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manage to charge up my phone before theelectricity went out.” Ru slid his phone across the counter. “You can make a call while I get this started. Try to keep it short—it’s the only working phone we have.”
    Ukiah took it and wobbled off across the open downstairs to the farthest corner for privacy.
    Ru wore a slight puzzled look on his face as he did a quick wash on a skillet.
    â€œWhat?” Atticus asked.
    â€œJust thinking on differences.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œIt was weeks before you’d let me touch you that casually.” Ru dried the skillet. “You hated it anytime I’d breach your personal space. You still don’t like strangers touching you.” With a glance toward the roiling surf, Ru added, “And I’ve never seen you space out like he just did with the ocean.”
    â€œI was over the worst of it by the time we met,” Atticus said. “I would lose it like that every time they’d move me to a new foster home. It always made a wonderful first impression on foster parents.”
    The quiet conversation across the room had a familiar cadence—a peppering of questions with lots of silences that indicated listening. Atticus had made many such calls— What happened while I was dead ?
    Ukiah came back, silent and sullen. The feral look was back in his eyes. What triggered the sudden change? He put the phone down beside him on the counter, not offering to return it.
    â€œHow do you like your steak? Bloody?” Ru guessed, probably because it was how Atticus liked his steak.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen this is done.” Ru gave Ukiah a sincere smile, one of the ones that went soul deep, the kind he usually gave only to people he loved.
    The feral look gave way before Ru’s smile. “Thank you.”
    Still, he ate with wolflike ferocity.
    It was good Ukiah would be sleeping soon, Atticus decided. He found that the boy absorbed all his attention. Surely some of it was that Ukiah was new and unknown—Atticus’s own personal ocean to be lost in. He could ill afford the distraction.
    Ukiah lifted his head and went still.
    â€œWhat is it?” Ru asked.
    â€œHarleys. Ten of them.”
    Atticus listened and heard them now, a rumble of multiple motorcycle engines growing closer. He couldn’t tell the make or the exact number, although he could pick out six or seven distinct engines.
    The Dog Warriors! Did he call them ?
    Ukiah glanced at him. “No, they’re not Pack.”
    Atticus frowned. “How do you know?”
    â€œPack knows Pack.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œShut your eyes,” Ukiah commanded.
    Atticus hesitated. He knew how fast he could move—even wounded, Ukiah could probably strike as quickly. He checked to see if Ru was in position and ready before closing his eyes.
    â€œKeep your eyes shut.” Ukiah’s voice came out of the darkness. “Focus on me.”
    He could feel Ukiah’s presence beside him like an electric ghost. His brother moved, a rustle of blanket, and Atticus sensed that Ukiah had stretched out a hand to nearly touch him, fingers splayed close but not pressing against the fabric of his shirt. Atticus reached without opening his eyes and found Ukiah’s hand with his own. Traces of steak. Road dirt. His own saliva. His own flesh. His own blood.
    This is right. This is good.
    â€œLooks like we have company,” Ru remarked dryly, breaking the spell.
    Atticus dropped his brother’s hand and stood. Themotorcycles had rounded the sharp bend in the road and come into view.
    Ukiah grunted. “Iron Horses.”
    â€œYou know them?” Atticus asked.
    â€œI know of them,” Ukiah said. “They’re Pack wanna-bes; the biggest one is John Daggit. He’s the New England chapter president. Rebar is his sergeant at arms.” Which meant Rebar would be the club enforcer. “Smithy and Draconis are both