Page 2 of Chasing Shelter (Sparrow Falls #5)

A ringing clawed at my ears, making me blink against the darkness in the bedroom. By the time my eyes were fully open, I wondered if I’d imagined it. But then the knocking began, followed by muffled voices.

I pushed up in bed, throwing off the stupid, pale pink comforter and sliding my feet into my slippers.

I crept toward my door as if some invisible ghost might spot me out of bed and tattle to Dad.

The voices got louder as I approached the door, and a shiver worked its way down my spine as my fingers closed around the glass doorknob.

I waited, listening, trying to make out the words.

But everything was too muffled. I stayed there for a moment, my heart hammering against my ribs at just the thought of what I wanted to do.

I closed my eyes and summoned my strength as I replayed the promise I’d made with Linc earlier today in my mind.

Ever so slowly, I twisted the knob and slid into the hall just as Linc’s door opened.

His gaze cut instantly to me. “Go back to bed,” he mouthed.

I shook my head and jutted out my chin. I was finding a little of the strength he had.

He let out a frustrated breath and then reached for my hand. We carefully moved down the hall, both aware that the wood planks might give us away if we stepped wrong. We tried to stay on the antique rugs that dotted the path.

I caught a few words as we approached the entryway. Upstate New York. Bridge. Crime scene.

A sick feeling slid through me, making me feel queasy and heavy all at once. I tried to fight off the nausea, but it distracted me enough that I stepped in the wrong spot. The floor creaked, and the voices went silent.

Dad stalked around the corner. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I-I heard voices,” I stammered.

“You guys weren’t exactly quiet,” Linc defended.

Dad ran a hand through his hair, giving it an unkempt look that was very unlike him.

His jaw tightened, and that telltale muscle pulsed again.

“Doesn’t matter.” His gaze moved from my brother to me and back again, a coldness creeping into every part of him.

“There was an accident. Your mother’s dead. ”

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

I chewed the bite of pork tenderloin our chef had probably spent hours on and tried not to think about the little creature it had once been.

The one time I’d told Dad I wanted to stop eating meat, he hadn’t been thrilled.

“You don’t want to eat like a normal person, then you’ll get bread and water in this house and nothing else. ”

I’d lasted three days. When I asked to eat with him again, he’d served the rarest cuts of meat for a week straight and sat there until I ate every last bite.

But nights like tonight were easier. He was focused on files as he ate while I stared out at the glittering lights of the city and the park’s lit pathways.

I told myself stories about a little girl who discovered she was really a fairy princess and the royal court that came to rescue her from the evil human who’d kidnapped her.

I was getting pretty good at the stories. They were all I really had now. Dad had stopped letting me have playdates with Kate, Linc had told Dad to jump in the Atlantic and went off to Stanford instead of Harvard like Dad wanted. And Mom…she was gone.

A burn lit at the backs of my eyes. I missed her. I missed the little glimmer of hope that she’d take Linc and me out of here. Somewhere we could be free. Even if it never happened, at least I’d had the hope. Now, I had nothing at all.

“Eleanor.” Dad’s voice snapped out like a whip.

My spine jerked straight as I took a mental inventory of what I might’ve done wrong.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. He held up a piece of paper, but the sheet trembled, so I couldn’t make out the words.

“W-what do you mean?”

“This.” He slammed the paper down on the table, making the plates rattle.

Dad rarely let his temper show, so I knew I’d stepped in it. Whatever I’d done.

“I told you that you had two choices. The flute or the violin. A young lady does not play the saxophone.”

I felt the blood draining from my head. The all-girls school I attended on the Upper West Side had a music program that started in second grade.

We all got to pick an instrument. Everyone except me, apparently.

But at the last possible second, I’d been a rebel.

I’d been strong like Linc and picked the sax because it sounded cool.

I hadn’t thought Dad would find out. It wasn’t like he ever came to anything but the meetings with my teacher. He always played the working-single-dad card. I’d heard him too many times to count.

But I should’ve known. He had eyes everywhere. He probably got weekly reports on my behavior from people at the school.

“Eleanor.”

That tone. It instantly had sweat rolling down my back and my hands fisting in my lap.

“I’m disappointed in you.”

My mouth went dry, and my legs began to shake.

“Clearly, you aren’t ready for the responsibilities I’ve bestowed on you. The privileges.”

A sick feeling took root in my belly. What else is left? What else can he take away?

And then he said it.

“Until you can prove that you are worthy of the privileges I bestow on you, there will be no more weekly chats with Lincoln?—”

“Dad, no! Please!” The tears were instant, streaming down my face in angry torrents. It didn’t matter that Linc was working two jobs to cover his tiny apartment or taking extra classes to try to finish early. He always made our calls.

My father’s cold look had me snapping my mouth closed. “He’s already a bad influence on you. Overly emotional. Rebellious. I won’t stand for it.”

All the best parts of me were things Linc had instilled in me. Things he’d fostered. Because he was often more father than brother.

I’d have to pack those things. Hide them from the world until it was safe to take them out again.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll do better. I just…please don’t take him away, too.”

My father smiled then. Like when he won an especially brutal round of racquetball or closed a business deal. Because he knew he’d won. “I’m glad to hear that, Eleanor. Now, tell me. What will it be, flute or violin?”

I stared at the plate of half-eaten food, knowing I’d have to finish or risk hellfire for that, too. “Whatever you think is best. ”

Dad’s grin only widened. “I’ve always been partial to the flute. Violin can be a little shrill, don’t you think?”

Some part of me knew I answered. That I’d played the part he wanted me to play. But the rest of me? I buried it deep so no one could ever steal it from me again. The only problem was that I didn’t have it either.