Page 12 of Glass
5
POPPY
“This is it,” I murmur to myself as I carefully stow my money and phone in the lock box I keep under the driver’s seat for times when I leave my car behind. It’s a trick David taught me when I first started driving a couple years ago.
I also tuck away my driver’s license and the letter from my mother. My car has been broken into a couple times while I’ve traveled, but people don’t seem to realize the hard plastic under the seat is a lock box and not part of the seat itself.
The Bar Harbor parking lot is quiet but not empty. I hope that means no one will question the car appearing overnight. The parking fees are going to be killer if I have to leave the car for a few days, but it was the only place I could find without a parking limit.
I shut the back door and lock the car up tight. The only sound in the night is my shallow breathing as I use the street lighting to lead me to the back passenger tire. I reach into the wheel well, planning to hide my keys.
“That’s the first place a thief will look,” a stranger’s voice interrupts. I jerk, my wrist thumping the side of the car as the keys fall to the gravel.
“I was just checking the air in my tire,” I announce more comfortably than I actually feel. My hands shake as his left eyebrow ticks up slightly, cluing me into the fact that he doesn’t believe my cover up. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a woman at night like that.”
He grins as he squints off down the street. I glance over to see someone walking out of a business to get in a car parked on the street. My stomach twists as my eyes dart around the near-abandoned parking lot. Leaving cars where they’re the least likely to be towed is a great idea in theory… Until you put yourself in a situation where an overly friendly man in knee-high socks corners you.
“I’m sorry to have startled you. I’m sure you can imagine we all get a little up in arms when new shifters show up here.” He smirks as I purse my lips uncomfortably. “I could smell you from a mile out. This isn’t exactly a regular pass-through area. What are you doing here?”
I’m tempted to refuse to answer, but the man stands with his broad shoulders straight and feet planted shoulder-width apart. He looks fully prepared to keep me from leaving if he has to.
Shit.
“I’m looking for someone,” I admit, running sweaty hands across my thighs.
“Ah.” Understanding dawns in his eyes, and his posture relaxes slightly. “So you came toThe Lostto look. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’re the first new face to show up in a while.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this isn’t it. He seems awfully forthcoming considering all I could definitively find about The Lost so far is that they exist mostly off-the grid.
“They wouldn’t be new to the area.” I lift my chin slightly, nervously swallowing around the tight knot in my throat. If the kids aren’t here, I’ve reached the last of my leads, and it’s come up as a dead-end too. “I’ve been looking for a long time; this place is one of the few places I haven’t already looked.”
The man stares deeply into my eyes until I grow uncomfortable enough to kneel down to retrieve my keys for the sake of breaking the intense eye contact. I hold my breath as he moves closer, his nearly knee-high socks mildly threatening as he moves so abruptly. I momentarily wonder whether the nail file attached to my key ring would make a viable weapon if I get desperate.
“I’m Warwick, though most people call me Doc.” He holds his hand down to me, and I shake it gingerly. He tightens his grasp to help me back to my feet now that my keys—and nail file—are firmly in hand.
“You’re a doctor?”
“An assistant… before I was run off from my birth pack.” I catch the tail end of his grimace as he releases my hand. “But I’m the only one with medical training around here, so I’ve effectively become the pack doctor.”
It’s interesting to hear thatThe Lostis more like a formal pack than I expected. It’s not how I picture rogues living. “I’m Poppy Glass,” I hesitantly introduce myself, tensing up for the moment of recognition that always comes with my last name.
“Alright, who are you here searching for, Poppy Glass?” He crosses his arms over his chest, though I can’t tell if the motion is casual or defensive.
“It’s a long story.” I swallow hard, dread pooling in my stomach as I imagine how this stranger will take my story. He doesn’t seem to recognize my name, which means he somehow isn’t familiar with the infamous Glass family–or he’s pretending not to be. He’ll probably think I’m nuts when I explain that I’m here looking for kids that may or may not even exist.
I really hate to trust a stranger, but I’m willing to take a risk for the sake of trying to find the kids.
Doc studies me closely, his eyes taking in everything from my long, straightened hair to my bare feet. He points his thumb over his shoulder. “Put your shoes on. We have a twenty-five minute walk before it’s safe to shift; I guess you better put those minutes to good use.”
* * *
“You live here?” I ask gingerly as we approach a nondescript RV. I feel like a ball of nervous energy, even after our fast-paced shifted run. Before we shifted, I gave Doc the abridged version of my missing siblings and my search for them.
Instead of confirming or denying whether they might be out here somewhere, he put me off with a promise to talk more about it once we reached the campground.
He didn’t act like he thought I was crazy—that has to count for something.
“Sometimes,” Doc says cryptically. He hesitates at the threshold of a white RV. Mud cakes its tires, and there are streaks of dirt and muck running down from the top. Doc doesn’t necessarily strike me as the messy type, maybe just the type that gets too busy to keep things tidy.