Decoy Danger

It was true what they said about bad things and threes. First Shila refused to leave, and she was apparently turning the cottage into a damn pet sanctuary now. And she was William Hyde’s daughter. Didn’t it just figure. Mylo had known William had a daughter but had never personally met her since William had tried to keep her away from the rebel activity. He had talked about her sometimes though, when he brought Mylo into the rebel fold seven years ago. Occasionally the rebels; a small group at that time; had had to meet at William’s house and he had occasionally caught his daughter trying to eavesdrop through the door and ordered her to go to bed.

Mylo had been only sixteen then, reduced to a thief since he was thirteen in an effort to help he and his mother get by since his father was killed and his business seized. They had been reluctant to let him join up at all, until William saw him use a sword. Mylo grew up learning his father’s trade as a bladesmith, and he learned how to use the blades too. Not to mention, even if it wasn’t an honest living, thieving did require some level of skill. Mylo had been embarrassed about the state of his life, but he had stubbornly insisted that he’d be a rogue rebel if he needed to be if it meant avenging his father. So they’d given him a chance. Now he headed this little band of misfits who all had good reason to want to rebel but weren’t the most equipped for it. No proper faction would take them, and so they’d become Mylo’s responsibility. One that he took very seriously. He’d seen too many people hauled off to jail or killed.

And now William’s daughter had landed in their midst and refused to leave. Mylo felt an extra heavy obligation to keep her alive, out of respect to William. He was in prison and couldn’t protect her himself. Mylo wasn’t sure William would like entrusting that job to him, though. Even if he’d ultimately vouched for Mylo to join their ranks, Mylo had still been a gutter lurker and was now a rebel. Neither of those roles qualified him to keep William’s precious only daughter out of trouble.

Which is why he really wanted to insist that she get as far away from them as possible, but she was resolved to stay for some insane reason and now everyone else had the audacity to be all nice and welcoming to her. What kind of sick behavior was that? Trina was currently helping Shila clean the ridiculous furball she’d brought along and Lola was asking her how long it had been since she’d eaten. Bunch of traitors.

Mylo rolled his eyes and went outside to find Bret, who was lounging against a tree doing a very poor job of whittling a stick.

“What is that supposed to be?” Mylo asked, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s a bear,” Bret replied, looking insulted.

“No,” Mylo snorted. “It’s really not.”

Bret scowled at him as Mylo ruffled his reddish hair, completely messing it up.

“Hey,” Bret complained, trying to smooth it back into place.

“Quit worrying about your hair, Your Highness. And stop dulling that knife I gave you by whittling things that are definitely not bears. That’s not what it’s for.”

“Does that mean we can practice some more?” Bret asked hopefully, his scowl clearing.

“If it’ll save us all from your lack of artistic ability, yes,” Mylo laughed. “Set up the target.”

Bret scurried off to oblige, seeming eager to impress Mylo. The kid was barely older than Mylo had been when the rebellion first began and sometimes he felt like the little brother Mylo had never had. He reminded Bret of how he was supposed to stand and hold his wrist to throw the knife.

“Exhale,” Mylo told him. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Bret didn’t hit the bullseye but he wasn’t too far off. He seemed disappointed but Mylo said, “that was good, Bret.”

They practiced a while longer, everyone else wandering out to watch Bret work. Trina scurried over, insisting she wanted to practice too. Mylo let them be, just observing, until they started getting a little too competitive.

“Okay, take it easy you two, you’re supposed to hit the target not each other. Let’s stow the trash talk. Go eat dinner.”

“Can you give a demonstration first before we go?” Trina asked, widening her eyes imploringly. “Pretty please?”

Mylo sighed, reaching for the knives he kept slipped into his boots. He held one in each hand, keeping them in suspense. Then he threw them both with impressive speed and they sank into the center of the target side by side. He laughed at how excited they looked.

“I want to be able to do that,” Trina said excitedly.

“You have to actually hit a target for that,” Bret told her, nudging her shoulder. Trina stuck her tongue out and nudged him back.

“Dinner,” Mylo instructed. “Scoot.”

He stayed outside for a while, putting the target away and collecting his knives. Part of the reason he opted for the forest instead of a hideout in town or one of the neighboring cities was because here they were less likely to go hungry. Bran and Luis had been butchers before they became rebels, so on the occasions they managed to hunt something the two of them dealt with preparing it. And since it was spring the forest was full of things to forage for. Mylo figured it was overall a better decision even if it meant he had to travel further and sneak around more to meet up with other rebels or get news from town. His little makeshift family wasn’t in danger of starving out here, and they’d all come close enough to it in the past.

Mylo was mostly quiet through dinner, just leaning back against the kitchen wall and listening to their chatter. It was almost cozy, if he wasn’t always worried about what would happen tomorrow or the next day. The little cat, Shila said her name was Queenie, was a star of the evening now that her voluminous white fluff had been cleaned. She enjoyed getting head pats and table scraps. Mylo cleaned his dish and slipped off to his room, feeling uneasy about Shila being here. What were the odds, besides regularly stacked against him?

He had repurposed this small study into a makeshift bedroom; he’d given Lola and Trina the master bedroom to share and told the guys to make do with whatever they found. The summer home wasn’t impossibly cramped, but it was no mansion either. Mylo was almost asleep when he felt something land on his chest. He startled, opening his eyes to find the damn cat sitting on his chest, kneading him.

“Excuse me,” he said, disgruntled. “What do you want?”

Queenie just stared back at him, starting to purr now as she poked him with her little claws.

“That kind of hurts,” he said. “Go away.” He waved his hands in a shooing gesture to emphasize his point. Queenie laid down and head butted him in the face. He almost inhaled cat fur.

“This is the opposite of what I asked,” he told her. But she closed her eyes and ignored his complaints. Mylo sighed and let his head thunk back against his pillow.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Have it your way.”