Authors: Kelley Armstrong
On Friday, battered down by my hellish week at school, I returned to Stonehaven, seeking solace, and found Jeremy filling out a form to request more information from the University of Chicago. I hit the roof. Broke a chair and a couple of plates. Said a few things I shouldn’t have. Then I stormed out the back door to the woods, and stayed there until midnight, which I figured was long enough to make my point.
When I walked into the house, I passed the study, saw Jeremy in there, and kept going. He followed me.
"Your bag is by the front door. Check it and make sure I haven’t left anything out."
My heart jammed into my throat. I didn’t turn. "Bag?"
"You’re spending the weekend with Dominic. I have business to do in New York."
I turned and scowled. "What business?"
"Nothing important," he said. "Check your bag and we’ll leave."
He headed back into the study. I resisted the urge to follow. What business could he have in New York? He never took meetings in person, never needed to.
He was sending me away. Taking a break from me, just like he did with Malcolm. I suspected that was the reason behind his sudden vigor to find an out-of-state college for me: to rid himself of a boy who’d turned from a devoted child to a troublesome teen.
And what if he did have business in
Without checking my bag, I grabbed it and stormed off to the truck.
Misunderstood
I couldn’t believe Nick had done this to me.
It was Saturday night. A special Saturday night planned by Nick to lift me out of my black mood, because that’s the kind of friend he was. Thoughtful, considerate, generous . . . the best friend a guy could want.
I scowled into the night, took a swig of my beer and dumped the rest over the side of the deck.
It had been a great plan, one that made me regret every thoughtless thing I’d ever done to him. We’d start with a movie. He knew I liked movies, and there was nothing better to get my mind off my horrible week than a good action-packed thriller, full of life-or-death dilemmas that would make my problems look laughable. After the show, we’d go out for pizza. Then we’d go somewhere else and have more pizza. Then we’d head back to the house, and Nick would try Changing. In the last few months Nick had begun showing the first signs of impending werewolf-hood—increased hunger, heightened senses and greater strength. We’d been trying to rush the process along with practice sessions, where we’d go into the woods and I’d coach him. So far, it hadn’t worked—and everyone in the Pack swore it never would—but we kept trying.
Right after dinner, we left the estate. Like me, Nick had his own car. That’s common for Pack boys—not because we need wheels to head out into the country for an urgent Change or to make a speedy getaway, but just because every teenage boy wants a car, and the Pack spoiled us, knowing our lives would be difficult enough later.
When Nick realized we were too early for the movie, he decided to stop off at a friend’s place. His friend’s parents were gone for the weekend, and he was having a party. There are few things in life I hate more than parties—if you want to scare me with visions of hell, just tell me it’s eternity squeezed into a small room full of people drinking, shouting, sweating and playing music loud enough to shatter eardrums. But Nick had planned an entire evening for me; the least I could do was give him the first half-hour of it.
So I went to the party without complaint. Then Nick found out they had a beer keg, and that a girl he’d been pursuing for the last month was there . . . without her boyfriend.
Two and a half hours later, I was standing on the back porch, alone, glowering into the dark yard, and wondering where my life had gone so horribly wrong.
When the patio door slid open behind me, I hoped it was Nick. One sniff of perfume, though, and I knew better. Without turning, I sent off another hope: that the girl behind me had come out for a cigarette or some fresh air, not because she’d seen me through the window and decided I looked lonely. In the ninety minutes I’d been out here, two other girls had come out, trying to cheer up my night, and only making it more unbearable.
I kept my gaze fixed on the yard, and slumped forward against the railing, leaving my back to her.
"Nice night," she said.
I nodded.
She moved up beside me. "You’re Nick’s friend, aren’t you?"
I made a noise in my throat. Had she been a wolf, she’d have interpreted it for what it was: a polite "leave me alone."
"Hmmm?" she said, billowing perfume as she leaned around me. "I didn’t catch that."
I shrugged and moved away.
"Hey, I asked you a question," she said.
"Yeah, I’m with Nick."
I headed down the steps to the yard.
"Hey!" she called after me. "I’m talking to you."
I kept walking. She hurried after me, and caught my hand. When I shook her off, she only grinned, as if it was a challenge.
"Do you have a name, Nick’s friend?"
"Yeah. Not interested."
She blinked, eyes snapping with outrage. "Excuse me?"
"Never mind. Just go back inside, okay?"
"Is that an order?"
"Just go—"
"Hey!" someone shouted from the porch.
I looked up to see a tall, muscular boy bearing down at us. One glance at his scowl, and I knew he was the girl’s boyfriend. My evening was complete.
I turned to walk away. The boy grabbed my shoulder and whipped me around. I shrugged him off and struggled not to return his glare of challenge.
"What do you think you’re doing with my girl?" he demanded, bringing his face down to mine.
I held my ground and met his eyes. "Nothing."
"Bullshit," the girl said. "I just came out here for a smoke, and he grabbed me. Tried to cop a feel."
I snorted. "Not likely."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the boy snapped.
The look I turned on the girl answered for me. The boy grabbed for me again, but I threw up my hands and knocked his aside before they could touch me.
"Oooh, tough guy," the boy said. "You asking for something, tough guy?"
"Yeah, I’m asking for you to leave me alone, take your girlfriend and go back inside."
"Ah’m askin’ fah ya . . .?" The boy screwed up his face, exaggerating and mangling my drawl. "Is that English? What rock did you crawl from under, talking like that? Who brought you here?"
"Nick," the girl piped up. "Nick Sorrentino."
"Well, then, I think I should talk to ol’ Nicky—"
"Leave Nick out of this," I said.
"You gonna make me?"
When I said nothing, he grabbed me by the shirtfront. I swept my arms up fast, knocking his hands off me. He stumbled back, then caught his balance and rushed me. I didn’t budge, just whipped out my hands, slammed them into his shoulders and sent him flying backward to the ground. Before he could get up, I stepped over him.
"Whoa!" a familiar voice yelled. "Whoa! Hold on!"
I looked up to see Nick running off the porch, pushing past the small group of onlookers who’d gathered. He waved me off the guy, and I did as he asked, slowly backing away, then strode to the far rear corner of the yard.
I waited, with my back to everyone, while Nick sorted it out. When I heard him walk over, I turned, fully expecting an apology for the way he’d abandoned me. Instead, his eyes blazed with fury.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he hissed, bathing me in beer fumes. "I bring you to a party and you pull this shit? In front of my friends?"
"I didn’t pull anything. That girl came out here—"
"And you blew her off, right? Couldn’t be nice about it. It’s a girl, Clay. Any normal guy—oh, wait, but you’re not a normal guy, are you? You don’t even try to be normal, that’s the problem."
One of the partygoers on the deck shouted an insult in an exaggerated drawl. Nick winced and waited for the laughter to die down.
"See?" he said. "See? You gotta be different. Can’t even bother talking normally. There’s no reason why you keep that stupid accent—oh, wait, there is a reason. Because you don’t want to sound like everyone else. You like being different, being an asshole, acting like you’re too good for everyone. Well, let me tell you something, Clay—"
I brushed past him and headed for the front gate.
"Hey!" Nick shouted. "I’m not done!"
When I didn’t stop, he jogged after me.
"You walk out that door, and you’re walking all the way home. I’m not coming after you."
I pushed open the gate and strode through.
I had money for a cab, but no idea how to summon one from a residential neighborhood. I assumed that if I called the operator, they could put me in touch with a local cab company, but first, I had to find a pay-phone. So I wandered up and down the streets, telling myself I was looking for a phone, but I’m sure I could have walked right past one and not noticed. What did it matter? Where would I go? Nobody wanted me around. I could probably wander the streets all night and no one would even notice I was gone.
An hour or so passed. When a horn blasted behind me, I jumped, expecting Nick and ready to blast him back, or maybe ignore him and keep walking. But it wasn’t Nick. It was, however, a familiar car, driven by someone with a familiar face.
"Now my week really is complete," I muttered under my breath, and walked faster.
The car revved up beside me. I thought of taking off across the lawns, but that would be fleeing, and this was one person I refused to give that satisfaction. So I stopped and waited for him to roll down the passenger window.
"What?" I said.
Malcolm laughed. "There’s a greeting to warm the heart."
"Go away."
"That one’s even better." He leaned out the window. "Not even going to ask what I’m doing here?"
"No."
I did wonder, but given what I knew of Malcolm, if he’d said his pet demon told him where to find me, I wouldn’t have doubted it. As I’d discover later, the answer was far more ordinary. Dominic had summoned him to the estate to discuss a mutt problem and, shortly after he’d arrived, Nick had called, wondering whether anyone had heard from me. Malcolm found out where the party was, made an excuse to leave, and came looking for me.
"Having a rough time of it lately, I hear," Malcolm said. "Want to talk about it?"
"With you?" I snorted. "No."
"I don’t see anyone else offering."
That arrow hit its mark. I strode away. Malcolm kept pace beside me with the car, leaning into the passenger seat so he could talk.
"Let’s see if I can guess what the problem is," he said. "No one understands you."
I kept walking.
"Now I might not be the person you’d choose to talk to about it, but I might be the best person there is.
I
understand you."
"No, you don’t."
"Ah, you might be surprised. I know you’ve killed two mutts at Stonehaven. Bet I’m the only one who knows that."
I stopped, wondering how he could know this when I hadn’t told anyone. Again, pet demons whispering in his ear was a damned fine explanation, but I quickly thought of a simpler one.
"You found the bodies," I said.
"Found where you buried them. You have to work on your technique, Clay. It might fool Jeremy, but it won’t fool me."
"And now you’re going to tell him."
"Is that what you think? Nah, I wouldn’t tattle on you. You’re a good kid. You want to kill mutts for Jeremy, all the power to you. When I found that first one, I thought, ‘well, the mutt was pretty old, it wasn’t a tough kill.’ But then I found the second, and I was proud of you. Damned proud of you."
"I don’t want—"
"I know, you don’t want my admiration, but you have it. You’ve earned it. Now, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re having a problem with these mutts at Stonehaven, and I think maybe you and I should talk about it."
I hesitated.
"Do you know why they’re coming around?" he asked.
I shrugged as if I didn’t care, but I’m sure he could see in my eyes that I did.
"Well, I know why, and I think you should, too," he said. "Climb on in and we’ll go someplace where we can talk."
The mutt problem
had
been weighing on my mind. This wasn't the person I wanted to discuss it with, but right now, Malcolm was the only one who wanted to talk to me at all. So I nodded and opened the car door.
Problem
I wasn’t worried about Malcolm driving me to a dark alley and breaking my neck. Wouldn’t happen. Not that I could outfight him; I couldn’t—not yet. But I’d lived with Malcolm long enough to understand how he operated. If he wanted me dead, he’d have ended my life that night outside Los Angeles. Training me for a few years, lowering my defenses and then killing me might seem like a clever plan, but Malcolm could never pull it off. He was a creature of impulse, of brawn and might, not without the cunning to conceive of a long-term plan, but lacking the patience to see it to the end.