Betrayals

was still dewed with rain from outside. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

Oh, I’m just fine. Not. I reached down under the table and grabbed his hand, slipping my fingers through his. His skin was warm, and my heart took off pounding in an entirely new way.

“Everything’s all wrong.” I squeezed his fingers hard. “It’s fucking awful.”

He squeezed back. A flush crept up into his sallow cheeks. Under the Asian coloring he could really change it up. “Not everything. We’re here, right? And we’re safe during the day.”

“Yeah.” A million questions boiled up inside me. Everything from Do you mind that I ruined your life? to Can you imagine hating someone so much you sell them to a sucker?

“Hey. Whoa.” His grip intensified, stopped just short of pain. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Dru. It’s gonna work out.”

“I don’t know.” I stared at the fake wood of the tabletop, its plastic topping peeling up. “We haven’t seen any of the djamphir from the school.”

“Yeah, I been thinking about that.” His tone dropped confidentially. A trickle of customers had started in through the swinging glass door. “Dru, if things happen…”

“What kind of things?”

“You know what I’m talking about. If it gets bad, Dru, I’m going with you.”

My hand cramped a little. Neither of us let go. He took a deep breath and his eyes met mine squarely, the green circles around his pupils glowing even with the electric lights in here. Rain coated the front window of the pizza parlor, shadows moving like weeds underwater.

“I…” Words failed me.

“’Cause I’ve been thinking. You had your bag and you had three sweaters on. You were heading out.”

Oh Christ. I opened my mouth. Shut it.

“See, normally I’d get upset about that. But I think you thought you were going to help me out by leaving me someplace you thought was safer for me than you. Right?”

My head fell down into a nod. I picked it back up. My mouth felt like it was hanging open.

“Don’t do that.” He leaned a little closer, and the rest of the world went away. “Okay? Don’t leave me behind.”

“They’re looking to kill me,” I whispered. “You don’t get that. It’s for real. It’s—”

“What do you think I was doing at school, playing footsie?” Irritation made his matching whisper sharp. “You’ve got a better chance with me, Dru. Don’t do something stupid again. If something happens, it’s you and me against the world. Got it?”

I was saved by Dibs showing back up at the table. “You’re supposed to get your own drinks.” He popped a stack of red plastic cups on the table. “I think this is the only place in three states that serves Mr. Pibb. Awesome, huh?”

“Completely.” Graves gave my hand another meaningful squeeze under the table, then slid out and grabbed two cups. “Whaddaya want, Dru?”

“Um. Coke. Pepsi. Whatever.”

“Not diet?” Dibs wanted to know.

“Are you kidding?” Graves bumped him with a shoulder, but gently. “That shit’ll kill you. Back in a flash.”

Dinner was fast food in another weird little town, and the light was failing when Christophe finally found a freeway he liked. “No smoking in the car,” he said for the fifteenth time.

I’d kept count.

“Do you really want to see me in nicotine withdrawal?” Graves flicked the lighter, inhaled, and exhaled. His window was down and the sound of wet tires on the road melded with the hum of the engine and the back-and- forth of the windshield wipers, and the Rolling Stones singing about a beast of burden on the radio. “Tell him, Dru.”

I rolled my eyes. None of them would see it, but it made me feel better. “Since when was I appointed referee? I hate to ask, Christophe, but how much longer?”

“We’re almost to a safe location. Or what passes for one.” He rolled his window down a little and wrinkled his nose, and I took a pull off my vanilla milkshake. “Moving after dark isn’t a good idea.”

“Because that’s when the vampires are out,” Shanks chimed in, a singsong that managed to be creepy and sarcastic all at once. “And they like to eat little svetocha.”

“Blow me.” I propped one boot on the dashboard. It wasn’t like a trip with Dad. He and I could go just about forever without talking, with only my brief comments to navigate him through tangles of overpasses and surface streets.

“Don’t make me stop this car.” Christophe turned the radio up a little. The Stones faded and the Beach Boys started singing about California girls.

Shanks made a retching noise. “God, when are you going to play some decent music?”

“What’s wrong with the Beach Boys? Brian Wilson was a genius.” I tapped my foot to the beat.

“Amen,” Christophe muttered, and twisted the radio dial another increment. “Now everyone shut up, I have to find this place.”

“If you had a map, I could help.” I wasn’t liking this not-knowing-where-we-were thing, but Christophe had refused to buy a map when we stopped at a gas station, and I had to save my cash.

I didn’t know when I’d need it.

“No need.” He slowed down, hit the blinker, cut left across two lanes of traffic, and zoomed us onto a side street. Horns blared behind us, and I almost dropped my milkshake. “We’re here.”

“Goddammit!” I clutched at my waxed-paper cup. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The boys in the back were laughing, troll-like snickers and chuckles. We turned right, then left, and plunged under a canopy of bare branches. It looked like this street had been paved sometime back in the ’50s, and the trees marching down either side were wet and black and naked under the iron-gray sky. Dark was approaching.

“Was that really necessary?” I popped the top back on my milkshake, I’d crumpled the cup, dammit. “I mean, really?”

“Streets change.” Christophe cut the steering wheel hard again and bumped us up into an overgrown driveway. “I actually wasn’t sure until I saw that water tower. All right, kids. Everyone out, and you’ll find the garage unlocked. Bobby, open it, if you please.”

The boys in back scrambled out in a trice, and I reached for my door handle. The house was narrow and dark, white siding and a peaked roof. It had a glassed-in storm porch, and dead leaves covered the postage-stamp-size front yard. The street was quiet and had the air of genteel shabbiness most really old, expensive neighborhoods do. I’d bet the neighborhood association really went overboard for Christmas and probably held meetings when someone didn’t rake their leaves. They must have righteous fits over this place.

“Dru.” Christophe reached over and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were warm and very hard, just short of bruising. The milkshake teetered. “You stay.”

A slice of darkness opened, Shanks hefting the garage door like it weighed nothing. The car nosed forward as he made little shooing movements with his free hand. He grinned, white teeth flashing.

When the engine shut off, the silence was deafening. It was a familiar silence, though, one I heard every time Dad shut off the car someplace that was supposed to be our new temporary home.

“I think it’s best you ward your room tonight. Since you can.” Christophe pulled the keys free of the ignition. “And sleep in your clothes.”

I was planning on that anyway. “Yeah.”

“I’ll sleep at your door.” He gave me a sideways glance, blue eyes firing in the gloom as Shanks pulled the garage door down. There was barely enough room to get the car doors open, and the entire cube of concrete- floored space was empty and bare. “Do you understand?”

I wouldn’t bet a penny on me understanding anything right about now. I was tired, my entire body ached from all the excitement and sitting in a car for hours and hours, and my stomach was unhappy with the fast food. I never thought I’d be missing school food or having to cook my own damn meals, but there it was. “I guess so.” I pulled against his hand. “Let go.”

“Not until I’m sure you understand. I did not betray your mother, Dru. It… it just isn’t possible.”