Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,187
a rose bloomed through Ox’s stomach.
The raven croaked as it spread its wings. Then, almost quicker than we could follow, it shot up into the air and hung suspended above us, wings wide, feathers ruffling.
Joe lifted Ox’s hand and pressed it against his chest, just above his heart.
He turned his face toward the sky.
And howled.
Each of us joined him in turn, adding our voices to his.
We sang with everything we had.
But it wasn’t just the wolves. It was everyone. All the people, witches and wolves and humans alike.
We all sang for him.
The rose opened.
At its center was a light.
And before it exploded, I saw my father standing in the trees.
He was smiling.
Then everything went white.
WE STOOD IN THE CLEARING.
The moon was full.
Doors. So many doors. Doors that went on forever.
But it was different than it’d been before.
Every single door was open.
“What is this?” Joe whispered.
I looked over my shoulder. The people of Green Creek were gone, but in their places were little balls of light. Dozens of them.
Gordo moved first. He walked toward the closest door. It was made of old wood, symbols carved into the frame. Vines and roses in such detail, they almost seemed real.
On top of this door sat the raven.
It bobbed its head up and down as Gordo approached.
The doorway was black. It looked like empty, vast space.
But as Gordo got closer, the blackness faded.
Voices came from just inside the doorway.
Gordo’s chest hitched.
He said, “Is this….”
A woman laughed. A child squealed in joy. And then Robert Livingstone said, “Oh where, oh where can he be? Has anyone seen my son? His hiding place is so good that I’m worried he’ll be lost forever!”
He sounded different.
Younger.
Lighter.
Happier.
Gordo’s hand shook as he reached toward the door.
Gavin stopped him. One moment he was by my side, and the next he was pulling Gordo away from the door. Gordo struggled, but Gavin was stronger, and he was saying, “No, Gordo, no. It’s not real. Don’t.” He wrapped his arms around Gordo’s waist, holding him in place even as Gordo tried to break free. “It’s not real.”
“I have to see,” Gordo snapped. “I have to—”
“There you are,” Livingstone said, and the child (Gordo?) burst out laughing. “I thought you were gone forever! I was so worried.”
“Never,” Gordo said from somewhere inside the door. And in the clearing, still in the grip of his brother, he said, “Never, never, nevermore.”
Mark went to them. Gordo stopped trying to pull away, hanging his head. Mark stood in front of him, blocking the doorway.
He said, “I remember this. You were… six? Seven? You would always hide. Your mom knew where you were, but she’d never tell. And he would find you. He would always find you. Memory. It’s a memory.”
The roses in the wood of the door, only seconds before vibrant and wild, looked dead.
The raven was gone.
“Glamour,” Robbie said, reaching up to touch the mark between his neck and shoulder. “It’s a glamour.”
Kelly took his hand, holding on as tight as he could.
We moved as one past the doors. I tried as hard as I could to stare straight ahead, not to let myself become distracted. But I could feel the pull, the urge to go to one of the doors and look inside, to see what I could see.
Robbie said, “Mom?” and it crumbled and cracked.
He stood in front of another door. A pair of glasses sat on the top of it. They looked like the ones he wore.
“I’ll eat you up, I love you so,” a voice crooned from somewhere inside. “I’m not crying. I promise. We’re all right. West, Robbie. We’ll go west. Where the wolves run with humans and nothing can hurt us ever again.”
He took a step toward it, but Kelly pulled him back.
He blinked as if waking from a heavy sleep.
He said, “Kelly, I….”
“I know,” my brother said. He kissed Robbie sweetly. “It hurts. It makes us bleed. But we’re together.”