X. 7 Days to the Wolves
Seven days to the wolves
Where will we be when they come?
Seven days to the poison
And a place in heaven
Time drawing near as they come to take us
-Nightwish
Chase did not appreciate that someone was watching him. He figured it was Maxwell but couldn't get a bead on him and saw neither hide nor hair of the bastard. The wannabe Darklighter had some balls to keep up with his recognizance. First chance he got, Chase was going to turn Max into a bug and step on him, honor and fair play be damned. At least it would go a ways to allay Ginger's worries.
"Chase?" Ginger asked, sitting in the passenger seat.
"Yeah?"
"Will you teach me to drive?"
"If you really want to learn."
"Oh, I do! I never got to take Drivers Ed. in high school. And I was thinking, after I learn, we can take turns driving when we go on our road trip."
Chase smirked. Ginger was already mapping out the places they would visit when they went cross-country. They were going to get an RV and commandeer the roads. It would probably be better to wait until spring. Chase knew that after he got his Power back he couldn't very well stay in the Boston vicinity, perhaps not even the state of Massachusetts; he had a feeling that the path back to his Power was sprinkled with blood. But the more time went by, the less inclined Chase was to have confrontation; not because of fear, far from it, but because the less conflict the better it was for Ginger. And for the first time in his life, Chase craved peace. A life spent with Ginger – in peace.
They got home, walked into their apartment building. Ginger waved to some people happily. On their floor, Chase sensed, once again, something amiss. Ginger, attuned to his body language, quieted her chatter without having to be told.
"Go to Mrs. Filange's," he said to her.
"No, I don't want to leave you."
He looked at her sternly. "Ginger, please."
She puffed resistance, but acquiesced. Chase didn't enter the apartment until she was safely in the old lady's. He was going to kill Maxwell, even if the asshole's blood got on his carpet.
"Simmer down," the woman in red said when he entered, ready to attack. She sat casually on the couch, flipping through one of Ginger's library books.
Chase was still, no less wary. He closed the door, eyes roaming for potentially hidden threats, ears listening. "Where's your boyfriend?"
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. "You didn't hear? Maxwell is dead."
His brow creased, suspicious. "How?"
"Just a few weeks ago. In a nutshell, Maxwell put a spell on Rowan, and her husband killed him for the deed."
"You don't sound upset."
She tittered musically, closed the book, set it aside. "I didn't particularly like him."
"Why help him then?"
"Ah. I am a Neutral, are you aware of this term?"
A Neutral was a supernatural being that was neither good nor evil. Some Neutrals had specific reasons for existing, others, like the woman in red, had none; and would often provide use of their gifts provided the compensation was satisfactory.
"Maxwell hired you," Chase said.
She nodded. "Quite a sum. Sit down, my neck hurts looking up at you."
He scoffed lightly, but sat on the sofa chair. "What do you want?"
"I want nothing from you," she shrugged diffidently. "I have words of caution, however."
Chase remained on guard. "So."
"Before Maxwell's untimely, though unregrettable, demise, he was searching for other ne'er-do-wells. Others that would have a profound effect on you and your companion."
His fist clenched. "What about her?"
"Something to do with your companion's past. Her history in the asylum."
A cold chunk of dread settled in Chase's stomach. What about Ginger's past? "How did he know she was in an asylum?"
"That I don't know. He had two friends scouting around as well. What was accomplished before his death…" She shrugged again. "But the feelers were put out, that is what matters. You cannot un-ring a bell."
It started to rain between their silence. Chase was mute by rage and a pounding urge to get Ginger and drive as fast and far away from here as possible. But he didn't run. It wasn't in him.
"Well, I must be going," she said, and stood up.
"Wait." He peered at her. "Why tell me?"
Her head tipped to the side. "I like your companion."
"You're Neutral."
"Does that mean I cannot appreciate a good personality when I see one?" The woman in red chuckled, winked, and left.
Chase sat back down, put his head in his hands. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. He struggled to collect himself, then went to get Ginger, putting on a casual face because she read his moods too well. He got webbed into Mrs. Filange's reminisces of the past and didn't get back to his place with Ginger for another hour.
He was expecting questions, but instead her face was a mixture of hurt and anger.
"Is that perfume?" she asked, standing next to the couch.
"Uh…yeah."
Big brown eyes stared hard at him. "That woman in red was here?"
"How'd you know it was her?"
"The perfume." Ginger appeared rejected. "Well, I guess I can't blame you… She is really pretty."
"Excuse me?"
She went back to being miffed. "You wanted to be alone with her. All you had to do was say so."
There were no words. "What? She was here when I came in."
"Hmm."
"What are you trying to say, Gin?"
"I'm not saying anything."
"You're insinuating something. What? Do you think I'm cheating on you? Because I wou-" His tirade cut off. Cheating on Ginger? He couldn't 'cheat on' anyone unless they were a couple in the first place and… "Never mind," he growled. "I don't have to explain anything to you."
She shuffled after him into the kitchen where he snatched a bottle of water from the fridge. "I don't think you'd do that. But she's so much more sophisticated than I am. You're probably used to that." She fidgeted with the scarf on her neck.
"She came to tell me that Maxwell is dead."
Her mouth opened in an 'o.' "Oh… How? No! I don't want to know. Is she sure?"
Chase nodded. "Dead as a doornail." But he left his nasty deeds behind.
She lowered herself to the kitchen chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything. I just get scared sometimes…of losing my best friend."
"Who says you're going to lose me?"
"I was thinking earlier today that… Every one I've ever loved, I've lost."
Her sadness was palpable, and he wished he had the right words to say, something other than platitudes. A light quip came out, "You saying you love me Gin?" Her smile was strained, and he knew he said the absolute wrong thing.
"Can you believe Mrs. Filange and her husband were married for fifty-six years? Such a long time." Ginger began to trace invisible circles on the table. "Have you ever been in love?"
A 'no' almost came out of his mouth, but by now he knew his feelings for Ginger went beyond simple caring or basic need for companionship. "I'm not good saying it Ginger." His adoptive parents had never been cruel or abusive, but there'd always been a certain distance between them. They were proud enough of Chase's accomplishments, of what a 'well-behaved' young man he was, yet words of affection were rarely exchanged.
"I wouldn't ever hurt you," she said, holding his hand.
Chase squeezed back.
"Chase?"
"Yeah?"
"Now that Maxwell's gone…does that mean we're safe?"
He swallowed. If he told her the truth she'd worry, might even make herself sick. "We don't have to worry about anything, Ginger." Her smile made him feel better. Besides, it wasn't entirely untrue. Ginger was safe, because he'd never let anything happen to her.
"Ooh! Love Story is on tonight!"
He pulled a face. "Not again. You made me watch that a million times."
"Three times," she corrected him. "Just three."
"Feels like more," he grumbled.
"Fine. How about What Dreams May Come?"
That was slightly better, so he acquiesced, though not without some asperity.
xxxx
"It's about to rain," Rowan announced on the veranda.
The group looked up at the sky. It began to rain. For the past couple of weeks they'd been helping Rowan and Reid move some things into their new home. It was the beginning of November, so they took advantage of the weather's good days as much as they could when time permitted. Their dark encounter with Maxwell, Todd, and Sean three weeks ago was largely put behind them; now the only loose thread was Chase.
Hunter closed the back of the moving truck and went inside with the rest. The living room held boxes, some opened, some not. Rowan had ordered the furniture she and Reid picked out for every room; the only room that was completely done was the master bedroom (including the bathroom) and the kitchen (the tables and chairs had been put on rush order).
"When's dinner?" Reid asked.
"Sweetie, now that you have your own home, you're going to have to learn how to cook," Pinkie pointed out.
Reid glared at him. "Unless anyone wants chronic acid indigestion-"
"Or food poisoning," Caleb interjected.
"-then you do not want me to cook," Reid finished, ignoring his brother-in-law.
They all went into the kitchen, large, with an island in the middle with stools. Each side of the kitchen led somewhere else, to the left was the dining area (empty at the moment); to the right was an entertainment area with fireplace. A sliding door led out onto a patio and backyard. Now, the kitchen smelled of Beef Stroganoff, mashed potatoes, Rowan's home made gravy, plus extras. And a chocolate caramel pecan pie for dessert.
"Can someone bring Ernie, Bruce Lee, and Bubbe inside, please?" Rowan asked. "Ernie has been eyeing the lake," she muttered.
"When the weather's nice again I'll take him out," Reid said. Ernie wagged his tail.
"Don't get his hopes up, Reid," she said quietly. "Then Bruce Lee will want to go, too."
He sighed tolerantly, kissed her on the nape of her neck, then whispered in her ear, "You let me take you in the lake. Remember?"
Her face flushed and she was glad she could attribute it to the steam from the oven. "Dinner's ready!"
The food was good, of course, and by the time everyone was finished stomachs were stuffed, appetites sated. It was raining even more heavily; the gang was crowded on the floor in the entertainment area where a simple TV and DVD player was hooked up, blankets and pillows thrown down for comfort. The fireplace was going, too. Rowan looked out the window worriedly.
"I don't think anyone should be driving home right now," she said. "It won't stop for another…five hours." God knew the bones that had been damaged in the car crash were feeling the moisture in the air.
"I'll stay," Maria said wispily, leaning against Tyler, half-asleep. Everyone was pretty conked out.
"There're some inflatable beds in the truck," Reid said, getting up.
"I'll help," Hunter said, going with him.
"I'm capable of getting inflatable beds myself," the blond told Hunter as he opened the front door.
"I have full confidence in your masculinity Reid," he joked.
Reid got in the truck, tossed out the beds to Hunter, they hurried back under cover. "Row wanted me to talk to you," Hunter said.
Reid smirked ironically. "How'd I know?" He sat down on a chair on the veranda, gestured for Hunter to sit in the other one. "What's Row worried about?"
Hunter ran his fingers through his hair trying to figure out where to start. "You cool? About what happened with Maxwell?"
"Killing him?" Reid returned bluntly. "Yeah… I told Rowan that."
He nodded. "I know…But you've been twitchy in your sleep."
Busted, Reid thought. He wasn't mad at Rowan for confiding in Hunter, she wouldn't have unless she was truly worried about his state of mind. The slight disturbances in his sleep had nothing to do with guilt over offing Maxwell; on the contrary, Reid had none. And he told Hunter as much.
"What's the deal then?" Hunter asked. "I mean, if it's not Maxwell."
Reid took a breath, exhaled. "Just a…shitty dream I keep having. For a few months now." When he saw Hunter wasn't going to mock him, he continued, "About what life would be like if Rowan died in that crash. See, 'cause, in my dream, I go to sleep wishing that that life is a dream, then I wake up." He shrugged. "It's just too real. Gets to me."
Hunter nodded. Then, thoughtfully, he asked, "Is it bad?"
Reid didn't have to ask what he meant. "Yeah. None of us… We weren't right."
"When are you going to tell Rowan?"
"I guess tonight is as good as any. It's just a dream… I don't want her to think…that I can't take care of her when she has her own."
It made sense enough to Hunter. He told Reid that there wasn't any doubt of his capability in taking care of Rowan, and the conversation ended with some pats on the back in a very guy-like fashion. A couple of hours later each couple was settled on an inflatable mattress. The three animals went about sniffing and exploring until finally going in Reid and Rowan's room and jumping on the bed.
Reid came out of the bathroom. The animals had their own corner with their own beds, yet they continued to pounce on the humans'. Reid had yet to make love to Rowan on this bed, and he fully intended to. Rowan shut the light off in the bathroom, got into bed with Reid. She sighed contentedly, looking around the room. The walls were painted royal blue; the bureau, dressers, nightstands matched the wood on the bed frame. The curtains were hues of blue that matched the bedspread.
Most of their clothes were here; Reid still had some stuff at home he needed to sort through. As for the abundance of lingerie that Rowan had bought under the influence, husband and wife had gone back and forth as to what to do with it. Reid wanted to keep them, Rowan didn't. So, they compromised. Rowan kept the ones she had already tried on, and let Reid choose three sets he favored. In the end, even after all they'd put aside, over 200 dollars worth of lingerie went back to the store.
"You talked to Hunter," Reid said.
Her eyes shied away, then back at him. "Yeah."
"You don't have to worry, Row. My trouble sleeping has nothing to do with Maxwell."
"No?"
He shook his head. "It's something else. Been bothering me a while."
Rowan worried her bottom lip. "You can tell me."
So he took a breath and told her. The vivid dream of an alternate reality. Tyler unable to sustain any sort of relationship; Pogue distant and aloof; Hunter killing just because he was good at it; Caleb trying to get his life together, marrying Judy having a kid.
"I got into heavy drugs and drinking and O. junior year," he said. "Caleb told me how disappointed you would have been in me, and the drugs stopped. But I had nothing inside."
Her eyes swelled with tears and began trickling down her face.
"Don't cry, Row," he said softly, wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. "It's just a dream. I didn't want to upset you."
"So awful thinking about how sad you all could be," she sniffed. "Are you thinking about it a lot? Because it's recurring."
He chuckled. "I actually thought Chase or Maxwell was sending me the dream. But the more I have the dream the more I think about it. Now that I've told you, I don't think I'll have it anymore."
Rowan kissed him. Reid never had that dream again.
xxxx
Ginger entered the clinic with her heart pounding and stomach in knots. It was too windy to wear her straw hat; too cloudy for her sunglasses, leaving her only source of cover a larger scarf and beanie. She took her mittens off and put them in the pockets of her winter jacket. She reminded herself that it was good she was coming; it made her a responsible adult. Slowly, she approached the counter. The receptionist looked up, smiled warmly.
"Yes, can I help you?" she asked.
"Um…yes, yes." Ginger cleared her throat, hoping the few other people in the clinic weren't eavesdropping. "I need some… To talk to someone…about sex."
Through her babble, the receptionist was entirely patient and understanding. She told her to sign in and a counselor would be with her in a few moments. Ten minutes later Ginger was sitting across from another nice lady with a professional, understanding disposition. Ginger was feeling over warm, so she took off her jacket, draped it over her lap.
"I need advice…on sex," Ginger prompted.
"All right. Are you currently engaging in sexual activity?"
"No…No, just kissing. But I think that's where my boyfriend and I are headed. Soon."
"How long have you and your boyfriend been together?"
"About a year."
"Living together?"
"Mmm-hmm." This conversation was getting easier, she felt herself relaxing. The night she and Chase had watched What Dreams May Come, they'd found themselves making out during the middle of the movie. It was a heavier kind of kiss they'd shared thus far; and when Chase touched her boob, Ginger knew that it would be good to be prepared when Chase wanted to go further.
"Is this something you've talked with your partner about?" the lady asked. "Is he ready to have sex as well?"
"Ohh…I think so." Ginger was fairly sure; she'd felt Chase's arousal against her lower back when they slept. The first few times she wasn't certain, then later she was. "I think he would like to."
"Would you, Ginger? Are you ready?"
"Oh, yes! I mean…it's a big step. And…see, he's not a virgin…but I am." She blushed.
The counselor gave her a lot of good advice, helpful pamphlets and a few condoms. Ginger felt better after the visit; she caught the bus back home thinking of her relationship with Chase the entire way. She hadn't forgotten that she needed to talk to Rowan Danvers. Ginger had no way of contacting her, so scouting out the library was the best bet. She didn't want to ask the librarian when the next time Rowan would be reading because the librarian might tell Rowan, and Rowan would be wondering why a stranger was asking after her. Ginger's biggest concern was Chase reacting negatively to her taking matters into her own hands.
He greeted her with a smile when she walked into the apartment.
"Hey, you enjoy your own-time?" he asked. Letting Ginger have her "own time" was gradually becoming easier for him.
"Yup. It's getting really chilly out there."
"Yeah, well, while you were out getting cold, Mrs. Filange invited us over for dinner. Or rather insisted."
"Really? That's great."
"Right," he replied dryly.
"Chase, she's a lonely, but fantastical old lady." If possible, Ginger was more excited about the dinner than old Mrs. Filange herself. Chase just didn't want her getting too attached. Ginger set her tote bag on the table, completely forgetting as to what was in it, and went into the kitchen to get juice.
Naturally, while she was out of eye-sight, Chase sifted through the bag, surprised at what he found.
Safe Sex and Condoms
How to talk to your partner about safer sex
Birth control methods
And…a couple of condoms.
Ginger went bashful when she walked back into the living room. "Hello…"
"Where did you go, Gin?"
"Um…a health clinic. Just in case. You know…"
Chase grinned. "Come here." When she sat down, he tucked her hair behind her ear. "Why didn't you just ask me?"
"Well…I know about anatomy, silly. But it's good to be informed about this stuff, Chase. To be prepared. Were you prepared your first time?" He was always flabbergasted, of course, when she came out with such blunt questions.
"The pamphlet says we should be able to talk about sex," she told him didactically.
"That's nice," he mumbled.
"If I had any sexual history, I would answer any of your questions." She nodded.
"And I'm glad for that," he said a little sternly.
Her brow furrowed. "That I would answer your questions?"
"That you don't have any…sexual history."
"How come?"
Chase scratched his chin. "Gin, the idea of you with another guy makes me insane. Okay?"
"Oh… How come?"
Damn it, he thought. "It just does."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to myself," he blurted.
"For sex?"
Chase glared at her. "For everything, damn it!"
Ginger broke out into a smile. "All right. Does that mean you want to have sex with me?"
He chuckled.
"It's all right if you don't, Chase," she spoke properly. "It's just that you touched my breast, and when we sleep I feel your erection." The counselor at the clinic said that she should be straightforward and not feel embarrassed to voice her thoughts or opinions.
Chase went a deep, beet red. How the hell could this one person turn him into a blubbering adolescent? Ginger just had that effect on him; tapping into parts of his psyche that he didn't even know existed. How many more buttons did she know about? Chase sighed. "Ginger…I don't want to pressure you into having sex."
"So you want to?"
"Fine! Yes, all right?"
Ginger beamed. "I would love for you to be my first, Chase Smithers Collins."
And your last, he mentally tacked on. "Maybe you could refrain from saying my middle name," he said.
"I like your middle name. Smithers. It's like a cartoon."
"My point exactly."
"My middle name is Josephine. Ginger Josephine Gardner."
"Miles better than mine."
She giggled. "I love everything about you." Ginger scooched closer. "Now, before we have sex, we should talk some more. Now, what size and type of condom is best for you?"
xxxx
"Hunter, what are you doing?" Gabriel asked as he lay in his boyfriend's bed.
Hunter turned his head to look at Gabriel. He was a beautiful man. Tall and lean, with only the sheets pulled up to his waist amidst a rumpled bed. It was midday, the light of an overcast sky beaming through the window.
"Maxwell," he replied, he sat his small desk with his laptop.
"He is dead, non?"
"Yeah, but…there are some loose ends. I want to know who he was, where he came from." You didn't steal someone's identity for benign reasons. And a normal human didn't get involved in the dark arts or prey on power without prompting.
Gabriel half-grinned. "You are already making a good investigator." Pause, then, "When do you start field work?"
Hunter knew Gabriel was worried about him fighting "the dark side," so to speak. It was similar to what Gabriel and Michael did, crossing dimensions to retrieve fugitive demons, sometimes it was capture, often kill. But you had to do much training, and log hours of battle experience on Earth before getting your license to cross dimensions.
"I have a few more tests to pass," Hunter said. He abandoned his laptop, went back to bed, hovered over his boyfriend. "I'll be fine."
"It is dangerous work, mon cher," he said, caressing Hunter's cheek.
"Any more dangerous than what you do? It's hell worrying about you, Gabe."
The sorcerer sighed. "Oui. But I have Michael to have my back. Who will have yours?"
"There are others. This isn't solo work."
Gabriel still wasn't satisfied, but he let it go. Hunter was born for this, just as his father and uncles had been. No matter how dangerous, Gabe knew Hunter was ready for the next level of fighting the good fight.
A ding from his computer announced he had a message. Hunter pecked Gabe on the lips, and checked his mail, hitting the jackpot. It wasn't the whole deal but the gaps that Hunter wanted filled were coming together. Maxwell's real name was Nicholas Larson. Born 1979. He's older than he said he was. The Princeton thing was bull; there was no record of a Maxwell Holden or Nicholas Larson at Princeton.
"Well, well, well," Hunter mused. "That doesn't surprise me."
"Read aloud, mon cher," Gabe said.
"Nicholas Larson was arrested in 1997 for sacrificing live animals in Satanic rituals. It didn't stick though. Apparently, he was the leader of a cult, and was a janitor at an asylum in Worcester up until five years ago. He disappeared after a fire broke out; it was suspected that he was the one who set it. Some patients escaped, most were recovered and brought back."
"Most?"
"I wonder if Todd and Sean were patients there."
"If so, it is understandable how they could have fallen under Max's spell. Cult leaders are notoriously charismatic."
"But obviously intelligence isn't a prerequisite. If he hadn't been so hungry for power, he might have succeeded in what he wanted to do. He was sloppy." Hunter couldn't help but he glad for that. Maxwell/Nicholas had had plenty of chances to kill Rowan; instead he toyed with her like a child who plays with his food.
"Is your curiosity satisfied?" Gabriel asked.
He smirked. "For now."
xxxx
Ginger shouldn't have been, but she was surprised when visited the library on the day Rowan and her dog, Ernie, was reading to the kids. She bided her time, wandering the book shelves, as she waited for the reading to be finished, constantly reassuring herself that this was a good thing to do and that it was helping Chase accomplish his goals. Ginger waited for a half hour before the story was done, the goodbyes were finished, and Rowan was alone.
"Um…hi," she approached slowly.
Rowan smiled. "Hey."
"Do you remember me?" Ginger stuttered.
"Yeah. Ernie, remember Ginger?" Ernie offered her his paw, Ginger took it.
Rowan got the distinct feeling that Ginger had been waiting her out. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," Ginger hurried to say. "I just…I need to talk to you."
She tipped her head to the side. "Okay." Sitting down on a sofa chair, she took a dog treat out of her tote bag and gave it to Ernie to occupy him.
Ginger sat on the other chair, twiddling her thumbs. Where to start? "I know someone you know," Ginger blurted. "And he's my friend."
Chase's face flashed in Rowan's mind via Ginger's clear thought. "Chase?"
Her brow rose. "Yeah…" Seeing that Rowan wasn't going to become angry, Ginger continued, telling her how she'd met Chase, how they came to be here. "And…he wants his Power back."
Rowan nodded. "I know he does."
"So…can he have it back? I told him he should just ask you nicely, but he didn't want to."
She was quiet for a moment. "Did…Chase tell you why I took his Power?"
"Chase?" Hunter repeated, walking up to them. He'd caught the tail end of the conversation, and didn't like what he was hearing. He peered at Ginger with the look he got when an enemy was about to attack. "You know Chase?"
"Hunter," Rowan censured gently. "This is Chase's friend. You remember her?"
He sneered. "Come on, Rowan. Let's go."
"Please, I don't mean any harm," Ginger entreated.
"Wait a second," Rowan told Ginger. She got up and ushered Hunter a few feet away and spoke quietly. "She's asking for help, Hunter. I need to hear her out."
"Like hell you do," Hunter whispered back. "You don't know the first thing about her. This could be one of his tricks."
"I don't think it is," she replied.
"Then he's using her without her knowing it."
"I… I think there are things Chase hasn't told her. But I saw in her mind, little things. And I believe he cares about her."
Hunter scoffed. "Like a farmer cares for a pig to slaughter."
"Just let me talk to her," Rowan asked. "Without you around, you're making her nervous."
Hunter pulled a face, displeased. His eyes flicked to Ginger suspiciously whose gaze immediately averted itself under his intense scrutiny. He sensed no immediate threat from the girl who was as timid as a rabbit. Bruce Lee the ferret emitted more defiance.
"Fine," he ground out. "Ten minutes."
"Thank you. Will you take Ernie out?"
He took the leash, left the library. Rowan took her seat again. "Sorry about that. He's protective." A brief smiled played on her lips. "Anyway, like I said before, did Chase tell you why I took his Power?"
Ginger hesitated, "Because…he said that you were his enemy and the Keeper so you were um…greedy."
That didn't surprise Rowan. "It wasn't an easy decision, taking his Power. Do you know what too much Power can do to a Son of Ipswich?" Ginger shook her head. "It's addictive, literally. And the more it's used, the faster you age. When Chase came here last year, he was addicted. I…I offered to help him, but he didn't want it. The extra Power was really hurting him, even though he didn't want to admit it, so…I took it." Rowan still felt guilty about it at times. It was a show of power in the Keeper, head of the Covenant, that she was not always comfortable with.
"Oh…" Ginger quivered. "But…"
"It's not entirely his fault," Rowan said gently. "He grew up not knowing what his Power was or what it could do. The Putnam line-"
"I read about him in The Chronicles of Ipswich," Ginger interjected.
Rowan hated that book, but saved her spiel. "John Putnam was burned at the stake. What's not in that book is that John Putnam impregnated a woman, Goody Pope, with his seed, so his line of the Covenant wouldn't die out. But the Sons born of that line were not included in the Covenant. John Putnam was excommunicated because he tried to steal the other four Sons' Powers."
"But Chase found his father…"
"His father was already addicted, too. A forty-something year old man in an eighty year old body. My dad was like that, too."
"Your dad was addicted?"
Not of his own making, she thought, but, "Yeah." How much more had Chase not disclosed to Ginger? Rowan wondered. Certainly not the people he'd killed, Evan Weir, his adoptive parents, albeit accidentally. Or his true reason for coming to Ipswich last year, to kill Caleb by stealing his Power when he ascended. "Ginger…"
"Is there a lot more?" she asked.
Rowan nodded. "But I think he should tell you the rest. It's his part to tell, things you should hear from him."
Ginger sniffed. "He's very angry at you guys. But I didn't think you were evil, so I had to ask…"
Rowan clasped Ginger's hand, hoping to comfort. "We don't mean him any harm. I promise."
"You won't..." – sniffle – "give him back his Power though, will you?"
A pained expression masked Rowan's face. Could she do that if it meant appeasing Chase?
"Would it make him sick?" Ginger questioned.
"Yes," Rowan answered definitely. "It can damage the mind and body, increasing the risk of addiction." When a tear slid down Ginger's face, Rowan went through her tote bag to find a tissue. "Here."
"Thank you."
She gave her a moment. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
"Is the rest…is it bad?"
Rowan saw Hunter enter the library with Ernie. He stood across the building, watching with the patience of a vulture. "It is bad," Rowan finally said.
"Chase is a good person though," Ginger insisted.
"Then remember that even good people can do bad things. I never thought Chase was beyond redemption."
"He'll be very mad at me for talking to you."
"Here." Rowan retrieved a slip of paper from her bag, wrote down her phone number, and Hunter's. "Call me if you need anything. If I don't answer, call Hunter next. I'll help you any way I can. The hour doesn't matter."
Trouble brews...sadly.
Thanks for reading. :D