Thirty minutes into practice, my phone beeped, cutting through the eerie silence of Owen's yard. I stopped throwing and slid the cell from my pocket to check the text message.
Emily: Morning! I had fun last night! Wish I didn't have to go on this stupid trip.
"Aww." Owen snickered. "It's cute how you get all tingly just from reading what she wrote."
"Shut up. I do not."
"I think you forgot I'm in here. You do."
I ignored him and sent her a quick reply.
Me: Enjoy your vacation, and be safe.
"Adorable."
Laughing, I asked, "Do you want to talk about Emily or practice?"
"I can make fun of you and critique your throws. I'm an excellent multitasker."
My aim had improved enough that Owen had little to say. After a while, we switched so Owen could practice. He threw so quickly that retrieving the knives from the target took most of the time.
Stepping even farther from the tree, he let the blades fly. They all landed within an inch of each other, and someone behind us clapped. Owen turned to see Lilla standing on the porch, leaning with her hip against the railing.
She beamed. "You were always so impressive at that."
He didn't respond, so she continued. "I found a spell that should block my presence from Catriona. I'll be able to sense them, but she won't feel me. We'll hunt tonight."
"Can they sense us?" I asked.
"They might if you were close," Lilla said. "But the magic that binds you is nothing compared to my power. They can tell I'm different."
Her civil tone when she voluntarily answered my question surprised us both, and Owen gave her a nod.
Encouraged, she kept talking. "We could use the spell on you two, but I'm not sure how it would affect your bond. There's a chance it would block you from each other, leaving only one of you running things." She tilted her head, considering.
Owen and I answered together, "No."
"Alright." She held her palms up and stepped back. "Only a passing idea. After all, we only really need Bash's body, not Bash."
The anger that flared in Owen kept me from speaking as he stomped to the tree, retrieved his knives, and wrapped them in their leather. Scowling up at Lilla, he said, "You had me for a second. I thought you regretted how you treated him. This is his life, too. I won't be cutting him out of it." He didn't give her a chance to reply as he strode to the truck. "We'll pick you up to hunt at eight."
Guilt gnawed at me as we drove to my house, and I waited for Owen to calm down. I hated coming between them; they didn't have a lot of time left. When the silence became overwhelming, I said, "I don't mean to keep causing problems for you and Lilla. Nobody has ever disliked me so instantly before."
"She really doesn't like you." Owen scanned the road around us, his gaze lingering on the newer houses.
"What did I do?"
"Nothing I saw. She's changed. I can't put my finger on it, but she seems... different."
"Well, a lot can happen in fifty years."
"I guess. Maybe I'm different too." Owen flipped the turn signal on and stopped at a stop sign. He didn't need directions to my house anymore.
"You might be, but I'm still thinking she's the problem. Who meets me and doesn't love me? I'm a delight."
Owen grinned. "And you're so humble, too. What's not to love?"
"That's what I'm saying."
For a minute, the only sound was the wind breezing through the open window as we passed fields full of roaming cows. Lilla's words continued to swirl in my brain.
"Why are you so worked up?" Owen asked. "She didn't hurt your feelings, did she? Tell me you're not that sensitive."
"What if she's right?"
"About what?"
"You don't need me—I'm no help with hunting. Maybe we should let Lilla use the blocking spell on us. You know enough about my life to get by without me for a while."
"No. Are you kidding? There's no way in hell I'm letting that happen. We'll finish the mimics together. I'll leave, and everything can go back to normal. That was the deal, and I'm not changing it."
Before I could form a response, Owen said, "I feel you worrying. What is it?"
"I'm surprised you didn't even mull it over. Stopping the mimics is your whole reason for being here. If blocking me can help, then..."
Owen pulled into the driveway and parked. He shut the engine off but didn't get out. Instead, he took a deep breath and puffed out my cheeks when he released it. "First, we're not even sure they can sense us. They haven't found us so far."
"Okay. And second?"
Owen's stress level spiked. "Second, you're my friend. I won't do that to you."
I waited for the thing causing his anxiety, and then realized that was it. "Was it that painful to call me your friend?"
Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, Owen growled. "No. It's just... it's weird. I'm not like you. I learned at home and trained. My brothers were my closest friends, and they were only fifteen when... " He squeezed the keys in my fist. "Can we be done with the touchy-feely shit?"
I wished he'd talk more about his brothers. Years of therapy drilled into me that keeping things bottled up caused pressure that could result in an explosion—or in my case, a poorly timed eruption that led to a short personal vacation from school and a mark on my permanent record. Talking would be good for Owen, but I wouldn't push. This conversation was already too much for him.
"Okay, we're done. But, Owen?"
"Whaaaat?" He dragged the word out as though it was painful.
"Whatever happens, I'm glad we met, and I'm glad you're my friend, even if you're severely emotionally stunted."
Owen chuckled as he opened the door. "Shut up, you damn hippie."
***
The aroma of grilled meat and onions lingered in the air as Dad and I cleared the dining table.
"It's been a while since we had steak. That was good." I grabbed a towel to wipe the counter clean.
"I'm pretty impressed with the fresh green beans I made. They're not meat or potatoes, and they were still great!"
I smiled as I loaded plates into the dishwasher. "Yeah, they were. Look out, Martha Stewart. Dad's got green beans!"
Dad flicked my ear. "You shouldn't make fun. Cooking is a skill. Besides, Martha's cool now; she hangs out with Snoop."
We laughed as Dad leaned against the cabinets, finishing his sweet tea and crunching on ice while I closed the dishwasher and it hissed to life. "I'll be out late tonight. I'm going into town."
"Ohhh! Hot date?" Dad wiggled his eyebrows.
"Super hot." I bit my lip and winked. "Nolan and I are gonna see where the night takes us, ya know?"
Dad shook his head and tossed the kitchen towel at my face. "Hey, as long as Lauren's okay with that."
My stomach twisted as I smirked at his joke and reminded myself that if it kept Dad safe, I couldn't feel bad for lying about my plans. I folded the towel and set it next to the sink. "Alright, I'm out."
"Be careful. Don't forget; we leave at seven tomorrow morning."
"I'll be right here, drinking coffee."
When my bedroom door closed, Owen said, "Switch. Let's get ready to hunt."
"What do we need to do? I thought we just had to get Lilla."
Tension seeped through Owen. "We have to gather our stuff first, so switch, and I'll do it."
"Fine."
I inhaled slowly and shut my eyes, and a second later, Owen opened them. "That was fast." He got the throwing knives from the drawer and slipped them into my pocket. Digging in a bag he brought from home; he unearthed the bigger knife he used to carry on his waist.
The door squeaked open, and Owen stuffed the weapon back in the duffel as Dad entered the room. I tried not to panic or say anything to distract Owen as he stood, staring like a deer in headlights. He'd never had to talk to Dad before.
Dad's eyes narrowed on my hands clutching the bag. "I just realized we'll have to pick up the faucet we need on the way, so we have to leave at 6:30."
"No problem, Ma-Dad. My Dad."
I scoffed. I never called Dad Marc. He'd definitely notice that mistake. If I could've, I'd have facepalmed.
Dad studied me. "Is everything alright, Bash? You're acting odd."
Owen scratched the back of my neck. "Yeah, groovy."
"Groovy?" Dad squinted.
"No one says groovy, Owen." I sighed.
"I mean, I'm totally fine." Owen dropped the duffel on the floor and kicked it under the bed.
Dad stepped closer. "Were you about to call me Mom? We haven't talked about her much recently, but you know we can, right?"
Now, I wanted to facepalm Owen—with my fist. "Damn it, switch," I grumbled.
Owen sat on the bed and peered at the tan carpet. Dad sank into the desk chair across from him, and a few seconds ticked by before I answered. "I know, Dad. It's okay."
He didn't seem to notice the pause, and asked, "How's your anxiety? Any panic attacks lately?"
I glanced away, trying to decide if I should lie.
Dad knows me too well though, and my hesitation was an answer. He nudged my boot with his. "Bash, you promised you'd tell me if you were having problems."
"I will but it's not a problem, really. It was only once." Well, once I'd tell him about, anyway. "I've been doing great for so long."
He patted my knee. "I'm glad you're doing well, but tell me if it happens again, alright?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry."
"I worry about you no matter what; it's my job." He ran his knuckles over my hair, flipping it around and messing it up. "And I'm damn good at it. Look at you."
I swatted his hand and then brushed my hair into place and straightened my shirt. "You're right; you're doing a bang-up job."
He grinned, and the mood lightened. I didn't want to disturb that, and we needed to leave, but something had been on my mind for a while. "Hey, Dad? What about you? Are you okay with everything?"
He shrugged. "It's hard, but I think it's better for us both if we try to accept that Mom's not coming back."
"Have you been expecting her to show up?"
Sadness coated his features. "Not really, not for a long time. I suppose I was hoping for... something."
The urge to tell him everything was intense. Owen stayed silent and I realized he wasn't going to stop me, but I couldn't. Not unless I was positive about what happened to her, and I wasn't.
"Maybe you should think about dating? Mom wouldn't have wanted you alone forever."
Dad's eyes were glassy as he slowly exhaled. "What's with the sudden interest? You have someone picked out for me?"
I cringed. "Nope. You're on your own. Pretty sure you could have your pick of the single track moms, though."
"Really?" Dad leaned away as if the idea had caught him off guard. He tilted his head. "That's worth considering." He stood and wandered from the room.
I called after him, "Feel free to come to me for dating advice. Just kidding, please don't."
The sound of him cracking up carried down the hall. "Son, it's been a while, but I'll figure things out."
I smiled, surprised at how much I liked the idea of Dad with a girlfriend. He deserved to find someone and be happy.
"Sorry about that," Owen said.
"It's okay. We probably needed to have that talk."
"Glad to help, then. Can we switch and get ready before we're late and Lilla has something else to bitch about?"
"Yeah, go." I relaxed and let Owen take over.
He got the bag and retrieved the big knife again.
"You're not putting that on my belt, are you?"
He studied the worn leather sheath. "What else would I do with it?"
"You want to blend in. Did you notice anyone strolling around with giant knives hanging from them?"
Owen stared at it, contemplating his choices. "You're right." He bent to hike my pant leg up, then slid the weapon and sheath into my boot. "There, that fits. It's less convenient, but it's important to blend in."
He tossed the bag in the closet and threw some of my dirty clothes on top. "Just in case Marc gets curious and searches for it." Grabbing the keys, he strode toward the door.
"Wait. That's it? You're ready?"
"What else should I do?"
"Nothing, I guess, but you were in a big hurry to switch, and I think I could've handled that."
"When we're hunting, I'd rather handle it from start to finish. No offense."
"None taken. Do your thing. I'll wait up here and pretend I'm watching a scary movie."
Owen laughed. "Solid plan."
***
Lilla climbed into the truck and gave an approving nod when she saw Owen running things. Once she settled in her seat, her knees pointed toward the door, and her gaze stayed glued to the side window.
Owen didn't seem to care. "We'll drive around town and if you feel anything, go from there."
"That'll be fine," she mumbled.
Unease mounted each time Lilla crossed and uncrossed her legs. Owen's posture was rigid as he drove, and they made a point not to acknowledge each other. I kept my mouth shut to avoid making things worse.
As we neared more houses and residential streets, Lilla lowered her window and closed her eyes. Owen peeked at her, but not long enough for me to see what she was doing.
I couldn't stop myself from asking, "Can she smell them?"
Owen chuckled, and Lilla spoke slowly as if she was dealing with a child. "No, I can't because I'm not a dog."
Groaning, I said, "I wasn't comparing you to a dog. I was just wondering. You're the one that rolled the window down."
"I'm trying to sense them. If they're close enough, I should be able to feel them in the air."
"Sure, I should've guessed that. It's so obvious."
"Maybe instead of guessing, you should go along for the ride without speaking." Her voice was heavy with attitude.
Owen huffed. "Maybe we should all stay quiet until we get there."
The tension was palpable after that. None of us spoke until a few minutes later when Lilla broke the silence. "We're close enough to town here; let's continue on foot. I need space; I can't sense anything around you two."
Owen pulled over and parked in front of a row of houses. As we got out, he asked, "Are you sure we should separate?"
Her brow furrowed as she slid her bag off the seat. "I've made it this far; I'll be fine. If you find one, follow it. Otherwise, we'll meet here in an hour." She slammed her door.
Owen clenched my jaw. "One hour."
We went in opposite directions on the sidewalk. This area was residential; quiet rows of little houses with nice yards filled both sides of the street, and cars were rare at this late in the evening. Living room windows glowed with the flickering light of televisions as people settled in for the night.
As soon as we were out of Lilla's earshot, I asked, "Where are we going?"
Owen jogged across the empty road toward the noise of the shops in town. "There'll be people eating and shopping. We'll hang back unless we notice something."
"Is this how you always hunted?"
"Not exactly. We used to start with a missing person or a body. Having a real starting point without anyone getting hurt is a tremendous improvement. Lilla's more likely to find one, though, since she can feel them. We're mostly wasting time, waiting for her to give us more direction."
"So we should've stayed together."
"Probably, but we're getting on each other's nerves. If she finds one, she'll let us know."
Owen quieted as a woman carrying an armful of colorful bags followed by five bouncing, chattering little girls licking dripping ice cream cones came toward us on the sidewalk. He stepped into the street to let them pass and smiled at the girl wearing a birthday crown with a sparkling number ten. "Happy birthday."
She blushed. "Thank you!" Her mom dug her keys out of her purse and ushered the girls to the SUV parallel parked a few spaces away.
Knowing we were there to hunt monsters made me glad they were getting in their car to leave. Closer to the town square, people gathered in clusters: families, couples—so many with no idea they could be in danger.
"What's wrong?" Owen asked, and surveyed the area.
"Everyone's going about their lives when there might be mimics here."
"What should they be doing?"
"I don't know." I scoffed. "Hiding?"
"That's no way to live."
"But they could be killed."
"That's not new; mimics have always been around. They work at the gas station, or teach kids, or deliver the mail. People pass them every day, wave, and say hello. Most of them never need to learn any different."
Thoughts of Mom and the way she'd snuggle next to me every night, taking turns reading, filled my mind. Near Halloween, I'd always want Room on the Broom, and she never complained. It was the last thing we read together before she went missing. I pushed memories of warm floral-scented hugs away.
Owen whispered, "I'm sorry you had to know the truth."
He must've seen I was thinking of Mom, and I was glad he didn't mention it. "I'm sorry you did too."
He lifted one shoulder. "Well, someone has to kick ass."
An older man side-eyed Owen, and I said, "You should probably be quiet before you make me look crazy. There's a bench over there. Why don't we sit and monitor everything?"
Without replying, he moved to the black metal seat. A brick storefront protected our backs, and we had a view of the entire outdoor shopping center.
Almost an hour later, all we'd seen was a bunch of regular people doing regular things. Owen stood and murmured, "Let's go see if Lilla found anything."
"Okay, but stop talking to yourself until we get away from everyone."
Owen snickered, and someone grabbed my arm from behind. He reached for the knife on my belt, and his helpless dread filled me when he came up empty.
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