scuttling nervously out of the building,
carrying their belongings.
“I’m going to demand a meeting,”
cried another voice. This one was a
woman as well, and her pronouncement
was greeted with shouts of agreement
and urging. “Rogan’s got to answer to
us! He’s got to tell us what he’s going to
do!”
“We can’t wait for the mayor and the
city council,” someone said. “They’ll
argue about it for hours. We have to
act!”
“Start a search for Remington Truth.
Someone’s got to know what it is. I’m
going to
demand
that Rogan step up to
this!”
The voices were growing louder and
more strident, and Cat edged away as the
rowdy group, propelled by fear and
ignorance, surged by.
This could get ugly.
She shook her head, wishing she
could do something. Wishing she knew
some way to help.
Wishing Dad would
let
her.
As she turned to go back outside—at
least she could help there, although much
of the cleanup was done—she noticed
the huge dog.
He seemed lost and distraught, and
although he was frighteningly large, she
couldn’t bear to see an animal in
distress. Since he was inside the
building and didn’t appear to have any
concern with or from the people walking
by, she suspected he belonged to
someone living in the place. Hopefully
he was just separated from his master.
“Hey buddy,” she said, crouching
next to the auburn, brown and black
wolflike animal. Even when on her
knees, she found her face at eye level
with him, so she didn’t approach too
quickly. Carefully and slowly she held
out a hand for him to smell. “Are you
lost? What’s wrong?”
He had intelligent amber eyes that
seemed to understand exactly what she
was saying. His ears perked up into
sharp triangles and he allowed her to pet
him, then butted at her with a whine.
“What is it?” she asked. “Who are
you looking for? Do you want me to help
you find your daddy? Or your mama?”
He went to attention at that and bumped
her harder . . . then turned and started
off.
Although she didn’t have a dog of her
own, Cat understood.
Follow me
.
“Okay then,” she said. “I’ll bite.”
She followed him as he trotted
rapidly down a long corridor that ended
at a door. “Ah, so that’s it,” she said
when he scratched at the door.
She opened it and followed the dog
inside. They were in a . . . what was it
called? . . . a staircase that went up and
up and up . . . a stairwell. The dog
bounded up the steps, then paused on the
landing to look down at her.
He gave a short, peremptory yip as if
to say “Come on!”
Cat shrugged and followed him up,
and when she reached the next floor, she
understood why. He was waiting for her
to open the door to the hallway. The
expression on his face was one of
Duh!
Laughing at the dog’s attitude—plus
the fact that he was so damn smart—she
opened the door to the corridor. He took
off, his nose to the ground, sniffing as he
went along. Cat waited to see what he’d
do next, and was mildly surprised when
he went to the end of the hall and turned
around to come dashing back. He pushed
past her into the stairwell and bounded
up the next flight.
She followed, opened the door to the
corridor, and watched while he did the
same thing. Obviously, he was searching
for someone.
“Okay, I’ll play,” she said, ruffling
his fur. And so they went on and on, up
each floor in turn.
The dog became more efficient as
they went on . . . he merely walked a few
feet past the door, sniffed around, then
came back and bolted up to the next
level. Cat couldn’t help but wonder how
many more stairwells he was going to
lead her to once they got to the top of
this one, but she found the process so
fascinating and intriguing she stayed
with him.
“Look buddy,” she finally said,
almost an hour later, “this is the last
floor. If he’s not here, I don’t know
where he’s going to be.”
But unlike the others, this top door
didn’t open. It was locked. It was also a
different type of door: a nicer one, but
without the small rectangular window
that allowed a view into the corridor. It
was new, and the fittings were shiny,
and there was a peephole . . . but for the
person on the other side. “Damn,” she
said, jiggling the knob again. “Looks like
you’re out of luck, pup.”
The dog did
not
like that. He whined
and bumped the door. Then he gave a
sharp, high-pitched yip. Then sniffed at
the bottom of the door again and barked
another time.
“Hush, buddy,” Cat said, wondering
if she should get out of there. Whatever
place this was, it seemed forbidden . . .
as if she shouldn’t be here. But the dog
was insistent and he barked again,
louder and more urgently.
When Cat heard someone on the other
side of the door, she got nervous and
edged away. Was she going to get in
trouble for trespassing? The dog was
barking louder and more excitedly, and
she stepped back, trying coax him away
with her. “Come on, buddy,” she
crooned in a soft voice. “Let’s go.
You’re disturbing people.”
But he would have none of it, and she
heard the clinking of a lock on the other
side of the door. She bit her lip and
stood in front of the door. Maybe this
was
his master’s—or mistress’s—place.
The door swung open.
“Dantès!” The dark-haired woman
crouched and the dog charged into her
arms, nearly knocking her over in the
process. In the midst of a good face-
washing, she looked up and they
immediately recognized each other.
“Cat! What are you doing here?”
“Hi Remy,” she replied. Then her
brain stopped. Remy.
Remington?
No.
That was absurd. “Is this your dog? He
was distraught, looking for you.”
“Thank you for bringing him to me.
Do you . . . uh, do you want to come in?”
She stepped back from the door.
Cat could see past her into a
spacious, well-lit room. “Wow. Is this
where you live?” She stepped in. That
little
pop
she’d felt earlier . . . it was
back. Her heart pounded and curiosity
sizzled through her.
“No. I’m . . .” Remy looked
uncomfortable and wasted. “I’m glad
you’re here. I’m glad you brought
Dantès. I was thinking about leaving
. . .”
She looked at the other woman,
noticing her amazing blue eyes. And all
the inky-black hair she had, which,
unlike her own, seemed to stay under
control. Instead of curling up all over the
place like Cat’s, it hung in long, sleek
waves that shone almost blue-black. She
was tall for a woman, but not overly so,
and older than her—but she wasn’t sure
how much. Maybe ten years? But it was
her demeanor that she found compelling:
not intimidating so much as in control,
self-assured. Even yesterday, when they
were at Flo’s place, Cat had noticed
Remy’s confidence and strength. But
today
she
looked
exhausted
and
stressed-out, with dark circles under her
eyes and a cut by her eyebrow, but she
still exuded determination.
“Dantès? That’s his name?” Cat said,
petting the dog. When she stood, she
realized that Remy was looking at her,
as if assessing her.
“Do you believe in signs?” Remy
asked, closing the door behind them.
“Sort of like a cosmic nudge, in the right
direction?”
Cat stood and faced her. “Maybe,”
she said, remembering that funny little
pop
. Something was going to happen.
“My dad does. I know that.”
Remy looked around the room, and
Cat’s gaze followed hers. She’d never
seen a place so open and new and bright,
so much like the pictures of the world
her father had known, before the Change.
It reminded her of the houses rich people
lived in on the DVDs she watched with
Dad.
She realized Remy was looking at
her again, in that measuring sort of way,
as she spoke. “I was just sitting here a
while ago, wondering how I was going
to figure out whom to trust . . .
wondering if I should leave here and
take matters into my own hands . . . and
here you are. And you brought Dantès—
that’s sort of the clincher. I’m choosing
to think of it as cosmic guidance. My
friend Selena would approve, I think.”
Remy gave her a crooked smile, then
tipped her head, still looking closely at
Cat. “Do you know who I am?”
Cat blinked, unsure whether she
should verbalize her suspicions. This
had to be Remington Truth—apparently
someone the Strangers felt strongly
enough about that they wanted her back.
Back . . .
was she a hostage here in
Envy? Was that why she was tucked
away up here? But she hadn’t been
acting like a hostage yesterday.
Or did the Strangers want her . . . for
other reasons? As a prisoner.
Yet, Cat didn’t feel uncomfortable or
apprehensive. It was as if she’d walked
into a riddle—or a story—and hadn’t
quite figured out where she was or what
she was doing yet . . . but that her
instinct was guiding her. A cosmic
nudge, if you will. “You’re . . . Remy.”
She shrugged. “Friends with Zoë and
Sage and all of them.”
“My name is Remington Truth.”
Well. That was easy. “I . . .” Cat
said, then decided to be honest. “I just
now figured that out.”
Remy didn’t move. She just looked at
Cat, still assessing, as if waiting for
something.
Then Cat realized . . . the other
woman was waiting for her to react. To
shout an alarm, to do something. “I can
understand why you’ve been hiding,”
was all she could think of to say.
“Unless . . . unless you’re a prisoner
here.”
“I’m not a prisoner . . . and I don’t
like to think of it as hiding,” Remy
replied. Her stance relaxed a little.
“Vaughn—Mayor Rogan—thought it was
best if I was out of sight, especially
since there’s the chance that more than
one person would be willing to turn me
over to the Strangers if they knew who I
was.” Again that hesitant, pregnant
pause. Waiting.
“
I’m
not going to turn you over, if
that’s what you’re worried about,” Cat
said.
As if.
“My dad—”
Better not say
anything about his work.
“Well, I’m not
a fan of the Strangers. I don’t trust them,
and neither does my dad. And to be
honest, yeah, you’re right. There are
people below—I’ve heard them talking
—who are pretty much ready to get
pitchforks and find you and turn you
over. Why do the Strangers want you
anyway?”
“It’s a long story,” Remy replied.
“Which I will tell you . . . if you’ll help
me.”
Cat felt a spike of adrenaline and
determination. Just the opportunity she’d
been waiting for. Anything to mess with
the Strangers and keep them from getting
what they wanted. “Yes. I’ll help you.”
A small smile curved Remy’s lips.
“Thanks.” She seemed about to say
something else, but cut herself off. “Let’s
get out of here.”
“What is this place anyway?” Cat
asked as Remy gathered up a bundle of
things.
“It’s the mayor’s private apartments.
I think I’d better leave before he gets
back. He might try to talk me into
staying.”
“What can I do to help?” asked Cat,
following her new friend and Dantès out