Betrayals

Oh. Was that what he was talking about? “Yeah, Christophe. At this point, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you.”

Graves tapped at the half-open driver’s window. “Hey, Christophe. Pop the trunk, will you?”

Christophe let go of me reluctantly, and I yanked the door handle. Dibs already had the door open into something that looked like a utility room, and warm electric light flooded out when he flicked the switch.

“Smells all right.” The blond wulf half-turned. “Like nobody’s been here in a while, but the lights are on.”

“Check every room.” Christophe rose out of the car gracefully, and I wrestled my bag out and slammed my door. “Robert?”

“On it.” Shanks bounded up the steps and pushed past Dibs. “Stay back, Dibby. Let the professionals work.”

Dibs snorted. “Just tell me when I can pee.”

I seconded that emotion, and headed for the bright opening. “When will we get to the Schola? I mean, the other Schola?”

“Tomorrow, a little after noon. I want to do it in broad daylight, and I want everyone to be able to see you. That way, you’re safer.” Christophe took a step forward, and the hot tension invading the air made me stop and look back over my shoulder.

Graves stood near the back of the car, hands in the pockets of his long dark coat. He wasn’t looking at Christophe, though. He had his chin tilted up, and he was staring straight at me. His irises were rings of green fire, the pupils reflecting an odd gold-green tint. Like a cat’s eyes at night.

Christophe’s shoulders stiffened as he stepped forward, right over the barrier between “space” and “someone’s personal space.” Graves didn’t move.

Christophe took another half-step. “You’ll have to get out of the way.” His tone was deceptively mild, but I’ve seen so many shoving matches erupt in school hallways. All the signs were there.

Graves lowered his head a little. He stared directly at the djamphir for just two seconds longer than he would have if he was being polite, but just a second less than an actual challenge. “Close quarters. Hey, Dru. Wait for me.”

I ducked through my bag strap, settling it across my body. “Hurry up, will you?” My voice cracked. For some reason, I didn’t want to see the two of them get into the same stupid petty grandstanding I’d seen a million times.

Graves was loup-garou, and Christophe was djamphir. Werwulfen and djamphir pushing each other, the violence and disdain boiling just under the surface. Like jocks and nerds, no, that wasn’t quite right. Like two sets of jocks, each with a reason to hate the other. And I didn’t so much blame the wulfen. The way the djamphir treated them wasn’t quite a crime, but it was close.

There was something else between these two boys, though. Something vicious and snarling just under the surface.

It probably had to do with the heat rising up in me, staining my cheeks with fire. I took a deep sharp breath.

Graves turned on his heel. His back was presented like an insult, and he skirted the rest of the car.

I stood, watching. When he got to me, he reached down and grabbed my hand. His fingers were warm too, but they didn’t hurt.

The sound of the trunk opening was very loud, but when I glanced back, Christophe’s head was down. “Samuel. Come help.”

Samuel? I blinked.

Dibs twitched. “Right. Sure.” He hopped past us. The car dripped, its hood ticking as the engine started cooling down, and I decided I really needed to be somewhere else. Rain swept restlessly against the roof.

I pulled Graves up the two steps into the utility room. There was an ugly avocado-green washer and dryer, a big utility sink, and not much more. The kitchen past it was likewise bare, and I felt more than heard Shanks prowling the house.

“What did you do that for?” I whispered, but Graves just grinned. Not his usual pained half-smile, and not the wide-open sunny grin I liked best on him. No, this was a wide, wolfish grimace, showing every centimeter of tooth he could dredge up.

“Just so he knows, Dru. I’m gonna go help Bobby. Stay here, right?” And he slipped through my fingers and was gone.

Oh, for the love of, I couldn’t even finish the sentence mentally, it was so ridiculous. Dad used to time me while I swept every new house we moved into; he and I also practiced doing it as a team.

Graves was getting all he-man, when a couple months ago he hadn’t even known the Real World existed.

Yeah, things were changing all right.

I stood in the middle of a kitchen that looked like it had last seen a meal cooked back in the ’70s, breathing and listening to the house creak. The windows were full of the bruised, fading light of dusk. I could hear all of them, wulfen and djamphir alike.

And I still felt completely alone.

* * *

The Schola burned around me as I ran, my arms and legs too heavy. It was like running through molasses, not the clear Lucite the world turned into when the muscle inside my head flexed, but a brown-tinged tide of terror dragging at every inch of flesh.

They were behind me. I could hear them howling, something between a vampire’s glassy, hateful cry and the screams of an enraged werwulf. They ran in lockstep, boots hitting the ground in parade cadence, and the walls cringed and burned away from the sound.

There were doors on either side of the hall. I blundered into them, tugging at the knobs, but they were all locked. My fingers scorched, and as I rattled each door I could hear the boys behind them screaming. The smoke stung my eyes and filled my nose. And it was my fault they were there, because the things that were after me didn’t care who they hurt.

It was all my fault, just like Dad. He was dead because I hadn’t told him about Gran’s owl, and Gran was dead because I was just a kid and couldn’t save her, and Mom was dead too because—

“Dru!” A fierce whisper.

It was because of me, all because of me, and the growls and shrieks rose as the hallway stretched out into infinity and the jackbooted footsteps got closer. There was no turn in the corridor, and any moment they would be able to see me. The flames hissed and whispered, cackling in dirty little voices that reached inside my head and scraped the curves of my skull dry.

“Dru! Wake up!” Someone shaking me.

I sat bolt-upright, clawing at empty air, and swallowed a scream. Graves had my shoulder, his fingers biting in as he avoided my thrashing. The mattress in here was thin and cold, set on the empty floor, but it was better than downstairs, at least the bedrooms were carpeted.

“Hey.” Graves’ eyes gleamed. The blinds on the window weren’t tilted up or down, and thin moonlight shone through, fighting with streetlamp light. The rain had stopped. “You were dreaming.”

I grabbed for him. He put his arms around me and squeezed. My heart pounded so hard it threatened to come out my throat. He’d unzipped the two sleeping bags and laid his coat over both of us, and it had been surprisingly comfortable until, I guess, I started thrashing and kicked them off. I buried my face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck and breathed him in. Cigarette smoke, whatever deodorant he used, the tang of loup-garou.

He held me, and it didn’t seem awkward at all until he patted my back clumsily. “Dru.”

“What?” My whisper cracked in half, fell down his shirt. I breathed out, back in. Don’t move.

Just for a second, don’t move. Let me pretend I can count on someone.

The thought was gone as soon as it showed up; I shoved it hastily away. I was doing a lot of that lately. As a