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?"

me. I hadn’t noticed him leaning closer, his sharp gaze catching my screen. I exit

give me a heart attack before I

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

for someone who hasn’t spent hours studying his face to miss it. A slight tightening around his

"Did she say why?"

shake my head.

all, crypticity (is that a word?) is her

from the couch, phone already in hand, and walks down the narrow hallway

doesn’t take a genius to know he’s probably

a blocky tower at impossible speed while

so quiet, it’s a

TV the secret to peace all

by this moment of calm, but Lyre’s message nags

could be happening to make her unreachable? Between the strange sounds

the App doesn’t give them missions they can’t handle, but I

footsteps announce Caine’s return. He settles back beside me, a tiny bit closer than before. His

to lean

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

pitched low. "But it’s not necessarily cause for concern. They probably

sound worried, which should reassure me. If anyone knows Jack-Eye’s habits, it’s him. And if anyone can handle themselves in a dangerous situation, it’s

long breath and nod. "Right.

Connect. I silence it without looking, suddenly very tired of immortal beings and

observes,

it into

* * *

to drive farther than Lyre’s daily recommendation.

mocking all of us for taking precautions—but another’s on its way by the next evening, as if chasing us down. If we only go the recommended miles, we’ll

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

a familiar sight: a storm, ready to hit by midnight.

any strange hitches. No emergency stops, no throwing up—thanks to the

spent listening to Jer and Sara play strange car games. It started with I Spy and ended with them using their hands as puppets and pretending

storylines were not only convoluted, but disturbing. The worst was probably the semi-truck, a well-meaning, hard-working man, and the white sedan

makes me wonder what things Owen allowed

But more importantly...

announcing severe thunderstorm warnings after ten p.m.

another comment, and doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as

"Were

his head.

Huh.

to announce, "I have to pee so

focus, the details of the storm