“How do you know?” The edge of warmth I felt from him was the uncomfortable sterile heat of the blue-threaded flames. I shivered.
“This is a vendetta. The sins of the parents visited on the children, though your mother was blameless. You have my word on that, at least.” In one quick, economical movement, he slid out of the booth. He wasn’t looking at my face; he was looking at my chest. At the tiny lump under my sweater. “Put that away. Don’t speak of it where others can hear. And for God’s sake, Dru…”
I waited, but he didn’t finish. Instead he stalked away to the counter, where Dibs was all but hopping with impatience and the bored woman working behind the register was punching buttons too slowly.
The aroma of crust and tomato sauce, baking cheese, and the sticky smell that always fills a pizza parlor closed around me. I slid the transcript back in my bag and found out my hands were shaking too.
Go to the Schola, he’d said. You’ll be safe there.
But I wasn’t safe anywhere, was I? And I didn’t even know why. Because someone in the Order had hated my mother enough to want to kill her? And, years later, kill me?
Jesus. How could you hate someone that much and still be human? Or even just better than a sucker?
Graves dropped into the booth right next to me. “Hey.” He’d slicked his hair back behind his ears and his face was still dewed with rain from outside. “You okay? You look a little pale.”
Oh, I’m just fine. Not. I reached down under the table and grabbed his hand, slipping my fingers through his. His skin was warm, and my heart took off pounding in an entirely new way.
“Everything’s all wrong.” I squeezed his fingers hard. “It’s fucking awful.”
He squeezed back. A flush crept up into his sallow cheeks. Under the Asian coloring he could really change it up. “Not everything. We’re here, right? And we’re safe during the day.”
“Yeah.” A million questions boiled up inside me. Everything from Do you mind that I ruined your life? to Can you imagine hating someone so much you sell them to a sucker?
“Hey. Whoa.” His grip intensified, stopped just short of pain. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Dru. It’s gonna work out.”
“I don’t know.” I stared at the fake wood of the tabletop, its plastic topping peeling up. “We haven’t seen any of the djamphir from the school.”
“Yeah, I been thinking about that.” His tone dropped confidentially. A trickle of customers had started in through the swinging glass door. “Dru, if things happen…”
“What kind of things?”
“You know what I’m talking about. If it gets bad, Dru, I’m going with you.”
My hand cramped a little. Neither of us let go. He took a deep breath and his eyes met mine squarely, the green circles around his pupils glowing even with the electric lights in here. Rain coated the front window of the pizza parlor, shadows moving like weeds underwater.
“I…” Words failed me.
“’Cause I’ve been thinking. You had your bag and you had three sweaters on. You were heading out.”
Oh Christ. I opened my mouth. Shut it.
“See, normally I’d get upset about that. But I think you thought you were going to help me out by leaving me someplace you thought was safer for me than you. Right?”
My head fell down into a nod. I picked it back up. My mouth felt like it was hanging open.
“Don’t do that.” He leaned a little closer, and the rest of the world went away. “Okay? Don’t leave me behind.”
“They’re looking to kill me,” I whispered. “You don’t get that. It’s for real. It’s—”
“What do you think I was doing at school, playing footsie?” Irritation made his matching whisper sharp. “you’ve got a better chance with me, Dru. Don’t do something stupid again. If something happens, it’s you and me against the world. Got it?”
I was saved by Dibs showing back up at the table. “You’re supposed to get your own drinks.” He popped a stack of red plastic cups on the table. “I think this is the only place in three states that serves Mr. Pibb. Awesome, huh?”
“Completely.” Graves gave my hand another meaningful squeeze under the table, then slid out and grabbed two cups. “Whaddaya want, Dru?”
“Um. Coke. Pepsi. Whatever.”
“Not diet?” Dibs wanted to know.
“Are you kidding?” Graves bumped him with a shoulder, but gently. “That shit’ll kill you. Back in a flash.”
Dinner was fast food in another weird little town, and the light was failing when Christophe finally found a freeway he liked. “No smoking in the car,” he said for the fifteenth time.
I’d kept count.
“Do you really want to see me in nicotine withdrawal?” Graves flicked the lighter, inhaled, and exhaled. His window was down and the sound of wet tires on the road melded with the hum of the engine and the back-and-forth of the windshield wipers, and the Rolling Stones singing about a beast of burden on the radio. “Tell him, Dru.”
I rolled my eyes. None of them would see it, but it made me feel better. “Since when was I appointed referee? I hate to ask, Christophe, but how much longer?”
“We’re almost to a safe location. Or what passes for one.” He rolled his window down a little and wrinkled his nose, and I took a pull off my vanilla milkshake. “Moving after dark isn’t a good idea.”
“Because that’s when the vampires are out,” Shanks chimed in, a singsong that managed to be creepy and sarcastic all at once. “And they like to eat little svetocha.”
“Blow me.” I propped one boot on the dashboard. It wasn’t like a trip with Dad. He and I could go just about forever without talking, with only my brief comments to navigate him through tangles of overpasses and surface streets.
“Don’t make me stop this car.” Christophe turned the radio up a little. The Stones faded and the Beach Boys started singing about California girls.
Shanks made a retching noise. “God, when are you going to play some decent music?”
“What’s wrong with the Beach Boys? Brian Wilson was a genius.” I tapped my foot to the beat.
“Amen,” Christophe muttered, and twisted the radio dial another increment. “Now everyone shut up, I have to find this place.”
“If you had a map, I could help.” I wasn’t liking this not-knowing-where-we-were thing, but Christophe had refused to buy a map when we stopped at a gas station, and I had to save my cash.
I didn’t know when I’d need it.
“No need.” He slowed down, hit the blinker, cut left across two lanes of traffic, and zoomed us onto a side street. Horns blared behind us, and I almost dropped my milkshake. “We’re here.”
“Goddammit!” I clutched at my waxed-paper cup. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The boys in the back were laughing, troll-like snickers and chuckles. We turned right, then left, and plunged under a canopy of bare branches. It looked like this street had been paved sometime back in the ’50s, and the trees marching down either side were wet and black and naked under the iron-gray sky. Dark was approaching.
“Was that really necessary?” I popped the top back on my milkshake, I’d crumpled the cup, dammit. “I mean, really?”
“Streets change.” Christophe cut the steering wheel hard again and bumped us up into an overgrown driveway. “I actually wasn’t sure until I saw that water tower. All right, kids. Everyone out, and you’ll find the garage unlocked. Bobby, open it, if you please.”
The boys in back scrambled out in a trice, and I reached for my door handle. The house was narrow and dark, white siding and a peaked roof. It had a glassed-in storm porch, and dead leaves covered the postage-stamp-size front yard. The street was quiet and had the air of genteel shabbiness most really old, expensive neighborhoods do. I’d bet the neighborhood association really went overboard for Christmas and probably held meetings when someone didn’t rake their leaves. They must have righteous fits over this place.
“Dru.”
Christophe reached over and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were warm and very hard, just short of bruising. The milkshake teetered. “You stay.”
A slice of darkness opened, Shanks hefting the garage door like it weighed nothing. The car nosed forward as he made little shooing movements with his free hand. He grinned, white teeth flashing.
When the engine shut off, the silence was deafening. It was a familiar silence, though, one I heard every time Dad shut off the car someplace that was supposed to be our new temporary home.
“I think it’s best you ward your room tonight. Since you can.” Christophe pulled the keys free of the ignition. “And sleep in your clothes.”
I was planning on that anyway. “Yeah.”
“I’ll sleep at your door.” He gave me a sideways glance, blue eyes firing in the gloom as Shanks pulled the garage door down. There was barely enough room to get the car doors open, and the entire cube of concrete-floored space was empty and bare. “Do you understand?”
I wouldn’t bet a penny on me understanding anything right about now. I was tired, my entire body ached from all the excitement and sitting in a car for hours and hours, and my stomach was unhappy with the fast food. I never thought I’d be missing school food or having to cook my own damn meals, but there it was. “I guess so.” I pulled against his hand. “Let go.”
“Not until I’m sure you understand. I did not betray your mother, Dru. It… it just isn’t possible.”
Oh. Was that what he was talking about? “Yeah, Christophe. At this point, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you.”
Graves tapped at the half-open driver’s window. “Hey, Christophe. Pop the trunk, will you?”
Christophe let go of me reluctantly, and I yanked the door handle. Dibs already had the door open into something that looked like a utility room, and warm electric light flooded out when he flicked the switch.
“Smells all right.” The blond wulf half-turned. “Like nobody’s been here in a while, but the lights are on.”
“Check every room.” Christophe rose out of the car gracefully, and I wrestled my bag out and slammed my door. “Robert?”
“On it.” Shanks bounded up the steps and pushed past Dibs. “Stay back, Dibby. Let the professionals work.”
Dibs snorted. “Just tell me when I can pee.”
I seconded that emotion, and headed for the bright opening. “When will we get to the Schola? I mean, the other Schola?”
“Tomorrow, a little after noon. I want to do it in broad daylight, and I want everyone to be able to see you. That way, you’re safer.” Christophe took a step forward, and the hot tension invading the air made me stop and look back over my shoulder.
Graves stood near the back of the car, hands in the pockets of his long dark coat. He wasn’t looking at Christophe, though. He had his chin tilted up, and he was staring straight at me. His irises were rings of green fire, the pupils reflecting an odd gold-green tint. Like a cat’s eyes at night.
Christophe’s shoulders stiffened as he stepped forward, right over the barrier between “space” and “someone’s personal space.” Graves didn’t move.
Christophe took another half-step. “You’ll have to get out of the way.” His tone was deceptively mild, but I’ve seen so many shoving matches erupt in school hallways. All the signs were there.
Graves lowered his head a little. He stared directly at the djamphir for just two seconds longer than he would have if he was being polite, but just a second less than an actual challenge. “Close quarters. Hey, Dru. Wait for me.”
I ducked through my bag strap, settling it across my body. “Hurry up, will you?” My voice cracked. For some reason, I didn’t want to see the two of them get into the same stupid petty grandstanding I’d seen a million times.
Graves was loup-garou, and Christophe was djamphir. Werwulfen and djamphir pushing each other, the violence and disdain boiling just under the surface. Like jocks and nerds, no, that wasn’t quite right. Like two sets of jocks, each with a reason to hate the other. And I didn’t so much blame the wulfen. The way the djamphir treated them wasn’t quite a crime, but it was close.
There was something else between these two boys, though. Something vicious and snarling just under the surface.
It probably had to do with the heat rising up in me, staining my cheeks with fire. I took a deep sharp breath.
Graves turned on his heel. His back was presented like an insult, and he skirted the rest of the car.
I stood, watching. When he got to me, he reached down and grabbed my hand. His fingers were warm too, but they didn’t hurt.
The sound of the trunk opening was very loud, but when I glanced back, Christophe’s head was down. “Samuel. Come help.”
Samuel? I blinked.
Dibs twitched. “Right. Sure.” He hopped past us. The car dripped, its hood ticking as the engine started cooling down, and I decided I really needed to be somewhere else. Rain swept restlessly against the roof.
I pulled Graves up the two steps into the utility room. There was an ugly avocado-green washer and dryer, a big utility sink, and not much more. The kitchen past it was likewise bare, and I felt more than heard Shanks prowling the house.
“What did you do that for?” I whispered, but Graves just grinned. Not his usual pained half-smile, and not the wide-open sunny grin I liked best on him. No, this was a wide, wolfish grimace, showing every centimeter of tooth he could dredge up.
“Just so he knows, Dru. I’m gonna go help Bobby. Stay here, right?” And he slipped through my fingers and was gone.
Oh, for the love of, I couldn’t even finish the sentence mentally, it was so ridiculous. Dad used to time me while I swept every new house we moved into; he and I also practiced doing it as a team.
Graves was getting all he-man, when a couple months ago he hadn’t even known the Real World existed.
Yeah, things were changing all right.
I stood in the middle of a kitchen that looked like it had last seen a meal cooked back in the ’70s, breathing and listening to the house creak. The windows were full of the bruised, fading light of dusk. I could hear all of them, wulfen and djamphir alike.
And I still felt completely alone.
The Schola burned around me as I ran, my arms and legs too heavy. It was like running through molasses, not the clear Lucite the world turned into when the muscle inside my head flexed, but a brown-tinged tide of terror dragging at every inch of flesh.
They were behind me. I could hear them howling, something between a vampire’s glassy, hateful cry and the screams of an enraged werwulf. They ran in lockstep, boots hitting the ground in parade cadence, and the walls cringed and burned away from the sound.
There were doors on either side of the hall. I blundered into them, tugging at the knobs, but they were all locked. My fingers scorched, and as I rattled each door I could hear the boys behind them screaming. The smoke stung my eyes and filled my nose. And it was my fault they were there, because the things that were after me didn’t care who they hurt.
It was all my fault, just like Dad. He was dead because I hadn’t told him about Gran’s owl, and Gran was dead because I was just a kid and couldn’t save her, and Mom was dead too because—
“Dru!” A fierce whisper.
It was because of me, all because of me, and the growls and shrieks rose as the hallway stretched out into infinity and the jackbooted footsteps got closer. There was no turn in the corridor, and any moment they would be able to see me. The flames hissed and whispered, cackling in dirty little voices that reached inside my head and scraped the curves of my skull dry.
“Dru! Wake up!” Someone shaking me.
I sat bolt-upright, clawing at empty air, and swallowed a scream. Graves had my shoulder, his fingers biting in as he avoided my thrashing. The mattress in here was thin and cold, set on the empty floor, but it was better than downstairs, at least the bedrooms were carpeted.
“Hey.” Graves’ eyes gleamed. The blinds on the window weren’t t
ilted up or down, and thin moonlight shone through, fighting with streetlamp light. The rain had stopped. “You were dreaming.”
I grabbed for him. He put his arms around me and squeezed. My heart pounded so hard it threatened to come out my throat. He’d unzipped the two sleeping bags and laid his coat over both of us, and it had been surprisingly comfortable until, I guess, I started thrashing and kicked them off. I buried my face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck and breathed him in. Cigarette smoke, whatever deodorant he used, the tang of loup-garou.
He held me, and it didn’t seem awkward at all until he patted my back clumsily. “Dru.”
“What?” My whisper cracked in half, fell down his shirt. I breathed out, back in. Don’t move.
Just for a second, don’t move. Let me pretend I can count on someone.
The thought was gone as soon as it showed up; I shoved it hastily away. I was doing a lot of that lately. As a coping mechanism, it sucked.
His arms tightened around me. “There’s something outside.”
I tilted my head a little, trying to listen. My heart was making too much noise for me to really hear.
I gulped in another deep breath and tried to calm down. “What does it sound like?”
There was a sharp creak from the door. As if someone leaning against it had shifted his weight.
Christophe hadn’t said a single word when Graves followed me up the stairs.
Which was probably a good thing.
“Like it’s trying to be quiet. But I can hear it. Breathing, kind of.” Graves shifted again, a little uncomfortably. I tried to let go of him, but he still kept holding onto me. My heartbeat started to slow down a little. I was sweating. The thin blue lines of warding in the walls glowed soft and reassuring, not sparking or running together in quick distressed lunges.
Gran would be proud of me. That’s quite a few times I’ve done wards without her rowan wand.
I swallowed the lump of pain in my throat. The dream lingered inside my head, screams and the burning somehow just as real as Graves’ arms around me and the sound of my breathing, quick and hoarse. “Shoes.”
Betrayals Page 24
