“Not me.” A passing wulfen girl in a wide broomstick skirt and a yellow sweater deftly took the baby. “But I’ll figure something out.”
“Bless you, Imogen. Come, svetocha, let’s get you something to eat. You’re not vegan, are you?”
What? “No.” I watched as the teenager stuck the baby on her hip and plunged into the chaos of the kitchen. The noise level was incredible. “I grew up in Appalachia.”
I don’t know why I said that.
“Oh, really? That must be where your accent’s from.” She led me into the dining room proper and smartly rapped an older boy on the head. He let out a yelp. “Get your fingers out of that sugar bowl and finish your eggs! You there, stop torturing your niece. And you, go back and scrub those paws!”
It was like seeing a battlefield general make order out of chaos through sheer force of bellowing.
It reminded me of Dad, in a weird way, and my eyes stung. I didn’t tell her that whatever accent I had was probably from years spent below the Mason-Dixon line, hunting with Dad.
And I don’t think I have an accent, for the record. Everyone up North just talks funny.
She plopped me down at a long table between Graves and Shanks, who was munching on a stack of flapjacks as tall as my hand. Shanks nodded, the blood scrubbed off him and the bruises on his face just faint shadows.
“Jesus, you look better,” I blurted.
“Damn straight.” He shoveled in a huge bite of syrup-drenched pancakes and Graves slid a plate in front of me.
Eggs. Crispy bacon. Three pancakes. Two wedges of buttered homemade-bread toast. A glass of orange juice, and a big pottery mug of coffee appeared too.
“Eat.” Graves’ shoulder bumped mine. “It’s rude if you don’t.”
Everyone was showered, in clean clothes, and talking up a storm. It was like lunch at the Schola, only with everyone acting nice instead of the djamphir and wulfen growling at each other. The older wulfen ate fast, catcalling and talking back and forth, then picked up their plates and cleaned off a slice of table, taking everything to the kitchen in time for a new person to come in, sit down, and start shoveling in food. Everything ran like clockwork, even the cleanup when a whole jug of syrup got upended somehow. It was incredible to watch, and Graves kept elbowing me and telling me to eat.
I did. I was starving, and the sight of food made me suddenly aware of it. I started eating, and I didn’t realize I was gulping down the food until I took a long draft of orange juice and almost choked. My cheeks were wet. Graves handed me a napkin and pointedly didn’t look.
I saw Dibs, his head down and his shoulders hunched, and a few of the other boys I knew. Peter was all the way across the room, scowling while he put away a small mountain of grits. He had a fresh black eye. I wondered how he’d gotten it.
There were two more babies, both old enough to sit in high chairs. I saw the one who’d grabbed my knees as she was swiftly buckled in and started chowing down on chopped-up bits of pancake.
She grinned and crowed, mashing her baby spoon onto her plate. The other two were babbling, and whoever was closest kept an eye on them and rescued their flung silverware and sippy cups.
Was this what families were like? Or was it just wulfen who ate this way? I liked it better than the Schola, but it was so noisy. I wiggled my toes in my boots, Amelia had given me a pair of white tube socks. It was almost pathetic, how much more human a pair of freaking socks made me feel. I found myself rubbing at the lump of the locket under my sweater, and made myself put my hand down in my lap like a proper-mannered girl.
I ate until I couldn’t hold any more, then sat with my coffee mug and mopped at my cheeks. The tears weren’t bad, just hot and embarrassing. I didn’t even know why I was leaking. But it was loud and comforting and nobody paid much attention. Shanks was still putting it away at a steady rate, a huge bowl of oatmeal, a mountain of eggs, a generous handful of bacon, and a few more slices of toast.
He saw me watching and swallowed hastily, grinned. “Got to heal up,” he said, when he had his mouth clear. “Going with you.”
“Oh.” I nodded, took a scalding gulp of coffee.
“Stupid asshole thinks he owes me,” Graves called in my ear.
“Peter would’ve left me behind, the bastard,” Shanks cheerfully yelled back. “That’s why he’s all the way over there. I beat him up this morning.”
I believed it.
One table freed up and was cleaned with incredible speed, just in time for a group of hard-faced boy wulfen, some of them with wet hair and damp clothes, to come trooping in. All of them looked young, from their early teens to mid-twenties, but you could tell the older ones. It was something subtle, how they moved, or how their eyes were calm instead of dancing with excitement. I couldn’t figure it out but I didn’t want to stare. Maybe if I had a pad of paper and a pencil I could do a few sketches and find out what it was.
For the first time in two weeks my hands itched to draw, a sudden fierce need. I rubbed my right-hand fingers against the coffee mug, trying to scratch out the sensation.
“They were on watch, running through the woods,” Graves yelled in my ear. “They’re on vacation from the Schola downstate. Nobody there even knows about you.”
My stomach closed itself like a fist, and Christophe appeared in the door to the kitchen. An odd almost-silence spread from the table ends nearest him, and Amelia appeared, leaning in and talking intently to him.
It was funny. Even the obviously adult wulfen looked just slightly older than the djamphir.
Nobody here looked a day over twenty-five, except for around the eyes a bit. I hadn’t realized how quickly I’d grown used to being surrounded by teenagers.
I would have wondered where the adults to handle this sort of thing were, but they were here. Just in young-looking bodies.
Christophe nodded, his blond-streaked hair falling carelessly into his eyes. Jewels of water clung to the strands and dewed his face. I dug in my bag and found the transcript, pushing my plate away.
The paper crinkled.
I couldn’t pull it out here. Jeez.
“Aren’t you going to eat more?” Graves almost elbowed me, glanced up to see what I was looking at.
“Full,” I said, but my voice wouldn’t work quite right. I had to clear my throat and try again. “I’m full.”
“Eat while you can.” Shanks shoveled in another heaping forkful. “Might not get a chance later.”
It was good advice, I’d heard Dad say it before. But my stomach had closed down, and I was full.
Christophe glanced across the room, saw me, and nodded slightly. His expression didn’t change. He said something else to Amelia, who pushed her hair out of her face and untied her apron.
Christophe vanished again, and Amelia started across the dining room for us, her forehead furrowed. I pushed my chair back and stood up, scooping up my boots and grabbing my bag. After a few startled seconds, Shanks and Graves did too.
I know that look on an adult’s face. It means it’s time to go.
CHAPTER 26
The car was long, lean, and dark blue, older than me but in excellent shape. Dad would’ve liked it, and I suppressed a desire to pop the hood, because a dark slight wulfen had just slammed it shut and turned on his heel, taking in all of us with a swift glance. His mouth turned down when he saw Christophe, but he covered it well.
“This is Corey. He’s our mechanic.” Amelia looked proud. “Anything he touches runs like a dream.”
The boy wulfen rolled his eyes. “Mom. Jeez.”
“It’s true,” she insisted, and she looked seven different flavors of proud. She hooked an arm over his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. He wriggled away after a few seconds and blushed. You could see he was secretly pleased.
My heart hurt. I took a deep breath and shoved the feeling away.
He wiped his calloused fingers with an oil-stained rag and indicated the car with a short, graceful gesture. “’74 Dodge Dart. She’s a
good car. Old American heavy metal, run until the doors fall off. Just had a tune-up and an oil change, checked the lights and everything this morning. Fresh tabs, too. So everything’s good.”
“Very good. I can barely believe it’s the same vehicle.” Christophe nodded, examining the paint job like he wanted to find rust flakes in it. “We should get going. The longer we stay here, the more dangerous for you.”
Amelia shrugged. “The woods are set with traps and we have warning. Other than the Broken—” her mouth firmed up and her eyes turned cold, “nothing’s moved all night, and we’re well prepared should they find your trail.”
The Broken? “Ash? He’s here?” My heart leapt up into my throat and I pushed down the urge to find a safe place to hide. “Where?”
“He’s been following us.” Shanks folded his arms. “Cagey little bastard. Slips right through every net.”
“He saved my life.” I hitched my bag higher up on my shoulder. “Twice, even.”
“Nobody’s disputing that,” Christophe chimed in, darkly. “But it’s best not to keep him wandering around here. Let’s go, children. Keys?”
Corey tossed them over. “She accelerates well, and the brakes grab. Go easy on them.”
Christophe nodded, plucking the keys out of the air and glancing at me. “Good work. Dru, you’re in the front seat. You two—”
“Wait a second!” A blond streak crashed out of the rain outside the open garage door and almost plowed into Shanks, who stepped nimbly aside. It was Dibs, his backpack bouncing, shaking the water off in spatters. “Wait for me! I’m coming too!”
“No room.” Christophe stalked around the front of the car.
“I’m coming.” Dibs glared at him, then darted a quick little glance at me. “Tell him, Dru. I’m going with you. You need us.”
“Jesus, Dibs—” Shanks didn’t sound like he thought much of the notion.
Graves just looked at me. I raised an eyebrow; he shrugged and dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. His coat was freshly washed, and it looked like someone had ironed it, too. Wonders never ceased.
“We’re leaving.” Christophe opened the driver’s door. “Everyone in.”
“Please, Dru.” Dibs hopped from foot to foot. He looked as much like a bird as it was possible for a wulf to look. “Please.”
Why the hell was he asking me? But since he was, I was going to make the call. I didn’t have too many friends, and he’d sat beside me in the lunchroom. “Get in,” I told him. “You guys too.”
“Three wulfen in the backseat,” Christophe muttered. “What are you thinking?”
“He’s got medical training.” I hitched my bag up again. And he carried me halfway across the state. At least, I think he did. “He’s my friend.”
Graves gave me an indecipherable look, and Shanks laughed. I was getting kind of tired of boys treating me like I’d lost my mind. Dibs piled into the car and scooted into the middle of the backseat, where he sat and clutched his backpack protectively.
“Let’s go.” Irritation edged each word. Christophe dropped into the driver’s seat and a moment later the engine roused, purring loudly.
“Thank you very much.” I sounded really prim. “For everything.” I hope the vampires don’t find you.
Amelia’s grin broke out over her face like sunlight, her velvety brown eyes lighting up. Corey stepped back, his gaze running over the car like he wanted a few more hours to tinker with it.
“It is our honor,” Amelia said, and it was the weirdest thing, it sounded like she really meant it.
People don’t often say exactly what they really mean. “Go quickly, and be safe.”
I dropped into the front passenger seat. The car was a boat, and Christophe nosed it gently forward into the silver curtain of rain. I waved at Amelia, who hooked her arm over Corey’s shoulders and hugged him despite his “Awwww, Mom!” wriggling away. Something hot and nameless boiled up in my throat. I swallowed hard twice, tasted pancakes when I burped, and dug in my bag for a piece of gum. I didn’t have any, and when I looked up again we had slid smoothly between two of the buildings and were on the paved drive. The place looked deserted, all the windows dark. I wondered if it was intentional.
Christophe muttered something, the car eased through the rain, and the windshield wipers started.
“I hope they’ll be okay.” I had to fumble with the seat belt. Old seat belts are cranky sometimes.
The defroster was on, and the whole car smelled like engine oil and the healthy dry smell of wulfen.
And a thin thread of apple pies, blowing in my face when Christophe leaned forward to twist the radio knob.
“I’ve done what I can to confuse our trail. And to make certain none of his trackers survived to report in.” His face settled against itself as we threaded down a long single-lane strip of paving starred with unevenly fixed potholes.
“Do you think the vampires will find them?” I twisted to look into the backseat. Dibs sat bolt-upright, blinking owlishly. Shanks had settled back and closed his eyes. Graves stared out his window, his jaw clenched.
“It’s not the vampires I’m worried about,” Christophe said darkly. The radio crackled. “Find me some music, Dru. we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 27
After so long walking it was weird to see the road slipping smoothly away underneath the car. The windshield wipers marked off time, back and forth, and Christophe hummed along with the classic rock station I’d found. He drove the speed limit, too, not a hair over or under. Shanks was breathing softly with his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open a little; Graves stared out the window. Dibs bounced up and down every once in a while, but otherwise kept quiet.
It was, in other words, completely awkward.
Christophe also stuck to the less-traveled roads, not even glancing at a map. If it had been Dad driving, I would’ve been navigating him. Instead, I sat there uselessly, clutching my bag and staring at the wet world outside the window. Naked trees pressed close to the blacktop, their bare arms reaching out to clutch empty air. Water gleamed on the road, the tires made wet shushing sounds, and Christophe kept turning the radio up in tiny increments when music was on, then turning it down when advertising took over.
Lunch was in a small town on the far end of the county, a pizza place that looked like it had seen better days. All three of the boys in the backseat headed straight for the bathroom as soon as we got a table, which meant I could fish the paper out of my bag as Christophe motioned me into the red vinyl booth.
“Unless you need the facilities too, kochana.” He ran a hand back through his hair, shaking random drops of rain out.
“I have to talk to you.” I dropped down, then handed the sheets of paper over. It all came out in a rush while he looked at me, blue eyes narrowing. “Dylan gave me this, right before everything… well, it’s important. When Anna showed me the transcript of the call, she wanted me to think you made it. And it was an edited version.” I felt like I wasn’t making any sense. “She wanted to find out what I knew, too. Dylan said this was the original version of the call. When someone gave my mother’s location.”
Christophe lowered himself down next to me in the booth and scanned the paper. His mouth turned itself upside-down, the corners pulling toward his jaw. “He gave this to you?” For a moment I thought I saw something close to his true age, eerie on his unlined face.
“When he told me to hide the next time the Restriction bell rang.” It was a relief to tell someone, to get at least one secret out of my chest. “It’s a good thing he did, too, or they would have caught me in my room.”
“They?” His aspect slid over him, his hair sleeking down and turning darker. His fangs peeped out. He took a deep breath and they retreated. I stared at his profile, fascinated.
“Well, the bell for first classes rang. Then, a little while later, the Restriction bell. I hid in a closet and heard them running by. They had to have been nosferatu.” The word felt strange i
n my mouth. Even now I was half-lying, keeping a secret.
“Were you going to class like a good girl?”
No, I was heading for the hills. Why does that even matter? “I was out of my room. It was like a tomb in there.”
The two sheets of paper rustled a bit. His hand was shaking. “Anna.” Slowly, thoughtfully. Like the word had a bad taste. He folded the papers back together and handed them to me. “Hm.”
“She said you…” I swallowed. My throat was dry. “She said you were the one who made that call. I think she wanted me not to trust you.”
Christophe stiffened. His fangs peeped out again, retreated. “I would never—” he began.
I hurried to cut him off. The flush threatened to rise up my neck again, and I didn’t want that. “I already told you I didn’t believe her. She wanted me to, and she wanted to know what I knew. If I suspected something, if I’d seen you.”
The emotion submerged. It was eerie to watch, his face smoothing out and the blond streaking back into his hair. “So. Milady is meddling.”
Dylan said that too. “I want to know what’s going on.”
He opened his mouth, but Dibs appeared at the booth, smoothing his damp hair down. “Can we get pepperoni?”
Christophe dug in his pocket, pulled out three twenty-dollar bills. “Get one meat pizza and one vegetarian, no onions or olives. And five drinks. Off with you.”
Dibs took the money and bounded away. Christophe’s hand turned into a fist, resting on the table, then relaxed with an effort. The difference between his smoothed-out face and the way he had to force his fingers out and loose was jarring. “Keep this secret. We’ll talk later.”
It was hard to look tough when my heart was thundering and I was sweating. I folded my arms and stared at him, uncomfortably wedged in the booth and suddenly aware he was between me and any possible escape. “I want to know now.”
“I don’t know enough myself to tell you anything useful. There is a traitor in the Order. We know that much. Now we know that the traitor is highly placed, and that I wasn’t the target. I haven’t been the target so far, just incidental damage.” He ran his tongue along his teeth, and the aspect retreated even further. His eyes were still cold. I wondered why I’d ever thought they could warm up.
[Strange Angels 02] - Betrayals Page 23