Like a sheep.
Damn the wolverine son for seeing that when I couldn't.
Angry with myself and my tribe, I pulled off at a rest stop just past the Illinois border. I parked in the area for semis. I wasn't in the mood to deal with mothers and toddlers or old people walking their dogs. Truckers tended to mind their own business; I liked that.
Actually, there was only one semi in the lot. I parked as far away from it as I could and got out to do my business and walk a bit.
My mind was a swirl. Thea had talked with someone from the council. I believed that. What I didn't know for sure was if she knew that someone wanted the child killed. I suspected she did-suspected she'd taken the child to the woods to do the job herself.
But the council. . they were still out there. Mel had said the council had split. That didn't mean the council was gone. . it meant there were two now.
Which meant I had a choice of which one to listen to or, as Mel had suggested, the choice to listen to no one at all, to think for myself.
It was strange to realize I hadn't been doing that all along.
So which was it? After the shock of realizing I'd been manipulated wore off, did I understand why some of the council might want the child dead? He was the son of a son and a high council member. The potential power in that combination was unsettling.
But he was also just that. . potential. He was an infant; he had done nothing good or bad. Who were we to condemn him?
The choice was mine. I could return to Madison and go hang around Mel. I could wait for Peter outside her shop and follow him wherever he went. Then I could force him to tell me what he knew.
I could find the baby if I really wanted to. I knew that.
But did I?
A car pulled into the lot behind me, but I ignored it, choosing instead to change direction and walk toward the empty playground that stood about sixty feet from the rest area building.
It was windy and warm. A swing moved in the breeze and a bit of dirt made its way into my eye. I was rubbing it out when I got struck from behind.
"Ready to leave the flock?" A rough male voice whispered in my ear as I hit the ground.
I flung back one elbow and was rewarded with a pain-filled grunt. I pressed my advantage by slamming my head backward, into, I hoped, my assailant's nose.
The grip on me loosened and I sprang to my feet.
My fairy godfather rose to his feet, blood streaming from his nose. "The sheep kicks," he commented.
"Baa," I replied, then circled to the left.
I needed this fight. I was even willing to risk human notice to have it.
He grinned and circled too. "Have a nice day in Madison?" he asked.
"Lovely," I replied.
"Heard you stopped by an old friend's."
I rushed forward, pivoting as I kicked. My foot hit him in the chest. He let out an umph of air and staggered backward.
"Nice," he murmured. He moved in quickly, swinging with his left fist. I ducked, but not fast enough. His closed hand made contact with my cheek. I could feel the flesh begin to swell.
He jumped back. "Oops. I hit a girl."
"Good thing this girl"-I spun again, this time dropping low, going for the backs of his knees with my extended leg; he tumbled backward onto his ass-"hits back." I finished, moving in to kick him again, this time in the head.
He grabbed me by the ankle and twisted. Pain shot through my recently reinjured back. I fell onto the ground beside him and he rolled over on top of me.
"You know, fun as it is, I didn't come here to fight." He was breathing hard; blood and sweat streamed down his face. Pea gravel that had been poured onto the playground to protect toddlers who tumbled off the slide bit into my backside.
"Really, why did you come?" I locked one arm around his, shoved the other into his chin, and rotated my body, flipping us over as I did. On top, I knee-kicked him in the groin, then pulled back my fist to sock him again in the nose.
"What? Whoa!" A new voice boomed over us. "He bothering you, lady? Someone call the cops!" A trucker approximately six feet tall and almost as wide leaned over us. "Heard some noise. Thought it was some kids scrapping. . Don't you worry. I'll hold him till the cops can get here." He grabbed me and the son and hauled both of us to our feet.
Adrenaline raced through me and my breath came in quick puffs. Across the trucker's wide body the son stared at me, his dark eyes almost glowing. Neither of us had been ready for the fight to end, but unless we wanted to take out the trucker, we had no choice.
Of course, I also didn't want to stick around and talk to the cops.
Apparently the son didn't either. After one last dark glance at me, he jerked his arm free of the trucker's grasp and sprinted for the parking lot.
"Hey, you. Someone stop him!" the trucker yelled and lumbered after him.
I took the opportunity to run myself, in the opposite direction. My business with the son wasn't over; I was tired of having him follow me around. And no matter what I decided to do with the high council's orders, that was going to stop. But I couldn't stop it now. The best I could do was get away before the trucker went through with his civic duty and called in the human authorities.
I circled around the restrooms, drawing curious stares from a couple getting out of a small RV. The man stared openly at me until the woman elbowed him in the gut. Fussing at each other, they continued walking and disappeared inside the building.
I cut across the grass and headed back to my car. The trucker was nowhere in sight, and there were now three cars parked in the semi area, making it impossible to say whether the son was still around or not.
I guessed, however, that he had left in whatever vehicle he'd arrived in.
I slipped into the Jeep and steered it toward the interstate, pulling the seat belt across me as I did. I'd gone maybe four miles and begun to relax when I caught sight of movement in the rearview mirror. Movement inside the Jeep.
A boot-clad foot appeared over the top of the back bench seat. I recognized it instantly-the son. I kept my hands on the wheel, maintained my speed, and basically didn't react at all, but my mind was spinning. We were in a stretch with no exits, making my only option to pull over onto the shoulder, but that wasn't the wisest choice either.
Some busybody Good Samaritan would surely spot us and either stop or dial 911.
At that moment I wished more than anything I had a talent for magic. Unfortunately, I needed direct physical contact with the son to do him any harm-or did I? His leg followed his foot. I waited until he was straddling the seat and then I slammed on the brakes.
The Jeep fishtailed, swerving sideways across two lanes. The seat belt cut into my shoulder and jerked me backward. The son flew forward, his body twisting, his legs hitting the roof before the rest of him collided with the passenger seat and he fell to the floor. Smoke curled around us, five years of tire tread left on the road.
A horn sounded behind me, long, hard, and angry. A pickup truck pulling a horse trailer barreled toward us. I punched the gas and shot the Jeep onto the shoulder. Once there, I slammed the vehicle into park, unsnapped my belt, and threw myself over the seat and onto the son.
I socked him in the jaw. He groaned. I hit him again and pulled back my arm for another swing. This time he reached up and grabbed my wrist.
"I told you I wasn't here to fight."
I twisted my arm, trying to break his hold. His eyes glimmered. "Back down or I shift. Do you really want to be stuck in a closed car with a forty-pound pissed-off wolverine? And trust me, I'm getting mighty pissed off."