Hemlock (9 page)

A werewolf that someone had to find. The police or the Trackers or . . .

Me.

I tripped over a crack in the pavement, barely aware of where I was going.

What if
I
could find the wolf? It was crazy—borderline ludicrous with a side of suicidal tendencies—but what if it was possible?

After al, it wasn’t like I was some sheltered teenager from suburbia. I had spent my childhood being raised by a man who made flying under the radar an art form.

Whatever else the wolf was, he was just another flavor of bad guy. Scarier and more dangerous than the ones Hank brought home for a beer, but stil . . .

A car approached slowly, from behind.

“Mac, get in.”

I kept walking.

“Come on, Mac. You heard what they said about walking alone at night. It’s not safe.”

I snorted. Like anything bad would happen in this part of town.

When the attacks had started last spring, Hemlock’s wealthiest residents had pooled their resources and hired twenty-four-hour security for their neighborhood and the surrounding area. None of the attacks had occurred on this side of the bridge.

I quickened my pace. I heard the car rol to a stop and the I quickened my pace. I heard the car rol to a stop and the sound of a door opening and closing, but I didn’t look back, not even when I heard footsteps running to catch up with me.

Jason made a grab for my sleeve and I shook him off. “Go to hel.” My voice was thick and the words weren’t entirely convincing, but I stil put everything I had into each sylable.

He stepped around me, trying to block my path.

I turned and strode the other way.

Jason folowed and I whirled. “She was my best friend!” I spat, choking on each word. I put my arms behind my back, scared that I would hit him, never wanting to hit anyone as badly as I did right then. “Don’t you think I want them to find the thing that did it? Do you think it was easy for me? Sitting there and wondering if the Trackers realy could do something when I hate them?”

I sucked in a deep, ragged breath. Behind my back, the muscles in my arms trembled. It felt like my entire body was shaking.

“Don’t you
ever
say that I don’t care that she’s gone.”

He reached for me a second time and I shook my head. “I swear to God, Jason, if you touch me, I’l hit you.” My voice was smal and quivering. Not my voice at al. A nine-year-old scared of the dark and not sure if her father would ever come home. “I swear to God I wil.”

Ignoring me, Jason reached out and gently drew my arms forward. He slid his hands over mine, holding them for a dozen heartbeats before letting go. “I’m sorry.” His green eyes searched my face, waiting for it to soften. When it didn’t, he said, “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had hit me.”

Without a word, I walked to the car and slid into the passenger Without a word, I walked to the car and slid into the passenger seat. I quickly wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand, not wanting Jason to see how close to crying I was.

He had accused me of not caring. If he only knew what thoughts were running through my head.

I couldn’t save Amy, but maybe I could find the thing that had kiled her—maybe I could do that one last thing for her. And save Jason while I was at it.

If someone found Amy’s kiler—if
I
found Amy’s kiler—then the Trackers wouldn’t bother sticking around.

We’d al get closure, and Jason would never turn up with a black-and-red tattoo on his neck.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I LEANED FORWARD AND RESTED MY ELBOWS ON THE smal, round table jason had managedto snag for us. I grimaced as my arm came into contact with a sticky substance that I hoped was spiled beer. “Ugh. This place is disgusting.” I had to yel over the din of the crowd and the bad dance music pumping out of the speakers.

Jason started in on another beer.

“Maybe that should be the last one,” I suggested, already having resigned myself to the role of designated driver—despite not being sure if I could talk a drunken Jason into the backseat. At the rate he was downing drinks, I wasn’t sure he’d even be able to walk out of the club.

I should have known he’d start getting tanked as soon as we were through the door. After sitting through Derby’s slideshow of death, I could understand wanting a little oblivion. No, the only real surprise was that I’d let him convince me to go out after the fight we’d had.

Part of it had been my need for a distraction. For a second, when I had wanted to hit Jason, I’d reminded myself of my father.

Hank had never laid a hand on me, but I’d seen him hit plenty of other people. Guys who owed him money. Dealers who pissed him off. Crooks who screwed him over. He hadn’t always needed an excuse—though he’d always been able to think of one later.

Hank practicaly lived for that feeling he got when he swung a first punch. Facing down Jason, just for an instant, I had wondered what that feeling would taste like.

With a shake of my head, I locked the thought away and focused on the present.

As usual, Bonnie and Clyde was far more crowded than it had any right to be. The duct tape on the seat of my chair kept sticking any right to be. The duct tape on the seat of my chair kept sticking to my jeans and a glance at the floor in the blinking lights showed years’ worth of grime. This was one club where girls never visited the washroom to check their makeup or gossip. Serena and I had gone in once—on a dare. It was not an experience I ever wanted to repeat.

At least the main part of the club was dark and crowded enough that the smaler vermin kept out of sight. Despite its flagrant health code violations and habitual serving of minors, B&C was never raided or written up by the health inspector—just one of the perks when the owner’s brother was the chief of police and cops always drank free.

Tess would kil me if she knew I was here—though it was hardly the first time.

The guy who had spoken to Jason after the Tracker meeting approached the table with a girl in tow. When I realized he was with Alexis Perry, I stifled a groan.

Without waiting for an invitation, they both puled up chairs.

Alexis looked like a punk pixie—her petite build and heart-shaped face were accompanied by a pink bob, combat boots, and a jacket that was held together with safety pins—and her dad was about as racist as they came. If you wanted proof, al you needed was a glimpse of the ink covering his chest and arms. The guy’s body was like a walking white supremacist bilboard. Even though Alexis lived with her mom, she’d embraced his beliefs with a zeal that had gotten her suspended from school eight times in the past two years. No wonder she was trailing after a Tracker like a puppy in love.

puppy in love.

“Mac, this is Jimmy Tyler,” shouted Jason. Even shouting, he slurred his words.

Jimmy gave me a little salute with his bottle and dragged his chair closer as Alexis glared. “I saw you in the parking lot,” he said. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a T-shirt that said
Hunt
or be Hunted
across the front.

I nodded and pushed my chair back a few inches, giving him my best “not interested” look.

He didn’t take the hint. “I’m Branson Derby’s nephew.”

This night, literaly, could not get any worse.

I tried to catch Jason’s attention, but he was watching the crowd on the dance floor. I noticed a button on Alexis’s jacket—a caricature of a severed wolf head—and shivered, a slight movement that Jimmy mistook for interest.

He leaned forward and placed a hand on my knee. “You know, I’ve been hunting wolves for the past five years. Since I was fourteen.”

He waited for me to make some smal noise of appreciation.

Instead, I said, “I have to go talk to someone.” It wasn’t a lie—not exactly. I very much felt the need to talk to someone else. Anyone else.

Jason looked up as I stood, but I ignored him. It hadn’t bothered him that Repulsive Tracker Boy had been hitting on me.

I pushed my way to the bar and ordered a Coke. Shoulders hunched, I stared into my glass and wondered if I should just go home and leave Jason to fend for himself.

“Wow. Coke. Hard-core.”

“Wow. Coke. Hard-core.”

I straightened. “Very.”

Ethan Cole slid onto the bar stool next to me. “You don’t look like you’re having much fun,” he observed. If another guy had said that, it might have been a come-on, a hint that they could make my night better. Not from Ethan.

“Nice bruise,” I remarked, noting the smudge on his cheek.

“What happened to it being a peaceful protest?”

“Hard to remember you’re a pacifist when someone’s fist is connecting with your face.” He ran a hand through his disheveled blue hair. “Anyway, I got hit defending Matt Johnson. It was terribly romantic—or would have been if he hadn’t just ditched me for some random colege guy.”

I took a sip of my Coke. “And you’re crushed, I assume.”

“Devastated.”

I swiveled around to scan the rest of the bar, looking for Matt and his random colege conquest.

“You can do better,” I said after I spotted them. “Easily.”

Ethan shrugged. “Of course I can. But sometimes I like to slum it.” He grinned.

I caught sight of Jimmy Tyler. He had abandoned Alexis and was making his way toward the bar. Great. “I’ve got to go make a cal,” I told Ethan, sliding off the stool and slipping away before he could ask what was going on.

There was a narrow, dank halway to the left of the bar that led to the washrooms. It was the only place quiet enough to make a phone cal without going outside. There was a couple making out phone cal without going outside. There was a couple making out against one of the graffiti-covered wals, but they were too wrapped up in each other to notice me as I passed.

Halfway between the couple and the washrooms was a busted pay phone. I leaned against it as I tried to cal Kyle. Voice mail.

Great.

I left a message teling him I was at the bar with Jason and to cal me. I could probably deal with getting Jason home, and Derby’s nephew would eventualy get tired of hitting on me, but stil . . .

I slipped my phone into my pocket as raised voices drifted down the hal. The tonsil pals had left—gone somewhere more private or less private—and been replaced by Jimmy and Alexis.

Jimmy was leaning in toward a third figure while Alexis hung back and kept an eye on the rest of the bar.

“You were part of the protest,” said Jimmy, his voice filed with barely veiled threats.

The figure shrugged. “Yeah. And?”

Ethan.

This so wasn’t going to end wel.

The pay phone was in its own little nook and no one had noticed me, but there was no way for me to get out of the hal without walking past them. No way for me to try and get help without drawing attention to myself.

Jimmy shoved Ethan into the wal. Ethan was tal but as skinny as a rake; Jimmy had at least fifty pounds on him.

Jimmy cocked his arm back, drawing out the moment, waiting for a reaction.

“He’s not worth it,” I said, pushing away from my hiding spot

“He’s not worth it,” I said, pushing away from my hiding spot and ignoring the vaguely wounded look Ethan shot me. I walked forward and put a hand on Jimmy’s arm. He was an idiot, but a strong one: there was a perfectly good set of muscles under the fabric of his shirt.

Alexis stared at my hand as though she’d like nothing better than to cut it off.

“Don’t tel me you actualy feel sorry for this twerp.”

I shrugged. If I answered, it would only make Jimmy go harder on him.

Jimmy shook his arm free and then nuzzled my hair. I repressed the urge to step back. Oblivious to my revulsion, he said, “Why don’t you let me take care of him, and then I’l meet you back in the bar.”

“Jimmy,” whined Alexis, “you said we would go somewhere after you took care of him.”

Jimmy ignored her, and a crushed look swept across her face. I would almost have felt sorry for her—if she had been anyone else.

“Why don’t you and I just go back to the bar now,” I said, hoping Jimmy would agree and I could ditch him after Ethan slipped away.

Ethan was staring at me like I had lost my mind.

Jimmy shook his head. “The guy’s a member of RfW. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

So much for luring him away. I glanced at Alexis. She acted tough, but she had been in my gym class last year. She practicaly cried every time a voleybal grazed her.

No, Alexis wasn’t the one I had to worry about.

No, Alexis wasn’t the one I had to worry about.

Nerves stretched as tight as piano wire, I took a deep, shaky breath.

“I won’t be long,” Jimmy soothed, misreading my every gesture as disappointment. “I’l meet you in a few minutes.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think you wil.”

He was stil trying to make sense of my words when I kneed him in the crotch.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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JIMMY CLUTCHED HIS PRIVATES AND CRUMPLED TO the ground as he tried to find the breath to curse me. “Oh God,” I muttered as Alexis turned and ran—probably to get reinforcements.

Ethan lunged forward and started kicking Jimmy.

“Not now!” I yeled. Grabbing his arm, I dragged him toward the main part of the club. We had to find Jason and get to the SUV

before Jimmy was able to stand or Alexis rounded up a squadron before Jimmy was able to stand or Alexis rounded up a squadron of drunken Tracker recruits.

I pushed my way through the crowd on the dance floor, losing my grip on Ethan as I crashed into, and was shoved by, dancer after dancer. I had to get back to the table. I had to get back to Jason. The music and lights and people made it hard to breathe.

Empty. The table was empty. I scanned the crowd, trying to distinguish Jason from the churning masses. I heard a shout behind me and whirled. Jimmy was on his feet and he wasn’t alone. They hadn’t spotted me yet, but they were starting to fan out. Six in al—