I tried to break his grip, but Jason was the only seventeen-year-old I knew whose house had a live-in physical trainer and a full-sized gym. He might not be a werewolf, but he was still above average in the strength department.
“Kyle’s fine,” he said, letting go of me so he could force open the greenhouse door. “I saw him leave the sanatorium from across the courtyard.”
He managed to get the door open.
Before he could turn or step aside, I shoved him through, slapping my hands against his back so hard that I felt the sting in my palms. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that in the first place instead of just grabbing me?”
Jason stumbled over the threshold. “Might have if you had slowed down for two seconds.”
Of course. Stupid me. I followed him inside, resisting the urge to strangle him.
The greenhouse’s tinted glass walls were caked with decades of grime, and the light that managed to filter through was almost murky.
It felt like we were standing in a dirty fishbowl. I pulled in a deep breath and immediately regretted it. “Ugh. It smells like something died in here.”
Jason glanced at the corner and frowned. “Something did.”
“Oh, ewwww.” I turned back for the door, but he got there before me and blocked my way.
“Sure. Sneaking into a rehabilitation camp? No problem. One dead gopher? She runs for the hills.” He reached into his pocket, then held out a folded sheet of paper. “From your father.”
I ignored the snark and snatched the letter.
An old wooden counter ran the length of one wall. I walked over to it and leaned against the edge as I turned the letter over in my hands. I glanced up. Jason was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. It almost looked like hunger, but that didn’t make any sense.
“How did you get in here?” I asked, shaking my head. “What happened to you after the raid and”—I stared at his neck and frowned—“where’s your tattoo?”
He started with the last question first. “One of the local guys was a makeup artist in Hollywood. Supposedly it’s the same stuff Johnny Depp uses to hide his ‘Wino Forever’ tattoo on shoots.”
“Local guy as in werewolf or local guy as in Tracker?”
Jason just looked at me and I knew it was the latter. “They got you in.” My throat constricted. “Why would they help you?”
“Money, mostly.” There was a small crate near his feet and Jason stepped on the edge, flipping it over onto its side. “Plus, being the last person to speak to Derby before his death comes with a weird sort of prestige. Thornhill’s hard up for counselors and guards. It wasn’t too difficult for them to get me in.”
I shook my head. “But why would they think you wanted in? Someone doesn’t just wake up one morning and decide they want to see the inside of a rehabilitation camp.”
“Kyle. I told them I followed a wolf from Hemlock—one I thought might have killed Amy. Trackers are big on revenge.”
I stared at him, horror-struck. “You told them Kyle might have killed Amy?
“I needed an excuse. That’s all it was.”
“And what happens when we get out of here? Don’t you think they’ll want to hunt the wolf they think killed both the granddaughter of a senator and Branson Derby?”
“I didn’t give them Kyle’s real name or age or anything that would lead them to him. Give me some credit.” Jason ran a hand over his face. “Look, I had to tell them something. I had to get in here long enough to get you out.”
“What about Kyle and Serena?”
“They’re werewolves, Mac.”
I pushed away from the counter. After everything that had happened in Hemlock . . . After everything he’d seen . . . “So, what? They deserve to be in here? They’re infected so just write them off?”
Jason’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed. Just for a second, he looked like a man who desperately wanted to hit something. “Of course not. But they can take care of themselves. They’re not going to get electrocuted by a souped-up Taser or gutted by someone who doesn’t know what they are. You need to get out of here. Once you’re outside the camp, we’ll figure something out. They’ll be safe until we do.”
A harsh, bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat. “They’re not safe,” I said miserably. “They’re probably in more trouble than I am.” Briefly, I recounted what had happened since we arrived: Serena being taken and maybe being sick. Dex and his theory about Willowgrove. The graveyard. Sinclair and her sister.
When I was finished, Jason frowned and tugged on his shirt collar. “I’ve never heard anything about a secret camp or anything called Willowgrove. And I’ve heard a lot over the last few days.”
He nodded at the letter I still held clasped in my hand. “It was your father’s idea for me to use the Trackers to get in. Don’t get me wrong, I would have thought of it on my own, but he suggested it before I had a chance.”
“Why?” I unfolded the paper. A set of instructions and a time were scrawled in my father’s looping handwriting. I turned the page over. There was nothing else. Not even his name. Either name.
I scanned the instructions. “Western fence. Unscrew casing. Cut white wire. Replace casing. Test with reader.” I glanced up. “Jason, what is this?”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slim black case. He held the case out to me, and I set the letter down on the counter before taking it.
Inside were two screwdrivers, the smallest pair of wire cutters I had ever seen, and an electronic device the size of an iPhone. I pulled out the device. It was black with a yellow power button and a small digital display on the front. There was a volume wheel on the side. I turned it over. A label reading
“They use them to check the HFDs,” explained Jason. “It picks up the frequency they emit and converts it to a sound regs can hear. No sound and the HFD is down—usually because of weather or animals.”
I remembered that Eve and I had seen that guard, Tanner, checking the HFD in the woods.
“That’s why Hank wanted me to get in,” Jason added. “He needed someone to give you or Eve the letter and to get you one of those readers.”
I frowned. “Me or Eve?”
Jason nodded. “Whichever one of you I saw first.”
I glanced at the letter. I tried to tell myself that it was stupid to feel hurt and rejected over a folded sheet of paper, but part of me wondered how Eve and I could be interchangeable. How, between us, we hadn’t warranted a single “be careful.”
“He’ll meet the two of you tonight along the western edge of the fence at two thirty. Just pick a spot and disable any HFDs in the way. It should be pretty easy—though I didn’t have a chance to test the instructions. We can do a trial run before curfew. If you want.”
I slid the device back into the case, then slipped the whole thing into my pocket. “How did he know any of this? How did he know there were HFDs in the camp or how to disconnect them?”
“Apparently, one of the women who designed Thornhill’s security system was laid off. Without severance.” A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Revenge really does make the world go round.” He glanced down at his watch. “Ten minutes until lunch. I guess I’d better walk you back in case Sinclair checks up on me.”
He headed to the door and pulled it open.
I grabbed Hank’s letter and shoved it into my pocket. “Jason?”
He turned in the doorway.
I swallowed. “What now?” He stared at me, confused, and I elaborated. “You want me to go, but I’m not leaving without Kyle and Serena. Where does that leave us?”
He stepped outside. I followed.
“What class do you have?”
“The Impact of LS on Society. Classroom D.” He started walking. Uncertainly, I fell into step beside him. “Jason?”
He sighed. “You were right. We can’t leave them here. We have to find a way to get them out.”
“A Tracker who cares about two wolves.” I meant it as a joke, but the words came out soft and without a
