Strange Angels

going to have to do what I say.”

Amazingly, he smiled at me. “You’re bossy.” His pupils were still huge, but a little color had begun to come back into his face, especially along his cheekbones. “I like bossy chicks.”

Jesus. At least someone around here was feeling better. “Shut up. You’re going to have to do exactly what I tell you to do. Got it?” Or we’ll get arrested. Or maybe just killed.

“Sure. You do this to all your dates?” It was a type of courage over a screaming well of panic. He was really a brave kid, or maybe it was just the shock.

“I don’t date.” I never stay anyplace long enough to date. “Is that silver?” I pointed to his earring, forgetting I still had the gun in my hand until he flinched. He covered it well.

“I guess so. The guy I bought it from said it was.”

“What about that? The chain?” This time I used my left hand to point at his necklace. My bag’s down in his room. I need my bag.

It was too risky. All of this was too risky. If I went back down to Graves’s little bolt-hole, we could be caught by the cops (bad) or caught by the possibly rabid werwulf (even worse), healed and ready for round two. They recovered quick. I had to get both of us out of here.

I need my bag. The urge was like the urge to pee. I wanted my bag the way little kids want a hug after they’ve scraped their knees, the way you want sunshine after a long rainy month, or a drink of water in the desert.

“The chain’s silver.” Some sense came back into his eyes. Giving him questions to answer was a good idea.

“Good. I’m going to go get my bag. You stay here.”

That made his eyes wide and wild, the pupils shrinking so the green irises showed. “Don’t leave me here!” He scraped himself away from the stall, his voice bouncing off tiles.

I shushed him again. “Look,” I whispered fiercely, “you don’t know how to move under cover. I’m going to go down and get my bag. I’ll come back for you and I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“It’s not safe here?” Sarcasm tinted his tone, but at least he said it quietly. “Jesus. What was that thing?”

“Werwulf. I told you.” I looked nervously at the entrance, hoping nobody heard us, hoping nobody was in this part of the mall. Were they gone? It wasn’t like the cops to clear a scene in under an hour. Then again, if it just looked like a really weird vandalism thing, they might not stay too long. There had to be plenty of other stuff happening out in the world tonight. Bad weather always strains the emergency infrastructure.

I chewed my already-sore lower lip, tried to think. I needed my bag, and I needed to get us both out of the mall and back to the only safe place I knew. How would Dad do it?

If I thought about it that way it seemed almost doable. Almost. Except for the not-having-any-idea-what-to- do-next part.

“Stay here.” I was already thinking about cover, plotting out routes and backtracks.

Graves grabbed my arm with surprising strength. “Dru. Don’t leave me. Please.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up and do what I told him, but then I got a good look at him. Deathly pale, the high spots of feverish color still standing out on his cheeks, about ready to fall over by the way he swayed on his feet, his fingers biting into my upper arm. His other arm hung limp and useless.

If I left him here in the girls’ bathroom, I might come back and find him unresponsive or already changing. I struggled to think clearly, but my clear-thinker seemed busted. I should have left him there. Dad might have shot him just to cut down on the variables; he would definitely be telling me to get a move on. The longer I stayed here, the more dangerous it was.

I didn’t have anyone else, and I was the reason Graves had been bit. It must hurt like hell.

“Dru.” He couldn’t speak louder than a sandpapery whisper, and his fingers dug in with feverish strength. I was going to bruise there, too—if I hadn’t already. There didn’t seem to be an unbruised place on my body. We were both in pretty bad shape.

Another thought rose: Graves’s arm awkwardly around me while I cried. He hadn’t asked questions or tried any funny business.

I couldn’t leave him here.

“All right,” I told us both. “Stay right behind me. Move the way I do. We’re going to try to stay under cover. How many different ways can you get me down to your room?”

The relief crossing his transparent face bit me hard in the chest. If he hadn’t been so pale, he would have looked like Christmas. “Four or five. Take your pick.” He swayed, caught himself, and tried to straighten. “I’ll keep up. Just don’t leave me.”

Four or five different routes was good news, if I kept him conscious enough to navigate me. “Okay.” I tried again to think clearly, failed just as miserably as before. “I need my bag, and our best option’s a bus route that’s still going out east. Are any going to be running?”

“The 53.” He nodded, his hair flopping in his face. Even his nose looked pale, for God’s sake. “Runs all night, even when it snows. I can get you there.”

I took an experimental step toward the entrance. He swayed after me, and I thought I had maybe twenty minutes before I had to hold him up.

Move it, Dru. “Okay,” I said again. “You and me, Graves. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 12

The buses were still running. Chained up and slow as hell on their nighttime schedule, but they were still running in the right direction, and we had our first bit of luck catching the 53 almost as soon as we got to the stop across the main thoroughfare from the mall.

We looked normal enough, shivering and cold; bus drivers don’t look too closely if you don’t seem actively inebriated. A cab was a lost cause—it also occurred to me during the wait at the bus stop that cabbies are probably inordinately curious about their passengers. That was no good.

I watched my house from the corner, shivering in my boots. Graves slumped against me. He’d been almost okay on the bus, but now his head hung and strings of wet curly hair fell in his eyes, curtaining his milk-pale face. His eyes were dilated again, and his lips were close to blue.

Snow in my front yard was pristine. The truck was still missing from the driveway. The light in the living room was on, a rich golden glow in the gloomy orange snow-city light. Thick flakes of white whirled down; both of us were covered in the stuff because I’d dragged Graves off the bus two streets away. He’d almost pitched headfirst into a drift, and we had to walk in the road because of the snowplows racking up mountains of frozen, slushy chunks of ick in the gutters. The sidewalks were damn near iced over and impassable, and sand crunched under my boots. Our tracks would be obliterated in less than half an hour.

Can werwulfen track through snow? Especially if they have a blood trail—I’ll bet they can smell it. I shivered at the thought. I didn’t even want to think about what the burning dog and the werwulf had been looking for.

Because there was only one answer for that, wasn’t there? It was an answer I’d run up against on the bus, the gun a cold weight in my pocket and Graves slumped against me, his head bobbling a little bit as we were bounced around.

It looked like nobody had messed with the house. It looked like the shooting had gone unnoticed. Snow made sound carry itself around weird, and the house had been pretty closed up. I wondered if anyone would have found me yet if the zombie had done what it set out to do.

Now there was a nice, happy thought.

There was no cover, but I didn’t want to struggle around through the drifts to the back. For one thing, I didn’t want to see the shattered debris of the door the zombie had come through any sooner than I had to. For another, Graves was slumping more and more heavily each passing second. I was doing okay keeping him moving, but I