything!" April said. "Lying would be the worst thing we could do. I'll break the news to Casey. He'll take it."
"I'll make him take it," grumbled Shadow.
"Sounds good," Dad said, "but what if Raph comes back?"
"Way ahead of you," said Donatello, leaning back in his chair. "I'm repairing the car as we speak, and I'm going to give it a new coat of paint and forge some valid registration stickers and plates. We've needed a new vehicle, so we'll just tell him we bought it for a song."
I thought of Texas, the driver belching blood on the gravel. The memories felt like the observations of a ghost that had shared my body. I shuddered.
"As for your living here," Don said, "just make sure you don't leave any personal items in your room. I can hide some of your stuff in my barn, and Mike can hide the rest in his attic. Any books, Shadow can keep in her bookcase. So on and so forth. Spread it out."
"Oh, that's gonna last how long?" Shadow muttered. "You're gonna relax and forget about it."
"We'll do our best," Dad said. "By the way, Shadow, April—Don tells me that you were training with him for a few months. Would you like to pick up where you left off?"
Shadow frowned; April shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Dad said, "but I invite both of you to join us in the mornings."
"I don't want to kill anyone," Shadow said.
"You don't have to," Dad said. "You just have to knock them down long enough to get away."
"All right," she said, burying her face into her arms. "But not this morning."
"Very well," Dad said. I saw the flicker of disapproval in his face. "With that in mind, I want to bring up… the newest concern. We initially planned on going to New York City to assassinate Karai."
The room grew very still.
"Saya does not want to anymore," Dad said. "She wants to stay here with the family."
Shadow's hand slipped down to mine and gave it a squeeze.
"I thought we should put it to a vote," Dad said. "Please keep in mind that whether we kill Karai or not, the result is the same: the Foot may find us and some of us may pay with our lives. There is a chance, however small, that if we were to kill Karai without being detected, our case would be reviewed by a Foot committee and dropped. That is why I recommend that we continue reconnaissance and training: in case we change our minds, and in case the Foot push us into future action."
"You forgot to mention what would happen if we kill Karai and the Foot finds out," said Donatello. "'Clusterfuck' would not even begin to describe how screwed we'd be. Right now we're on the target list, sure, but we aren't an urgent concern, and killing us is optional. Hell—all they did in New York was use legal skullduggery to punish Casey and April."
April scowled. "I think I see where you're going with this. If you kill their NYC leader for the third time…"
"We'd push ourselves up to Target Number One," Donatello said. "No more Mr. Nice Foot. Everyone involved with us would become a valid target, even Saya."
Dad nodded curtly. "We can put off this vote until the evening if anyone needs time to think." His eyes settled on me. I couldn't look.
"I think I'm ready, bro," Mike said.
There were nods around the table.
"All who would like to stay?" Dad said.
Everyone's hands went up but his.
Dad was gone that morning, and for many mornings afterward. He kept his word to the best of our knowledge. He did not join us for katas. He left early, before anyone else woke up, and the only sign that he existed was the carefully scrubbed bowls and plates in the dish drainer. April joked about being haunted, and left notes out asking the Ghost to please stop in for dinner sometime. We think he was going for long walks around the property.
"Don't worry about it," Donatello said. "He needs his alone time."
Each morning, my alarm screamed in my ear: 5 AM! 5 AM! 5 AM! I rolled out of bed and dragged myself down the hall to check on Mike and Shadow. Donatello was always waiting for us in the living room, idly pushing décor around with his bo.
At first there was stretching and cardio, then katas, then items of special focus.
"As your temporary dictator," said Donatello to us, "I hereby command you to find three things you want to improve at, and then work on them."
"What if there are more than three?" Mike asked.
"Then I'm sorry. You'll probably die."
"Thanks."
Mike and Shadow practiced nothing but stances and simple katas for a while. I went through all of my basics, and Mike was usually my partner for throws and grappling.
Donatello made up for all of our pathetic posturing. If I had to practice throws with him, he wouldn't go down for nothing; he'd knock me down first, show me where I had gone wrong with a paragraph of exposition, then knock me down again. When it was time for our special training—Shadow with some new kata, me with throwing knives, shuriken, and the bokken, Mike slowly readjusting to his nunchaku—Donatello wowed us with lightning-fast staff work. Jabbing, stabbing, whirling that bo until it was nothing but a blur, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, the very image of martial arts. He always finished by standing back and wiping the sweat off of his forehead with a dramatic flourish.
"Damn, Don, don't give yourself a heart attack," Mike said from where he was lying in the grass.
One Monday morning, two weeks after he had first disappeared, I woke up to see Dad sitting on the edge of his bed, polishing his katana. I didn't say a word, and he didn't look at me. I threw on my clothes and pattered downstairs.
He joined us at breakfast without comment, walked out with us without comment, and practiced with us without comment. He only touched me once, and that was to correct my posture. When he raised his left arm, I could see that the wounds had healed over nicely. I could also see that they'd left some nasty scars.
In a couple of weeks, Dad was almost as good as new, and in a couple of months, both of us had filled out. I actually had a stomach and a body shape for once, and was pleased to see the curve of muscles in my arms. Mike stuck to his diet, more or less, and very, very slowly began to grow leaner. One day during freeform sparring, I actually knocked Donatello down. He chased me into the trees for it.
When we weren't practicing, we finished chores; and after chores, we played. Mike loaned me books and appointed me Official Second Pre-Reader, after Shadow. He wrote Young Adult novels, usually sci-fi and fantasy—his bestselling series followed a time traveler to feudal Japan. When the afternoons were nice, he would troop out to the clearing with one of two tools: his laptop with a solar-powered charger, or an easel and an art box full of acrylic paint and brushes. Sometimes I was by his side in an oversized apron, a bag of markers, and a pad of paper. With slow, stumbling strokes, I scrawled the endlessly forking branches of trees.
Donatello showed me all of the remote-controlled robots he had built, not one of which was sensible. We spent an entire day shooting foam pellets at each other with his miniature tanks. Another day, he let me fly a model helicopter into Shadow's room and dump a load of acorns on her. After a great deal of begging on my part, he showed me how to pilot his small submersible. Watching it zoom around the pond, stirring up a frothing wake, I felt I liked it best. Knowing it had returned Mom's swords made it something of an ally.
Shadow introduced me to the Internet at large, video games, and a host of movies and shows. I couldn't stay on the computer terribly long—Shadow would get antsy and kick me off—and although I soon had a sleek phone of my own, it didn't come with much of a data plan. ("Emergencies only," Dad had said.) I made do by playing with her game consoles. For a long time, I could only play 2D games; the 3D boggled me and I kept second-guessing my character's position in-game. If I wasn't hugging walls from my sheer terror of ledges, I was fleeing madly from the monsters. Direction was all I really seemed to get. Shadow laughed over my shoulder and told me to face the creatures head on. I responded by accidentally leaping off of a cliff to my death.
April was mostly a silent figure in the house—silent and closed off. She was usually working at the computer, her thumb thrust up beneath her teeth; in the evenings, she took walks by herself with a camera around her neck. Once a week she would go shopping and return with a trunk crammed with goods, usually with at least one new t-shirt or pair of pants for me. One afternoon, I asked her what she liked to do for fun. She smiled.
"Reading, photography, and documentaries, mostly!" she said. "And some online chess."
On my own time, I spent several afternoons just exploring the property, learning where the stream was, the little animal paths, the blueberry bushes. I searched for the inconspicuous exits that Dad had told us about. I didn't find them. Instead, I lost myself in the flickering golden light beneath the branches, clambering over broken stones and gnarled roots, slipping through brush and bramble, serenaded by songbirds. At least once a day, I went up to the attic to take Mom's katana out of their sheaths and wipe them down. Their maintenance was an act like worship. The steel was gorgeous, rippling colors of silver and white. I practiced with them quietly, by myself. Holding them gave me a thrill I could not define.
As for Dad, he rarely spoke, and after katas would disappear into the trees with a book under his arm. I only saw him in the mornings for breakfast, and in the evenings for dinner and bedtime. Sometimes I marveled at him quietly; how funny that mere weeks before, I had thought of him as a colossus?
One afternoon in June, I was out with Mike in the shadows of a tree. A thunderhead was thrusting itself toward the moon, and the air was thick, heavy, and still. Mike was painting the pond again, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. I had perched on a branch above him to read through The Chronicles of Narnia, a chilled glass clinking in my hand. Halfway through Chapter Three in The Magician's Nephew, I ran out of lemonade. Groaning, I jumped down.
"Where are you going?" Mike asked.
I lifted my glass.
"Ahh," he said, smacking his lips. "Bring me some, will you?"
I had just entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator when I heard the gate at the head of the drive squeaking open.
April dashed into the living room and threw the front door open. "Oh my god," she said. "Casey's back. Saya, can you go to your room for a minute?"
I nodded. Filling a glass with lemonade, book under my arm, I stomped up the stairs. Just as I was about to hide in our room, I hesitated, and looked to my right. There was April's room, and the door was cracked open. So was her window—the window that looked over the drive.
Silent as a ghost, I slipped into her room. It was a plain place, perfumed faintly with vanilla, with a few lovingly framed pictures of the stream and deer paths. Banged-up furniture, a patched off-white bedspread, and yellowed curtains glowed faintly in the summer sunlight. I dropped down to my knees beside the open window. From my vantage point, I could see the reflection of the drive and parts of the road in the window glass.
An old truck with a camper rocked down the drive, both its windows rolled down, its windshield blazing white with the glare. It groaned to a stop in front of the house. Huffing, a muscle-bound goliath drenched with sweat dropped onto the drive. I thought of Raphael the minute I saw him—he had big meaty arms, a chiseled jaw, a six o'clock shadow. April plunged out and threw her arms around him, and he gave her a ridiculously oversized kiss on the temple.
"The AC went out on this hunka junk!" he said, smothering her in a big nasty sweaty hug. "I hope you don't mind smelling like an armpit."
"I'm just glad you're back. Why can't you call like normal people?" She punched him in the shoulder.
"I'm not no normal people."
"Grammar, Casey Jones!"
He groaned. "Shut up, you," he said, and kissed her.
Eyes rolling, I was just about to sneak back to my room when the passenger door swung open. A cane stabbed into the earth, and Raphael limped out.
I shrank down against the floor, heart thudding, glancing back at the open door. Shadow's room lay just at the end of the hall. Hugging my glass and my book against my chest, I doubled over and raced for it. My hand dropped on the doorknob and I twisted.
It was locked.
"Oh!" April said. I could hear the note of panic in her voice.
"Yeah, I'm glad to see you too," Raphael said.
"It's not that!" April said. "What happened to you?"
I beat on the door. "Shadow!" I hissed.
Outside, Mike shouted a greeting. I instinctively flattened against the floor. One of the ice cubes drifted away from its brethren and clinked loudly against the glass; I bit my lip.
"Hey, long time no see!" Mike said. "What's up?"
"Mike, brother! Looking good!" Casey said. "Phew, you stink."
"And you don't, bro?" Mike said. "Ahhh, Raph. How are you, man?"
Raph grunted. "Been better."
"I can see that. How'd that happen?"
"Leo." Raph spat. "I'm on leave."
Mike whistled. "Sorry, man."
"Sorry ain't the half of it."
"Don't pay attention to Raphael," said Casey. "He starts whining the second he can't punch someone to death."
"Well, you know what I always say," April said. "If there's one thing that'll heal all wounds, it's R&R on the farm."
I thought of Dad and swore under my breath. I renewed my beating of the door. I couldn't hear the TV, so I figured that Shadow had her headphones on.
"I gotta keep the weight off of my knee for at least another four months," Raph said. "Goddamn it."
Mike laughed. "Hey, it's no problem, man. We've got a new easy chair in the den, and it's got your name on it. Need help?"
"No," Raph said. He was limping over the drive. I knew because I could hear the gravel crunching at uneven intervals.
"Well, all right, Mr. Sunshine." Mike pounded up the stairs—it had to be Mike, nobody else was that enthusiastic—and held the screen door open. I heard feet tramping through the door, the squeak of the floorboards, the door clapping shut, the salty, sharp tang of new people. Swallowing, I fled to our room. I saw a flash of Donatello in the kitchen—our eyes met with a fretful glance—and then I quietly shut the door. I thought of the whiteboard in the kitchen and stiffened: they had written our names on it.
"Hey, Don!" said Casey. "Don, my car's AC is shot. If you don't take care of it, I swear to god, I'm kicking you out. Uh… what are you doing?"
"Cleaning. What does it look like? Ah, Raphael. I didn't think I'd see you back here."
"Yeah," Raphael said. There was a soft note to his voice that I didn't like. "Weird thing to clean there, Don."
"Weird? What's weird?"
"The bottom of the whiteboard, there. We got visitors?"
"Yeah, two hose-brains who are going to do all the lawn work."
"Hey, look at me. You think I'm gonna be doing any lawn work?" A crack on the linoleum—the hard tip of a cane?
"Calm down, Rambo," Casey said. "Go sit down and I'll find you something to drink."
"Raph," April said, "let me help you. Come on, sit down."
"No. I've been sitting for five hours. I feel like stretching my legs." A clumping sound toward the stairs.
"Oh, Raph, your room is definitely not ready," April said.
"Oh, it isn't?" he asked. "Why's that?"
Shit.
"Man, Raph, what's wrong with you?" Casey asked. "I thought you'd be happy to come back."
"Something's wrong," Raphael said. "They're hiding something. Or someone."
"Can it. Paranoia doesn't suit you," Donatello said. "Sit down. I was just about to make dinner."
"Not hungry." A thump on the bottom stair.
I glanced wildly from side to side. I set my glass and book on the nightstand, then grabbed Dad's backpack from beside the bed. I peeked outside the window, looked down at the ground—but quickly nixed the idea of dropping it outside. I could hear voices from all over the house; what made me think that a backpack hitting the ground would be any better? So I stuffed it into the closet, my arm wrapped across the zipper pulls so they didn't clink, and gently set it against the wall behind a pile of folded quilts. I thrust our books behind a couple of shoeboxes on the top shelf. Then my eyes lit on the clothes hanging on the rod and my heart beat in overtime. Raph's leather jacket hung right there, and on the floor were his boots.
The thumping had reached the top of the stairs.
"Bro, come on," Mike said. "We're not gonna put you on the second floor anyway. Not with your knee like that."
"I just want to check on something," Raphael said.
"You can check on things later," April said. "Come back down, please."
"Raph, for god's sake," Casey said. "Calm the hell down. We're home now!"
"Don't tell me to calm down," Raphael snapped. "If you guys got Leo up here, I'm going to be pissed."
"Leo?" Mike said. "We haven't seen Leo in years. What makes you think he'd come back here?"
"You are the worst fucking liar," Raph said.
"Bro! Language!"
"I'm going to the barn," Donatello said icily. "When you're done with this puerile nonsense, let me know."
The trapdoor slammed.
"Can someone translate that for me?" Casey asked.
I had rolled up the jacket and boots and stuffed them under the bed, pinning them behind one of the rolling plastic bins that April used for storage. Very, very quietly, I shut the closet door.
The thumping hesitated at the door, and I saw the doorknob turn. I grabbed my glass, swept across the floor, and dropped out of the window.
I didn't drop all of the way to the lawn; there were big windows down there, and Casey would see me for sure. Instead, I dug my fingers and toes into the clapboard, then stared helplessly at my huge glass of lemonade, and at the climb that would take two hands. I heard our door creak open.
"Hey," Raphael said. "April, who's been drinking in this room?"
"No one, Raph."
"There's a ring here on the nightstand, and it's still wet."
"Might've been Shadow."
"Really?" Raph said. He hobbled to the closet and flung the doors open.
The possibilities rushed through my head: drop the glass, risk Casey seeing it from the huge windows on the front porch; try to hold the heavy, slippery glass in some way while I crawled across the side of the house (impossible); hang on the wall holding the glass and pray to god that Raphael wouldn't look out of the window, a thing he would most certainly do.
Taking a deep breath, I chucked the glass as hard as I could across the lawn. It bounced on a tussock with a loud clink. Lemonade splashed across the greenery and ice glittered everywhere. I frightened a few pale yellow butterflies, who fluttered dumbly in zigzags.
"What was that?" Casey asked. I heard heavy boots striding across the ground floor toward the porch.
"What?" Raph said.
Shit!
I booked it across the wall, aiming for the roof. I hadn't climbed in a while and I made more noise than I meant to; Raph's footsteps quickened, he staggered, the floorboards groaned, and just before he elbowed his way between the curtains I swung up onto the roof. I squashed myself behind a gable, clapping a hand over my mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly. The tiles practically sizzled against my feet, but I didn't move, not an inch.
Casey was trotting across the lawn, April and Mike in pursuit. I couldn't move. If I didn't go over the roof, Casey would see me when he turned around. But the minute I moved out from behind the gable, Raphael would see me from the window.
"What'd you see?" Mike asked.
"You guys are ridiculous," April said. "You know how Shadow is."
"Why the hell would Shadow throw something out of her window?" Casey asked. He bent down and when he rose again, it was with my glass in his hand.
Shit shit shit.
"What happened?" Raphael shouted.
Casey turned and raised the glass, and just before he could say anything he saw me.
"Who the fuck is that?" he said.
I leaped up over the roof. Raphael howled from below.
"It's her!" he said. "They are here!"
I slid down the roof on the other side, dropped onto the porch awning, and took a running leap off onto the lawn. I sprinted into the dim green light between the trees, heart in my mouth, the backs of my legs scraped bloody by the hot shingles. Oh my god, I ran, I ran until sweat poured into my eyes and the forest lashed me as red as a cooked lobster. I fell so many times I lost count, so many times that my arms hurt all the way up to my shoulders. It seemed like an eternity before I heard the stream's musical burbling.
I ducked beneath a stone shelf near the water and huddled there, arms wrapped around my knees, heart pounding. I heard Mike shouting my name from far away, but I didn't move. I cursed myself for my stupid escape plan. But like Dad was fond of saying: the past is the past. What to do now? Run? Run off into the trees as far as I could? Leave Northampton?
Leave Northampton.
"No," I said to myself. "No."
My heartbeat slowed, my hard breathing subsided, and I dug my nails into my knees. I damned Dad in my head: of course Raphael had come back, of course he had. He was going to ruin everything. I raised my head and scowled across the stream. Fronds bobbed gently in the rain-scented breeze; the wind whispered through the crowns of the trees. A willow nodded its great dipped head and the strands of its mane sang softly.
"You're not taking this from me," I said.
It was slowly that I walked back to the farmhouse, tracing my nerveless fingers on the trees, bruising the ferns beneath my feet. I reached the treeline about the same time that the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. For a while, I stood motionless in the darkness, staring up at the porch, fireflies flickering around me in the gloom. All of the lights in the house were on, and Mike was sitting on the porch swing, chin on his chest. The camper was a black silhouette, massive, portentous. Like a bull with its head lowered.
I stood very tall, threw my shoulders back, and marched out of the forest.
Mike looked up, and a smile broke across his face. "Saya!" he said.
A rapid set of thuds from the kitchen, and Raphael burst out of the door, a great light-limned shadow. He radiated anger so intense that I could feel it, the same way you feel fog on your skin.
"I knew it," he said. "I fucking knew it!"
"Bro," Mike said softly, "leave her alone."
"You know I can't do that."
"Dude, this isn't a request. Leave her alone."
I stalked up the stairs and thrust my chest out.
"So, giving yourself up?" Raphael said. "We coulda done this a long time ago, and nobody woulda got hurt."
"No," I said, and set my feet at shoulder's width. "I'm staying right here."
His eyes narrowed. "I don't think so. This is the last bit of heaven we've got left. Like hell am I leading the Foot to it."
I started to laugh. "Oh my god!"
His hand tightened on the hook of his cane. "What's so funny?"
"Just try and catch me," I said, setting a foot on the first step. "How fast are you with that cane, grandpa?"
"You wanna say that again?"
"Hey!" Mike threw his arms between us. "Stop. Just stop. This isn't going to achieve anything."
"I'm not going anywhere!" I said.
"You don't have to!" Mike said.
"If we don't get rid of her, you know what'll happen!" Raphael snapped.
"Dude, with all due respect, fuck you," Mike said. "You don't 'get rid' of family, you get me?"
"She stabbed me in the knee."
"And you tried to stab Leo in the goddamn heart," Mike said. "He nearly fucking died."
"Good!"
My face blazed.
"Good?" Mike said. "Oh my god. You gave him shit about being the Foot's lapdog, but he never came home and knifed one of us."
"He didn't?" Raphael said softly.
"Oh, goddamn it, Raph. That was so clearly an accident."
"You and I both know how much they were fighting near the end. And if anyone knows how to arrange a murder, it's Leo."
"Yeah, and you and I both know that Leo would never go that far," Mike said. "Give it a rest."
"Wait!" I said. "What are you talking abou—"
"Nothing," Mike snapped. "And don't you even think about it, Raphael."
Raphael took a deep breath and dropped his head. "Fine. I am too tired to deal with this."
"Good," Mike said. "Go lie down. This is also not a suggestion."
"Casey will want her out too," Raphael hissed.
"I'm not leaving," I snapped. "More people are on my side than they are on yours, and this is a democracy."
"We'll see," Raph said. "But remember. I know where you are." He limped into the house.
Mike drew me into a hug. It was only then that I realized how hard I was shivering.
Casey was hunched over at the dinner table, glowering, a mug of beer in his hand. His eyes leveled on me as I stepped inside. Mike stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders.
"God, Casey," Mike said. "I hope you're calmer than Raph."
"I'm about to be," Casey said, lighting a cigarette.
"Okay, look, yeah, this is hard to take, but I promise that they're here for a good reason."
I glanced over my shoulder at Mike, frowning.
"I don't want Leo anywhere near my family," Casey said. "The kid's even more trouble than he is. Just… get them off my land."
My heart sank. "Please," I said. "Don't make me go."
Casey's face softened a little. "Aw, goddamn."
"I really like this place," I said quietly. "I've actually been happy here."
Casey groaned. "No, kid, you've got to go. You've really got to go."
"I'm gonna help around the house." I stepped up to the table and looked him earnestly in the face. "I'll mow the lawn."
The corner of Casey's mouth turned up. "What, so we can see the Foot creepin' across it better?"
"I can protect the family," I said. "I can kill anybody who tries to hurt us."
Silence. Casey leaned back in his chair, expression hardening.
"Uh, too much information there, Saya," Mike said.
"Chip offa the old block, huh," Casey said, taking a long drink.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"Oh-kay!" Mike said, grabbing me by the shoulders. "Up to your room, Saya, dear friend." He started pushing me through the kitchen.
"I'm talking about protection and self-defense!" I said. "Not killing people for fun!"
"Not a good time!" Mike said, pushing me up the stairs.
"But Mike, I'm not trying to…"
"I know, I know. You're fine. You're okay. Don't worry about it."
"But…"
April pushed past us, smiling in a strained way. I couldn't look her in the face: there was something in her expression that begged for privacy. Before we reached the landing, Shadow galloped past us and nearly pushed us over the banister.
"Excuse me, sorry!" she said, and skidded into the kitchen. "Dad! I'm sooo sorry, I had my headphones on, I had no idea that you were back!"
"Shadow! Hey! Com'ere, baby."
Laughter wafted up to us from the kitchen. We stood in the darkness for a couple of seconds. Then Mike pushed me into my room and shut the door.
"Don't talk about killing people in front of Case," he said. "He's not gonna see you when you talk. He's gonna see Leo. And whatever Raph believes, you can bet your buttons that Case believes, and, uh, vice versa. They're like… the amazing two-headed beatdown machine."
"What if he kicks me out?" I whispered.
"Then we will go," Dad said.
We both whirled around. Dad was sitting on his bed in front of the open window. His eyes glinted in the light from the hallway.
"My god!" Mike said. "I will never get used to your sneaky teleportation tricks."
Dad cracked a smile.
"Oh, I see how it is," Mike said. "Feeling joy at my terror."
"All I did was come through the window." Dad rose and patted Mike on the shoulder. "Thank you for all of your kind words, by the way. You've done nothing but good for us."
"Aw, Leo, don't talk like that," Mike said. "It sounds like you're saying good-bye."
"It is," Dad said.
My mouth fell open. "I'm not going with you!"
"Yes, you are."
"Ohhh, no, you are not," Mike said. "We're gonna talk this over. We're gonna work this out."
"What's Casey's is Raph's, Mike. I'm out." Dad looked at me. "We're out."
I shook my head. "Leave me out of this!"
"Oh, for god's sake!" Mike said. "You can't keep running out when the going gets bad, man!"
Dad shook his head. "This isn't 'running out.' I am preventing a bigger blow-up and I am protecting the rest of you."
"No, you're running away," Mike said. "Jump into a fight, ten to one? You've got it. Deal with the family? Poof! Gone. If you can't kill it you don't know what to do with it."
"Raphael won't forgive me," Dad snapped. "You know he won't."
"Leo, you're not even trying! You can't just piss people off and then disappear! That's not damage control."
"Then what is it that you suggest that we do?" Dad asked sharply.
"We've gotta put this shit to bed. God almighty! You gotta know how much I hate seeing everybody angry." Mike brushed my hair back with an idle hand, puffing out his cheeks. "Maybe this won't mean anything to you, bro, but I've missed you something terrible. It was awful wondering if you were alive or dead, not to mention what was going on with little burrito. I know her health wasn't great in the beginning and…" A pause, then he glared at Dad under knotted brows. "Look here, don't ever leave like that again. That's not a request, man. I don't care what you do. You're a part of this family, and it's a family worth keeping. Don't reason yourself out of it."
"Mike…"
"I don't want to hear it." Mike lifted his chin and stared at Dad with a jutting jaw. "Promise me you won't leave like that, without a word, without calling in once or twice or whatever."
Dad bent his head. He seemed to be searching the floor for something.
"Promise."
"Mike, I can't. If I put you or the others in any—"
"What? Danger? That just comes with the territory. Seriously. We've all been chopped into mincemeat at some point or another—that's if we weren't dimension-hopping, setting foot on alien planets, or talking to brain-monsters piloting people suits. You think I can't take a couple of ninjas? That's actually our forte. Now promise."
Dad nodded once.
"All right, good enough," Mike said. "But I'm gonna hold you to it, you know. You break it, I will personally hunt you down and pummel you." He stepped back to the door. "And that goes for you, too, Burrito. Don't let him go anywhere, you hear me? And if he does, you give me a call on that phone of yours. I swear to you, I'll keep the service paid for as long as you just call."
I grabbed at Mike's hand. "But what about Casey and Raph?"
"Simple," Mike said. "We talk to them like real living reasonable people, and we do good things for each other, and before you know it, everything will be better. You'll see."
"How?" I asked. "Honestly, how?"
"You'll see!" Mike said, ducking out. He closed the door behind him with a click.
"Dad, are you really going to do what he says?" I whispered.
Dad kneaded his temples. Outside, the wind moaned through the trees, and thunder rolled like a faraway challenge.
"Because I don't want to go," I said.
"This is Casey's property. If he orders us to leave… we will have to leave."
"But I don't want to!"
He set a heavy hand on my shoulder. "You are arguing with the wrong person."
"But I can't talk to him! He hates me!"
"You're confusing hate with fear," Dad said, dropping onto the bed. "He loves his family with every fiber of his being. So far, the Foot haven't used violence against him—but it's always a possibility. With us, the threat rises exponentially. Please, understand it from his perspective."
Rain rattled at the windows, and the wind moaned through the trees. I thought I heard raised voices in the living room below, but there was a flash and the thunder drowned it out.
"What did you do to make them so angry?" I asked. "Was it the assassinations? Was it running with the Foot? Was it… was it Splinter?"
He looked at me sharply. "All of the above. I didn't know where I stood anymore, and I wasn't sure that I cared. I fell into things that… normally I would have rejected."
I dropped beside him on the bed. "I don't care."
"Ah… about what?"
"I don't care what you did as long as we can start over and make it better," I said. "I'm happy here and I don't want to leave."
"If I had my way," he said, squeezing my hand, "I would let you live here forever."
I grabbed his hands and curled up against him like I might have when I was a little kid. His heartbeat was a soothing throb against my ear. For a long time we were very quiet, and listened to the storm roll in.