JC Coldwell's Arc

Chapter 8 of 9

The man's chest heaved. JC studied his face and found nothing he could trust. The stranger's mouth said trouble, but his mind was a locked room. JC felt the barrier there, hard and smooth. To read past it, he would have to drop his walls. In this shop, with these last customers, that meant every thought at once. Last time it had flattened him. JC crouched near his daughter. He would not chase a lie again. But he could not stay blind either. He needed the truth from this man, and only one way remained. "Watch the room," he told KP. "If I go under, pull me out." He lowered his walls. Thoughts rushed in. The woman by the door, still fretting. The coin counter. A hum of small worries. JC gripped the shelf and breathed through it. He pushed toward the messenger and pressed against that locked room. It cracked. Behind it he saw the card house, low ceilings, smoke. He saw Hal at a table, sleeves rolled, elf ears bright under the lamps. Hal was not hurt. Hal was winning, then losing, then betting again. The man had been sent to fetch friends because Hal was in too deep to walk away. The truth landed hard. Hal was not in danger. Hal was chasing something back. JC raised his walls and the noise died. He swayed. KP's small hand caught his sleeve. "You're back," she said. "He wasn't lying," JC said. "But he made it sound worse than it is. Hal's not in trouble. Hal's gambling." He left the shop and followed the man. The card house sat past a stretch of rough-built shelters, walls of scrap wood lashed with rope. JC pushed through the door. Hal sat exactly as JC had seen him. Blond hair, pink shirt, a small pile of coins shrinking in front of him. He looked up and his smile flickered. "JC." Hal's hands went still over the cards. "This isn't—okay, this is what it looks like." JC crossed to the table. He did not need to read Hal. He could see it. "You told me the errand was nothing." "I lost something. Last night." Hal swallowed. "I wanted to win it back before you felt it in my head. I thought that would hurt you less." JC pulled out the chair beside him and sat. He did not shout. He did not leave. "You promised you'd tell me before you ran," he said. "You ran quiet instead." Hal's eyes went wet. "I know." "So tell me now." JC put his hand flat on the table, palm up. "What did you lose?" Hal stared at the open hand. Then he set his cards down and took it. The coins sat forgotten between them. "It's a long one," Hal said. "I'm not going anywhere," JC said, and for once he meant it without flinching.