Brothersong (Green Creek #4) - T.J. Klune Page 0,29

itched.

I was on the road for almost ten minutes before it ended in a small clearing. At one end of the clearing was a run-down house. The paint had long since peeled away, the wood weathered, looking almost charred. There was a hole in the roof near the front, about two feet across. The roof over the porch had collapsed.

The door was closed.

Two of the front windows were busted out, glass lying in the grass.

I stopped the truck.

My skin was vibrating as if a low electric current was coursing through me.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

Kelly said, “Maybe you should leave.”

I didn’t look at him. “Do you feel that?”

“Carter. You need to go.”

“Why?”

“Something’s wrong with this place. It feels….”

“Haunted.”

He touched my arm. “Yes.”

I looked down at his hand. “I’m already haunted.”

“By me.” He pulled away, folding his hands in his lap. “I’m just a figment of your imagination. Maybe even your conscience.” He shook his head. “Whatever I am, I’m telling you this isn’t a good place.”

I looked back at the house. “I don’t know.”

I could feel him glaring at me. “Remember when we went to that old witch’s house by the sea while trying to find Richard Collins? You said that was the point in horror movies where you yelled at the screen for people to not go inside the house.”

I reached for the door handle. “I’m a werewolf. I’m the one usually waiting inside the house.”

“It wasn’t funny then, and it’s not funny now. Don’t be stupid. Get out of here. Spend the full moon somewhere else.”

“There’s no one else around.” I glanced over at him. “I’ll be right back.”

He groaned. “That’s exactly what you’re not supposed to say. Jesus Christ.”

I opened the door and climbed out of the truck.

Not-Kelly did too. It struck me that I’d never actually seen him get out of the truck before. He was just always there.

But now?

Now I heard the door creak as he opened it, felt it rock when he slammed it shut behind him. I heard his footsteps on the dirt road. But I couldn’t hear his heart. It was like it was dead in his chest.

He stopped in front of the truck. “Well?”

I stared at him with a roiling sense of unease.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head slowly.

He grunted. “Let’s get this over with. And I swear to god, if something jumps out at me and I scream, you can’t make fun of me or I’ll punch you in the junk.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

We walked toward the house.

His arm brushed mine.

I could feel the hairs on his forearm. The delicate bones in his wrist.

I wondered if I was asleep.

If none of this was real.

I extended the claws on my right hand. I held up my left hand and scraped a claw against my palm. I winced as I drew blood. Pain.

I felt pain.

It wasn’t a dream.

I stared down at my hand as the wound healed.

“What did you do that for?” Kelly asked.

He was watching me with those bright blue eyes. “Do you remember that day in the woods before we left Maine? Just you and me. Dad said he didn’t know when we’d come back, so if there was anything we needed to do, we had to do it then.”

Kelly nodded. “We were walking. To nowhere. Anywhere. We didn’t have a destination in mind.”

“And you asked me a question.”

“I asked you if things were going to change for us. Joe was hollowed out and empty, Mom was barely holding on, Mark wasn’t talking, and Dad always had this pinched look on his face. I didn’t know what was going to happen. It felt like we were falling apart. I didn’t want to lose you too. You promised me that would never happen.” He raised his right hand, palm toward me before he closed it into a fist. “You cut your hand. And then mine. You were quick, before it could heal. You pressed your blood against mine. You said we’d always be together.”

“Yeah. I did.” Even though it was cold enough to see my breath, sweat rolled down the back of my neck.

“Why do you ask?”

“I love you,” I told him. “You’re my tether.”

He smiled. “I know I am. You’re my big brother. There’s no one like you in all the world.” His smile faded. “And that means you should listen to me. Let’s go, okay? Just you and me. We’ll get out of here, find a place where we can run together. Just like