Gathering Dark Candice Fox (e reader TXT) 📖

interest where it was. She’d just run off with it. What would be the fun in that? Whoever I tell, or whoever I would tell if indeed there is any money, would have to be someone I’d be happy to see fly away like a bird into a new life with it and never look back. Hey—sounds a little bit like you.

BLAIR

Sasha and Jamie were at my apartment. I recognized them standing on the lawn under the bright-orange streetlight, Sasha bent over her phone, Jamie kicking at the unmown grass. One of the men in long shirts who patrolled the street on a BMX bike was circling at the nearest intersection, probably made curious by the unfamiliar sight of Sasha’s Prius and now fascinated by the sight of my pimped-up Chrysler. Sneak and I exited the car to the familiar chorus of pit bulls behind chain-link fences and Chicano rap that heralded the fall of night.

Sasha took one look at us and her mouth fell open. We were desert-dusted and slightly sunburned, and Sneak had been picking at her amputated earlobe on the ride home, as much as I warned her not to. The wound had dribbled blood in a thin line down the front of her white tank top. Sneak had also ingested something from her handbag of mysteries as we reached the city limits and was nodding, her eyelids drooping unevenly.

“My god,” Sasha breathed, a hand to her chest, like a Southern belle startled in her parlor room by an unannounced visitor.

“This is Sn—Emily, my friend. She’s fine, she just…” My face was burning with horror, embarrassment. “She was mugged yesterday, that’s all. She’s also on medication.”

“Mugged?” Sasha looked at Sneak then me. “You were robbed and she was mugged … in the same week?”

“Go inside,” I told Sneak, giving her my keys. Jamie was wide-eyed with excitement at my side, watching her walk away. “What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

“We brought you cookies.” Sasha gestured to Jamie, who held up a bag. “I made a batch of Captain Americas that were supposed to go to a bake sale and didn’t. And I brought you this.” She thrust a wad of papers at me. “This is a little collection of materials I compiled on my neighbor five doors down, Roger Wardel. He’s an MIT graduate. Works in stocks. He’s looking for a housekeeper. Please tell me that’s not your new car.”

“It’s Sneak’s car,” I lied.

“Sneak?”

“Emily.”

“My god,” Sasha breathed again, shook her head. “Blair, honestly.”

“You want to come in? I can make you a coff—”

“I want to go in!” Jamie announced. “I want to see the blood again. Mom, can I?”

“No, Jamie, you can’t,” Sasha said. She glanced at the man on the bike, who had been joined by a friend on another lowrider. “It’s not safe around here.”

“He’s safe in my apartment,” I said. “He’s safe on my street. He’s safe anywhere I am.” I put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and guided him toward the apartment block. “You can come or you can stay out here, Sasha.”

My son had been to my apartment before, so knew about the box of chocolates on the shelf by the door. He went for them, but I grabbed his hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something I think you’ll like.”

We went to the kitchen. Sneak had left a pile of bloody clothes in the hall—Jamie ogled them as we went by—and I heard the shower running. The ice cream container was where I had left it on the counter. I pried it open. A whiff of animal smell met me, the dry, husky scent of the birdseed and grass Sneak had bought for the gopher to eat. The creature was propped up on its hind legs, looking expectantly up at me with oil-drop black eyes. I swallowed the prickling fear that rose in my throat and scooped the gopher into my palm.

“Look at this.” I presented it to Jamie.

“Ohhhhh.” His hands rose to his face and made fists of excitement over his mouth. “Oh wow. Wow. Wow! It’s a rat. You have a pet rat?”

“It’s a gopher. A Botta’s pocket gopher, in fact. I looked it up.”

“Who’s Botta?” Jamie asked.

“The guy who invented gophers.”

“Maybe it was the guy who invented pockets.”

“Could be.”

“Can I hold it?”

“Of course you can.”

I tumbled the warm little body into my son’s cupped hands. The gopher snuffled at its new fleshy surroundings, tiny pink paws gripping Jamie’s index finger. The gopher seemed to realize it was free to roam after being stuck in a box all day, and started walking up Jamie’s wrist, then forearm, toward his shoulder. He giggled and brought it back, only to have it do it again.

“Jeez, he sure likes you.” I folded my arms and watched, my heart big and heavy. “Look at him go. He wants to kiss you.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t think he has one…” I thought about it. “At least, not one that I’ve heard.”

“Can I name him?”

“Be my guest.”

The boy thought for a moment, looked at the bag of Captain America cookies he had dumped on the counter.

“Hugh Jackman.”

“You want me to call the gopher ‘Hugh Jackman’?” I laughed hard. “Why?”

“He plays Wolverine.”

“So why not call it Wolverine?”

“Because Hugh Jackman is way better.”

“Not Hugh? Not HJ? Not Jackie?”

“Hugh Jackman.”

“All right.” I shrugged. “You got it. Is he your favorite Avenger or something?”

“Oh god.” Jamie slapped a palm over his eyes. “Wolverine is an X-Man, not an Avenger. Jeez, Mom.”

My breath seized in my chest. Jamie didn’t seem to realize his mistake. He stroked the gopher on the top of its head.

“Well, this is the most awesome thing that has ever happened in my whole life,” the boy said.

“That’s a hell of a claim. I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

Sasha beeped her car horn from the front of the house and I went to the door to wave at her. “All right, buddy, put Hugh Jackman back. Make sure you