Thornhill

and made her skin look even paler than usual. “If it was the Rapture, there’d be little piles of clothes everywhere. I saw it on one of those Predictions of the Bible shows.” Her footsteps didn’t make a sound as she walked toward me. “Besides, you wouldn’t be the only one left.”

I swallowed. “Because I’m not that bad?”

“Because the rest of Hemlock isn’t that good.” She took my hand. Her skin was cold and clammy: a corpse’s grip I couldn’t break. “Come on,” she said, tugging me down the street and around the corner.

“This is all wrong,” I murmured. We were on Windsor even though Windsor wasn’t anywhere near the river. And instead of a paved street, the road was rough gravel.

When I realized where she was leading me, no amount of force could pull me forward. I stared at the alley where Ben had killed her. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t avoid it forever.”

I finally wrenched my hand free. “Why are you still here? Is it because I let Ben get away? Because I let them take Serena?”

Amy pulled a piece of bloodred candy out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth. “Maybe I’m here because I’m lonely and you’re my bestie, ever think of that?” She sighed and kicked at the stones beneath her feet. “You don’t really believe that stuff you told Eve, do you? About how maybe your father isn’t the person he used to be?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. I had always avoided talking about my pre-Hemlock life with Amy—at least as much as I could. There was no way she would have understood what it was like to grow up with nothing and to have a father who put you—your safety, your well-being, your everything—dead last.

There was something in Amy’s eyes that looked horribly close to pity. “You had it right the first time. People don’t change. They let you down and betray you. You can’t count on anyone.”

“I’m not counting on Hank.”

“I’m not talking about just Hank.”

A chill swept down my spine. “Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it.”

She shook her head. “You’re not ready for this. None of you are.”

She started to walk away.

“Amy, wait!” I ran after her and tripped. I fell to my hands and knees and the gravel dug into my palms. I looked down. What I had taken for ordinary rocks were shards of bone.

“Three blind mice,” whispered Amy. “See what happens when they run.” She glanced over her shoulder as someone called my name. “There’s never enough time,” she said sadly. As she turned back to me, bloodstains blossomed across her T-shirt and darkness swallowed the street.

“Mac!” someone hissed.

I opened my eyes, and Eve’s red hair and slight frame came into focus.

“Look,” she whispered, nodding across the room.

I rolled over as quietly as I could. It was sometime before dawn, but Eve and I weren’t the only ones who were awake. Halfway across the room, two guards quietly stripped one of the beds and emptied out a dresser. Moments later, a counselor led a new girl to the bunk.

“Orientation will be in an hour,” said the counselor, voice pitched low. “Try to get some rest until then.”

The mattress groaned as the girl sat on the edge. She didn’t lie down. I flashed back on what it had been like—the blood test, the haircut, the shower—and couldn’t blame her for not wanting to sleep.

“Whose bed was that?” I whispered, once the counselor and guards were gone. Eve and I had claimed the last two bunks when we arrived. Someone had gone missing in order for this girl to have a place.

“Shayla House. The one who tried to start something with me the other morning.”

The girl with the foxlike face. The one whose mother ruled one of the other Denver packs. My throat suddenly went dry. In Thornhill, who you were really didn’t matter.

The noonday sun filtered through the dirt-caked roof of the greenhouse. Dust motes hung in the air and left a dry taste on my tongue. The smell was just as bad as it had been yesterday—though continued exposure did seem to make it slightly more bearable. Emphasis on slightly.

I stared at Jason. “What do you mean Serena doesn’t exist?”

The four of us sat around a rickety table—Eve across from Jason, Kyle across from me—with stacks of guard rosters and delivery schedules spread out between us. While we had been stuck in class, Jason had spent the morning gathering information on anything and everything that might help us get Serena out of the sanatorium.

We had to assume she was there. Any alternative was unbearable.

Jason reached up to scratch his neck, but caught himself before he could chip away the makeup covering his tattoo. “The LSRB keeps tabs on every wolf in every camp. There are four Serenas in their database. None are at Thornhill and none are the right age. And that’s not all.” He glanced at Eve. “The Trackers told me they delivered fifty-seven wolves in September. The LSRB only has forty-three Thornhill registrations on record for that month.”

“They don’t want anyone—not even the LSRB—knowing how many heads are really coming in.” Kyle’s brown eyes darkened until they were almost black. “It makes Dex’s theory sound a lot less crazy.”

A chill swept through my body. “That means . . .” I had to swallow and start again. “That means anything could happen to Serena and there would be no record of it. Sinclair could do anything to her”—could kill her—“and no one but us would ever even know she had been here.”

“We’ll get her out,” promised Kyle. “We’ll get her out of the sanatorium before anything can happen to her.”

A flurry of “what-ifs” flew to my lips, but I held them back. What if something’s already happened to her? What if we’re too late? What if Sinclair was telling the truth and Serena really is sick? They were questions we didn’t have the answers to and asking them would only make us go in circles.

“We have to get her out tonight,” I said as I picked up the delivery schedule for the week. Thanks to Hank, I already knew what I would find, but I studied the sheet of paper for a moment before saying, “There’s a delivery coming in tonight at one thirty a.m. If we time it right, maybe we can get Serena on the truck and out of the camp before anyone realizes she’s missing.”

“Getting her on board and through the gates without anyone noticing . . .” Jason shook his head. “It’s a long shot.”

“You have a better idea?” asked Eve.

Jason scowled, but didn’t reply.

After a moment, Kyle reached for the schedule and broke the stalemate. “A long shot is better than nothing. The rest of us can try and come up with a plan for ourselves after Serena’s safe.”

He shot me a small, tight smile. Hank’s charm—tied to Amy’s bracelet and tucked under my wrist cuff— suddenly felt hot against my skin. I hated lying to Kyle and Jason, but I was too worried they’d insist I use the charm to get myself out—especially since a girl had gone missing from my dorm just hours ago.

I needed their help too badly to risk an argument. If I had to, I’d tell them the truth after we got Serena to the truck.

Jason flipped through papers until he found a blueprint. “The sanatorium had a psychiatric ward in the basement. When they renovated, they turned it into the detention block. Odds are, that’s where Serena will be. It’s the only part of the building—other than the offices—counselors don’t have access to.”

“Mental patients and werewolves in the cellar,” muttered Eve. “It’s almost a cliche.” She tucked her feet up underneath her and raised herself to a sort of crouch, perching on her stool like a crow on a wire.

“A very secure cliche,” said Jason. “The elevator goes down to the lower level, but you need a key to access that floor and Sinclair has the only copy. There is a stairwell, but it’s behind a door requiring a six-digit code that only the warden and the program coordinators have. Even guards need an escort to go in.”

My heart sank. The warden and program coordinators rarely ventured into the main part of the camp. And even if we could get to one of them, it wasn’t like they’d just give us the code.

There are always ways to make people talk. My father’s voice seeped through my mind like a drop of ink spreading through a glass of water. I would do anything to get Serena and Kyle out of Thornhill; suddenly, though, anything was a frightening thought.