Riordan gave Daniel a moment to compose himself before heading towards the SUV pool. He hit the fob to find the one matching the keys and tossed his lunch inside. A quick check showed Riordan that he had Daniel’s necklace around his neck still, just waiting to be passed along to those who loved him.

A thump from across the clear field between the pack house and the shaman’s workshop drew Riordan’s attention. Mark bustled out of there, crossing the porch and down the steps noisily in his hurry to make good on his release. The young man cast his gaze around the field before landing on Riordan and changing trajectory to meet up with him.

Mark jogged closer, reaching comfortable speaking range for a shifter, and called out, “Riordan. Thank you for requesting my help.”

Riordan huffed a small laugh, returning Mark grin for grin. They were all a bunch of troublemakers in the eyes of the elders, he was sure. But then again…

 “It was Norris’ idea,” Riordan said, “though I’m glad to have you on this. For Daniel’s sake too.”

Mark glanced over at the ghost hovering with them. There weren’t many people who could see Daniel, much less cared about him personally in his new state. The casual way Mark looked to Daniel’s comfort touched him. In fact, Riordan realized that Mark would likely always be able to see Daniel now, linked as they all were to a certain tree.

Good. Those young men both deserved to have another friend looking out for them, especially if they kept choosing to play with weird magic. And making reckless deals. And hanging out with Riordan.

Mark looked kinda wrecked though. Bits of loam and pine needles stuck to his hair, skin, and clothes and shadows smudged under his eyes. Right. He’d had a bit of a night. Riordan was totally going to be the one driving, even if he didn’t have a valid license.

“You need a shower and some clean clothes before we go off adventuring,” Riordan declared. “I don’t want to get the door slammed in our faces before we can even speak.”

Mark looked down at himself and smiled lopsidedly. “What? It’s the new look for death tree shaman.”

“Great. You do you, Mark. Just on your own time. Come on. I need directions to your place.”

Riordan hustled his totally legit group into the SUV, grateful that no one in the pack would complain about a bit of dirt and forest ending up on the seats. A whole bunch of animals, this lot. Just like a good pack.

Mark directed them away from the communal pack area to a house not far away. They stayed there long enough for Mark to get a shower, a change of clothes, and what looked like a spare mage’s kit. 

The kit was an interesting choice for a social visit. Riordan raised a brow in question. Mark shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Life’s been weird.”

Amen to that. Riordan got them all squared away again. Mark took the backseat this time while Daniel took the passenger seat to play navigator. Once he was settled, Mark flopped down across the bench seat and muttered, “Wake me when we get there.”

Some guard Mark was. Riordan shook his head at the lackadaisical approach of this pack towards “keeping the death mage supervised.” He appreciated the fact that they clearly knew he wasn’t that kind of threat to them. That trust eased his emotional hackles, letting some of his hypervigilance ease.

Without ease and trust, Riordan existed in survival mode and he’d already proven that he could get a bit… impulsive and temperamental in emergencies. The pack was taking the right tact for managing him. He was too grateful to feel played.

The drive to Traverse City went through wooded county roads most of the way, lending itself to beautiful scenery, if not much in the way of views. Every so often, Riordan would crest one of the rolling hills and see a bit further, but mostly it was green trees, brown grass, and scattered houses. The morning sun and clear skies brought out rich colors and an air of peace that seeped into Riordan.

Daniel didn’t know this area super well, but fortunately, they knew the general direction of Traverse City from pack lands and Michigan’s roads were largely on a grid pattern. They zigzagged their way towards the city, watching for towns, signs, and landmarks that might give Daniel a better anchor for specific directions to his aunt’s house.

Partway through, Riordan bent to tactical practicality and asked questions he should have asked earlier, pitching his voice low to let Mark sleep. “You’ve told me a bit about your aunt before. You thought she might be able to handle you being a ghost. How do you want me to approach this?”

If she was as resilient as her nephew, Riordan suspected he’d at least get to avoid extreme feminine waterworks, which had always made him uncomfortable in many ways, but the grief would be real. Daniel was a good person, easy to care for, and it was clear that he and his aunt had been emotionally close. She accepted Daniel as he was, not how she might wish him to be, which was why Daniel had been going to her after his falling out with his parents over his schooling.

That still left a very broad set of reactions. Would she get angry? Would she throw Riordan out for poking at wounds? Especially if he was doing this shortly after the police informed her of her nephew’s death. Which he still wasn’t sure about, but damned if he was calling the agents to ask.

“Aunt Annie–that is, her real name is Annabelle Joy, but I call her Annie–is going to be hurt by this,” Daniel answered, trying to find his way around his words and thoughts, “She would want the truth though. That’s the way with her. She hates lies or inconsistencies or hypocrisy. She tries to live authentically and wanted me to be able to do the same, just to be my truest and best self.”

“So no trying to spin this, but how blunt do you want me to be? Is she likely to punch me?”

At least Riordan wasn’t going to have to be diplomatic. His social settings went from grunts and glares to blunt to “dear lord, who let him talk” and Daniel would probably prefer if Riordan did more than grunt at his aunt.

Daniel laughed at Riordan’s comment. Hey! He’d raised a valid concern here.

“Annie would smack you if you deserved it, possibly with a wooden spoon. Why do you think I need a messenger tough enough to handle it?” Daniel quipped.

“Can’t I make Mark do it then? He could get hit,” Riordan mock-whined in return.

“Mark cannot do it,” a muffled voice joined their conversation from the back seat. “Mark has already gotten smacked by enough women today for Daniel’s sake.”

“Mark refers to himself in third person, I see.”

Riordan saw the tired shaman crack an eye open when he glanced back. The other eye stayed stubbornly closed and Mark’s hair stuck up in every direction. The shaman grumbled, “Bunch of ungrateful meanies.” and then let his open eye fall closed again.

“Hey Mark?” Daniel called out, turning around and floating up and over the passenger seat to get a close look at his friend. “You know I’m grateful, right? Really. What you did–”

A hand came up to press a finger over Daniel’s lips, even though Mark’s eyes stayed closed. “Shh… Less talking, more sleeping. We’re good, Daniel.”

“You’ve only got another twenty or thirty minutes before we get there,” Riordan informed Mark.

“All the more reason to sleep now.” Then, as far as Riordan could tell, Mark went back to sleep.

Daniel watched the shaman for a moment, obviously still worried he’d offended Mark somehow. Riordan reached out and tapped the ghost’s ankle, drawing his attention back to the front of the vehicle.

“He’s just winding you up because he’s tired,” Riordan explained quietly. Though, there was no way to really be quiet enough for Mark’s shifter hearing, even if the man could sleep pretty heavy. “Humor as coping.”

He paused to think and then Daniel sighed, settling back into the front seat. “That’s my bit though. What will I do if I stop being the inappropriately funny one of the group?”

Several mildly–okay, not really at all–funny replies went through Riordan’s head, none of which popped out enough to actually say. Riordan simply shrugged. “Being the straight man works for me most days.”

“I am far too gay for that,” Daniel replied.

“What–” Riordan shot him a glare. “I meant like in a comedy act. Surely that’s still used as a term, right?”

“Could be, old man,” Daniel replied with a grin. Neither of them mentioned how shaky the grin was.

Riordan brought the conversation back on task before he ran out of time to ask questions. “Your aunt. What can I tell her to make her believe me about knowing you? I have your necklace.”

The grin slid off of Daniel’s face. Riordan regretted that. He wished that sadness was so much a part of Daniel’s current existence. Hopefully last night’s magical shenanigans would help.

“Tell her that you know it was a gift from her to me and that I wanted you to pass a message along.”

Daniel paused. Riordan waited, wondering what message Daniel could give him that would work for a situation like this. What did someone tell a loved one on the edge of death that could possibly summarize everything they were feeling?

Finally, Daniel said, “Tell her that I was always grateful for the choices she let me make. I think, more than anything else, that’s what I need her to know. As for the rest, we can wing it. It’s not like I won’t be there to feed you lines.”

True. Riordan didn’t have any experience with delivering such bad news, much less when the deceased was along for the ride. This was going to be either a shit show or a miracle, he could just feel it.

A smile crossed his face and Riordan shook his head, amused. After the way life had been going lately, something as simple as a single human woman seemed like something he could handle at least. Even if it went to hell in a handbasket, what was the worst that could happen?