Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 184: Grace: Bad Luck

Someone cranks the volume on the TV, drowning out the rain beating down on the RV’s thin roof.

Andrew had worked some technological magic earlier, casting from his phone to Lyre’s television. Now the children are hypnotized by a movie about people living in a world made entirely of blocks. It’s strangely soothing to watch, even if I don’t fully understand the appeal.

All four kids have crammed themselves onto the daybed, a tangle of limbs and blankets. Poor Ron is smothered, with Sara and Jer on either side of him and Bun in his lap, but they all look content.

It’s sweet.

Across from them, I’m wedged between the arm of the couch and Caine’s solid warmth. He’s not touching me, but there’s barely an inch of space between us at any given point.

Andrew should be the only one without a living being taking up space beside him, but both Sadie and the cat have elected to use him as a bed.

It’s all very... cozy.

And cramped.

Incredibly cramped.

This camper was not made for a giant family, a tagalong, and two large animals.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I stifle a groan. Probably another message from Wrath or Madness, begging me to explain how I got into their chat. I’ve been ignoring them for quite some time, but they haven’t given up.

I pull out the device, already planning on discarding the notifications, but freeze when I see Lyre’s name on my screen.

Finally, a response.

[LYRE: Just ignore any messages on Divinity Connect. It might be hard to reach us for a few days. Just wait until I contact you again.]

Or not.

Not only is her text rather unhelpful—I’m already ignoring the messages and still don’t know if I should be worried about these people—the latter half of it makes my chest feel heavy.

[GRACE: Are you okay? What’s happening?]

No response. The message shows delivered but not read... again.

She was just texting me two seconds ago!

I frown at the screen, trying to decide if I should be worried. I mean... it’s Lyre.

Bun squawks at the TV, and the kids suddenly shout, "Chicken jockey!", with all of them erupting into laughter. Bun giggles, though she seems to be more amused by their reaction than to understand whatever joke just occurred on-screen.

I don’t get it, either.

"Is something wrong?"

screen.

whole keeping-Divinity-Connect-a-secret thing is going to give me a heart

too quickly. His storm-gray eyes look unconvinced, and I backpedal. "I mean—Lyre just messaged. Says it might be hard to

spent hours studying his face to miss it. A slight tightening around his eyes, the barest

"Did she say why?"

my head.

unsurprised. After all, crypticity (is that a

a moment longer, processing. Then he rises from the couch, phone already in hand, and walks down the

take a genius to know he’s probably

of the characters builds a blocky tower at impossible speed while Sara mumbles something about ingredients. Jer hisses

quiet, it’s

TV the secret to peace all

of calm, but Lyre’s message nags at me. I check my

make her unreachable? Between the strange sounds during the last call and this,

them missions they can’t handle, but I

a tiny bit closer than before. His arm stretches along the

tempting to lean

the whole going-into-a-coma problem, and sanity prevails.

he says, voice pitched low. "But it’s not necessarily cause for concern. They probably require

it’s him. And if anyone can handle themselves in a dangerous situation,

breath and nod.

phone screen lights up again—another notification from Divinity Connect. I silence it without looking,

lot of messages," he observes, his eyes

I slip it into my pocket. "Just

* * *

Lyre’s daily recommendation. We argue for half an hour,

little fanfare or damage, as if mocking all of us for taking precautions—but another’s on its way by the next evening, as if chasing us down.

end, nine hours later, we’re exhausted but right at the edge of Blue Mountain territory, in a familiar Walmart

ready to hit by midnight. There’s even a state of emergency announced

without any strange hitches. No emergency stops, no throwing up—thanks to the motion sickness pills Andrew grabbed from the store—and, best of all, the children slept for

play strange car games. It started with I Spy and ended with them using their hands as puppets and

but disturbing. The worst was probably the semi-truck, a well-meaning, hard-working man, and the white

things Owen allowed them to

But more importantly...

thunderstorm warnings after ten p.m. "Didn’t we come this far to avoid

turns off the car without another comment, and doesn’t seem

"Were

his head. "Caine

Huh.

have to

minor emergency becomes our new focus, the details of the storm pushed aside as the boy bounces impatiently