Chapter 6

Present

The first sound she heard was whistling.

Her eyes snapped open, and then she blinked awake. Her brow furrowed as she saw brick and bars surrounding her. And was that freaking Whistle Why You Work?

She looked over, finding a short, stocky man in mid-tune. He scowled when he saw her awake. "What are you looking at, sister?"

She leaned up, sighing, but before she could comment a thickly accented voice cut in. "Hey, Leroy, manners! We have a guest!"

She stood, watching as the older Italian man abandoned his search through the cupboards and smiled at her.

He leaned down to grab a thermos, his eyes dancing. "You are, eh, Henry's mother? How lovely for him to have you back in his life."

She rubbed her head, not sure if it was because of the knot she could feel forming at her temple or the words. "Actually I was just dropping him off." She thought about the boy, with the eyes that matched hers and the damn familiar smirk, and quickly stamped down any associated feeling.

The drunk, Leroy, scoffed. "Don't blame ya. They're all brats. Who needs 'em."

She felt a pang despite herself, and tried to focus on her spinning head instead.

"Well, I'd give anything for one," the old man said plainly. His head bowed, and then he looked up with a stiff frown. "My wife and I, we tried for many years. But, uh, it was not meant to be."

She grimaced, feeling that twinge of guilt she always felt when someone said something like that. She had been so young, and it wasn't like she had been trying. Getting pregnant hadn't even been a thought in her stupid mind back then, and yet … well, she was smarter, now.

"Well, cry me a river," Leroy said caustically.

"Leroy!"

She looked past the old man and the remorse to follow the brogue. She found dark blue eyes that were deliberately not on her. Her stomach tightened in something more akin to anticipation, and she walked forward.

"If I'm going to let you out, you need to behave." The keys in his hands jangled, and Emma watched with interest. There was something in the way he handled the object, the way his fingers moved. In the light of day, how was it that he seemed even more familiar? "Now, put on a smile and stay out of trouble."

Leroy paused at the door of the cell, a grin stretched sarcastically across his face. Graham only raised a brow in amusement and shook his head. Leroy sauntered past him and swiped the coffee the old man was offering. He left, casting a final look back at her.

Emma couldn't take this, this strange and conspicuous way that the only one she wanted to have attention from seemed intent on ignoring her. She leaned her elbows on the bars and huffed. "Seriously?"

He finally turned to her with his whole body. He seemed to take her in first, a flash of uncertainty before a smile tugged on his lips. He walked toward her, a hand out. "Regina's drinks? A little stronger than we thought."

She tried to glare at him, but wasn't sure it was as effective as usual since she couldn't seem to break her stare. Frustrated, she spat, "I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf standing in the middle of the road."

He looked stricken for a moment, eyes distant and fogged. After a moment, he shook it off. His brow lifted and he nodded once. "A wolf. Right."

She sucked in a sharp breath. Wolf. The way he said it. Her fingers itched, something in the back of her mind tugging her soul.

"Graham? Henry's run away again. We have to …." The mayor froze at the sight of her, her gaze hardening. "What is she doing here?"

They had both stiffened at the voice, broken from whatever had connected them. He ducked his head and scratched his nose at her accusatory tone, suddenly lost of all the presence that drew her in. Her heart seized … ran away again? … before she abruptly pulled her defenses back up.

Regina's eyes narrowed on her. "Do you know where he is?" she demanded.

She refused to break her stare. "Lady, I haven't seen him since I dropped him at your house. And I have a pretty good alibi."

She looked at Graham. He had retreated in all but physically at this point, but he still met her gaze and held it.

The mayor tilted her head back haughtily. "Yeah, well, he wasn't in his room this morning."

"Did you try his friends?" she shot back, just barely able to keep her voice from sounding sarcastic.

Regina shook her head. "He doesn't really have any. He's kind of a loner."

The sheriff ducked his head at that, his brow furrowed at that, like her words pained him. Emma processed them for a minute, realizing just how closely they echoed something she'd said not even fifteen hours ago.

She never wanted that for him. He wasn't supposed to be like her.

"Every kid has friends," she mused, hopeful more than anything else. "Did you check his computer? If he's close to someone, he'd be emailing them."

Regina sneered. "And you know this how?"

"Finding people is what I do," she said simply. "Here's an idea. How about you guys let me out and I'll help you find him."

Regina left soon after being assured that Graham would bring her over to search. Emma was just glad she was getting out from the holding cell; memories best left forgotten were rearing their ugly head.

As soon as the bars parted, though, his hand was on her arm in a firm grip. She looked him over, trying to push back the electric jolt to focus on the impediment. "What the hell?"

His jaw worked a moment, but his eyes were steely. "Henry has it hard. You're not going to make it any harder on him, understand?"

Her throat closed up, nausea building in her stomach. No. No, it wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be happy. She blinked rapidly, and could only nod.

He eased his grip. "Good." He trailed fingers across the leather on her arm before falling off. "I'm glad you'll help, then. He likes you."

Her forearm tingled and her lungs tightened in one motion. The kid couldn't be attached that quickly; at least her whole mind screamed that he shouldn't.

And besides … if she was supposed to be making things easier on Henry, why did it feel like this man was telling her to stay?

She stared at him as she brushed her hand over the place his had been. Goosebumps had formed over the space he'd touched, and she wanted to feel it all over again. She did know him, didn't see? How? She would have remembered him, she was sure of it.

With great effort, she stepped out of his space. "We'll start at the kid's room."

There was something here, something she knew was off. But she couldn't care. Not anymore. Not again.

So, she'd help find the kid that wasn't her kid. He had a good thing going here, a good life. He'd see that, and she'd help him get his head on straight.

And then she could work on forgetting every inch of why she wanted to stick around.

x

Eleven Years Ago

x

He wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping her around.

Sure, she didn't belong. She was at a loss with how to deal with anything they came across, from tripping along the stream to the berries they could eat to the terrain she couldn't navigate. She wouldn't last more than a couple hours without him, despite her gruff stubbornness.

But it shouldn't matter to him. The human world never cared when he'd struggled, so why should he care about her?

The last time he'd cared about a human, it had ended in loss and pain. Three of his family members had been killed, along with the man who tried to convince him he was significant. That had been two years ago, and the moment still imprinted on him as a reminder to never hope again.

But … but … he did care.

For some intangible reason, he did. If it was just him depending on his brother's trust of her, it would have faded eventually. But she clung to the part of him that still hoped, that last flicker of optimism that couldn't stop the feeling of 'maybe.' Maybe he could fully trust a human. Maybe she would see him as one in turn.

It was a small flame that he'd never admit to, and never had before. He had thought it extinguished when Fionn died, but apparently his heart still held some kindling.

He glanced up at her, and she smiled as she popped a piece of fruit in her mouth. Her palms were purple, in strong contrast to the golden strands of hair that framed her face. She brushed the tresses that fell in her eye. "Not too bad," she said.

He looked away sharply as he felt the sentiment echo within him. Not too bad. "We don't have much further," he said gruffly.

She sighed and rose, rubbing her stained hands on her pants. "Okay. I'm ready."

He looked her over, his lip twitching slightly. She wasn't near ready. She had been huffing, out of breath and stumbling for most of the trip. He wouldn't have pushed, though, if it wasn't only another fifteen minutes at this pace. Still, he wasn't going to rush her. "There's more of the boar, if you need it."

She shook her head. "No. If you're ready, I'm ready."

He cocked his head to the side. He held out the water skin once more.

Again, she shook her head, her eyes narrowing. "No, I'm fine. You don't need it."

He huffed. "I'm used to this. You aren't."

She frowned deeply. "I hate this," she grumbled and then swiped the skin from his hands. She downed some and then stomped off.

"Emma," he said.

"What?" she grunted.

He felt slightly amused, and jerked his head in the opposite direction. "Wrong way."

She breathed a sigh, eyes quirking. "I just—" she cut herself off, and looking sharply away. She blinked rapidly, focused on the forest floor.

A wave of sympathy hit him, unexpected and confusing. He stepped forward, taking her by the wrist. "It's not much farther," he said, voice soft and gentle like he would use when his brother is agitated. "You can get your bearings once we're there."

She looked down at his grasp, nodding fitfully. She swiped her nose with her sleeve and then looked up with blurry eyes. "This really is real, isn't it?"

He gave a tilt of his head, noncommittal. If she was coming to terms with their reality, it wasn't him that could confirm it. "Come," he pressed.

She nodded, and allowed him to lead this time as they followed the river upstream.

"It's a bit hidden," he said, and took her wrist again to pull her under the lower branches. She followed without protest, even as her shoes slid on the smooth stones that led to the fissure in the boulder hiding the inlet.

When they made their way into the clearing, she stopped. A light laugh escaped her, and she dropped her jacket in the dust. "Wow," she said simply, and twisted in a circle to better take in her surroundings.

He set his things onto a rock, and watched her curiously. She looked … awed. "It's not much …."

"It's awesome," she declared. A smile stretched across her face and she tilted her face to the sun, reaching outwards.

This place that he had found, that he managed to find the will to share with her … she appreciated it. He watched her for a moment, as her blonde hair fell backwards, as her face warmed in the sunlight. Something unfamiliar fizzled in his stomach, and he quietly admitted to himself that she was beautiful. He swallowed thickly and turned away, trying not to think about it.

She sighed contentedly. "I feel … it feels better here."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and nodded. "Yes. There's good energy here. It's away from people."

She sat cross-legged in the middle of the forest floor. She pulled through her jacket pockets before retrieving a handful of the berries. "Why don't you like people?"

He sat across from her on an overturned log. His brother made his way through the trees and bounded to them, then abruptly changed direction to splash at the edge of the river. He was still limping, so slight even he couldn't tell at first glance. "They don't like me," he said plainly.

Her bright eyes bounced over him for a minute, and he worried for a moment that she'd disagree. He didn't feel like getting into all the reasons he felt so separate from others. Instead, after a long beat, she shrugged. "It's okay. People don't really like me, either," she admitted.

He cocked his head to the side, studying her again. He couldn't see that, not when she'd gained his trust so quickly. He wet his lips and cleared his throat, uncomfortable enough not to protest.

"No, I mean it. I have enough examples over a lifetime. My own parents left me on the side of the road when I was a newborn," she asserted, and then pulled her legs into her chest.

He winced, hands flexing in front of him. "Mine … they left my near the den," he admitted. He couldn't remember ever being that plain in saying it. Even with the old man, he hadn't ever told him straight out; it had only ever been inferred.

She snorted. "God, we're more similar than we thought." Her lip pouted slightly, and she looked up from under her lashes. Cautiously, she scooted closer. "Is that why you're helping? Because you feel like we're the same?" she asked.

He thought about that a moment, twisting his hands together. "Not really. You're …," too human, he wanted to say. But he already has revealed too much about himself right now, and didn't want to get into that. "I don't know. Maybe," he muttered.

She nodded, pulling blades of grass through her fingers. "Okay. Okay, that makes sense," she said.

"But like I said, I'll get you back to town tomorrow. Then you can go home," he said shortly.

She chewed on her lip absently. "Guess that's for the best," she said. "How will I find—you know what, I'll figure it out."

He remembered her mentioning an unfamiliar town, and a frown tugged on his lips. "We'll get a map or something. If you need help—"

"I can help myself," she said stubbornly.

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine. First light, then."

"Fine." She flopped onto her back, glaring up at the cloudy sky.

He pulled out an arrowhead to sharpen as she sulked. The scrape of rock against rock wasn't quite monotone enough for him to tune out the strident undercurrent of this shade of silence. He tried not to glance her way as he worked.

He had never minded silence. He had been taught how to live without language from his family, and being around the townsfolk hadn't made him want to be otherwise. But something about Emma's silence made him prickle.

After a while, his brother trotted up to them. He whined a bit, and finally curled at her side. She reached out and scratched his head as if he were only a pup, though her face was still stern. Amusement trickled through him again, and surprise flited along with it. What was it about this girl that made him feel so … at ease? He ducked his head, and blew out a breath. "Do you want a book?"

Her mouth formed a firm line, and he could tell that she didn't want to give in so soon.

"I don't have many, but there's a couple about the lands. You might find something about your own in one of them," he reasoned. Perhaps she was from a different realm, and that was why she was so confused by this one.

She sighed. "Fine," she conceded, and rolled to her side before rising. She pushed at the earth with her toe, and shrugged one shoulder up. "I guess that's smart."

He walked to the shelter on the far side of the inlet, sorting through the old tomes he'd collected through the years. He finally shook one loose and turned to find her studying them. Her expression was soft, and she leaned down to brush against a few spines. He nudged her with one of the volumes. "Here's one almanac. I think there was something in here about navigating lands."

She took it with care, placing it between her palms before rolling it over. "They're very old," she commented.

He hummed a response. They were old. They were a mixture of one's he'd swiped from stands in town, ones he'd traded for, and ones Fionn had gifted to him early on to learn off of. He'd always tried to go for the well-read books, the ones that looked thumbed through the most. He didn't read often, but when he did he wanted words that were valued.

She cracked open the book, and then peered up at him over its pages. "You're not afraid I'm going to ruin it or something?"

He scooped up another and placed it on top. "No." He walked back to the log at that, and continued his work.

He could feel her stare on his back, but he didn't bother to acknowledge it. It wasn't the same tension as before, instead more anticipatory. Even so, he was nothing if not patient; she would speak when she was ready.

He heard a shuffle as she dragged her feet to the middle of the clearing once more. She sat in front of him, her sea-colored eyes set on him. Finally, she opened the book once more and began to read. "You didn't have to do any of this, but you keep doing it."

His eyes flicked up to hers briefly, before settling on the sharp point. "You're good to him," he explained simply. You don't seem to hate me.

His brother's head was flat to the ground, only his eye moving back and forth between them both. She closed her eyes and took a low breath. "I like books," she admitted gruffly.

He paused. That he could discern, of course, but there was something in her body language that hold him not to be cavalier about her confession. "I have ones that are less dry, when you need them."

She nodded sharply, and moved to rest her back to the log, just a couple feet separating them. She placed a finger between the pages and closed the book, tilting her head toward him. "Thank you."

He pressed his lips together. He examined her expression carefully, finding a certain vulnerability there that made his heart stutter. His lashes fluttered across the tops of his cheeks. "You're welcome."

She smiled at him before beginning to read again. He watched her for a moment longer, trying to piece out the alien feelings stirring in him. When he finally turned back to his work, he didn't have an answer to them but he had decided it didn't matter.

Just like that, the silence became companionable.

He just wasn't sure if he should be worried about that fact.