by Kathy Reichs
But sometimes it’s so hard . . .
“Yes?” Voice level.
“You’ve been selected for churchyard floral arrangement!” A near squeal.
I stiffened. “But that’s—”
“That’s right!” Whitney smiled in triumph as she set down the bowl. “My committee! I pulled a few strings so we could work together this year. Isn’t that fabulous?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
Why dost thou test me, oh Lord?
Whitney misread my silent horror. “I’m excited, too! And don’t worry, I snagged your friend Ella Francis as well. We can all hang together.” Emphasized in that clueless way adults speak when trying to sound hip. “Like girlfriends.”
I found my voice. “But I signed up for Habitat. Home building, for homeless people. Not decorating wreaths and bouquets for . . . whatever.”
“We put them in historic graveyards, and adorn soldiers’ tombs, of course.” Whitney reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s a highly sought-after committee. There will be many disappointed girls tonight, I can assure you. But not you!”
Shock gave way to anger. I’d only agreed to join this stupid organization because it was charitable. Though riddled with frivolity and wasted time, there was good, honest community service buried within the Mag League’s endless catalog of parties, committees, and bureaucracy.
But she had to butt in. The tactless dolt interfered with the most basic of my choices. Now I was stuck with the least useful nonsense imaginable. In a way, it was perfect. Whitney, to a T.
I put down my utensils. Sucked in a breath.
Kit caught my eye. I saw the pleading there.
Sorry, Dad.
Floral arrangements? This time, I had no intention of holding back.
At that moment, Kit’s program ran out of “pause” and blipped from the TV screen. A reporter’s breathless voice interrupted our meal. “Park officials say it’s the first reported case of vandalism in decades at the venerable island fortress, one of Charleston’s most visible landmarks.”
I twisted in my chair for a better look.
The image shifted to an elderly park ranger frowning in disapproval. “It’s a despicable act, and no mistake.” The furious senior pointed to a stone wall behind him. “I don’t know what kind of sick mind would do this, but they have no respect for history.”
I rose and crossed to the living room. Was surprised when Kit joined me.
“That looks like Fort Sumter,” he muttered.
The camera zoomed in on the stonework, which was slathered with paint.
An electric jolt traveled my spine. My hand flew to my mouth before I quickly snatched it down. Kit grumbled under his breath, eyes on the screen.
Chiseled into the rock, and daubed jet black, was a trio of wolf heads.
Each was outlined in white, with bloodred eyes.
My mind shot back to the pictures on Chance’s desk. These carvings matched.
Unbidden, I thought of that night not long ago, on a beach less than a hundred yards from where I currently stood. Three sets of red eyes, watching me in the darkness.
The other Virals.
Will Speckman? Someone else?
The camera panned up to a single line painted above the wolf heads.
ONE TERRITORY. ONE PACK.
The newscaster returned, but I barely heard.
What did that mean?
A taunt? A warning? A challenge?
I heard a low growl.
Cooper was standing by the window, golden eyes staring eastward across the island.
To where Fort Sumter rose from the harbor like a shark’s fin.
I walked over to my wolfdog. “What is it, boy?”
Coop’s head whipped to me, then back to the window. The growl repeated.
A buzz in my pocket startled me. I pulled out my phone to find a text from Hiram.
As I read, two more messages arrived. Shelton. Ben.
Then my ring tone sounded an incoming call. Chance Claybourne.
Seems everyone had caught the news.
“Gotta take this call.” I was already hurrying upstairs. “I’ll eat later.”
Ignoring Kit’s and Whitney’s protests, I locked myself in my bedroom.
As I answered, three wolf heads danced in my brain.
I felt a sudden urgency. A need for action.
Whatever was happening wouldn’t wait until tomorrow.
ATTENTION: DIRECTOR WALSH [“EYES ONLY”]
FILE STATUS: TOP SECRET [LEVEL 5]
CASE: #34687 (AKA—PHOENIX INQUIRY)
FILE TYPE: INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
DATE: APRIL 11, 2014
SUBJECT(S): WHYTHE, HANNAH M. (“HW”)
PRINCIPAL INVESTIGATING AGENT(S): J. SALTMAN, B. ROGERS
INTERVIEWING AGENT(S): J. SALTMAN (“JS”), B. ROGERS (“BR”)
INTERVIEW LOCATION: LEATH CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION
WOMEN’S LEVEL 3—MAXIMUM SECURITY
GREENWOOD, SOUTH CAROLINA
ADDITIONAL NOTE(S): UPON ADVICE OF CORRECTIONAL FACILITY PERSONNEL, SUBJECT WHYTHE WAS CONFINED TO THE INTERVIEW TABLE THROUGH USE OF RESTRAINTS.
TIME: 8:17 AM
JS: Please explain the nature of your past relationship with Chance Claybourne.
HW: The nature of it? He’s my fiancé, you dolt. We’re going to be married in the fall. It’s all settled.
JS: Miss Whythe, are you aware that your commitment to this facility is open-ended, pending a review by the South Carolina state mental health board?
HW: Pssh. Details. Chance and I are meant to be together. It was written in the stars. He’ll come for me as soon as he’s able. Chance can take care of anything. Even that silly little review board. You’ll see.
JS: Okay. Right. [PAUSE] In your dealings with Mr. Claybourne, did he ever exhibit any characteristics that were . . . unnatural?
HW: Of course.
JS: Please elaborate. In detail, if you could.
HW: Chance is the most honorable, gallant, wonderful man on planet Earth. That’s why I agreed to marry him. He’s better than anyone else alive. Sure, he can be a touch squeamish about the nastier bits of business that need taking care of from time to time, but I’d expect nothing less from such a pure heart. That’s why he chose me. To take care of those ugly things, so that he doesn’t have to. We’re the perfect team.
JS: Um, yes. Of course. But I was referring more to . . . physical attributes. Have you ever witnessed Mr. Claybourne exhibit extraordinary athletic abilities? Unnatural acuities? Has he ever displayed a preternatural sensory awareness? Things of that nature.
HW: Chance is a phenomenal athlete. He was the best player on Bolton Prep’s championship lacrosse team, by far. I should know, I never missed a single game.
JS: I’m not referring to normal abilities, I want to know—
BR: Let’s change gears here, shall we?
[AGENT ROGERS REPLACED AGENT SALTMAN AT INTERVIEW TABLE]
BR: I’d like to discuss a different subject. You’re familiar with a former classmate named Victoria Brennan? Goes by Tory?
[PAUSE]
BR: Miss Whythe? I’d like to know more about Tory Brennan. [PAUSE] I shouldn’t need to remind you that she’s one of the four Bolton Prep students you were charged with attempting to murder.
[PAUSE]
BR: The length of your stay in this facility is, at the moment, undetermined. The people we work for could help you, but only—
HW: How dare you question me about her.
BR: Miss Whythe, we need—
HW: That . . . tramp. I was so nice to her. I tried to help that snotty, hopeless, spineless little ingrate. And how did she repay me? By trying to steal Chance away! By ruining everything I’d planned!
BR: What do you—
HW: Tory just had to stick her nose into everything. Couldn’t leave her betters alone. She and her ghoulish nerd friends. I hate them!
BR: You said ghoulish. Why? Explain that word.
HW: You want ‘unnatural’? Take a look at those sneaking, thieving brats. They jumped Chance and me in the dark. Attacked us! Moving like shadows, or some band of underworld demons. There’s something wrong with them. All of them! Tory most of all. She moved so . . . too fast . . . too much . . . I could barely follow . . . they came from everywhere at once . . . glowing yellow eyes . . . I . . . I . . .
BR: Miss Wh—
HW: That grubby, meddling little nobody hurt me.
[PAUSE]
BR: Miss Whythe? Are you okay?
HW: You’re working for her, aren’t you? Both of you.
[PAUSE]
BR: Miss Whythe, I can assure you we aren’t—
[BACKGROUND NOISE; UNINTELLIGIBLE]
HW: [SCREAM]
[BACKGROUND NOISE; UNINTELLIGIBLE]
BR: [MUFFLED] JESUS! Get her off me!
JS: Rogers, you’re bleeding. It’s . . . oh man, it looks bad. [BACKGROUND NOISE] Guard! Guard! Get a medic in here!
[ALARM SOUNDS]
HW: Tory sent you, didn’t she?!? I’ll rip out your throats! No one will stand between me and Chance! NO ONE! We’re meant to be!
[END TRANSCRIPT]
SPECIAL NOTE(S): IT IS THE OPINION OF BOTH INTERVIEWING AGENTS THAT SUBJECT HANNAH WHYTHE IS HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND OF LIMITED USE TO THE INQUIRY.
“I can’t believe you invited Chance. Here, of all places!”
Ben paced the bunker like a caged animal, anger and frustration etched on his face. Coop watched him with narrowed eyes, his bushy tail tucked tightly to his body. After two more circuits, my furry companion rose and slunk into the back room, preferring the comfort of his doggie bed to the crackling tension filling our hideout’s main chamber.
Eight forty-five p.m. The earliest we could all escape. The sun had already sunk behind Schooner Creek, forcing us to light the bunker’s three floor lamps.
Hi was sitting at our drawing table in the chair farthest from Ben’s path. He wore khaki shorts and a jarring red-and-orange floral shirt. “How could we exclude him? Plus, Chance already knows where this place is.”
Shelton slouched beside Hi, eyes on his tennis shoes. He’d changed into a navy polo and white basketball shorts, but didn’t look comfortable. I sat cross-legged at our computer workstation, sporting brown shorts and a LIRI tee, trying to think of ways to calm Ben down.
“‘How could we exclude him’!?” Ben’s eyes nearly popped from his skull. He hadn’t changed from his usual look. Never did. “We’ve never invited an outsider here. Ever. This place is secret! Our oldest secret. A Virals secret, for God’s sake!”
Our bunker is a two-room dugout tucked into a sand hill at the northern end of Morris Island. Overlooking the entrance to Charleston Harbor, the ancient defensive work had long been abandoned by the time we converted it into a secret clubhouse. Funds acquired during a previous Virals adventure had paid for stunning upgrades, including a solar power array, kick-ass computer and AV hardware, and enough amenities to outclass your average college lounge.
No one, not even our parents, knew anything about it.
Until Chance found the place while spying on me.
“Chance isn’t an outsider.” My words stopped Ben in his tracks. “Not anymore. Not in this, anyway. He’s the one who tipped us to the wolf-head vandals in the first place!”
Ben’s dark eyes smoldered. “Chance Claybourne is not one of us.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Chance emerged from the bunker’s narrow crawl entrance, began wiping dirt from his shiny black Hugo Boss sweat suit. “I know more about Will Speckman than anyone. He’s already paid me one visit.”
“So you say.” Ben’s shoulders were taut as bowstrings. “For all we know, you’re responsible for this wolf-head nonsense. A bored little rich boy, playing some pathetic game to worm your way into our pack. Well, it’s not gonna happen.”
Hi frowned, then stroked his chin.
Shelton continued a meticulous study of his footwear.
I could feel an avalanche about to shake loose, but was powerless to stop it.
“I desecrated my own house?” Chance snorted in disbelief. “Then swam out to Fort Sumter and played paint-by-numbers on the walls, all to make Benjamin Blue like me? Don’t flatter yourself, kid.”
Ben’s eyes cut like diamonds. “You act like such a big shot. But you don’t fool me. Do you have any friends, Chance? Is there a single person who cares where you are right now?”
“Ben!” I blurted, horrified. “That’s not—”
“You’re one to talk.” Chance stepped closer to Ben and matched him glare for glare. “I’ve never betrayed my friends. Not like you, eh, Benjamin?”
Ben’s whole body went still. “What did you say?”
“Guys, guys!” Hi half rose, palms up. “There’s no need for anyone to get upset. I’ve got Go-Gurt in the mini-fridge. I know when I get hungry, my manners can—”
“Shut up, Hi.” Ben and Chance, in unison.
“Okay, then.” Hi flopped back into his seat, a sheen of sweat glistening his brow.
Chance’s face was granite as he stared down my friend. “You may not like me, Benjamin. You might not consider me one of your pack. But I’m Viral, too. I can show you, if you’d like.”
The dam burst.
Before I could speak, golden light ignited in Ben’s eyes.
“You’re a newborn puppy,” Ben hissed. “Not even housebroken.”
“A puppy?” Red fire infused Chance’s irises. “You’re nothing but a mangy, sullen stray. But come on then, if you want to test my claws.”
The air left the room as both boys teetered on the brink of violence.
I hurried between them. I’d never seen flaring Virals fight—couldn’t imagine it, really—and had no intention of witnessing such a display now.
“Stop it, both of you!” A hand shot toward each of them, though neither was paying me the slightest attention. Their eyes were locked. Neither would look away first.
The situation balanced on a knife’s edge.
“Ben!” I squared my shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “I invited Chance here. Me. Chance is Viral, just like us. Like it or not, he’s involved now. If you’ve got a problem with that, take a swing at me.”
Ben’s face blanched. “I would never—”
He backed up a step, then spun to stare out the cannon slit.
I wheeled on Chance. “And you! I expected better, Claybourne. What happened between the four of us is our business, not yours. It’s in the past, and that’s where it’s going to stay. If you can’t act like an adult, just crawl right back out of here, and deal with your problems alone. Understood?”
Chance’s lips quirked. “Understood.”
I nodded curtly, heart beating like a drum. “Then stand down. Both of you.”
Chance closed his eyes. His body shuddered, then sagged. Face pale, Chance wobbled to the table and sat. “I still don’t quite . . . can’t control . . .”
He began coughing so violently that Hi reached over and pounded his back.
“That happen every time?” Shelton asked.
Chance nodded, still hacking into his fist. “I can turn it on easy enough . . . but shutting down a flare is a . . . it can be tough.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “Floors me sometimes.”
Ben’s back was to me as he stared out at the Atlantic.
“Ben?”
He glanced over his shoulder, brown eyes filled with poorly concealed hurt. “What?”
“Why don’t we discuss what we came here
to?” Trying to banish the storm clouds still darkening the room. “Let’s focus on Will Speckman. Do we think he’s responsible for what happened at Fort Sumter?”
I joined Chance, Shelton, and Hi at the drawing table. Ben held back, eyeing us from across the bunker. Finally, he sat down on the window bench and crossed his arms.
Detached, but listening. Best I was going to get.
I sat back in my chair and looked to Chance. “Did you find out anything else about Speckman? Why he dropped out of school? Where he might be now?”
Chance shook his head. “I know where Will’s parents live, but he’s not there. They still don’t know anything’s wrong, as far as I can tell. We can check his dorm room, but his roommate said Will packed up and left weeks ago.”
Hi tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Where would he go without telling anyone?”
Chance shrugged. “Who knows? We weren’t close, even when he worked for me. I just knew him from Bolton. He could be anywhere.”
“Come on, y’all. Seems obvious to me.” Shelton slipped off his glasses and wiped them on his shirtsleeve. “He’s probably with whoever else has flaming red eyes.”
My thought. “That makes the most sense.”
Chance shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. Disbelief? Or something else?
“We don’t know anything about these other Virals,” Shelton grumbled. “Not even how many there are.”
Ben’s voice arrowed across the room. “Three.”
We all turned. Even Chance.
“They drew three more wolf heads on the wall at Fort Sumter.” Ben stared straight ahead at nothing as he spoke. “Just like the sign around that jackass statue’s neck. Hi was right—if they keep drawing three figures in their stupid paintings, there must be three of them.”
Chance’s brow furrowed. “By why Fort Sumter? That made the news, for Pete’s sake.”
“Seems like your visit was personal.” Hi’s expression was deadly serious. “Speckman obviously holds a grudge. But the mess out at Sumter was a public announcement.”
“Oh man, that’s bad.” Shelton’s fingers found his earlobe. “We can’t have some rogue group of Virals acting the fool all over town. They’ll get caught. Then what happens?”