He glanced over at me. My heart started pounding double time.
"There's a lot I want to talk to you about." He touched the back of my hand, leaning so close I could feel his breath against my hair.
"What's this about Rae?" a voice demanded. We turned to see Derek crossing the lawn.
Simon swore. "Anyone ever tell you your sense of timing really sucks."
"That's why I don't play the drums. Now what's up?"
I told him.
Thirty-eight
SIMON DOUBTED RAE HAD supernatural powers. There were fire half-demons, but by fifteen she should have been doing more than leaving marks that barely qualified as first-degree burns. He didn't think she was lying. She was just too eager to believe.
I suspected he was right. Given up at birth, displaced by younger siblings, tossed into Lyle House with strangers and forgotten, it would mean so much to Rae to be special. I'd seen it in her face that morning, glowing with excitement.
The person slowest to dismiss the idea was Derek. He didn't say he believed Rae was a half-demon, but his silence said he was considering the possibility. Last night was still bugging him —and me—our failure to find or dismiss a connection between us, Samuel Lyle, and those supernatural bodies in the cellar. If Rae was a half-demon and Liz might be a shaman, then the possibility we were here by chance plummeted.
You could argue that a group home for disturbed teens isn't an unusual place to find teenage supernaturals, especially those who don't know what they are. Our symptoms could be massaged to fit known psychiatric disorders, and, since everyone knew it was impossible to contact the dead or to burn people with your bare hands or toss a kid aside and break his neck —the obvious solution would be that we were mentally ill. Hallucinating, obsessed with fire, uncontrollably violent . . .
But there was nothing paranormal about Tori's mood swings. Peter had apparently been in for some kind of anxiety disorder and that didn't fit the pattern either.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling I was missing something, that the connection was there and my brain was too distracted by other problems to see it. I suspected Derek felt the same.
Whether Rae was a supernatural or not, we all agreed, she should come with us. To Derek, it wasn't so much a matter of should we let her come as do we dare let her stay. What if she retaliated by telling the nurses? 1 couldn't see that, but after we were gone, if they came down hard on her, she'd cave before Derek did.
Derek's only condition was that we'd keep the details about our powers and our plans vague, at least for now.
* * *
I told Rae, and then Derek dropped the bomb none of us expected. We had to leave that night.
Since it was Saturday, we'd have all day to prepare, and chores gave us an excuse for poking around the house, gathering supplies. Tonight Miss Van Dop was off and the weekend nurse was much less likely to realize we were up to something. It was better to go now, before anything else went wrong.
Once 1 got past the initial "OMG, you mean tonight!" panic, I had to agree the sooner we left, the better.
So, while Rae stood guard cleaning the girls bathroom, I packed.
I'd packed for camp many times but, in comparison, this was agonizing. For every item I put in, I had to consider how badly I needed it, how much room and weight it would add, and whether I'd be better off picking it up on the road.
The brush was out, and the comb was in. Deodorant, definitely in. My iPod and lipgloss might not be essential for daily life, but they were tiny enough to keep. Soap, a toothbrush, and toothpaste would need to be bought later because I couldn't afford to have anyone notice them missing from the bathroom now.
Next came clothing. It was still cool, especially at night. Layering would be the key. I packed as Aunt Lauren taught me when we'd spent a week in France. I'd wear a sweatshirt, long-sleeved pullover, and T-shirt with jeans. In the bag, I'd have two more T-shirts, another pullover, and three pairs of socks and underwear.
Would that be enough? How long would we be on the run?
I'd been avoiding that question since I'd first offered to go. Simon and Derek seemed to think we'd find their dad pretty quickly. Simon had spells and just needed to travel around Buffalo, casting them.
It sounded easy. Too easy?
I'd seen the looks in their eyes. Derek's barely concealed worry. Simon's stubborn conviction. When pressed, they'd both admitted that, if they couldn't find their dad, there were other supernaturals they could contact.
If it took longer than a few days, I had a bank card and the money from my dad. Simon and Derek had a bank card, too, with emergency funds their dad had stashed for them, at least a thousand dollars each, they thought. We'd need to withdraw as much as we could immediately, before anyone knew we were gone and started tracking us. Derek would keep his card and cash in case he needed it, but we'd have Simon's money plus mine. That would get us through.
Whatever happened, we'd be fine. Another shirt, though, might not be a bad idea.
Shirt . . . That reminded me . . .
1 shoved my backpack under the bed, slipped down to Tori's room. The door was ajar. Through it, I could see that Tori's bed was empty. I gave a gentle push.
"Hello?" She sprang up from Rae's old bed, ripping out her earbuds. "Knock much?"
"I —I thought you were downstairs."
"Oh, so you were going to take advantage of that, were you? Set your little scheme in motion?"
I opened the door and stepped inside. "What scheme?"
"The one you and your gang have been planning. I've seen you skulking around, plotting against me."
"Huh?"
She wound the earbud wire around her MP3 player, yanking it tight, as if imagining it going around my neck instead. "You think I'm stupid? You're not as sweet and innocent as you seem, Chloe Saunders. First, you seduce my boyfriend."
"Boy — Seduce?"
'Then you bat your baby blues at tall, dark, and gruesome, and next thing you know, he's trailing you like a lost puppy."
"What?"
"And now, to make sure everyone in the house is against me, you pull in Rachelle. Don't think I missed your powwow this morning."
"And you think we're . . . plotting against you?" I sputtered a laugh and leaned back against the dresser. "How do you get that ego through the door, Tori? I'm not interested in revenge. I'm not interested in you at all. Get it?"
She slid to the edge of the bed, feet touching down, eyes narrowing. "You think you're clever, don't you?"
I slumped back against the dresser with an exaggerated sigh. "Don't you ever quit? You're like a broken record. Me, me, me. The world revolves around Tori. No wonder even your mom thinks you're a spoiled —"
I stopped myself, but it was too late. For a moment, Tori froze in mid-rise. Then, slowly, she crumpled back onto the bed.
"I didn't mean —"
"What do you want, Chloe?" She tried to put some bite in the words, but they came out quiet, weary.
"Liz's shirt," I said after a moment. "Rae says you borrowed a green hoodie from Liz."
She waved toward the dresser. "It's in there. Middle drawer. Mess it up and you can refold everything."
And that was it. No "Why do you want it?" or even "Did she call asking for it?" Her gaze had already gone distant. Doped up? Or beyond caring?
I found the shirt. An emerald green Gap hoodie. A personal effect.
I shut the drawer and straightened.
"You got what you came for," Tori said. "Now run along and play with your friends."
I walked to the door, grasped the handle, then turned to face her.
'Tori?"
"What?"
I wanted to wish her luck. I wanted to tell her I hoped she got what she was looking for, what she needed. I wanted to tell her I was sorry.
With everything that went on at Lyle House, and the discovery that at least three of us didn't belong here, it was easy to forget that some kids did. Tori had problems. Expecting her to beha
ve like any normal teenage girl, then shunning and insulting her when she didn't, was like mocking the slow kids at school. She needed help and support and consideration, and she hadn't gotten it from anyone but Liz.
I clutched Liz's shirt in my hands and tried to think of something to say, but anything I did say would come out wrong, condescending.
So I said the only thing I could. "Good-bye."
Thirty-nine
I STUFFED LIZ'S HOODIE INTO my bag. It took up more room than I could afford, but I needed it. It could answer a question I really needed to answer . . . just as soon as I worked up the courage to ask.
When Derek had announced we'd be leaving that night, my first thought had been there's not enough time, but there was too much time. We did homework we'd never submit, helped Mrs. Talbot think up meals we'd never eat, all the while fighting the urge to slip away and plan some more. Both Rae and Tori had noticed my "powwows" with the guys, and if we kept it up, the nurses might suspect it was more than teen hormones at work.
I warned the others about Tori, but no one seemed concerned. It was like I told her —she was totally out of our minds. Insignificant. I wondered whether that hurt her most of all.
* * *
We spent the evening watching a movie. For once, I paid so little attention that if I was asked for a log line ten minutes after the credits rolled, I couldn't have given one.
Derek didn't join us. Simon said his brother was wiped from the night before and wanted to rest up so he'd be clearheaded for helping us tonight. I wondered whether his fever was coming back.
When Mrs. Talbot asked after Derek, Simon said he "wasn't feeling great." She tut-tutted and withdrew to play cards with Ms. Abdo, not even going upstairs to check on him. That's how it always was with Derek. The nurses seemed to leave him to his own devices, like his size made them forget he was still a kid. Or maybe, given his file and his diagnosis, they wanted as little contact with him as possible.
Did he notice how they treated him? I'm sure he did. Nothing escaped Derek, and I suspected it only reinforced that he needed to be in here.
As the movie droned on, I fretted about him. He'd been so careful not to let Simon know he'd been sick. If Simon could tell he "wasn't feeling great," that had to mean he was too sick to hide it.
I slipped from the media room, got four Tylenol and a glass of water, and took it upstairs.
I tapped on the door. No answer. Light shone under it, but he could have fallen asleep reading.
Or be too sick to answer.
I rapped again, a little louder.
"Derek? It's me. I brought water and Tylenol."
Still nothing. I touched the doorknob, cold under my fingertips. He was probably asleep. Or ignoring me.
"I'll leave it here."
As I bent to set the glass on the floor, the door opened, just enough for me to see Derek's bare foot. I straightened. He was in his boxers again, and my gaze shot to the safety of his face, but not before noticing the sheen of sweat on his chest. Sweat plastered his hair around his face, and his eyes were feverish, lips parted, breath coming hard, labored.
"Are y-you —?" I began.
"Be fine."
He ran his tongue over his parched lips and blinked hard, as if struggling to focus. When I held out the glass, he reached for it through the gap and took a long gulp.
'Thanks."
I handed him the Tylenol. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Good enough."
He braced the door with his foot and reached around his back, scratching.
"Maybe you should take a bath," I said. "A cold bath, for your fever. Baking soda would help the itching. I could get-"
"Nah, I'm okay."
"If you need anything . . ."
"Just rest. Go on back down before someone notices."
I headed for the stairs.
"Chloe?"
I glanced back. He was leaning out the door.
"Nothing to Simon, okay? About how bad I am?"
"He knows you're not feeling well. You really should tell —"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. He's going to figure that out —"
"He won't. I'll take care of it."
He withdrew and the door clicked shut.
* * *
That night in bed, Rae couldn't keep quiet. She wanted to talk about her backpack and what she'd packed and whether she'd made the right choices and should she take anything else . . .
I hated to shush her. She was as excited as a kid getting ready for her first overnight camp, which was weird because after what had happened to her friend, Rae should know that life on the street wasn't going to be some fabulous, unchaperoned adventure.
I suppose, to her, this wasn't the same thing. She was going with Simon and me, and there were few kids less likely to turn Bonnie and Clyde. This wasn't an act of delinquency; it was a mission. And, besides, like Simon and Derek said, old rules didn't apply to us anymore.
" 'Cause we're special." She gave a bubbling laugh. "That sounds so lame. But it's what everyone wants, isn't it? To be special."
Do they? There were a lot of things I wanted to be. Smart, sure. Talented, definitely. Pretty? Okay, I'll admit it. But special?
I'd spent too much of my life being special. The rich girl who lost her mother. The new kid in class. The drama major who didn't want to be an actor. For me, special meant different, and not in a good way. I'd wanted to be normal, and I guess the irony is that, the whole time I was dreaming of a normal life, I already had one . . . or a whole lot closer to it than I'd ever have again.
But now I watched Rae lying on her stomach, matches in hand, struggling to light one with her bare fingertips, the tip of her tongue sticking through her teeth, determination bordering on desperation, and I could see how badly she wanted a supernatural power. I had one, and I cared so little for it that I'd gladly give it to her.
It was like in school, when other girls drooled over designer jeans, counting the babysitting hours until they could buy a pair, and I sat there wearing mine, four other pairs in the closet at home, no more meaningful to me than a pair of no-names. I felt guilty for not appreciating what I had.
But necromancy wasn't a pair of expensive jeans, and I was pretty sure my life would be better without it. Definitely easier. And yet, if I woke tomorrow and couldn't talk to the dead, would I be disappointed?
"I think it's getting warm," she said, pinching the match head between her fingers.
I crawled out of bed. "Let me see."
"No." She pulled it back. "Not yet. Not until I'm sure."
Was Rae half-demon? Derek said they did burn things with their hands. By her age, Rae should have been lighting that match no problem. But then he'd never heard of a necromancer who woke up one morning and suddenly started seeing ghosts everywhere. Usually it was a gradual process.
Wasn't that typical for development in general? A book might say "at twelve, children begin a process of puberty, ending at eighteen," but that's a generalization. You get girls like me and guys like Derek, neither of us fitting the norm.
Maybe Rae's supernatural powers were late blooming, like me and my period. And maybe my powers were like Derek's puberty, the changes hitting all at once.
Apparently half-demons had a human mother and a demon father, who'd taken human form to impregnate her. That fit Rae's history, with a mother who'd given her up at birth, no father in the picture.
"Smoke!" she squealed before slapping a hand over her mouth. She waved the match. "I saw smoke. I swear it. Yes, I know, I need a life, but it was just so cool. Here, watch."
She pulled another match from the book.
Was Rae a half-demon?
I really hoped so.
Forty
RAE'S WATCH ALARM WAS set to go off at three. According to Derek, that was the quietest time of night, when we'd be least likely to be spotted. At 2:45 we shut the alarm off, and by 2:50 we were out of our room, backpacks in hand.
When I ease
d our door shut, the hall fell to pitch-black. The ticking of the grandfather clock guided us to the stairs.
I swore this time every step creaked, but as hard as I strained for sounds of Tori or Mrs. Talbot stirring, I heard only the clock.
At the bottom of the stairs, the moon peeked in around the drawn curtains, lifting the darkness just enough so I could make out chairs and tables before I crashed into them. I was turning into the hall when a dark shape stepped from the shadows. I bit back a yelp and scowled, ready to blast Derek. But it was Simon, and one look at his ashen face killed the words in my throat.
"What's —?" I began.
"Is Derek with you?"
"No, wh —"
"He's gone." He lifted something that glinted and it took a moment for me to recognize it as Derek's watch. "He had the alarm set for 2:45. When it went off, I woke up and found it on my pillow. His bed was empty."
Rae's fingers closed on my arm. "But Derek's not coming, right? Let's just go."
"Did he say anything to you last night?" I whispered.
Simon shook his head. "He was asleep. I didn't wake him."
"Maybe he's in the bathroom," Rae whispered. "Come on, guys, we have to —"
"I checked the bathrooms. And the spare room. And the kitchen. Something's wrong. Something happened to him."
"If it did, would he have left you the watch? Maybe . . ." I struggled for a reasonable explanation, fighting the rising panic that said there wasn't one. "Maybe he's afraid we'll try to drag him along at the last minute and we'll wake someone up."
"Speaking of which . . ." Rae said with a pointed look at the ceiling.
Simon and I looked at each other and I knew, as logical as my explanation was, Derek would know Simon couldn't leave without making sure he was okay.
"Guys . . ." Rae said.
"You two go," said Simon. "I'll find —"
"No," I said. "I will."
"But —"
I lifted my hand to cut him short. "What good will it do if I get away and you don't? It's your dad. You know how to find him."
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