Inherit Read online

  “Can you lift it down? Do you mind?” I ask, my arms crossed over my chest.

  Wordlessly, Jonas lifts the fox and lowers it to the ground. It steps out, sniffs and snuffs, then trots into the dense woods a few hundred feet away and disappears as quickly as it sprang out of the box.

  “Fox!” I yell, tripping over my feet as I jog towards the still-shivering weeds. “Fox! Shit! What am I going to do now?”

  Jonas is already behind me, his big body blocking the wind.

  “It’ll come back.” He moves closer until our shoulders touch. “Come and wait in the truck. It’s freezing and you don’t even have a coat on. By the way, why is that? Do you enjoy bronchitis?” His voice minces the words with aggravation that is strangely endearing.

  “I don’t have a coat that I like.” We trudge back to the truck and climb in with a solid bang of the doors.

  “But you have a coat?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Does it fit?” I nod. “Is it warm?” I nod again. “So, what’s not to like?”

  “It’s ugly.” I shiver, jam the key in the ignition, start the engine, and flick the heat on, even though I hate burning through the gas I can barely afford. “I do ninety-nine percent of all the things I’m supposed to do every day. If I don’t want to wear an ugly old coat, I’m not going to.

  “You should wear your coat.” He shrugs his long arms out of his coat, pulls it off of his shoulders and passes it to me.

  I try to think of something smart to say to him, but the gas gauge catches my eye. I can keep my pride, or have enough gas to get us home.

  “Don’t you need it?” I glance at the thin thermal under his work shirt.

  “Take it. Please,” he adds, his voice polite without being condescending. Perfection.

  I cut the engine and take his coat. “Thanks.” It’s still toasty warm from his body heat, and it stinks like motor oil and gas. The smell makes my eyes burn, but the warmth is worth it.

  The sun sinks behind the trees and Jonas leans his head back on the headrest.

  “Sorry for making you late getting home.” I risk a glance over at him, all sharp features and grease-tinged skin.

  “It’s okay. I like the company.” He rolls his head towards me and smiles such a slow, lazy smile, his face transforms. He looks warm instead of cool, touchable instead of infuriatingly standoffish.

  My fingers itch to run over the smooth skin of his neck, right where it meets his shoulder.

  “We should go in a few minutes if it doesn’t come back.” My gut clenches tight at the thought, but I can’t stay parked on the side of the highway all night.

  “Let’s go and look.” He elbows his door open and I take a deep breath and follow through the scratchy weeds and into the forest so dark and silhouetted, it could be the cover of a Grimm’s collection.

  Before the tall, dead grass turns into rough tree trunks, Jonas holds one hand out and waits. For me.

  I tug up on the freezing zipper of his coat, then grab his fingers in the dark and curl mine into them. My hands are as rough as his, chapped from washing them a hundred times a day when I’m on shift at the diner where I work. We both have short nails, the right length to keep reasonably clean no matter how dirty our jobs get. His fingers are long and knobby with jutting knuckles. Mine are smooth and stubby, barely fitting around his hand. His skin is warm and dry, mine cool and clammy. We’re different and the same, but together, there’s a strength and safety that gives me a shot of bravery.

  We crunch through a foot-deep carpet of dead leaves that swish softly past our ankles. Jonas sticks a hand out and pushes aside brambles that would rip at my skin. He also ducks first under the sticky woven spider webs I somehow never see until they’re netted over my face, suffocating me with panic. The sun is gone. I smell the dense grey smoke of a leaf fire somewhere nearby.

  His voice breaks through the hush of the twilit forest all of a sudden. “Last term during debate, I didn’t agree with the issue, Wren. I was on the opposition side for reparations.” He lifts a tree branch over his head so I can pass under unscathed. “I hated Mrs. McKenna for assigning that debate.”

  The moon is big and bright as a silver dollar through the old trees’ reaching branches. In the pale glow, his face is tense, his mouth a slash of frustration.

  “I shouldn’t have overreacted.” My overloud voice echoes around us. I tone it down. “McKenna was fair. You and I were slotted to debate.”

  “But reparations? It was insensitive of her. I mean, for you.” His hand tightens slightly around mine, and all my blood sings and whirls like Maria on those big green hills in The Sound of Music. As corny as that movie is, I always get choked up right at that part, because I want to twirl like that and feel that way, and now, even sans all that altitude, I think I might know exactly how she felt with her arms whipped out, spinning around like a mad woman.

  Jonas Balto is making me feel musical-giddy with one little squeeze of our hands.

  “She made Nevaeh debate affirmative action that year. And she gave her con, so it’s alright. She wanted us to break out of our comfort zones. Or whatever.” Something that had a strong hold on my heart loosens, and everything feels lighter—the air swooping in and out of my lungs, my feet crunching the leaves, our hands linked and warm. “But I appreciate it. I mean, that you apologized. You didn’t need to, but it means a lot to me to know for sure that you were just doing the assignment.”

  He tugs at my hand. “I know I can be a jerk sometimes, but I don’t actually think it was fair for the government to screw an entire group of people just because of their background. If you thought otherwise, you don’t have much faith in me.”

  “I don’t know you that well.”

  “We’ve been in the same school since kindergarten. I live ten minutes away from you and have all my life.” He lays the facts out, but neglects the obvious.

  “Okay. So we’ve been around each other a lot. Being around someone doesn’t mean you know them well.” I’m surprised when he squeezes my hand again, and I turn to look at him.

  When he flashes me a smile, the moonlight glints brightly off of his sharp teeth. “We should remedy that.”

  We stop walking and huddle for warmth. His face is close to mine. I take in the dark curve of his eyebrows, the hook of his nose, the gold prickle of five o’clock shadow that covers his sharp jaw. Suddenly his features blur and my eyes close.

  I expect warmth, but there’s only the cool brush of the wind, and when I let my eye slit open, he’s looking at a dark collection of trees far off and I’m left trying to play off my missed-kiss disappointment. The trees are black against a navy sky, bordered by a moon-silvered edge of leaves; it would be a scene devoid of any color, except for a red ball that bounces toward us. The fox darts straight to my feet and drops something on the toe of my shoe.

  I close my eyes again and swallow hard. “Jonas? Did that fox just drop a mouse on my foot?”

  He kneels down and picks it up. “No.”

  The word is flat and harsh. I doubt he’s holding anything as innocent as a dead mouse on his palm.

  When I lean closer, there’s a roll of money, secured with a rubber band. I poke it to make sure it’s real, then pick it up. The dense weight tells me it’s probably a good amount. I peel back a few bills and my mouth goes dry.

  “Thousands,” I say when Jonas gives me a questioning look. The fox twitches its tail, then dashes back towards the truck. I make a move to chase it, but Jonas grabs my arm.

  “Wren, where did it get that money?”

  Suddenly the moonlight doesn’t feel so romantic and the hush of the forest has distinctly sinister undertones. Where did all of this money come from?

  “I have no clue. What do you think?”

  Jonas looks around. “Someone must be out here.”

  “Shhh!” I shush him and glance around anticipating some mob of meth heads to jump out of the bushes or a guy in a sharkskin suit with a gunshot wound to fire a few rounds in our direction. “W
hoever lost that money is not someone we want to get involved with.”

  “You don’t know that.” Jonas refuses to whisper. “There could be a logical explanation for this money being here.”

  “Like?”

  “Someone could have dropped it while they were…hiking.” The last word pulls long and weak as warm taffy.

  “Hikers? You think a hiker was carrying a small fortune in cash wrapped with a rubber band?” I hiss. “Let’s leave the money here and go. Now.”

  I let the wad of money hit the ground and stomp away without a glance back. But I’m not positive what direction I should head in. I followed Jonas blindly into the woods, and nothing looks familiar to me. Maybe I should have paid less attention to his big hands and chiseled jaw and looked for some damn landmarks.

  “Wren! Wait!” He crashes through the forest, making more noise than an elephant would. “You’re headed the wrong way! Let’s just look around, okay?”

  “Why? Don’t you understand that if we find the living owner of this money, chances are they will hurt us? Badly? And if they’re not alive anymore, then they’re a corpse? I don’t want to get killed and I don’t want to find a dead body. Drop the money and let’s go!” By now I’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be quiet, and I’m yelling. Whoever might be looking for us will be able to find us, no doubt. On the bright side, at least if they’re following my voice, they’ll realize that I don’t want to steal their money.

  But no one comes. The forest waits in silence. Clouds eclipse the moon, and I instinctively move closer to Jonas in the encompassing dark.

  He presses the solid roll of paper in my hand. “It’s for you, Wren. Take it.”

  I flex my fingers, squeeze tight, and feel the edges of the paper bite into my palm. This isn’t play money. This could pay for a live-in nurse to stop by for Bestemor a few times a week. The dishwasher needs repair. The roof leaks in at least eight different places. Normally I try not to think about any of those things because I can’t help fix them. What little money I make goes to groceries, gas, and a tiny bit of fun.

  I need this.

  I nod and Jonas takes my hand, grabs the keychain hanging from his belt loop and shines a beam of bright white light into the dark. After a few silent minutes of walking, we’re back at the truck. The fox is curled next to the tire, and I feel a glow of relief.

  “There it is.” I sigh and head towards it at a run, shocked by the relief bubbling through me. I’m so happy the fox is safe and sound, I drop my hand and bury my fingers in the silky layers of fur at its neck without a second thought for the tiny mouth armed with barbs of razor teeth. The fox rubs against my hand and looks up at me with eyes that flash with unmistakable intelligence, and it occurs to me that this fox is smart. Not like a trained animal or an obedient pet…this fox strikes me as a creature that has the ability to actually reason on some kind of higher plane, and that realization is kind of creepy. And also very cool.

  “Do you have AAA?” Jonas’s voice trips through my musings.

  “No. Or maybe my grandma does. I don’t know. Why?” I follow his pointed finger and see a new tire leaning on the side of my truck.

  Jonas paces towards it, kicks it with the toe of his boot, leans over and squints, then narrows his eyes at me.

  “This is exactly the right tire for your truck.”

  One hand is deep in fox fur, one grasps the mysterious roll of money. My eyes strain in their sockets.

  “Leave it.” My voice shakes, and every hair on my body stands on end.

  Jonas picks it up and tosses it in the bed, then shoots me a warning look. “That spare is a piece of crap. I don’t care who left it or why, but you need it. I’ll change it when we get to my house.”

  “No!” I head to the bed, grab the tire with one hand and make a futile attempt to yank it out while Loki squirms in my other arm. I try again, then give up in disgust and head back to the driver’s side. “Fine, it can stay back there, but it’s not going on this truck. Okay? It’s not. Something freaky is going on, and I don’t want any trouble.”

  I pass the warm circle of fox across the seat and Jonas places it on his lap. I shrug his coat off and shove it at him. Nothing makes sense, and I’m unreasonably annoyed with Jonas and his calm, logical refusal to see the insanity of the situation.

  “At least put your coat on,” he says, watching me shiver stubbornly.

  “I told you, I don’t have a coat with me,” I snarl.

  “Then what’s on the back of the seat?”

  I crane my neck and my cheek brushes against rich, warm velvet. I swivel my head and see that it’s not just any velvet; it’s the vintage black velvet coat with a pink satin lining that I saw on Etsy for a couple hundred more than I’d ever dare to spend on a coat. Especially when I own a perfectly serviceable pea-green parka purchased during my unfortunate military-inspired phase last year.

  Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this isn’t what I think?

  “Jonas, can you see the buttons on this coat?” I ask. They’re folded away from me.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do they look like?” My voice is a nervous squeak.

  “Little silver owls.”

  I drop my head on the steering wheel and shake for a few minutes. What the hell is going on?

  Chapter 3

  Jonas offers me a whole slew of reasons why a roll of money, a tire, and a vintage velvet jacket all fell into my lap; every one of them only makes sense if I am a wizard at an elite private academy or have an extremely unhinged stalker watching my every move. I turn around and check the bed of the truck twice to make sure no shadowy figure with a hook is sitting out there, ready smash through the window to shred me to pieces. Every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention, and I shiver uncontrollably.

  “You should put that coat on if you’re cold.” Jonas’s eyes are on me with the hot flicker of too much attention.

  “I’m not putting that coat on. I’m not putting that tire on this truck. And I’m not accepting this money. I have no idea where all of this came from, but there’s no way it’s a good thing.” I glance over at Jonas, his eyebrows knit into one dark line in the center of his forehead. “You don’t agree?”

  “But they’re things you wanted. Things you need. I mean, it’s like if someone made anonymous donations to your bank account. Would you complain?”

  “I don’t have a bank account.”

  “But if you did,” he presses. “It’s just generosity coming to you. Who cares where it comes from or why?”

  “Because generosity doesn’t just fall out of the sky, Jonas. It always comes from somewhere, and that somewhere is eventually going to want payback.” I realize that I’m rambling like a paranoid psycho, but I know I’m right with every fiber of my being.

  “You’re diluting the karma. Just accept the good. Pay it forward if you feel like there needs to be a two-way transaction.” He grins and his shiny teeth glint. “You could give me half of the money.”

  “I’m not doing anything with the money,” I insist. “Someone is going to show up and want something in return for this, and I’m not going to give them what they want. I’m going to give the stuff back.” My bold proclamation rings false in my own ears, but I want it to be true. Badly.

  Since my parents ditched, Bestemor and I have been forging out own way. Everything from lemonade stands to dog-walking stints and babysitting fiascos brought in just enough until I got my official working papers at fifteen and never had less than two jobs at a time since. Her tiny pension coupled with my hard work have left us a little lean, but clear of debts, monetary and otherwise. I’ve never been comfortable being under someone else’s monetary care, and I can’t start now, especially when I don’t know who that someone is.

  “Do you know anyone rich?” Jonas asks.

  Hmm. “I haven’t seen my dad in twelve years, but he could be rich, theoretically. He could also be a monk. Or dead. I have no clue.” I let my eye bob to the corner to see if Jo
nas is going to ask about JR.

  He takes the bait. “What about that tool you used to date?” Jonas tries to look cool, but he drums his fingers on the interior of the car and taps his foot in a moody beat on the floorboards.

  “JR definitely comes from money. But he wasn’t exactly attentive with gifts.” I watch him tighten like a spring as I unfurl, stretching my fingers over the steering wheel and rolling my shoulders. Why is it so pleasant for me to see him uncomfortable about my ex?

  “His parents own half the damn state and he never bought you a gift?” The moody foot beat turns triumphant and his fingers go back to their gentle fox massage.

  “I didn’t say that. JR bought me gifts, but they were always things I didn’t want.” That smacks of ungratefulness, but it’s solid truth.

  “Like what?” When I narrow my eyes at him, Jonas explains, “It’s for research. How can I rule JR out as a suspect if I don’t know what kind of gifts he normally gave you? I mean, that coat is a very nice gift. And if it’s vintage, it could have been expensive.”

  “First of all, this coat has no label. If JR was going to get something vintage, it would be vintage show-off, like Chanel. A tire is too practical and too small. He would get me a car. And a wad of money is too proletariat. Jewelry, heavy on the diamonds, electronics, or big getaway trips were more his speed.”

  Ah, JR, the playboy from my past. Nothing was too much for him, and since his parents gave him a ridiculous allowance he never had to work for, he didn’t mind sharing while I was being an appropriately admiring girlfriend. In the year we dated, I had amassed four gaudy jewel-studded necklaces shaped like hearts, an electronic entertainment center I needed to call a helpline to turn on, and tickets to Barbados for the weekend with a suite to ourselves. His parents even called Bestemor to tell them how harmless it would be. She said ‘absolutely not’ and JR pouted for weeks. I was actually relieved.

  When I broke it off with him, I sent all the stuff back, but he brought it to my house and dumped it on my doorstep, then told me to pawn it if I really didn’t want it. The necklaces alone covered our utility bills for the rest of the year.