by Jeff Sampson
Flashes of Dr. Elliott’s face hit my head. The stubbly jowls. The defeated, defiant eyes. The contortions of fear that his features were stuck in after he was dead.
“Yeah. Dr. Gunther Elliott. Do you remember much of what happened that night?”
Dalton shook his head. “I dunno, I was just feeling real antsy, real angry. That happens sometimes, but usually it’s not as bad as that night. I tried to drown it with beer, even though Coach says to avoid the stuff, and then you were there, and Nik was mad at me, and then … that’s it. Next thing I remember I was in a hospital bed, then home.”
“What about last night?” I asked. “I saw a wolf outside. Was that you?”
Nodding rapidly, Dalton said, “Yeah, that was me. They brought me home and I got all antsy again, just like that night. I snuck out for a walk—my mom doesn’t like me going out by myself anymore—and then… I was just turning into this thing. It hurt, man, but when I was running around … it felt like I was finally me again. My brain didn’t lose track. I didn’t have any worries. Just me and the woods and the streets.”
There came a pop and a bang, and I jumped. I turned to find Spencer staring at us sheepishly, having just accidentally popped out the footrest on the recliner. I couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. He was embarrassed, and it was adorable.
“Sorry,” he said. “But man, first night back and you already got out more than I ever did. Emily was out at clubs and stuff, and I always just stayed home programming.”
Dalton looked at me with that vague smile again. It felt a little weird, like he was seeing something that wasn’t there.
“You went clubbing?” he asked. “You don’t seem like that’s your thing. But you looked different at the party.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, nighttime me is a bit more, uh, carefree than I usually am.”
He leaned forward again, a fire behind his eyes. “They told me that they found the shooter behind Spencer’s house,” he said in a low voice. “Dead. Dogs did it, but that isn’t right, is it? It was you guys.”
Spencer and I both fell silent. Embarrassed heat rushed over my skin—embarrassed, of all things. I know, right? Whoops, tore out a man’s throat, how untoward of me! So not toward.
Eventually I nodded, confirming.
Dalton’s eyes darted between us. “What was it like?” he asked.
A chill ran up my arms. I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t something I had expected anyone to ask, let alone Dalton “helps old ladies cross the street” McKinney.
As though sensing my discomfort, Spencer piped up. “Um, it’s not really a good memory, man,” he said. “Maybe we’ll talk about it some other time. We should start doing some research or something before it gets too late.”
Dalton lay back against the workout bench, his arms behind his head. “It’s fine, we have all night. My mom and father won’t make me get rid of my friends. They’re tiptoeing around me.”
“Actually, we don’t have all night,” I said. “Spencer and I … well, we’ve sort of been taking sleeping pills to keep us from changing.”
Dalton furrowed his brow. “Why?”
I crossed my arms. “So, uh, we don’t get into trouble. Or any more trouble anyway. Last time we went nighttime, we … that was when Dr. Elliott found us.”
Crunching his stomach, Dalton rose back up to sit. “Man, it sounds like I missed out on all the excitement.”
Spencer kicked down the footrest and swiveled the recliner once more. “Totally, man. Next time try not to get shot.”
Dalton laughed, a little too loudly, then shook his head. “Okay. Research. Yeah, just love research. What do you guys know about all this?”
We went back and forth, Spencer and I, relaying the relevant info: our respective nighttime changes (how I became all uninhibited, how he became super focused), how Dr. Elliott had targeted us, how we kept seeing shadowy beings when we were wolves, and how two of the shadowmen had sort of attacked us in our beds the night before. I mentioned how aside from Emily Cooke and Dalton, we only knew for sure that there was one more of us—a female who we were still trying to sniff out. Or Spencer was, anyway. My only guess so far was Mai Sato, though granted that was on some flimsy circumstantial evidence.
I also told him how we’d looked up connections between ourselves and BioZenith, and though both Dalton and Emily Cooke had a parent who worked there, as far as Spencer and I knew, neither of us did.
At that last part, Dalton got up and walked to the desk. He leaned over me, smelling overwhelmingly like a locker room, then waved his mouse to clear the screen saver and began clicking on his monitor. He seemed completely unaware that his armpit was inches from my face. Eyes wide, I leaned back—hello, privacy invasion.
When he finally pulled back, I surreptitiously took in a deeeeep breath of comparatively fresh air and took a look at what he’d brought up on-screen. It was some sort of spreadsheet listing times and dates.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s the schedule,” Dalton said simply. It seemed completely unintelligible to me, but he scanned it with his eyes, then nodded.
“He’ll be home any second now.”
And downstairs I heard the front door slam heavily and a man’s voice echo up through the floorboards.
Dalton looked between me and Spencer. “Let’s see if we can get anything out of my father.”
6
WE WANT TO KNOW ABOUT BIOZENITH
I tiptoed down the plush steps behind Dalton and Spencer, one hand clinging to the railing as we descended to the first floor. I could hear Dalton’s dad clearly now. He wasn’t shouting, exactly, but he talked as if he was speaking to an auditorium, and his deep voice reverberated through the halls.
“I know he just got back from the hospital, Darla, but he knows that his friends only park on the street. He knows that.”
I heard Dalton’s mom respond, but she was so quiet I couldn’t make out the words.
Dalton’s dad sighed. “Fine. For today, fine.”
Dalton walked confidently through the foyer, leading us into a den (where Max now lay snoozing on a plush baby-blue love seat), then through a large dining room, and finally into the kitchen, where we saw his parents both standing by the sink. Mrs. McKinney was quietly putting dishes in the dishwasher while behind her, on the stove, something simmered in a pot. Mr. McKinney had his back to us and was drinking from a mug as he leafed through mail that had been set on the counter.
Mr. McKinney was almost the spitting image of what I imagined Dalton would look like in thirty years: tall, graying at the temples, still well built but a little soft around the middle from no longer being as active. He turned as he heard the three of us pad into the kitchen, and I saw that he shared Dalton’s green eyes, though they were wrinkled at the edges.
Mr. McKinney gave me a strange look. “Uh, hello, Spencer, and … friend.” To Dalton, he said, “I’ll let it slide today, D, but tomorrow I don’t want to come home to find my driveway taken up by other vehicles.”
Dalton’s eyes darted back and forth, studying his dad’s face. His expression was unreadable, though I sensed a vague smirk. “No,” Dalton said. “No, I think when it’s raining, it’s fine for my friends not to have to hike across the yard to get inside.”
Mr. McKinney’s lips pressed into a tight line, and he set his mug down on the counter, hard. He looked as if he was about to say something—until Dalton absently raised his hand once more and rubbed at the bandage that covered his healing wound.
Uh, wow, manipulative. I didn’t know Dalton had it in him. I wondered if he’d even known he’d made the gesture—if so, maybe he wasn’t exactly the nice guy I’d assumed he was.
Dalton’s father breathed out through his nose. “We’ll talk about it later. How about you kids clear out of the kitchen so your mother can finish our dinner. She feels crowded.”
Mrs. McKinney said nothing, just kept up the pattern of rinsing a dish
, then placing it into the dishwasher with little clinks.
“Actually, Father, we wanted to ask you some questions,” Dalton said.
Mr. McKinney raised an eyebrow. “Oh? About what?” “About your job. We’re supposed to do a project on an exceptional person’s exceptional work. We chose you.”
Tossing down the mail, Mr. McKinney smiled. “Ah, a school project.” His eyes darting to me, he said, “That explains it.”
Yeah. Thanks. Even aside from being part of the whole evil-bioengineering-firm thing, I wasn’t exactly growing very fond of Dalton’s dad.
“Well, come on then, I have a couple of free minutes. Let’s go back to my office.”
Mr. McKinney left the kitchen, and Dalton gestured for us to follow. I gave Spencer a wide-eyed look, and he whispered to me, “You get used to him.”
We went down another hallway, this one slick hardwood. My socked feet slid and I almost fell, my arms pinwheeling wildly until Dalton caught me firmly by the arm and helped me regain my balance. Both he and Spencer held back their laughter as an oblivious Mr. McKinney opened up a door to reveal a large study.
Oh, daytime me. The epitome of grace and poise, am I right?
Unlike the rest of the house, which was all homey and looked like it was probably updated to reflect each holiday, the study was sleek, clinical. The wood floor continued in here, but was mostly covered by a sleet-gray rug. Steel-and-glass shelves lined the walls, and a similarly styled desk sat front and center, with an expensive-looking computer on it. Behind the desk hung a large abstract painting.
Mr. McKinney sat back in a leather chair behind the desk and motioned for the three of us to sit on some chairs. Chairs that were designed like one of Lady Gaga’s shoes, in that at first glance, they seemed impossible to hold one’s weight. Yet deceptively, they did just that.
“So, what sort of questions are you supposed to ask?” Mr. McKinney asked us.
Gripping the sides of my seat, still not sure how the chair even worked, I started to say, “Well, Mr. McKinney, we—”
“Your name?”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
Mr. McKinney leaned forward onto the glass top of his desk. I couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t a streak or a spot of dust on it. “What is your name?” he asked slowly. “We haven’t met.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling a blush spread annoyingly over my cheeks. “Sorry. Yeah, hi, I’m Emily. Emily Webb.”
I swear, for just a moment I thought I saw a flash of worried recognition cross the man’s face. If it was ever there, he hid it quickly with a satisfied expression as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Hello, Emily Webb. I take it you were assigned to this group, then? I know Dalton has lots of girls trying to team up with him on projects like this.”
“Excuse me?” I sputtered.
Beside me, Spencer shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
“Actually, Father, she’s my friend,” Dalton said, his voice as steely as the room around us. “I want her to ask the questions.”
Mr. McKinney looked between his son, Spencer, and me, then waved a hand. “Go ahead, then, Emily Webb.”
My fingers clenched into the side of my chair, and my blush was fully gone now. Yeah, no, I definitely did not like this man.
I let out a slow breath of air through my teeth. “All right, Mr. McKinney. We want to know about BioZenith.”
Mr. McKinney crossed his legs, his eyes boring into my own. “BioZenith is a bioengineering firm that was formed in 1978. Its goal is to improve the science of horticulture, most specifically in the fields of mass farming. We’re the reason you can get seedless grapes and tomatoes year-round. We are considered number one when it comes to these sciences—hence the company name. We are the zenith, the first and the best.”
I nodded, but did not tear my gaze away from his. I could sense he was purposely doing the same, and I could feel the wolf part of me in the back of my head absolutely refusing to look away. He slowly rocked in his chair, back and forth, back and forth, thinking he was the alpha here. It was really pissing werewolf me off—and regular me, too, for that matter.
“Interesting,” I said. “So BioZenith has always been just about fruits and veggies? You never, ever experimented with, say, livestock or other animals?”
Mr. McKinney stopped rocking, uncrossed his legs. “Not to my knowledge, Emily Webb, no. I joined BioZenith in 1990, well after the company was first founded. If there was ever any experimentation with livestock or”—his mouth twitched—“other animals, it would have been in the early years, long before I was even in college.”
Our staring contest remained unfinished. Again I could feel Spencer shifting uncomfortably beside me.
“All right, on to more modern stuff then,” I said. My lips were tight. My fingers clenched into the seat even tighter. “So do you have any theories on why a scientist from your veggie lab tried to kill your son six days ago?”
“Whoa, Em Dub,” Spencer whispered beside me. Dalton laughed involuntarily, then caught himself.
Mr. McKinney’s whole face twitched, and finally, his gaze faltered.
“Dalton, what is this?” he said, his voice low but firm.
“Just questions, Father,” Dalton said softly, his tone icy.
“These aren’t questions I’m going to answer,” the man said, refusing to look at me anymore. “In fact, considering that what happened to you is part of an ongoing police investigation, I can’t answer questions like this from your classmates.” He stood up, shoving his chair back. “I think you should show your friends out now, D. I’m sure your mother has dinner almost ready. And I have work to get to.”
“Sure thing,” Dalton said, getting up from his own weird chair and gesturing for Spencer and me to do the same. “We’ll finish our research later, guys.”
I forced myself to contain my shaking as Spencer and I followed Dalton out into the hall. Mr. McKinney followed us as we headed back into the kitchen. I could almost feel him glaring into the back of my skull, and I hated the feeling. It reminded me of what it felt like to sense the shadowmen watching. Or Dr. Elliott.
The kitchen was empty when we came back into it. But there were voices coming from the dining room. Several voices.
The three of us and Dalton’s father exited the kitchen—and found Mrs. McKinney sitting at the table, laughing amicably with a pair of girls I recognized immediately.
Dalton’s gorgeous girlfriend, Nikki, with her perfect pale skin and long, deep red hair.
And beautiful, tanned Amy Delgado, with her mane of purposely untamed black hair and the telltale mole next to her nose that made it easy to tell her apart from her sisters.
At the sight of me, both girls stopped laughing. To their credit, they did their best to hide any sneers they wanted to shoot my way.
Well, I was certainly feeling loved in the McKinney household that day, let me tell you what.
“Heeey, Nik,” Dalton drawled. He came up behind her, draped his arms over her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head for several seconds. She clasped his hands and closed her eyes as he did, a contented smile on her face.
“Nikki!” Dalton’s father boomed as he caught sight of her himself. As Dalton moved away, his father placed a hand on Nikki’s shoulder. “How are you holding up? School go well today?”
“Yeah, it went fine,” Nikki said with a shrug.
Amy laughed, and I swear it was the first time I’d ever seen her express anything other than revulsion when she was around me. “Oh girl, please, it was epic. Mr. McKinney, not only did everyone absolutely mob your son, they demanded we have an impromptu, after-school gathering. Like, most of the school came, and us girls did a cheer for him. The class president got us cake and pizza. It was great.”
“All for our little superhero, huh?” Mr. McKinney said. Smiling proudly, he slapped Dalton on the back. Dalton just shrugged.
“It was pretty sweet, Em, you shoulda come,” Spencer said.
Nikki turned in he
r seat, as though noticing us for the first time. “Oh, hey, Spencer. Emily.”
I offered a tight smile and a quick wave. Amy rolled her eyes.
Mr. McKinney took a seat at the head of the table. “So what brought you girls by?”
“They want to have a party here, dear,” Mrs. McKinney said.
Dalton’s father gave his wife a sidelong glance. “Honey, you know I wasn’t talking to you. It’s been a long time since you were a girl.” He boomed another laugh. Everyone except Dalton and me offered a chuckle.
“Well, the celebration after school was fine,” Nikki said, taking up where Mrs. McKinney left off. “But we figure it wasn’t as much fun as it could be not on school grounds.”
Again Mr. McKinney laughed. “Well, of course.”
“So,” Nikki went on, “we were hoping we could hold a private party here Friday night. A welcome home for Dalton.”
Mr. McKinney stood from his chair, all smiles and good cheer. “Of course you can. But I’m going to let you girls talk it out, as I need to work. Once Dalton walks his guests out, he can help you. Right, D?”
Dalton blinked slowly. He looked around the table, then shrugged. “I can’t right now. I promised to drive Emily home.”
“You what?” Spencer said.
Dalton elbowed him.
Mr. McKinney grunted. “Fine. Take her home, then straight back here. You may be a superhero, but you still need to rest after what happened. You’ve only been home for a day.”
“Fine,” Dalton said.
Mr. McKinney met my eyes again. He was still smiling, but his eyes were cold.
“It was interesting meeting you, Emily Webb.”
I swallowed, then nodded. “You too, Mr. McKinney.” Dalton’s father left by way of the kitchen, and again Dalton turned to usher Spencer and me forward. As I turned, I saw Amy flick her fingers at me dismissively. The skin on the back of my skull prickled at the gesture, like needles were poking me. God, that girl bugged me.
“I’ll see you later, Dalton,” Nikki said softly.
“’Kay, Nik.”
