The Hunter And The Hunted

swiped them away as she leaned over, ignoring the blood as she hugged me tentatively, then tighter, when I didn’t evaporate at her touch.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Everything’s okay.”

Only it wasn’t. We were in a room with dead people. Dead people who’d been carved up and ripped up and chewed on, and at any moment someone was going to come through the station door and find blood and entrails decorating the chief’s office.

Jaime was right. We had to get out of here. And, yes, that meant that after eleven years, I couldn’t stop to hug my mother, even though she might disappear back to the afterlife at any moment. But that’s how it was. Life isn’t fair. Not when there are bodies to dispose of.

It took about thirty seconds to realize that we couldn’t do it. Hiding the bodies was useless, given the sheer amount of blood. All we could do was take the first-aid kit-which we’d touched-look around and determine that we hadn’t touched anything else except the baton in the door. Take that, too. Smear our footprints in the blood. Hope that my blood would go undetected. Pray we hadn’t shed hairs-rather, pray they weren’t found. Really, in general, we just prayed that the Cortezes could cover this up.

Could even a Cabal cover it up? I wasn’t so sure. Didn’t want to think about that.

Next we went into the locker room to find clean shirts for Mom and me. We grabbed a blouse and a gym top from Medina’s locker. Jaime changed into Medina’s sneakers. They weren’t a great fit, but they’d do, though she insisted on taking her heels, too-they were her favorites. My jacket was back in the cell, remarkably clean. My wallet and Jaime’s purse were in the front room. Mom found our processing papers hidden inside Medina’s desk. We took those, too.

Last and maybe most important was video surveillance. But we got lucky there. The camera was an old tape one that only monitored the reception room. We’d never been in there. I grabbed the tape anyway.

Before we left, I borrowed Jaime’s phone-which had been in her purse-and texted Adam. A simple we’re fine, don’t come after us. Last thing we needed was to have Adam and Jeremy show up right as the authorities discovered the bloodbath within.

I didn’t even have time to put the phone away before he texted back. Can u call?

Mom leaned over to read the screen and shook her head. “Later.”

I texted back soon.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kelley Armstrong is the author of the New York Times bestselling Otherworld series, as well as the young adult trilogy Darkest Powers and other titles. She lives in rural Ontario with her family.

To celebrate the publication of Thirteen, the epic finale to the Otherworld series, we’re giving away thirteen exclusive Otherworld necklaces July 12-24, 2012.

Visit www.penguin.com/thirteen for details.

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