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HINDSIGHT’S A WITCH
GUILD OF GUARDIANS 2
SKYLER ANDRA
Hindisght’s a Witch (Guild of Guardians #1) © Copyright 2020 Skyler Andra
Cover art by Atlantis Book Design.

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright

Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or
by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publisher/author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary
gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a
fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
 CONTENTS

Foreword
Introduction
Guild of Guardians Reference Guide

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36

About the Author

Thank you Barbie, Raina Collins and Rachel Osborne, my kinky little
minxes, who won a competition to create the sex scenes for this
book.
Hope I do them justice ladies!
 FOREWORD

Author’s Note: this book features crossovers with Resting Witch

Face, a novella in the Wicked Souls collection. You don’t need to
read the novella, but it will help for context.
 INTRODUCTION

Welcome to my Guild series universe where my heroes and heroines

protect the world from supernatural and magical threats.

Guild of Shadows - academy

Darkfire
Wifdfire
Crossfire
Heathrfire (A Christmas novella available by subscribing to my
newsletter)
Hellfire
Nightfire (coming 2021)

Guild of Guardians - paranormal prison

Witch Hunt (a prequel novella coming 2020)
Life’s a Witch
Hindsight’s a Witch - to be read with Resting Witch Face
Resting Witch Face available in Wicked Souls collection
Witch Please (coming 2021)

Guild of Sorcerers (coming 2021/2022)

The Guild of Sorcerers will feature in crossovers with the Guild of
Shadows and Guild of Guardians as well as my Evil Queen series
(Dark Fae Legacies coming 2020). Keep your eyes peeled. Subscribe
to my newsletter for updates skylerandra.com/index.php/
subscribe/

Check out the About the Author section for more of my

exciting and addicting series <3 Skyler
 GUILD OF GUARDIANS REFERENCE GUIDE

Below is a list of names used throughout this series.

Avoid metal detection – bees’ nettle and dandelion weed.

Cell-bound – stripped of leadership duties, refused missions,
and living out the remainder of one’s sentence stuck inside the walls
of the prison.
Centaur – Tark of House Longrider is a centaur.
Drezlyn – prisoner that the team bust out of prison in Resting
Witch Face.
Gantii – Guardian’s word for a supernatural creature.
Gantii Council and Council of Elders – hear the gantii
criminal’s case.
Guild Pact – declaring peace, friendship and cooperation.
Karvosh – Lycan word for vampires.
Marra Wugul – Raze’s people’s word for Star Walker.
Mothman – hairy bug men with wings. Immune to the draining
effects of vampires thanks to genetic evolution. Typically they lived
far from the vamp covens, and didn’t work together.
Projector – shoots stakes like a crossbow, but it’s an arm
contraption.
Rarsha – Unseelie currency.
Rarknul – Unseelie fae mafia.
Rune Blaster – shoots laser runes onto specific creatures that
renders them paralyzed and unconscious.
 Sapphire Planet – gantii’s word for Earth.
Stakes – good to drain a vampire’s energy and return energy
they’ve bled from someone else.
Talnok – infamous Unseelie fae prison known for its cruelty.
Terra Room – a special room where the Guardians portal to and
from the supernatural worlds.
Tollens – name for Guardian Soldiers.
Varlor – bone repair serum.
Verarie – official documentation to deliver or transport a gantii
prisoner.
Watchtower – room that the Guardian teams use to scour
media, social media and police reports for signs of gantii on Earth.
Yarna – vampire word for Lycanthropes.
Zikers – gantii criminals.
 CHAPTER 1

A stra

“K noxe , wait ,” I shouted at him as he led the team, prisoners, and

victims we escorted out of the cave system.
Our leader stopped and turned to face me, jerking his vampire
prisoner to a halt, and it snarled, its clawed fingers wriggling from
within its chained hands.
“What is it?” Knoxe growled, prompting the rest of the team to
come to a halt.
He might’ve come across as harsh, but there was nothing cruel
about him. Underneath all his gruffness, he hid his pain. Sometimes,
he lashed out to release it. Usually, I was his punching bag, but
sometimes Tor, my man, took the heat, too.
Raze stood still and strong, his legs wide, eyes narrowed,
warning me to stay silent. In the depth of the caves, I’d discovered
his secret identity and promised to keep it. At any moment, he could
transfer into that Lycan beast and tear my head off like he did the
vampire he chased deeper into the cavern. My neck burned as if
he’d slashed me, and I rubbed it.
The vampire prisoner Pascal led groaned, stumbled, and he
jerked the creature upright, earning a hiss. Worry darkened his
glance at me.
“I need to…” Raze’s glare burned into me. He twitched, nervous
and on edge. “To get a sample from the vamps,” I said to Knoxe. “To
investigate them with my gift.”
My magic enabled me to dissolve creatures into their base
chemical elements, and recently I’d discovered the ability to analyze
the components of vampires, learning something new about my gift.
I had to get a blood sample on a cloth or something before we
got back to the Guardians prison facility, and access to the prisoners
would be restricted. Once we got back, everything would have to be
run past the warden, which meant mountains of forms to get
permission. This way would be much easier.
“Hurry up.” Knoxe gave me an impatient wave, and I removed a
bandage from the emergency kit I carried on my belt.
Raze breathed out heavy but relieved.
“Thank you.” I glared at the vamps in their glowing restraints.
Cautiously, I approached Knoxe’s vamp prisoner, wary because it
could still hurt me, even in the manacles. One of the bastards had
crushed my shoulder against the stone wall, and I didn’t want
another limb busted by it. Knoxe had given me a painkiller ten
minutes ago to deal with the ache, and it held for now, but I didn’t
want a repeat of that incident.
I also glanced at the Mothman family who’d accompanied us out
of the tunnel. They’d agreed to return to the Guild with us for
questioning about their hostage situation with Styx’s crew. We still
hunted for the head vampire, and the Mothman family were a big
lead in the case, so of course, Knoxe wasn’t leaving them behind.
The vampire snarled and jerked away as I tried to collect a blood
swab from it. “Settle, big guy.”
Knoxe yanked the chains, and it stumbled. “Stay still.” His
bracelet emitted a translation in vampire language, and the beast
snarled once more.
I quickly swiped the bandage along a graze on its arm, and
tucked it away in my kit. I’d investigate it after I had my injury
tended to by the Guardian physician.
 “Move out,” Knoxe ordered, and we continued along the
darkened tunnel to the entrance, where it was better to open a
portal back to the Guardian facility.
“Mission well done, team.” Tor hated silence, and not being the
center of attention, so he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for very long.
“What are we celebrating with tonight?”
Imagining how we’d celebrate if the Guardian’s prison rules didn’t
restrict us was his shtick. The reminder of our incarceration was
depressing. Discipline, rules, order, timetables, punishment, and
reward. I’d suffer for the next twenty-five years, minus the
enjoyment of a nice drink at night… unless my appeal overturned my
sentence. But this little game was a fun way to forget all that, and
pretend we had freedom, social lives, and the right to choose.
If we didn’t have to take the captives back to the Guardians, we
might sneak a drink at a tavern in the gantii world.
“Beer,” Knoxe shouted from up the front.
“Second that,” Raze called out from his side.
“Cider,” Pascal chimed in from the back.
Tor clapped his hands together. “Jim Beam and cola.” He turned
to me and gave me a sexy wink, suggesting he was about to tease
me. “I bet you drink Vodka Cruisers.”
Yep. He liked to rile me up and get me to bite. It was our thing.
He thought I was hot when I got mad. I took the bait every time,
but I liked it. He was light and fun in a world that was cold, hard and
bleak.
For that remark, I thumped him in the upper arm and earned a
chuckle. “Excuse me, but I don’t drink girly drinks. I’m a tequila shot
kind of girl.”
“Party chick, hey?” He grinned.
Pain cracked down my shoulder, my arm, and neck from hitting
him, and I bent over, clutching the side of my bad arm. The
painkiller began to wear off, and hell-raising fire flared in the
crushed bone, socket, and muscles, aching like a damn bitch.
“You okay there, Supergirl?” Tor took my hand as we walked out
of the mothman’s cave.
“Fine.” I winced.
 “No, you’re not.” Tor jerked my wrist, pulling me to a stop. He
bent and scooped me into his arms, carrying me out of the darkened
tunnel.
I bit back the pain from the motion, which hit like I imagined a
blow from Thor’s hammer would feel. “You should carry me like this
more often.”
I tried to keep it light and fun. We’d just faced death at the
hands of the vampires, who’d almost consumed our life energy, and
would have killed us if it wasn’t for Tor and Pascal saving the day.
Tor gave me his sexiest grin. “Happy to oblige, my lady.”
Hey, I wasn’t going to say no to my six-foot-something, Thor-
look-a-like prison boyfriend. This was the stuff in the audiobooks I
listened to, and I was taking full advantage while I could.
Up ahead, Pascal glanced over his shoulder, his brows heavy over
his emerald eyes. “You remind me of Locke from Cupid’s
Vengeance.”
Cupid’s Vengeance. The asshole publisher unceremoniously
canceled the damn good comic after two collections. Twenty
volumes were definitely not enough to explore Locke’s adventures
with her harem of godly avatars as they fought threats to the world
and wielded the power of the gods to do their work on Earth to
protect it.
I was curious why he compared me to Locke, though. She was
sassy as they came and beautifully flawed. If you pissed her off, she
didn’t hold back with her dark Cupid powers.
“Why’s that?” I called out to Pascal.
Raze and Knoxe shared a smile, the one which said, here they go
again, talking about their geeky comics. But screw them.
“You’re weren’t prepared for this world,” Pascal said in his no
hold barred Autism-truth talk. I couldn’t blame him for it. I had
Asperger’s and spoke my mind. too. “But you fought like a true
heroine.”
Aww. Cute. “Thanks, Pascal.”
He glanced over his shoulder again and smiled, his shyness
forcing his head to tilt down, his eyelids at half-mast as he looked at
me beneath his lashes. Then he shoved his prisoner in the back to
signal it to keep moving. It jerked forward with a growl.
I admired Pascal’s back, his tall but slender build in comparison
to the others. Broad and muscled, more like a swimmer than a
warrior. After the battle with the vamps, he walked straighter, taller,
with more confidence, rather than his usual slouch. His sexy, blue
hair was all frazzled, but I still wanted to run my fingers through it. I
wondered what it would be like to kiss him if I could ever get close.
He didn’t like to be touched.
I didn’t know how he managed to escort the vampire out of the
caves. He handled it with reluctance but followed the orders.
Every few minutes, he’d rub his forehead, possibly from the pain
caused by his headaches. Back in the battle, he’d displayed
enhanced powers, and had admitted to Tor his powers had mutated.
I hoped he didn’t go all Dark Alastria on us and instead, headed
down the lines of our favorite comic, The Silver Strand, when her
magic turned cosmic and allowed her to battle powerful galactic
warriors.
I dug my good hand into the crook of my bad arm and squeezed.
God, the ache returned with a vengeance.
If his power grew stronger, the warden might lock him up in level
three, where all the dangerous and most powerful prisoners were
kept, their magic too destructive and threatening to allow them to
be sent on missions. Pascal wouldn’t survive one day locked up in
one of those cells.
Tor bent to kiss the top of my head, and I closed my eyes,
smiling. “My sexy little, cupid.” Then he fell into line with Pascal
ahead of me, and pat him on the back. “Your good, buddy? Your
head’s not giving you too much trouble?”
“I’m good,” Pascal replied.
Tor pointed to Pascal’s hair. “Your new look suits you. Makes you
look like a mad superhero!”
“What’s wrong with me?” Pascal ran his hand across the side of
his hair that had changed to white from whatever his magic had
done to him.
 “Half your hair’s streaked white.” Tor clapped both hands on
Pascal’s shoulder. “It’s giving me a mad scientist vibe. And you’ve got
a wicked lightning bold on your cheek too.”
Pascal’s fingers touched the symbol on his cheek. I hoped they
marked the ending of his headaches. “Cool.”
Tor slowed his step to meet mine, took my hand, escorting me
out of the cave.
Outside, Knoxe opened a portal for us to travel back to the Guild.
A vampire growled as Pascal pushed him through the window.
Raze dragged an unconscious gantii through behind him. Damn,
he was strong, and now, I knew why. A little help from his Lycan
side. But he shouldn’t have been flaunting his power if he didn’t
want the rest of the team to find out. The vamp deserved it, though,
since it had tried to get away. Raze chased it, smacking it on the
back of the head to knock it out.
“Geez, buddy.” Tor groped Raze’s bulging arms. “Easy on the
roids.”
“Smartass.” Raze yanked his arm away.
Before he disappeared into the glow of the portal, Raze shot me
another menacing look, a threat to stay quiet, and my stomach
clenched.
He, too, like Pascal, presented the Guardians with another
problem. The team and I would have to protect them both. As a
werewolf, being caged in prison was bad enough, but if the warden
discovered Raze was a gantii, he’d be locked in maximum security,
too. That kind of detention, with only one hour of freedom outside of
the cell per day, would destroy Raze.
Tor followed Knoxe through the portal, and we emerged in the
corridor outside of the gantii detention facility within the Guardian’s
prison. The portal slurped closed behind us. Raze and Pascal logged
their prisoners in at the guarded booth outside the compound.
Knoxe wobbled and hunched his back like someone had lugged
him in the gut.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” He wiped his face. “Just portal sickness.” His back
straightened, and he sighed. “Raze, Pascal, you take the vampire
prisoners for questioning. I’ll handle the Mothman. Tor, take Astra to
the infirmary.”
Raze and Pascal nodded and continued with the paperwork for
the vamps.
“Yes, boss.” Tor saluted him.
 CHAPTER 2

A stra

“T hat ’ s a decent injury .” The Guardian physician examined my

shoulder. “A dislocated shoulder and broken humerus.”
“Can you fix it?” I winced when she touched the cuts and bruises
on my right arm, then again when she looked at the bone sticking
out at an odd angle.
“Sure.” The physician, a Guild healer, skilled in magic and herbs,
pulled away to grab a needle and a vial containing something murky
with chunks of plants in it. Some kind of potion made by the
Hadrians, healers of the Guild. “I see this kinda thing about twice a
month.”
I almost fainted. That news alone propelled me to dissolve first
and ask questions later. That way, I wouldn’t get injured.
Tor never let go of my hand. I liked the way he stuck by me and
protected me. It felt incredible. Definitely something I could get
used to. Especially in a place like this, where I needed someone
strong to have my back. But I didn’t just want him around for that. I
wanted him with me all the time. My very own sexy superhero.
“I just need you to sign this insurance form before I can give you
a healing shot.” The healer shoved a clipboard with paperwork and
pen on it.
Damn. I wrote with my right hand. I weakly scribbled something
not even remotely resembling my signature on the form and dated
it. Tor took it and put it on the metal shelves beside us.
“This is gonna hurt a bit.” The healer lifted the syringe to my
arm.
Soon the agonizing pain was going to return. I was willing to
take a little more suffering to heal. But when she injected it, I yelped
and squeezed Tor’s hand so tight I was surprised I didn’t crush his
bones. My veins felt like they were on fire from the liquid coursing
through me. Bones cracked and snapped as they reformed. The
discoloration of my bruises faded slowly. Gashes from the vamp’s
claws and teeth healed over into scabs.
The healer patted me on the arm. “You should be good in a few
hours. But no training for a week to let the bones set properly.”
I groaned and leaned my head back into the pillow with a sigh.
This was better than waiting a month for the bones to repair or
having to have reconstructive surgery.
Knoxe burst into the room and came to stand beside my bed.
“The prisoners are logged into the system, and the Mothman are
being taken care of.”
“Good.” I glanced as my bone cracked, and I flinched.
“I’ve got to get back to them soon, but I need to talk to Astra.”
Knoxe jerked his head, gesturing for Tor to give us some space.
I liked that he used my first name now instead of my last. It
made me feel like we’d crossed the bridge and were closer to
becoming a team.
“Sure.” Tor leaned to give me a quick kiss on the forehead before
making himself scarce.
I thought Knoxe would have asked how I was. Maybe offered
some feedback on how I did on my first mission and provided helpful
tips on doing better. But instead, he cornered me. “What happened
back there in the cave?”
I frowned and glanced at my arm. “The vamps overwhelmed me,
and I got hurt. Please, don’t grill me on broken protocol.”
“I’m not talking about that.” His glare softened.
 “What are… you talking about then?”
“When you, Tor, and Raze emerged.” He sat on the edge of my
bed, and my heart flipped in my chest. Down girl! “Something
happened in the cave.”
Insightful. Observant. Crap. I couldn’t hide much from him.
Jimmy, an old gamer friend of mine, teased me about how bad my
poker face was in our our weekly Dungeons and Dragons games.
Don’t even get me started on Friday night games night at The Guild.
Knoxe studied me, forcing me to look away. Did he know about
Raze, too? I gripped the side of the bed with one hand,
contemplating whether to confess.
No. Keep your mouth shut, Astra. You promised.
Raze could get into serious trouble if the Guardians found out.
Gantii were forbidden to be members of the Guild. I didn’t know why
he’d joined or what he wanted, whether to sabotage the Guild, like
an infiltration by a traitorous serpent back at the Shadows, or
because his race needed the Guardian’s help. Come to think of it, I
didn’t know how he even got accepted, when they tested each
member prior to entry.
The thought wound my mind back to the time Devon had stalked
me, and I’d followed Raze into the equipment storage room, and
Devon and I busted Raze returning borrowed Guardian property.
Raze was up to something. First, I’d get his side of the story before
deciding whether or not to rat him out to Knoxe. Until then, I’d
guard his secret as fiercely as Pascal fought off the vampires to save
us. But Raze owed me answers and big ones.
Silver blazes, I needed a lie and a good one to convince Knoxe.
With my Asperger’s, I couldn’t lie. This guy was like a bloodhound,
and he’d just caught a whiff of me, suspecting I knew something
that might aid his vengeance. He wouldn’t let go until he got his
answers. I needed to give him a good one or his suspicions would
turn to me.
“I just wasn’t used to all the blood and gore.” I rubbed my
forehead for emphasis, hoping I was convincing enough.
“Don’t keep secrets from me.” Knoxe’s tone deepened, raw, strict,
and commanding. “I can’t lead you and the rest of the team if
something’s off.”
I sat up stiff as a board. “Water, oxygen, gas, I can handle.
That’s my jam. But blood and…” I shivered.
He picked at some fluff on the sheet. “The Guardians is very
different from the Shadows. It’s kill or be killed. We’re dealing with
criminals. They’re not some stupid ogre who crossed the veil and
needs a hitch back to his dimension.”
“I know.” I didn’t need a history lesson.
“If you can’t handle it, then…”
A burst of fire coursed through my veins. I wasn’t the kind of girl
who needed babying. I’d faced bullies all my life, and in here, I’d
met every test he threw at me. Even the mission. We all got hurt. If
he thought me weak, he had another thing coming.
“I can handle it.”
He changed the topic quickly and probably for the best. “I
remember my first time.” Knoxe’s tone softened to the point that it
felt like he conversed with a friend, which startled me, given our
rocky relationship. “All that blood covering my uniform. I had
nightmares for months. The shrink gave me pills, but I flushed
them.”
After traumatic missions, we had to visit the resident psychologist
to keep our sanity in check. I’d have my first visit soon. Anyone who
suffered injuries was automatically scheduled for sessions in case
they suffered PTSD. I would. I’d never forget the way those
vampires crushed my shoulder. The way they drained my life force
and almost killed me and the rest of the team. It would haunt me
forever.
Knoxe stared at the wall. “With time and more missions, I got
used to it.”
I started to sweat at the thought of more gore. My blood
pressure spiked, and the machine monitoring me started to beep.
Knoxe jumped to check it. Then he sat next to me, took my hand,
and rubbed it between his. A smaller, less powerful current arced
through me. The machine spiked again. Except this time, it wasn’t
because of my anxiety, but because of his proximity. Of the way he
smelled amazing, earthy, raw, and spicy. The callous pad of his
thumb caressing me forced me to back a moan.
Fuck. Calm down.
Not happening, sister. Knoxe had made his position on me clear. I
was strictly a teammate, that was all. But as much as I only wanted
to see him that way too, I couldn’t. The broken man beside me, hid
behind his armor, masking his pain with hard and cold words to me.
An act to push me away so we didn’t get close. So I didn’t replace
Jaz. But I didn’t want to replace him. That was never my intention. I
just wanted acceptance and respect.
Knoxe’s eyes darkened and hooded. The way the tip of his
tongue glazed his lips should have been a criminal offence because
of how sexy it was. His gaze dipped to my mouth. Yeah, he wanted
to kiss me. He snapped back to reality and jerked his hand away.
Every time we got close, he pulled away. Something told me he’d
always be hot and cold.
What scared him, I didn’t know. I wanted to peel back his armor
to discover the man behind it. The one I’d seen glimpses of. The
man who walked behind me in the vampire homeworld, protective of
my every step, ready to lend his hand when I tripped on the jagged
rock. The man who’d gone crazy at the vampires when they hurt
me. The man concerned for me, who’d grilled me about the cave,
because he knew something was up. The man who lighted a fire
within me the moment I touched him. And I know he felt it too. He’d
jerked back with shock, just like he’d done moments earlier.
“Hey, did I ever tell you about the time we caught a baby
Pegasus shifter?” Knoxe lifted his forefinger, calling me out of my
thoughts. “Cutest little critter ever. Liked to nibble my fingers.”
He knew the way to my heart with sweet little animal stories. It
helped to calm me down in stressful situations.
A spluttered laugh escaped my lips, and I looked into his eyes.
We just sat in silence, holding each other, as if we were anchoring
each other to sanity. The beeps on the machine quickened, and
Knoxe glanced at it then back to me. Dammit. I wasn’t very good at
hiding my emotions or telling lies. I closed my eyes, enjoying the
way his finger brushed the back of my hand. But when he tucked
some stray hairs behind my ear, my heart stuttered, and my pulse
went wild. The machine gave me away, beeping like wild.
Knoxe’s stare drilled into me, burning a blush into my cheeks. I
pushed his hand aside, unable to bear him stroking me, or his
closeness. Now, he knew my little secret. I didn’t want him to know I
found him insanely attractive, that I imagined him taking Carter’s
place in Bastard Bikers book two as I listened to the audiobook at
night, that I heard his voice in the narrator’s place, that I imagined a
hot threesome with him and Tor. I slumped back into the bed.
On a positive note, I’d steered the conversation away from Raze.
Woohoo. Astra one. Knoxe zero…. just not on the attraction side.
That was reversed. Ugh.
Knoxe patted my shoulder and leaned in so close his hot breath
on my neck made me dizzy. “You need to get some rest.” The fire
from his body melted me, and I needed air. As if realizing his vicinity,
he snapped back, leaving me in the cold of his shadow. “In a couple
of days, when you’re feeling better, I need you to analyze those
samples.”
 CHAPTER 3

K noxe

“Y ou wanted to see me , S ir .” I stood at attention in front of the

warden’s desk.
The warden glanced up from the mountain of paperwork on his
desk, over the top of his reading glasses, his fuzzy eyebrows
partially buried beneath the top of his grandpa golf hat. His old
tweed jacket had seen its fair share of years and belonged in a
Goodwill shop, not on the warden of a prison. In a way, he reminded
me more of my grandfather than my custodian.
“Take a seat.” He gestured at the Edwardian armchair with
leather material and pin studs.
Take a seat: words he used when he prepared to deliver shit
news. My body tensed as I sat, stiff and on edge.
Vartros dumped the report he’d been reading and reclined in his
chair. “Give me a short briefing of your mission to the Mothman
world.” His heavy and drawn voice was more drained than usual.
My throat dried. Last time we spoke, the warden threatened to
remove the team and me from Styx’s case if we didn’t get a decent
lead. That threat loomed heavy in my mind and on my shoulders.
Nothing else mattered but catching the vampire that killed my friend.
 “We caught three prisoners,” I rasped. “And brought the
mothman’s family in for interrogation.”
“Good.” The warden removed his reading glasses and pinched his
forehead. But then he changed tack, catching me off guard. “The
sentries tell me Pascal got a new tattoo.”
I tensed. Fuck, he knew that already. World traveled fast.
In the vampire world, Pascal’s magic had changed him, leaving
him with half a head of white hair and a lightning bolt on his cheek.
Not easy to hide. How the fuck was I going to explain this?
The first words that came to my brain tumbled out. “He got a
tattoo.”
God, could I make a lamer excuse?
“You had time to stop for a tattoo while on a mission?” Judging
by the set jaw of the warden’s jaw, he wasn’t buying it either.
“Raze gave it to him.” I nodded, more to my self than anything,
encouraging the lie to flow freely. “Initiating him into his tribal
practices.”
Raze often gave himself natural tattoos using natural dye made
from the soil and applicators he fashioned from twigs.
Vartros squinted, then scraped his jaw. “Just don’t go making this
a habit.”
“I’ll let him know.” Shit, Raze woud kill me if he knew I used him
as an excuse to save Pascal’s ass.
The warden scraped his jaw. “Listen, Knoxe…”
Fuck, I knew it. I leaned forward, my ass barely even on the
seat. “Don’t take me off the Styx case, sir.”
Vartros sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “There’s another more
urgent matter that requires your attention.”
Silence surged through the twelve by sixteen-foot office.
I gripped the edge of his table. “No. You can’t do this.”
“Knoxe …” The warden’s eyes and brows softened.
“We agreed: get a substantial lead, and you’d keep me on the
case,” I argued. “Three vampires from Styx’s coven is more than a
substantial lead.” My voice wavered on the last few words. I was
going to hold him to his promise.
 Vartros raised a palm at me. “I’ve already arranged for another
team to interview them.” There was no room for negotiation in his
threat, he was the boss, and I was the dutiful prisoner. Only I didn’t
play by his rules. Never had, and never would.
I snapped back. What the fuck? Dark rage and frustration surged
in me. Helpless, I spiraled down into it. If I weren’t careful, I’d lose
my shit, explode in a blinding fury, upturn his desk, and punch the
warden in the face. My clenched fist trembled by my side, ready to
do just that.
Cool your jets, Knoxe. Don’t make this worse than it has to be.
“That was my goddamn lead.” The growl in my voice prompted
the warden’s face to grow dark with shadows.
Vartros’ pen fell to his desk in frustration. “Knoxe, my job isn’t to
be the bad guy. This job leaves little room to be careless. I want my
best team on this mission. A team I can count on.”
I should have left his office. Taken off and found someplace to
breathe and calm down. But I fought my darkness and lost. My
clenched hands rattled. “A lead I almost died to fucking get.”
Vartros’ finger moves to the button beneath his desk, the one
that would summon the sentries to drag me back to my cell. “Calm
down, or I’ll have you escorted out of here.”
My breaths turned ragged. My anger got the better of me. The
anniversary of Jaz’s death approached, and it had sent me spiraling
out of control. I’d wanted to catch Styx before then, to finally be
able to celebrate a life well-lived, not have a dark day like last year.
This was too much. I rubbed my face to stop myself from leaping
over the desk. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.”
The warden’s hand remained in place. “You can deal with it or go
straight to Dr. Anders.”
“Fuck that. I don’t need a shrink.” There was nothing wrong with
me. I wasn’t going to listen when some doctor told me I was
delusional and in denial.
The warden removed his infamous file full of shit about me. He
glowered at me like the school fucking principal when I’d been sent
to his office. “You’ve not visited the prison psychologist for your last
four appointments.”
 My thoughts and feelings were none of her business. What I did
was my business. “Didn’t need to go. Been feeling good.”
The warden laced his fingers and set them on the desk. “You
don’t go to your sessions, and I’ll pull you from your missions. That’s
the rules.”
Fuck. This was a losing battle. I hated that I had no power here.
That I was just another prisoner. Someone to be bossed around.
Someone with no freedom. I wanted out. My desperation grew by
the day.
Vartros snapped my file closed. “You’ll go after this meeting, or
I’ll have the sentries drag you there.”
I didn’t doubt his threat. My team and I had almost been killed.
Prison protocol dictated we have an immediate psychologist
appointment to assess our mental health after a gantii attack. No ifs
or buts. Guardians’ mental health was important. We had to be in
top physical and mental condition for missions. If the shrink caught
a whiff of any trauma, she’d pull us from duty, and throw us into
therapy, until she thought us fit to go back into the field. She’d
pulled me a couple of times when things got dark after Jaz died.
Every year on the anniversary of his death, I avoided going to see
her for that reason. Every time a situation went bad, I was put
through the wringer, assessed to see how I coped, me more than
the others, because I led the team.
“I haven’t forgotten what time of year it is, Knoxe.” The warden’s
voice softened.
I didn’t want to talk about it with him or anyone else. “What’s the
urgent matter?”
The warden frowned and shook his head. By now, he knew my
tricks, but he let it go. “A dangerous criminal has escaped one of our
detention facilities. We’ve put a lockdown on the veil to prevent him
from leaving Earth. It’s our duty to apprehend him before he finds a
way to defy our technology and escape.”
I shrugged. “Simple: put another team on it.”
The warden frowned. “I’m putting my best team on it.”
My heart tripped, its beat slowing, coming to a full stop, before
shattering into hundreds of pieces. Every part of me hardened into a
growing ball of fury. How could he break his promise to me? We
nearly died back in the vamp homeworld to get those fucking
prisoners. One of them smashed Astra’s damn shoulder. Because of
them, the Mothman family lost their father, and we lost one of our
best team members.
“Sir, please.” I was turning into a pussy.
“I’ll hear no more on the matter.” Vartros lifted a report and
thumped it on the desk in front of me.
I flinched, but couldn’t move to collect it. Didn’t want to know
what was inside it. Didn’t want this case.
“I believe you're familiar with the target.” When I didn’t open the
file, he did for me, flicking a few pages, to a photograph of the
target. A centaur.
Recognition flashed through me. Tark, of House Longrider. The
first criminal my team and I had ever caught, and caught by sheer
luck no less. Tricky bastard to find, with many criminal connections,
ways to cross into other dimensions without detection, and a
penchant for bribing innocent victims. Fuck, we were screwed if Tark
had escaped.
“Fucking centaur,” I cursed under my breath.
“Yes, that fucking centaur.” Vartros smiled, not one of happiness,
but of bitterness. “One of the gantii dimensions’ worst criminals. You
understand the severity of his escape?”
I blinked, my mind a thousand miles away, imagining better days
when Jaz was still with us, and we’d kicked that centaur’s ass and
arrested him. The A-Team. Just the thought prompted an invisible
vice to wrap around my chest, cutting off my air, and I struggled to
breathe.
The anniversary of Jaz’s death hit in seven days. I’d planned to
have caught Styx by then and get my vengeance to do my mate
proud. But I’d let him down. I hung my head.
“Knoxe?” The warden snapped and clicked his finger in front of
my face.
“Yes, sir.” I stood up straighter like a true soldier. “Consider it
done.”
 The sooner I captured Tark, the sooner I could get back to
hunting Styx.
I leaned down, pressing my hands on his desk. “But once I bring
in Tark, I want back on the case.”
But the warden wasn’t budging. “We’ll discuss the matter once
you bring him in.”
I snapped back fast and stood at attention. If he wanted Tark
retrieved, I’d fucking bring him Tark.
Vartros flicked open my file again. “I noticed you still haven’t
submitted the last two assignments for your management course.
What did I say about that last time?”
That’d he pulled me from missions. What else was he going to
use against me?
“I’ll get them done this week.” I left his office without his
dismissal, glaring at the sentries who eyed me.
Time to visit the shrink and get my head read. She wasn’t getting
anything from me.

***

“N ice to see you again , K noxe .” Dr. Anders greeted me at the door
with a kind and sincere smile.
I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to be here. That was my
strategy. Say nothing. That way, she couldn’t file a report that said I
wasn’t fit for duty.
“Come in, Knoxe. Take a seat.” She was one of the few staff that
cared in this place, and didn’t treat us like prisoners and criminals.
We were just patients to her. Normal as an average person.
Until today, I would have said the same about the warden. In the
past, he’d looked out for me. Not anymore. His patience with me
wore thin.
Reluctantly, I entered her office, headed straight for the pale blue
couch. The shrink’s couch. The space was warm compared to the
rest of the drab, grey prison. Dim, but lit with fireplaces that cast an
amber glow over the deep red wall paint and rugs on the stone floor.
Renaissance paintings decorated her walls, battles of angels slaying
Lucifer, of goddesses, nymphs tempting males. She’d added a
feminine touch to it, making it her own with candles glowing on the
mantel and the sleek coffee table separating us. A bamboo stick oil
diffuser released the scent of coconut and vanilla. Just being in this
room made me turn soft.
“Have a seat, Knoxe,” Dr. Anders said.
She wore a tight skirt, creamy blouse, retro glasses, and had her
hair tied bun, which kind of reminded me of Astra.
Astra. I’d rather have been with her right now, with her and the
rest of the team, grilling the vampires we’d caught. Something had
shifted between us in the vamp world.
She impressed me with her skill and fearlessness. She’d grown
on me slowly, and I felt more comfortable with her. I never thought
I’d want a woman on my team, but she was exactly what we
needed. Smart. Talented. Committed. And that sassy mouth? I knew
what I would like to do to wipe the sass from her mouth, but I
pushed aside the idea. I didn’t want to go there. I didn’t date.
Hadn’t in a long time.
Dark angst rose in me, one I’d buried five years ago. I pushed it
down because I didn’t want to feel that again.
Dr. Anders sat on a single-seat positioned at an angle. “You
missed your last four appointments.”
“Been busy.” I didn’t give her an inch.
“Anything you want to say?” she pressed.
“Nope.”
She shifted. Her way of leading into a question I wouldn’t like.
“You did this last year on the anniversary of your friend’s death.”
Do not go there, lady. That was a sensitive topic, and I sure as
hell wasn’t talking about it with her.
“I did?” Play dumb. Only fifty-nine minutes to go. I’ve got this.
“Suppressing your grief isn’t helping, Knoxe.” Dr. Anders thought
she had me all figured out. “It’s healthy to process it so you can
move on.”
 I ground my teeth at how she tried to rile me up with words, get
me to spill my emotions. Move on. I’d move on once I had Styx’s
head on a spike. I was sick of going over the same thing every
session. Her line of questions weren’t getting us anywhere. She
needed to move on, not me.
I didn’t like the way she tilted her head and studied me.
“Denying your grief is not doing you or your team any favors.”
“My team’s fine. We just caught three vampires. We’re getting
closer to finding Styx.” Stick to facts. Throw her off.
“Your team is worried about you.” Dr. Anders knitted her hands in
her lap. “They feel you’re taking the Styx case too seriously. That it’s
consuming you. Is it consuming you?”
I took a sip of the glass on the table to calm myself. “Whatever
happened to patient confidentiality?”
She smiled. I’d gotten her on that one, but she took on a harsh
expression. “Knoxe, if you’re not willing to work with me on this, to
address your hostility and vengeance issues, and delusional
tendencies, I’m going to have to recommend intense therapy until
you do. And you know what that means?”
The anger kept me going. Kept me from falling apart. If I lost my
anger, then I’d drown in my darkness.
“Get straight to the point, why don’t you?” I smiled, holding
everything back, even though I shook inside. I know I’m not helping
my case, but I don’t have time for this crap.
Dr. Anders switched tactics. “How are you coping with your new
female teammate?” She crossed her leg over the opposite thigh.
The movement didn’t go unnoticed, but I wasn’t into her. I
replaced her with someone else, imagining her in front of me in that
same skirt, hiking up her legs, revealing her milky, soft skin. Wearing
those sexy as fuck heels. I had a thing for feet and heels. I’d kneel
in front of her and rub her ankles. Soft after a day of training. The
thought had my cock testing my fly.
Lately, I’d been thinking of her like this. I was horny as fuck and
needed to get laid. That was all it was, because I wasn’t getting
attached. I didn’t need my heart smashed again.
 I shook my head and focused on her comment. “Astra’s a good
addition to the team. She can stay.”
“Astra?” Dr. Anders raised an eyebrow. Her knowing look. “You’ve
moved on from calling her Nomical.” She jotted something down in
her notepad.
I hate the way she saw through my bullshit.
“That’s good to hear.” Dr. Anders smiled as if she took the win
where she could get it. “From my sessions with Astra, she tells me
she’s having a relationship with Tor. That doesn’t bother you?
Doesn’t affect the team dynamics?”
“Don’t have a problem with it.” Another lie. I had a big problem
with it. She was Tor’s weakness, and he didn’t need more. Then
there was the other issue. I wanted in on that action.
“Have you thought about a relationship?”
“I’m not interested in her.”
The shrink smiled. “I never said her.” She scribbled something in
her notebook. My face twitched. Great. Now she’d drill me about
Astra. “How long has it been since you’ve been in a relationship?”
Here we go. I was ten seconds away from losing my shit.
Instead, I release some of it as a long sigh and rubbed my jaw. “You
know. It’s all in my file.”
She nodded. “Five years is a long time, Knoxe. A long time to
grieve your fiancé and child.”
I hadn’t thought about them in so long. Hadn’t let myself.
Couldn’t. My world tore apart all over again. A sob ripped from the
bottom of my lungs. That soul-shattering feeling that had lived
inside me for the last five years broke me. I couldn’t fight the tears.
“This is good, Knoxe,” Dr. Anders tried to soothe.
But it wasn’t fucking good. She’d pushed me over the edge. Into
the darkness. Into the memory of being in the hospital, watching the
lifeless bodies of my little girl and my fiancé, as the doctors removed
the tubes, declared them dead. Victims of a fatigued truck driver
who slammed into them when they were on their way home from
visiting Amber’s mother.
“Amber, Hollie.” The names shred my throat.
 Dr. Anders swallowed. She’d pushed too far, led me right into her
trap, the guilt written all over her face. I’d never forgive her for this,
for leaving me so vulnerable and broken.
“Don’t pull me from the mission,” I begged. “It’s the only thing I
have.”
The shrink leaned forward. “Open up to me, instead of being a
smartass, and you’ve got a deal.”
I’d give Dr. Anders one thing: she didn’t beat about the bush. But
she’d shoved me into a corner with nowhere else to go but down.
Forced me to confront the demons I’d been able to keep at bay for
so long. Shit was about to get real dark and heavy.
 CHAPTER 4

T or

“W hen K noxe is away , the team can play.” I clapped my hands and
then swirled my stave, ready for a little superhero role-play.
Knoxe never tolerated my geeky shit in training, so I snuck in
some action where I could. Was better than the boring training
regimen day in day out. Why not make it a little fun? Everything in
here was so depressing, strict and tough. The monotony of it all
bored me. I preferred to mix things up. Outdoor workouts, hikes,
canoeing, gym workouts and karate. Things I couldn’t do when stuck
in this prison.
Besides, I just needed something to take my mind off my
mounting debts. I owed a few of my suppliers some serious cash,
and thanks to Knoxe confiscating my mermaid pearls, I didn’t have
enough to pay them.
Supergirl smirked in front of me, clutching her stave in her left
hand, acting like she prepared to beat my ass. Hah. She wished. The
nurse had ordered her not to participate in any training for five days
until the bones in her shoulder reset.
This game wasn’t just for me. It was mainly for her, to feel
involved while she couldn’t participate with us, and because she’d
been waking up screaming during the night. Nightmares set off by
what happened in the vampire homeworld. Right now, she could do
with having her mind taken off her troubles, and the rest of the
team could use an injection of morale since Knoxe was on hiatus. I
always had a method to my madness.
“Where is Knoxe?” Wrong question for her to ask. None of us
wanted to go there. This was one of those we don’t talk about his
personal moments shit.
Raze glanced at me as he twirled his long sticks, ready to spar
with Pascal and me. The subtle shake of his head warned her not to
go there.
This was the third day in a row Knoxe had ghosted training.
Hadn’t seen him at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, either. Nothing. But I
understood why.
I tried to head her off with a crack on Pascal’s stick, starting the
battle. “On guard, buddy. It’s time to battle Chernogle.”
Chernogle was a fictional villain from the comics Supergirl,
Pascal, and I read. He headed up The Division, an organization of
tactical assets who fought Captain Victorius and his sidekicks.
Pascal snorted and blocked my attack. “You’re on.”
“Munyara.” Raze chuckled and thwarted an assault from Pascal.
“I’m not pretending to be a comic book villain.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” I teased him, and he shook
his head and laughed. Big guy didn’t talk much, but he had a good
sense of humor.
“Watch your feet, Tor,” Supergirl pointed out.
Damn. My weak spot. Every superhero had one. Mine was not
moving my feet out of the way to avoid a strike.
Pascal focused hard, not taking his gaze off Raze, who swat at
him. Lost in the exercise again. Damn, I wished I had Pascal’s level
of focus. Intense. Off the damn charts. His autism gave him the
ability to concentrate on a task he enjoyed deeply. I loved the
physical side of training, but variety was the spice of life.
Dressed in my form-fitting Guardians black uniform, I looked
every bit the part of a superhero. Not many people possessed
magical powers, and that was something to celebrate. I conjured
illusions, could make an opponent see what I wanted them to see,
or pluck images out of their conscious fears, a useful ability on
missions that had served my team well. Potent as my gift might have
been, it didn’t always work well against every adversary in every
situation. Immortals like the fae had minds of steel that took a while
to overpower and control. Every superhero had their limitations.
“No one’s seen Knoxe?” Supergirl kept pressing.
None of us answered.
“Am I not in on the silent bro code?” Jesus, she wasn’t letting up.
“Nope.” I play jabbed Supergirl in the side to distract her. When
she grunted, and faked swiped at me, I smiled. “Not bad, Supergirl.”
Over the last three months, we’d trained together every day, and
she’d improved significantly. Although she could handle herself in a
fight, she wasn’t at the level of the boys or me yet, but, in fairness,
we’d been training for years. I’d give her another few months to be
at the top of her game.
“Okay, since none of you will say it,” she pretended to swerve my
strike. “Where is Knoxe?” Her stick crashed against mine, countering
my move.
I wiped the sheen from my brow. “He gets like this, moody,
withdrawn, near the anniversary of Jaz’s death.”
A grunt slipped out as Raze caught me in the back of the leg.
“I’m worried.” She stepped into the circle with us.
I crashed my stave over my head and down on Pascal’s to nudge
her away. Worked, too. She jumped back.
We’d been through this twice, knew the drill. “Just let him deal
with it. He’ll be right next week.”
Knoxe was my buddy, and if he said the word, I’d be there for
him. Until such time, I’d leave him alone to fight his darkness. Best
to let it blow over like a storm, and he’d come good again in a week.
Later today, I’d check in on him, see if he was okay.
Wanting to forget about Knoxe, the anniversary of the worst day
of my life, the blame I carried, and my mounting shit, I needed an
escape more than ever to my superhero world, where I controlled
the narrative.
I readied my weapon, my sturdy, indestructible disk that cut and
plowed through oncoming hordes of villains to ward off an attack.
 “Pascal, buddy, the battle between Chernogle and Captain
Victorious rages,” I said, earning an eye roll from Raze. “Get your
weapons ready?”
“Yeah.” Pascal smiled, jumping on board my role-play. “I’m
Lieutenant Thunder. I’ve got my gas grenades, cables, and grappling
hooks.”
Raze groaned at us.
“Good choice, buddy.” I sent Raze packing with an onslaught.
Looked like he’d act as the villain today.
I usually practiced these role-plays by myself, where the others
couldn’t ridicule. As much as we all needed to count on each other in
dangerous situations, Raze and Knoxe had limits to their respect for
me. They tolerated me in the way that mundane people did with
highly imaginative people. My imagination was my weapon, and I
was going to use it. Superheroes were outside the bounds of
mundane life, like the things we routinely dealt with.
Early on, I learned to deal with their mockery by cracking jokes.
That part kind of stuck with me. I’d been ridiculed at high school by
bullies who called me a nerd. Back then, I was tall and lanky, only
growing into my body at twenty, when I started to work out. My skin
had thickened a lot since then, but it still hurt when the guys I most
admired thought me a fool.
On the outside, I smiled and joked, but on the inside, I thought
fuck ‘em. I’d given up trying to please people a long time ago. They
could take me as I was. Nerd comic fan. Roleplay escapist. Fun
prankster.
The only members of my team who didn’t disrespect me were
Pascal and Astra. In a way, we were outsiders. But I’d found my
crew, and that gave me a glimmer of happiness in this shit hole of a
place.
When Supergirl arrived, I was blown away when she admitted to
liking comics. My kind of girl. But I’d felt sorry for her when she’d
been brought onto the team as Jaz’s replacement. Big shoes to fill
when he’d brought out the best in everyone, and we’d all loved the
guy. Even after he got us messed up world of the Guardians. I
always appreciated that he didn’t join in when the others mocked
me. Jaz was cool like that. But poor Supergirl had struggled to find
her place. That was why I’d felt guilty about pranking her and
alienating her further from Knoxe.
Things had worked out good between us in the end. We were
together, and I had no complaints.
“Do you see them?” I asked the group.
“Yep,” Pascal replied, swatting at Raze. “A group of henchman
dressed in green hoods and tunics.”
Excellent. A suitable cabal of villains.
“They’re up ahead,” Supergirl warned.
I focused on Raze. “Not on my watch, mates.”
He groaned again. “If you keep this up, I’m out of here.” His loss.
In my mind, the masked minions lunged at Pascal, Supergirl, and
I. Together we dived into the fray, swiping at Raze, who battled us. I
swung one leg and caught an oncoming opponent in the stomach,
sending him crashing to the ground. When Raze struck me with his
stave, it felt like the blow of my imaginary opponent.
To my right, Pascal leaped, ducked and spun, lashing out with
stave, fists and feet. Our imaginary opponents threw countless
punches. When Raze’s blow connected with my chest, I went flying
back, rolling the way Captain Victorius would, and setting myself up
for a renewed attack.
On my left, Supergirl jogged on the spot. I imagined her taking
on three at a time, dissolving them with her superpowers.
My imagination transformed into a lively and thrilling melee. I
vaulted up, smashing one goon to the ground, and launched at an
oncoming pair. When Pascal and I dealt with them all, more winked
into view, surrounding us.
“They’ve got us, buddy.” I spun, half-crouching, ready to respond
to an attack from any direction.
“I’m out of cluster bombs,” Pascal replied.
“Ran out of arrows,” Supergirl admitted from the sidelines.
“Shit.” I wiped at my sweaty face. “Let’s make this a little more
interesting, then.” At my upraised left hand, a magical sword
appeared, which I mock tossed to Supergirl. Then I imagined
another two, pitching one to Pascal. “Let’s finish this.”
 “How old are you guys?” Raze laughed.
“Hear that?” I swirled my stave around my body, fantasizing it
was my superhero disc. “That’s the sound of a villain defeated. Bring
on the ass whooping, my villainous friend.”
Raze chuckled and shook his head. Pretty soon, he’d tire of this,
so I had to make the most of this moment. “Children.”
The foes in my mind rushed at me, converging from all sides,
threatening to overwhelm me. My team and I met them fiercely,
swinging our staves, swatting some aside while thrusting others
back. We spun in every direction, butting them, smashing them,
until five of them outnumbered me, piling on me and bringing me to
the ground.
“Pascal, the Captain needs help,” Supergirl shouted.
Two of the green-suits pinned my legs, two others wrestled my
arms to pry my weapons away, and the fifth punched my midsection
to pummel me into submission. I rolled on the floor, and Supergirl
and Pascal giggled.
“Save yourselves,” I screamed, feigning overwhelm by my foes,
only to find a way to beat them in the end.
But everything came to a halt when Raze shouted, “You guys are
crazy,” and slammed his stave into the padded mats on the floor.
“I’m out of here.”
At my gestured command, all the villains vanished. “Crazy?” I
crawled onto my knees. “From the man who talks to spirits!”
Raze’s bottom lip curled up as he pointed his staff at my chest.
“The one time I get drunk.” He shook his head, stormed over to the
rack, and set his weapon onto it.
Last summer, he got so hammered on a mission and admitted to
convening with spirits from his tribe. Classic. I’d laughed, took
another shot, but didn’t discount him the way he did my enthusiasm
for comics. Whatever floated Raze’s boat.
I laughed hard as I climbed to my feet. “Don’t be like that, man.
Come on. Keep training. We all have a little crazy in us.”
Raze wiped his forehead and neck with a towel. “I got stuff to
do.” He flicked his head upwards. “Catch you later.”
“Catch ya’, man.” I lifted my palm.
 Supergirl and Pascal waved as Raze walked out.
I threw an arm over their shoulders, drawing them closer for a
hug. “Now that was a workout.”
Pascal nodded enthusiastically. I knew I’d have his support. He
packed away his weapon and left with a wave.
Supergirl and I returned the gesture, standing by the rack of
training items.
“I say we petition Knoxe to train like that at least once a week.” I
raised an eyebrow at Supergirl, seeking her support.
chest, and my cock stirred to life. I liked it when she played
rough. “Knoxe will never go for that, and you know it.”
“A man can dream.” I gave her a saucy wink, and she shook her
head. Flustered. Cute as hell. I wanted to grab her, slam her against
the wall, and kiss her. Make love to her as a real superhero would.
“I spent a long time being serious, Supergirl.” I packed up for the
day and gathered my shit for a shower.
Circumstances in my life had always been complicated and
serious. First, at my strict Catholic high school, when I’d studied
three years of a Physiotherapy and Sports Medicine degree, then at
home with my mom’s health deteriorating, when my sister’s baby
daddy left her and the kids, and finally when my dad died. In the
last few years, I didn’t have much to be happy about. Then I was
thrown into the Guardians, where I stared death in the face each
time I went on a mission.
Life in prison was no joke. In this world, I had little control of my
life, was forced to serve a fifty-year sentence, work and train daily,
go on missions, and adhere to a strict prison routine. So, I found
ways to inject a little light into all my darkness.
“For once, I want some form of control in my life.” I moved to
her, cupped her shoulders, and leaned closer. “The only thing I can
control is my attitude, and I want to be lighthearted and fun for a
change.” Where was the harm in that?
My tongue slipped along her lips, and she allowed me entrance
into her mouth, soft, sensual and inviting, and I know what else I’d
rather be doing now that training ended early. I pulled away and
brushed a thumb under her eye.
 Her smile reminded me of the fun I’d be up for later. “You
continue to surprise me. You’re a puzzle, do you know that?”
“Want to solve me?” I nudged her and winked again.
“Meet up for lunch after a shower?” She grabbed her gym bag
and threw it over her shoulder.
“Sure, thing, Supergirl.” I give her a long, scorching kiss and
smacked her ass.
“I love it when you call me that.” She pulled away, biting her lip,
with her hands behind her back.
She wiggled her hips as she disappeared down the corridor. I’d
be getting myself some more of that fine ass later. I grabbed my bag
and headed to the bathroom.
“Tor,” a voice from behind called out as I exited the training
room.
I turned, and my stomach dropped. Fuck. James. With four of his
buddies. I’d been avoiding him since Knoxe confiscated the mermaid
pearls. The warden had sent him and his team on a six-week
mission, so I thought I had plenty of time to get my hands on some
fresh merchandise to sell, to pay him back. Out of luck, I guess.
I delivered a pressed-on smile, pretending I was happy to see
him.
James nodded. “How’s tricks, brother?” Code for where’s my
cash, bitch.
Under normal circumstances, I was able to pay upon delivery. But
because I sent my sister extra money for my niece and nephew, I
was fresh out. The pearls were my answer. Fuck, Knoxe. Prick fucked
me over.
I scratched the back of my neck. “I need a little more time.”
James inched closer. Too close. “You’re two weeks behind on
payment.”
The deal we’d always had was payment within a week of
delivery. I’d gone well beyond that. If I wasn’t careful, he’d sell his
loot to my competitor.
“I’m sorry, man.” No point telling him about the lost merchandise.
“I’ve got kids to feed. I can’t wait.”
“Just give me a week, okay. Have I ever screwed you?”
 “Fuck, man.” James’ body tensed. His fist curled. He was about to
hit me.
But I didn’t move. Didn’t give an inch, just braced for impact. Let
him get it out of his system. I was good for the money. I’d take the
hit if it got him off my back for a week or so.
His fist thumped into my gut, and I hunched over, clutching my
stomach. Another fist slammed into my eye. A third caught me in
the jaw, and I went down. I didn’t respond. Didn’t need to be caught
on camera fighting back, or I’d get thrown into the hole, and that’d
complicate my situation further.
“You’ve got a week, Tor.” The menace in James’ voice promised
me hell. “Or next time I won’t be so friendly, and I’ll take my
business someplace else.”
“Friendly.” A chuckle wheezed out my mouth. Cockhead had a
twisted idea of friendly. “That was just a tickle.” I had to have the
last word.
“Fuckwit,” James grunted and left me alone in the hall.
I staggered to the shower, still clutching my stomach. Somehow I
had to figure a way out of this. A way to make some cash and fast
to pay off my other suppliers before they came after me with more
fists.
 CHAPTER 5

A stra

M y smile fell when I saw his face. I marched over, reached to touch
his swollen eye. He hissed and leaned away.
“What the hell happened?” If he gave me some spin story, I’d
give him another shiner.
“Nothing.” He sat on my bed, grabbed my copy of the latest
edition of The Silver Strand, flicking through it. Aversion tactics one-
oh-one.
Tor shot off his mouth a lot, and it got him in trouble with Knoxe
often, so he could have easily pissed off the wrong person and
earned these wounds.
“Tor, this isn’t the time to be a hero.” I went over to my shelf,
grabbed a t-shirt and rinsed it in my sink.
“I said it’s nothing.” His tone attempted to silence me, but I
wasn’t the kind of girl to be hushed. If someone had it out for him, I
wanted to help him deal with it before it got out of control.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” I dabbed his split and bleeding
forehead. “Who hurt you?”
“No one.” He hissed as I wiped the dried blood. “Just leave it.”
Another random document with
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resourceful and then when you’re resourceful and crawl under
barbed-wire fences and all that and beat them by twenty-one
minutes, they give you a call-down instead of a reward. Old man
Allen never made any kick.”
“Probably he didn’t know about it,” said Mr. Walton.
“Well then, it didn’t hurt him,” said Hervey.
Mr. Walton whistled softly and looked ruefully into space.
“I haven’t much sympathy for men who use barbed-wire,” said
Mrs. Walton in her gentle way. “Whenever I think of barbed-wire it
reminds me of the war.”
“Sure, and they’re always shouting about cruelty to animals and
all that bunk,” said Hervey. “A lot of cows get cut on barbed-wire
fences. I know a cow that cut his throat that way. Nix on the Scouts.”
“Is there anything in the Scouts’ book favoring barbed-wire
fences?” Mr. Walton asked. “Anyway, we’re not talking about barbed-
wire, we’re talking about scouting.”
“I know that cow personally,” Hervey said.
“Well, I think it’s inhuman,” said his mother.
Poor Mr. Walton glanced from one to the other with an amused
expression.
“Maybe I won’t resign,” said Hervey, “but I’m not going to bother
with them a whole lot. I get plenty of fun, all right. Whatever they do I
can beat them at it.”
“Well, then, I should think you’d stay with them and get the glory,”
said Mr. Walton, rising. As he left the table he clapped Hervey on the
shoulder by way of showing that the discussion had been altogether
friendly. “You and Mum are a great pair,” he laughed. “The next time
the Boy Scouts find a lost child, I’ll let you know about it, Herve.”
“Believe me, they can’t even find me half the time.”
“And that’s true enough, I guess,” said Mr. Walton.
Hervey spent the next day on one of his lone, aimless hikes. He
made a picturesque figure as he went down the main street of
Farrelton, wearing that outlandish cap which he always wore, the
brim cut entirely away, the felt crown full of holes and advertisement
buttons. His progress had a wanton air about it; it was evident that
he had no destination. He poked the stick which he always carried
into an over-ripe apple that he happened to see along the road, and
dextrously discharged it against a house. It struck a window which
made it necessary for him to accelerate his pace to a point of safety
in a crossroad.
After a while he got a lift as far as Tanner’s Corners and proved
entertaining to his motorist host. It was characteristic of him to
proceed without the faintest thought of how he could get home; he
could never see more than a few yards ahead of him. And he never
considered the increasing distance behind him. In the present
instance this distance stretched out to about fifteen miles. For when
he learned that the motorist was going to Tanner’s Corners, of
course he decided that he was going there too.
It proved a good destination, for there he witnessed a prolonged
and exciting ball game on the village green. This did not end till dusk
and while it was on our wandering hero gave not so much as one
thought to home nor how he was to get there. The gathering
darkness found him stranded; he had no money to pay his fare on
the eight-seven northbound train nor to buy himself so much as a
morsel of food.
Strangely, he had a feeling that his predicament was somehow
part and parcel with his adventure of the previous night. He had not
entirely forgotten that, nor even attained to a state of mental
composure regarding it. He had been connected with something
contemptible and unspeakable (those were his mother’s own words)
and he did not like the words at all. He felt a little resentful toward
her that she had used them. For what had he done that was so very
bad? Well, he had done this; he had placed himself in a position
where he could not tell what he knew about that young ruffian who
had evidently been a stranger in Farrelton. He could not tell because
of his own “malicious mischief.” He was not quite sure about
malicious mischief, but his father’s words about it had not been
reassuring. It was evidently a pretty serious matter and now, hungry
and somewhat perplexed in this distant village, he had the feeling
that somehow he was a fugitive.
But, of course, that was absurd; he had simply gone off for the
day. And now he was in a predicament as he had been at Temple
Camp dozens of times before. So far as his little escapade of the
fire-alarm was concerned, he had only to keep silent. The only real
worry that he had was about getting home. There was not the
slightest reason why he should feel contemptible nor why he should
feel like a confederate, much less a fugitive. But how about that ten
miles that had seemed so short and pleasant in an auto? That was
Hervey all over....
He strolled over to the railroad station and gazed wistfully at the
train which was ready to start at eight-seven. The cars were lighted
and looked cheery inside. A few passengers were already seated;
they looked very comfortable as they sat reading or just waiting.
Hervey strolled through the train to see if any Farrelton people were
on it.
If so, he would have considered asking for a loan of his train fare.
But he encountered no familiar faces. Then it occurred to him that
this was just as well since he would not want his trip to Tanner’s
Corners mentioned in Farrelton. He did not know just why he felt that
way. It had something to do with that feeling about being a fugitive—
about getting away from something or somebody.
Another thought occurred to him; he might hook a ride to
Farrelton. He had never done such a thing on a railroad, but a
couple of tramps who had made a squalid camp in the woods near
Temple Camp had discussed in his presence the technique of riding
under rolling stock. He could crawl in on the wheel trucks and be
quite concealed. He remembered how one of those atrocious
hoboes had mentioned the deafening clank and rattle which assaults
the rider’s ears in such position. “De best dope is ter get sideways
an’ hook yer foot onter de chain,” one of the hoboes had said.
Hervey was not above trying that.
But his opportunity was spoiled by a trainman who presently took
his stand on the platform calling, “Farrelton, North Farrelton,
Woodsedge, Meadow Junction, change for Boston.” He had an
eagle eye, and besides, the passengers were numerous on the
platform now. Hervey realized that crawling in under a car was not so
easy. Small as he was, he had not the technique of a hobo.
So he decided to walk the tracks to Farrelton. That would be the
shortest route, shorter by two or three miles than the road. He would
have to negotiate a trestle, but he did not mind that. The trestle was
some distance away and he never worried about things that were at
a distance. What troubled him most of all was that he was hungry.
He did not admit that he was worried about anything else.
What was there to worry about?
 CHAPTER X
TRAPPED
Hervey started north along the tracks in the darkness. Walking
railroad tracks is not so easy. The ties are not placed for the
convenience of the hiker and somehow he can never get into a good
steady pace. Hervey tried walking outside the tracks, but the ground
was uneven and he could not make good time. He was a little sorry
he had not gone by the road. Besides, he had to keep glancing
behind him for the train which would soon come thundering along.
After a little while he passed the switch tower and noted the
cheery light up in its little surmounting enclosure. He would have
liked to climb up that narrow ladder and make friends with the
towerman. That would have been right in his line. But even he was
impressed with the necessity of not losing time now. He wondered if
anything (he did not know exactly what) had happened in Farrelton
since morning. They might possibly have caught the originator of the
hot tamale stunt and he might have involved Hervey in a confession.
But Hervey had faith in that worthy’s ability not to be caught. It was
very dark and lonesome in the woods, but the shiny steel tracks
somehow kept him cheery company as he trudged along through the
silent night.
Pretty soon he noticed there were four rails beneath him instead
of two. Two of these came into the main line in a sweeping curve
from the southeast, and Hervey reflected with satisfaction that he
had reached the convergence of the Wainboro branch with the main
line. Well, he had already hiked about three miles. The rails of the
branch line had passed the point of curvature and ran even with
those of the main line; that is, the left rail of the main line and the left
rail of the branch line ran parallel three or four inches apart. You may
see this by glancing at the sketch. A few yards ahead, as you will
see, was Red Hill switch.
 Hervey was amusing himself by walking these two rails, one foot
on either rail, when suddenly the piercing scream of the locomotive
caused him to jump aside. The flaring headlight of the northbound
train illuminated a little area of woodland as it moved swiftly toward
him; it seemed to carry along a patch of glimmering forest. On, on it
came, invincible, resistless, utterly heedless of the poor little hiker as
it thundered by. What a clang and clamor in the solemn night. What
a mere trifle, its rush to Farrelton! What a wearisome journey to poor
Hervey!
He resumed his rather interesting exploit of walking on the two
rails. At least, the train was off his mind. Suddenly, the right hand rail
moved, his foot slipped, he felt a pinching then a twinge of pain; he
tried to pull his foot free, lost his balance and fell. This strained his
ankle and caused excruciating pain. He scrambled to his feet,
pulling, jerking, squirming his foot while instinctively he cast a
terrified look north and south along the track. Then he stood panic-
stricken, listening. There was no sound except the steady hum of a
locust and the all but inaudible clang of the rushing train. Spent by
the increasing distance, this seemed to have merged into the lesser
voices of the night, low, far away, steady. Hervey’s right foot was
held as in a vise. Red Hill switch had caught him in its iron grip. Like
a great, lurking crocodile, it held his poor foot fast in its cruel, locked
jaws.
Hervey would perform any stunt conceivable, requiring only the
incentive of a dare, and not always that. He was not afraid of peril.
But now he was struck dumb with terror. With trembling hands he
tried hurriedly to unlace his imprisoned shoe, but he only succeeded
in getting the shoe-string in a hopeless knot. He tore at it and broke it
by main strength and tried to pull his foot free of the shoe. He
looked, listened. Was that an oncoming train? No, just the faint
distant clanking of the train that had passed. There was reassurance
in the far-off whistle. It was a receding whistle, not an approaching
one. He wished that he had a time-table and a flashlight or a few
matches. What was the new sound? He listened. Nothing.
He tugged and wrenched and wriggled his squeezed foot. The
pain was intense, but it was nothing to his frantic fear. If he only had
time; if he could only be sure that he would have a little time. And
could know how much time he would have to—what? Act? Plow?
But the knowledge that he would have half an hour, twenty minutes,
would give him time to think. Now every distant sound was conjured
into the sound of a distant train; the rustle of branches startled him.
The wild thought occurred to him that a fox caught in a snap-trap
will sometimes gnaw its own leg off to get free. But he had not the
courage nor the ability of a fox. If he only had a few matches he
might reach about and collect enough dry grass to start a blaze.
There was an old dried tie lying near; he might get that afire and thus
warn an approaching train. But he had no matches. He had told
Corby Lindman up at Temple Camp that he didn’t bother with
matches, that all the farmers knew him and he could always get food
and didn’t want to cook. As for signal fires, he never got lost. Well,
here he was without matches. And he could not think of any other
means of escape from horrible death; death which might be rushing
toward him then and would overtake him any minute. He listened, his
face twinging with agony. What—what was that? Why, it was only a
hawk crying as when startled into flight. What had startled the hawk
into flight? He would go insane and scream in a minute....
But no one would hear; the signal station was about a mile distant.
It took care of the Wainboro Branch and the lumber camp siding.
What a cruel thing it would have been to dare Hervey to get free!
Would that, perhaps, have given him an inspiration? The only
inspiration he had was to scream so that it pained his chest and
made his head swim. The only answer was the soft, mocking echo of
his own voice in the dark woodland.
 CHAPTER XI
THE JAWS OF DEATH
What had happened was this. The switch had been standing open
so that the northbound train might pass. Then it had been closed so
that a Wainboro train moving south would be carried onto the
branch. For a few moments, Hervey was so frantic with terror that he
was controlled more by instinct than thought. He could only listen in
panic fright and watch for the appalling sight of a headlight. He did
nothing, not even think.
But now he collected his thoughts and attained to something like
composure of mind in the reassuring remembrance that a
southbound train stopped at Farrelton every night at about half past
nine or a little later. That would be the Wainboro train for which the
switch had been closed. He tried to remember just how it was. The
first show at the movies was out at nine—about nine. He was a
frequent patron of the first show. On his way home from the early
show, he always crossed the tracks and often, if not usually, the
gates were down while a southbound train went by. Sometimes he
stopped for a soda or an ice cream (precious moments those
seemed now) and still was interrupted by the lowered gates. That
would mean that he had at the very least half an hour before the
death dealing train would come thundering along.
Well, what should he do in that half hour, more or less? There was
but one thing to do and that was to keep wrenching and pulling in the
hope of freeing his foot. But he knew it was a vain hope. Perhaps in
two cases out of three a foot so caught could with much pain be
released. But he could not budge his foot. It was wedged to the
crushing point below the heavy flange of the converging rails.
Well, at least he had a half hour or so. He wished that he had not
swapped his scout knife for a belt buckle; he might then cut away the
upper of his shoe and perhaps loosen his foot enough to wriggle it
free. Any effort would be better than just waiting. He shouted again,
but his own voice shattered his morale and brought him to the very
verge of hysteria and collapse. Five minutes passed; ten minutes. It
was very quiet in the woods. A small creature, glorying in its
freedom, darted across the tracks—a quick fleeting shadow.
Somewhere in the distance an owl was hooting.
Fifteen minutes passed. Time, which had never meant anything to
Hervey, was precious now. He thought of the minutes as a miser
thinks of his gold. He reflected that if he leaned far over toward the
west, he might not be killed, only mangled and then released like a
poor footless animal from a trap. He would not be able to walk; most
likely he would bleed to death. If he could shout loudly enough
perhaps some one in the train would hear him and he would be
taken to Wainboro—to a hospital. He resolved that he would scream
at the top of his voice just before the ghastly thing happened.
Twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes. Perhaps there would be a
doctor on the train. Hervey had always laughed at the first aid scouts
and had called their bandage work bunk. But this scout without any
jack-knife or matches did not laugh now. He was not a boy of strong
imagination, but all these horrifying, crowding thoughts aroused him
to a state of panic and he yelled frantically again and again till his
voice failed him and he went to pieces completely and sobbed in
bewilderment and ghastly fright as the precious half hour closed up
relentlessly, just as the switch had closed. Another five or ten
minutes elapsed; anything might happen now.
He tried to steel himself for the inevitable. But Hervey was not
sublimely courageous; the serenity of the hero dwelt not in him. He
was just a daredevil. At Temple Camp they understood this perfectly.
He did reckless things and got away with them. He was all right as
long as there was a spectacular though perilous way out. But he had
not that bravery of character which faces danger serenely. Still I wish
to give him full credit as we follow him in the winding and sometimes
dubious trail of his career. I like him so much that it is agreeable to
record that in those tense moments, when grim death was upon him,
a gentle thought entered his scatter-brain. It came in the last few
precious moments. He wondered whether in a little while, “all of a
sudden” as his thoughts phrased it, he would see his own mother
face to face. Then, as if in answer, the modulated roar of an
oncoming train broke the stillness.
Louder and louder grew the sound until it ceased to be a distant
part of the night chorus and came out bold and strong for what it
was, the voice of a thundering, heedless, steel monster, crying down
the myriad sounds of the woodland with its alien, metallic clamor.
On, on, on it came and a patch of mellow brightness appeared as
the headlight came in view around a turn to the north and bore
swiftly down upon him.
And Hervey Willetts stood and faced it. He called, but he knew
that no one would hear amid all that clank and clamor. There was a
bare possibility that the engineer might see him, but if so he would
do no more than blow the whistle. Should he lie down? Then, if seen,
he might be thought to be dead or unconscious and the train would
be stopped. A forlorn hope. And he could not lie down without
breaking his ankle.
So, trembling in every nerve, his heart beating like a sledge-
hammer, he stood and faced the approaching light. He keyed himself
to do it as a stunt—as if he had been dared to do it. There was
pathos in the rakish angle of his outlandish hat, which usually bore a
suggestion of bizarre defiance. On, on, on came the thundering
locomotive, painting the rails silver with its blazing light, setting the
ties in bold relief so that they seemed like rungs of a great ladder.
On, on, on it came. It was so big and Hervey was so insignificant!
Roaring and rushing it bore down upon him. Then suddenly, the
sound of its onrush seemed to change. It was less aggressive, less
appalling. Was it slowing down? Presently his terrified gaze beheld
that area of light standing stationary and up the line he could hear a
restless pulsating. The train had stopped, perhaps a hundred yards
from him. The blazing light was steady; it did not grow larger; it was
not moving. He was sure. It was not moving. It illumined a certain
crooked tree and continued to illumine the same crooked tree. And
the many toned woodland orchestra of the dying summertime could
be heard again; low, drowsy, incessant.
Then, slowly, with a kind of diabolical politeness, the gripping
switch opened and Hervey felt the balm of infinite release from pain
as he lifted his foot out from between the iron jaws which had held it.
There followed an interchange in the language of the railroad, an
interchange fraught with sure meanings which the unnerved boy did
not understand. Four piercing screams from the restive engine, the
sudden appearance of a white light in the other direction, toward
Tanner’s Corners, then two more deafening screams. Then the
sound of jostling cars and a long, slow puff as the monster strained
under the initial pull of starting. Then long, slow, steady puffing. The
illumined tree withdrew into the bordering darkness; the big headlight
was moving along.
And the boy stood watching as the train moved slowly along the
main line southward toward Tanner’s Corners. What was it all about?
Why had the switch closed in the first place? He only knew that he
was free. Bruised, suffering, but free. Soon he was quite alone in the
quiet woods. A cricket was chirping close at hand as if nothing
whatever had happened. They are such preoccupied creatures,
these little crickets.
 CHAPTER XII
HELD
Hervey never knew that it was a special train to which he owed his
life. Twelve minutes after it had passed southward along the main
line, the regular Wainboro train passed over the reclosed switch and
off to the southeast along the branch. On any other night our
blithesome wanderer would have been left mangled, probably dying,
beside the tracks. As it was, his foot was sorely bruised and he was
thoroughly shaken from his experience.
Crippled as he was, the balance of his journey home seemed long
and wearisome. When he passed through the little village of
Weston’s Green, he knew he was more than half way. Yet here he
must pause in limping pursuit of a cat that scampered under the milk
can platform. For five minutes he poked his stick under this refuge
for no better reason than to see the cat make a frightened exit. He
threw his stick after the startled fugitive and replaced it with a rail
which he wrenched out of a picket fence. Having completed this
nocturnal assault on the sleeping village, he set forth again along the
tracks for Farrelton.
It was midnight when he limped into the living room of his home
where his stepfather sat beside a marble-topped center table at
which he had been reading fitfully during the long hours of waiting.
“Well, Hervey,” he said, with a note of discouragement in his
voice, “your mother has only just gone to bed; wait here a minute.”
He went quietly upstairs and presently returned, closing the door.
It seemed to Hervey that this had been to announce his own return
to a worried mother.
“Well, Hervey, where have you been?” Mr. Walton resumed his
seat, speaking not unkindly, but with a look of patient resignation at
his stepson.
 “I was down at Tanner’s Corners,” said Hervey blithely. “I got a
hitch there; there was a ball game and, oh bimbo, it wasn’t over till
nearly dark—some game”
“Hmph. Did you go there on account of the game?”
“No, I bunked into it.”
“Just went there, eh?”
“I got a dandy ride. Oh bimbo, I wish we had a car!”
Mr. Walton was one of those conservative, old-fashioned men who
did not care about a car.
“You had no money?”
“Nope, I walked the tracks home and I got my foot caught in a
switch and believe me, I had one narrow escape all right. The switch
opened just before a train came along, gee I’m lame yet! Some
adventure with the capital A underlined.”
“Is your foot cut?”
“No, but jimmies, it was pinched—good night! It’s getting all right
now.”
Mr. Walton studied him a few moments and seemed to be
debating whether to take a serious view of the mishap. Finally he
struck a balance between Hervey’s rattle-brained narrative and the
evident facts of the case. “Let me see your foot,” he said.
Hervey blithely removed his shoe and Mr. Walton felt of the foot.
“See, it’s all right now,” said Hervey, wriggling his toe.
“Well, so you walked home.”
“Sure, some walk.”
A pause followed. Mr. Walton pursed his lips and seemed to be
thinking. He was a serious man, thin and raw-boned, and of all
things fair and considerate. His policy with Hervey had always been
fraternal rather than paternal. He suggested rather than
commanded. His manner was always that of a comrade. He had
thought of this motherless boy when he married again. He was a
typical New Englander and not given to levity, but he had a quiet,
half smiling appreciation of Hervey’s nature. He was disposed to
leniency as far as his New England conscience would permit.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t think anything you’ve done to-day justifies
the worry you have caused your mother to-night. If you had asked
me I’d have given you the fare to and from Tanner’s Corners. Then
you would have been home for supper.”
“I didn’t know I was going there till I got there,” said Hervey in his
blithesome way.
“And you didn’t know how you were going to get back at all,” Mr.
Walton paused, considering. “Well Hervey, you’ve been back two
nights and out both of those nights. Eleven o’clock, and now, to-
night, after twelve o’clock. Before you came down from camp, I
made up my mind that I’d give you a chance to act like other boys; I
thought maybe you’d be a little different after your summer up there.
But if you’re going to go on causing us worry, if you’re going to be
just heedless and never use your balance-wheel, why we’ve just got
to do something, Hervey. At night, you’ve either got to be at home or
we must know where you are. And you must be here at meal time,
always.”
“Believe me, I could say it with eats right now.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Well, your mother is getting up out of bed to
come down and get you some supper; of course, we can’t expect
Myra to stay up till midnight. So you see your mother has to get up.
What do you think about that, Herve?”
“I bet you Myra would do it. Didn’t I climb down the old well-hole
looking for her wrist-watch?”
“Didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t cause your mother any
worries? Didn’t you promise me you’d be thoughtful and obedient
just as you would with your own mother? Didn’t you?”
Hervey was sober for a moment. And in the pause Mrs. Walton
could be heard descending the stairs. She entered with a shawl
about her and embraced the boy and brushed his hair back
affectionately and said, “Never mind about anything now till you’ve
had a nice warm supper.” Then she went out into the kitchen.
“Well, Hervey,” said Mr. Walton, “while you were getting a hitch to
any one of the points of the compass, a couple of boy scouts found
out who sent in that false fire-alarm the other night.”
“What?” gasped Hervey. “They found—did they get the robber
too? What fellers?”
 He seemed so excited that Mr. Walton looked at him rather
curiously, for he knew Hervey’s propensity for losing interest in every
matter which had become a day old.
“Why, let’s see; Hobson—isn’t there a Hobson boy?”
“Sure, Craig Hobson.”
“Well, he and another boy were sitting on a porch over there on
New Street the other night not far from the fire-box. Let’s see, I think
the paper said—Lewis?”
“Yop, Kinky Lewis,” said Hervey. “He’s in the same patrol with me;
I think he’s patrol leader.”
“You think? Don’t you know?”
“I should worry—go on, what did they see? If those fellers⸺”
“Just a minute—you asked me. A boy named McCullen is the one
they saw. He was fooling around⸺”
“Oh,” gasped Hervey in relief.
“He was fooling around the fire-box and these scouts saw him,”
said Mr. Walton. “They knew him by a cap he wore. They thought he
must have heard them, because all of a sudden he ran away. They
went down to the police station to-day and told the chief about what
they saw and they helped him find this young what’s his name. It’s all
in this afternoon’s paper. They’ve got the little rascal in the lockup
and they’re going to hold him so in case they make an arrest for the
robbery, they’ll have him to identify the criminals.”
“Chesty McCullen, I know him,” said Hervey excitedly. “His father
goes fishing; once he let me use his father’s boat⸺”
“Is that the way he makes his living—fishing?” asked Mr. Walton.
“Sure, he’s only got one eye. Most of the time he’s drunk, but the
rest of the time he goes fishing.”
“Hmph.”
“Sure, Chesty, I know him; he gave me a fishing-reel.”
“Well, I guess that’s the boy,” said Mr. Walton. “I take it they’re a
poor lot. The point I wanted to make, Herve, is that you told me—as
much as said that scouts don’t amount to anything. Now you see
here are a couple of wide-awake fellows who saw something and
rendered a service.”
 “Not to Chesty McCullen, they didn’t.”
“No,” Mr. Walton chuckled, “but to the authorities, to the town, to
the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. That’s worth doing, isn’t it?
You remember you said anything a scout could do, you could do
something better⸺”
“Do you mean you dare me to?” Hervey vociferated.
“No, heaven forbid. Only I’d like you to remember that while you
were off and your mother and I were worrying about where you were
and what you were doing, these two scouts did something.”
“Telling on somebody isn’t doing something.”
“Oh yes, it is.”
“How do they know he did it?”
Mr. Walton shrugged his shoulders.
“If it comes to that,” persisted Hervey.
“They’re holding him,” said his father, with a little conclusive
gesture of his hand.
“They’re a couple of tin-horns, that’s what they are,” said Hervey.
“Well, you’d better go in and get your supper,” said Mr. Walton.
 CHAPTER XIII
A NOISE LIKE A SCOUT
If Hervey felt a twinge of meanness that he had unwittingly
assisted in the robbery (albeit indirect) of blind orphans, he felt a
fresh twinge now in the thought that he was safely out of the whole
affair, thanks to poor little Chesty McCullen. He had only to keep still
now and he was all right. The glory of his stunt, or the shame of it,
had fallen on other shoulders. Poor little Chesty had not much on his
shoulders except this shame. But, anyway, Hervey was out of it.
Thinking of the switch and of these developments during his
absence he told himself that he was lucky.
One would think that such a lucky boy would be happy and would
sleep peacefully. But notwithstanding that he was dog tired,
somehow he could not fall asleep. After he had lain in bed about an
hour and was sure that the household was asleep, he crept
downstairs and looked about in the living room and dining room for
the newspaper. He had never before descended like this at such a
late hour, and the rooms looked strange to him. They were so empty
and quiet with the dead stillness of night. He had an odd feeling that
he had no right to be prowling around like this; he thought it seemed
like a burglar.
Once upstairs again he closed his door softly, turned on the light
and read:
BOY SCOUTS FIND ALARM SENDER

“A new development occurred in the fire-house robbery

matter to-day when two boy scouts of the local scout
organization appeared at police headquarters and
communicated to Sergeant Wade that they had seen a boy of
town loitering about the fire-alarm box on New Street at about
the time the false-alarm was sent in. They were certain from the
 sounds which they could hear on the porch where they sat, that
this boy, Chesty McCullen by name, was tampering with the
box. He ran away as they approached him and they walked as
far as the corner to see which way he went. It was while they
were there watching him that they heard the fire whistle, and
soon the engines were on the scene. These scouts were Warner
Lewis and Craig Hobson.
“The McCullen boy was brought to police headquarters later
to-day and questioned. He denied that he sent in any alarm, but
admitted being near the box. He could give no reason for
loitering there. He protested that he had not gone there at the
instigation of any one. The boy is of the rough element in East
Farrelton, his father a ne’er-do-well who has several times run
foul of the law. The boy has an elder brother who is absent from
home and the family have no explanation to offer for his
absence, and protest no knowledge of his whereabouts.
“The McCullen boy is being held by the police in the hope that
he will break down and identify any suspect who may be
apprehended in connection with the robbery. The police are
following up several clews at that end of the case.”

Yes, Hervey was out of it. But just the same he did not sleep very
well. After breakfast he did the thing which naturally was his first
inspiration. He strolled past the little jail, casting a weather eye on it
to determine whether an adventurous attempt might be made to free
Chesty McCullen. The enterprise did not seem promising and his
vision of himself perilously ascending a rope melted away.
He sought out Warner Lewis and Craig Hobson. They were pals
and always together, and easy to find. Warner lived on New Street
and it was from the vantage point of his porch that the two had seen
and identified the McCullen boy. These two scouts, who were not as
fortunate as Hervey in their opportunities for summer scouting, had a
tent on the Lewis lawn. They had envied their errant comrade his
summer at Temple Camp. They wondered why he did not talk more
about it.
Hervey sought out these two because, by a queer sort of
reasoning, he thought that he could drug his own conscience and
somehow help the McCullen boy by roundly denouncing the pair for
what they had done. It was not as good as a jail delivery, but it was
something. He did not greet these troop colleagues as scout greets
scout.
“I suppose you think you’re big, getting your name in the papers,”
he said.
“Look who’s here! We thought you were dead,” said Craig
Hobson.
“I’d rather be dead than be a squealer,” said Hervey. “Anyway, you
didn’t see Chesty McCullen ring that fire-alarm—I bet you fifty dollars
you didn’t.”
“Listen who’s talking, you haven’t got fifty dollars,” said Warner
Lewis. “I dare you to dare me to dare Craig Hobson to dare you to
show it to us.” This was intended as a burlesque on Hervey’s well
known propensity and it struck home.
“I dare you to swear that he was the one that did it,” Hervey fired
up. “I dare you to cross your hearts that he did.
Every feller knows the rule
Take a dare and you’re a fool.”
“I dare you to double dare yourself to come to scout meeting
sometime or other in the next year,” said Warner Lewis. “I dare you
to knock a chip off my shoulder—that’s him, the way he talks.”
Craig Hobson was not so addicted to ridicule. “What’s the matter
about seeing Chesty McCullen like we did?” he asked.
“Because you didn’t see him do it,” said Hervey.
“Sure, he did it,” said Craig in a way of friendly argument. “He was
right there and ran away and five minutes after that the whistle blew;
maybe ten minutes.”
“That shows what kind of a scout you are,” said Hervey.
“Listen who’s talking about scouting,” laughed Warner Lewis.
“If he turned in the alarm the whistle would blow in one minute,”
Hervey shouted in Craig’s face. “You ask any of the firemen,
because I know them all; I even know the fire-house dog, he
followed me all the way to Hermit’s Mountain one day. I even slept in
the fire-house. I bet you that alarm was sent in about, anyway five