Page 21

Claws and Honey

Callum

“So, you’re just going to leave? When were you planning on telling me?”

Cal raked his hand through his hair before setting his hat back onto his head and glaring at the horizon.

“It’s only a day or so.

I’ll be back afore you know it.

I just need t’ let Marta know where I’m goin’ and t’ keep it a secret.”

Fynten kicked a rock with his boot and sent it skittering over the sand.

“You’re welcome t’ go back if ya wanna.

I ain’t keepin’ ya here and Weston won’t care.”

“I can’t leave her with them,”

Cal grumbled.

He’d spent half the morning arguing with Weston about taking her back.

She was dangerous and nothing but trouble, but Weston was blind to it.

Either that, or he didn’t care about the terrorist attacks and the damages they caused.

The names from the list of casualties flooded his mind and he shook his head, clenching his teeth.

“She’s got Weston wrapped around her little finger and he doesn’t see it.”

“I don’t understand why ya got yer panties in a twist, Cal.

She’s sweet as honey.”

Fyn rubbed the top of his head, itching beneath the wide brim, and offered a half-shrug.

“Not you, too!”

Cal groaned and scrubbed at his face, the stubble rasping against his hand.

“Her poisoned crates took out nearly the entire dock of Khimer, and she stabbed me—not once but twice!”

Fyn snorted, but hid his smile behind a hand.

“That little thing? No way.

You didn’t see her with the chickies.

She lit up like a lil’ kid.

Makes sense if ya ask me.

She’s got chickens that steal babies and eggs the size of yer head, so it ain’t no wonder she liked the lil’ ones.”

“She told you that?”

Fyn made a sound in his throat and nodded.

“Yeh, and more too.

Like how we be dressin’ like corpses to send to her Be-hee-baw.”

Cal stared at him for several heartbeats.

A nasty feeling wound in his belly, an awful green shade of envy that he rarely felt.

After weeks together with nothing but animosity to show for it, she spends a scant few hours with Fyn and she’s an open book.

“Why did she tell you?”

“Maybe cuz I ain’t got a stick up my ass,”

Fyn quipped.

“I don’t have a stick up my ass.”

Fynten peered around Cal and raised his eyebrows as he looked at his bottom.

“I dunno, Cal, ya lookin’ pretty stiff t’ me.”

He laughed as Cal shoved him and he fell against the fence with a huff, throwing up mock fisticuffs before slouching back against the fence and carrying on about the girl.

“She ain’t done nothin’ worth getting all red for.

‘Sides, did ya see her wrists? Looked like somethin’ rubbed her skin raw an’ it scarred her good.”

“She didn’t have any abrasions on her wrists when I brought her over.”

“Maybe you missed it.”

“I did not.

My notes were clear and detailed and…”

He stopped and sighed.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

She’s cast her witch spell on you.”

Fyn grinned and his shoulders lifted in yet another shrug.

Callum wanted to pick him up and shake him.

Cal growled and leaned over the fence on his elbows.

“How do you not see what I mean? Dangerous.

She’s like a sandcat, but all you guys can focus on is how soft her fur is, missing the razor-sharp claws poised to fuck you up.”

“So, ya can’t leave her here with Weston, and Weston won’t let ya take her with you, seems yer only option is to stay a bit, eh? Might do ya good, I say.

And Weston’s got some respect for ya, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Callum hadn’t considered that option.

To stay and simply…be.

Have time to process and grieve.

Maybe he could find some quiet to draw a bit.

The more the thought bounced around his skull, the more firmly it planted itself.

“Fine, I’ll stay, but only till you get back.”

“Deal.

An’ don’t worry, I’ll be back afore you can miss my pretty face too much.”

Cal turned and leaned his shoulders against the fence, staring at the little farmhouse with his head tipped down in resignation.

“Smoke?”

Fyn asked, offering a little brown paper tube.

“Nah, but thanks.”

“Suit yerself.”

Fyn pulled a matchbox from his pocket and the hiss of flame sputtered as he held it to the end of the cigarillo clenched in his teeth.

“What do you suppose Weston is up to?”

Cal asked, crossing his arms, the hat shading his face.

“Weston? Well, I hear he’s da best when it comes t’ forgin’.

Tickets, orders, travel papers…Gavin says he used t’ be all high up in da gov’ment, but quit when his girl got sick.”

The smoke curled around Fynten’s face and dispersed in the hot breeze drifting in from the plateaus.

“Hmm.”

Cal chewed his lip, considering this new information, though he didn’t dare ask Weston directly.

“Did you hear what they said about the oritium?”

“Yeh, seems dey found a lil’ deposit a ways away.

Dey be tryin’ to mine it and process it themselves.

Hard work, but I bet it pays off.”

Cal shook his head again and blew out a sigh that melded with the hot air.

“Either that, or they’ll end up with a bullet in their skulls.”