Betrayals

CHAPTER 16

I did manage to grab a couple hours of sleep with a wooden chair propped under the doorknob. As soon as I set it there, the feeling of relief was intense, but short-lived. I stumbled over to my bed, fell into it, and only woke up when a bar of weak, cold morning light struggling through fog and the window glass touched the foot of the bed.

My internal clock was all messed up by now, so it didn’t seem to matter. Besides, moving around during the day meant there would be no suckers, and most of the teachers would be asleep.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and ran through every curse word I knew.

You can do this, I told myself for the hundredth time. Come on. It’s no big deal. Rain-soaked sunlight struggled through the window of the blue room. I checked my sneakers again, scrubbed my hands against my sweater. Paced the whole length of the room, dropped down to my knees to peer under the bed, and saw the glowing curves of wood gathering dust.

When would Christophe come back? As soon as I asked myself, I shoved the question away.

There was no reason not to work on trying to find out who was after me, and to do that, I’d need allies. The djamphir boys weren’t going to be any help. So it was the wulfen, and Graves said—

Just then, there were two taps at the door. I bounded up, raced across the carpet, and jerked it open to find Graves right outside. The hall was shadowed, so his eyes flared green under his messy hair. He shook it back and gave me a fey grin, then laid his finger against his lips.

I nodded. He gave my outfit, jeans, thermal shirt under a big gray wool sweater, sneakers, my Mom’s locket safely hidden, a critical once-over and shrugged.

I suppose he thought I’d be cold or something, but I knew better. If we were going to do this, I was going to sweat.

No big deal. Come on, Dru. Buck up.

Besides, I was cold, deep down where no amount of wool was going to warm me up. Who would come into my room and take Christophe’s hair, and leave one of his own behind? It was pointless.

Unless it was Blondie the teacher, and he had a reason to tell someone, maybe Anna, that Christophe had been in my room. I didn’t know what would happen then, but it would probably be unpleasant.

But I most likely would have been yanked out of bed and questioned by now, wouldn’t I? I tried to tell myself to relax, that I’d figure something out. I didn’t even buy my own pep talk by now.

And what the hell was I about to do? But I couldn’t back out now. And Graves …

He beckoned. I stepped out and followed him down the hall. We threaded through the sunlit, sleeping Schola. Every once in a while he’d stop, holding up a hand, and we’d wait for a little bit, or he’d pick an alternate route.

It looked like he’d done a lot of exploring in the last three weeks. But that didn’t surprise me.

Knowing your ground is good strategic habit, and I had a good idea of the layout too. I should have had a better one, gone exploring instead of standing around in front of the armory or moping in my room.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda, Dru. Besides, you’re not going to be here much longer. I stepped softly, breathing through my mouth, and we finally ended up in a concrete-floored corridor somewhere in the depths of the building. Graves chose lefts and rights seemingly at random, and we took a right into a dead end, one blank door set in the wall. He reached up, going on tiptoe, and did something to the little plastic box clinging to the wall over it. Wires threaded away, his fingers flicked, and he swept the door open with a grin. Midmorning sunlight burst through, and we stepped out of the Schola.

I took a deep breath. Rotting leaves, wet dirt, rain on the wind that touched the curls springing free of my ponytail. The light felt good, pouring over me. The fog would probably come back around dusk, but for right now we had a clear, pale blue sky and a sun that looked like a yellow-white faraway coin. High horsetails of white cloud brushed what little horizon I could see with the trees pulled so close.

In spring it would probably be pretty here. Too bad I wasn’t sticking around to find out.

Graves closed the door with a click. “Come on, we’re almost late.”

“I am never going to be able to take that route again,” I muttered.

“Yeah, well, next time it’ll be different. They’re watching you pretty close, you know. It’s not so bad getting out when it’s just me.”

“Me being so valuable and all.” And there’s another svetocha. But I still hadn’t told him about that either. It seemed like a bad idea. I was struggling with what to tell him about someone stealing Christophe’s hair, too.

Two things stopped me. What could he do about it, and if he asked me what Christophe was doing leaving bits of his hair in my room, what would I say?

What could I say?

Secrets everywhere, pressing in on me.

I’m good at keeping them. I mean, Jesus, my whole life was nothing but secrets from the time Gran died. But it’s a whole lot easier to keep them when you’ve got someone else who knows breathing in the same room. Carrying them alone is like having a huge spiky weight digging into your shoulders and chest, a weight you can’t shift even while you’re sleeping.

Graves let out a tired sigh. He was almost sounding like Dylan now. “Yeah, well, I’m beginning to think there’s something else going on. See, you’re supposed to be trained to survive, right? Everyone here is slated for grunt work, infantry. Shock troops. But the instant you show up in a class, except for Kruger’s, that is, everything gets dumbed down and the kids get a day off. It’s weird. It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

Kruger? Does he mean Blondie in history class? It made me feel a little better, if he was honestly trying to teach me, maybe he hadn’t come into my room. I ran up against the problem of who could have and threw up my mental hands in despair. “Christophe said I was supposed to be learning and he’ll come back.” But he’s off making arrangements to spring me from this place.

Something I hadn’t considered before hit me: And where is that going to leave Graves?

I’d figure it out when the time came. Or so I told myself. But I felt even worse.

“Yeah, well. Christophe’s not actually popular around here. Half the teachers hate him, and the wulfen say he’s got a long history of being an arrogant jerk. About the only person who’s neutral is Dylan, but he’s got his own weird thing going on. He’s always watching you. It’s creepy.”

“Yeah. Creep central around here. But we’re in a school full of werewolves and part-suckers.” I wasn’t sure what to think about Dylan either. Everyone was acting weird. Which was probably to be expected in a place where the Real World was taken for granted, but…

I was glad to have Graves. And when Christophe came back, I’d argue him into taking Graves with us. He’d agree, he had to. And once we were out of here I could tell Graves everything.

As soon as I decided that, the weight on me eased a little bit.

Graves gave a bitter little laugh. “Point. Some of the teachers have something against Dylan, too. Or with him. It’s like watching Wild Kingdom in here. Much more interesting than high school.”

Trust him to put that sort of spin on it. “High school’s a jungle too.” I followed him up an overgrown path, almost trotting to keep up with his long strides.

He was still in his boots and coat, and there was a bounce to his walk. He was even smiling. “True.”

“You’re sure this is going to work?” Christ, I even sounded uncertain. Almost wistful.

“You want friends, right? They don’t hate you, Dru. This is a good idea. Trust me.”

I think it was the first time I ever saw Goth Boy look happy. Most of the time he was just kind of dealing with it. But now he looked pretty bright and sunny, his head up and his hair shaken back. The essential difference of skinchanger shone through, subtly different from a wulfen’s but miles away from a djamphir’s sharp handsomeness.

Happy looked good on him, bringing out the strength instead of the weirdness in the architecture of his face. High cheekbones, big nose, his chin too strong too, but he was looking better these days. Or at least, not so strange.

I was looking at him so intently I almost tripped, had to watch where I was going. I hurried alongside him, brushing past scrubby bushes and trashwood. He took the left fork when the trail divided, and we ended up in a small clearing on the wooded west side of the Schola. Here the forest curved around and hugged the buildings, and there were about fifteen werwulfen gathered.

They all went still when they saw me. Dibs let out a squeak and hunched down. I tried not to stare at his hair. My heart was in my throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shanks snarled. Even his emo-boy forehead swoop puffed up.

“She’s coming with us.” Graves didn’t look fazed in the least.

“The Bloodkin watch her.” Another boy unfolded himself from the fallen log he was perched on, rising and hopping down to the leaf-littered ground. “And she’s slow and clumsy. We’re not waiting for anyone.”

“I got her out without anyone knowing.” Graves folded his arms. “She’ll keep up.”

“Please. She’s one of them.” Shanks said it like I had some sort of disease.

Graves’ upper lip lifted a fraction. “She’s with me. You got a problem? Want a girl to kick your ass again?”

I tried to look dangerous. I probably only succeeded in looking thoughtful. Or constipated. But Dibs caught my eye and actually, go figure, winked at me. Sunlight ran through his buttery hair, and I caught a flash of an encouraging smile before he looked down at the ground.

Nobody noticed. And I couldn’t see Dibs sneaking into my room to steal anything.

Shanks’ lip lifted in a silent snarl. “If she gets caught out with us, she’s not the one they’ll punish. You like detention that much? What is wrong with you?”

“It’s time she started knowing more about this place.” Graves didn’t look perturbed at all. “If she gets caught, they’ll punish me. It was my idea anyway, and whining about detention is for candyasses. Now are we gonna do this, or are you gonna stand around flapping your lips all day?”

“I don’t like it.” This was from a rangy blond werwulf next to Dibs, one with a thick, corn-fed face and a thatch of golden hair. Straight, not curly. “She’s not gonna be able to keep up.”

“She’ll keep up.” Graves sighed and rolled his eyes. “Are we gonna run or not?”

“Let her try.” A short, compact wulf with dark stubble all over his pale cheeks spoke up. “If somethin’ happens, she’s not going to tell on us. Not a squealer, that one.”

“That’s right.” Dibs nodded vigorously, still staring at the ground. “Dru wouldn’t squeal on us. She’s nice. She’s not like them. They wouldn’t even wipe their boots on us.”

Silence. They all stood around, thinking it over. That’s the thing about werwulfen, it takes a while for them to do anything. They all have to agree before something happens. Once you think about the fact that they have those teeth and claws, it makes more sense. If they didn’t find ways to cooperate, they’d argue each other right into extinction.

Finally, a murmur went through them. I thought about trying to look trustworthy. Considering I was holding a couple of guilty secrets, I guess it was working.

Some essential tension leaked out of Graves. He gave me a sideways look, green eyes glinting. I straightened a little.

It was apparent they’d made their decision.

“Huh. Well.” Shanks shrugged. “Fine. It’s your ass, anyway. Think you can keep up, little girl?”

You know, I hate people calling me that. “I’ll do my best.” I tried not to sound sarcastic, failed miserably. Graves didn’t wince, but he was probably close.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, an electric current ran through the assembled werwulfen. I glanced at Graves as everyone started getting up, dusting off their clothes, one or two of them bouncing in place. There was a lot of nervous energy in them, crackling just under their skins.

I am so not ready for this.

Graves cast me a single look. You know how when you know someone, sometimes all it takes is a meeting of eyes, a slight lift to the eyebrow, a tightening of the lips to speak volumes? It was like that. His green eyes said, Are you sure?

My face shifted. No, I’m not, it was saying, but I’m gonna do it.

He gave me a quirk of a smile, and Shanks rolled his shoulders in their sockets, tilted his head back, and inhaled for a long time, filling his lungs. A crackling, popping sound raced around the clearing, and I caught my own breathing speeding up.

Just listen for the howl, Graves had said. It’ll tell you all you need to know. Let it pull you along. I’ll be right beside you.

They began to growl, all of them, the sound rising like steam. Graves was a tense, hurtful silence next to me.

I was really hoping this would work. Then I thought, Well, if I could handle Christophe hugging me so tight my bones creaked, if I could handle climbing up on the Schola’s roof, and if I could handle being nose to nose with Ash, I can probably handle this too.

Probably.

Shanks’ head snapped back down, fur swirling up over his cheekbones, his eyes a hurtful gleam.

Seeing them change in full daylight was something else. I lost pretty much all my air as their familiar boy-forms ran like clay underwater, some of them crouched now, knees splayed and hands touching the leafy dirt.

Then, as if on some prearranged signal, they all tossed up their chins and howled.

Hearing wulfen howl is… well, it’s horrible. The sound is glassy, hovering at the upper ranges of hearing, and it’s full of paws on snow and running with the icy wind hitting the back of your throat like stars. Underneath that glassy edge is the song of flesh ripped apart, the sweetness of hot blood, and the savagery of crunching bones with sharp white teeth.

The worst part is how it climbs into your brain, pressing itself like a hard sharpness into the soft folds, and drags open the doors socialization slams shut to keep the howling ravening thing deep inside down and tame.

The thing on four clawed legs that lives in all of us.

A civilized person flinches away from that thing. At the Schola, they called it the Other.

Werwulfen use it to violate the laws of thermodynamics and physics, to set the inner beast free. And Graves, a loup-garou, uses it in a different way, for mental dominance instead of physical change. I wondered how, and why, and wished they would actually train me instead of dumping me in kindergarten classes.

It didn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway.

Graves’ fingers slid through mine, hot and hard. He squeezed my hand, and I flinched. My initial panicked reaction was to curl up more tightly inside my head, squeezing out the little stroking fingers and paws gently tapping at that door in my brain. But the place at the back of my throat where the hunger had blazed through was still raw-sensitive, and the wulfen’s cry rasped against it like a cat’s tongue.

The cry modulated, ending on a low lonely sound, and the wulfen moved. Graves leapt forward, and I had to go along or get my arm torn off. My feet slipped in leaves and dirt, and the fear arrived, smashing through me and laying copper against my tongue.

Graves dragged me. I had enough to do keeping my feet on the ground. The other wulfen were leaping fluid forms, and I began to get a very, very bad feeling about all this.

We crested a high wooded hill, sloping down a pile of rocks and tree roots, leafless oaks and maples standing wet and secretive, clutching at the ground so they wouldn’t slide. Graves yanked me forward, and as we went over the side his fingers loosened and slipped free of mine.

I was falling. My foot hit a rock, the sneakers slipped, and I knew I was going to end up in a heap on the bottom. My heart leapt; I gave a short, blurting scream, and the world snapped again, hard. My other foot landed squarely on the top of a boulder I hadn’t even known was there, and my body woke up, tingling all over. The aspect flooded me like the heat of alcohol on an empty stomach, the Beam and Cokes I used to drink while waiting for Dad to come home and collect me. The heat burst through me, my teeth turned crackling-sensitive, and even my hair tingled as the aspect slid through it. Mom’s locket dilated into a point of heat, as if it were melting against my chest.

Have you ever run so hard you thought your heart would burst? There’s just you and your legs and the sound of wind in your ears mixing with the pounding of your pulse. The endorphins kick in if you can do it long enough, and all of a sudden you’re not thinking. Your body’s doing all the thinking for you. It leaps like a gazelle, it dances like a star, and the only thought on your mind is God, keep going, don’t let this slow down, don’t let it ever stop.

Running. With werwulfen. Their shapes blurred around me, the high unearthly howls distorted because of the speed, splashes of sunlight on fur and bright eyes as we moved in a mass. They spread out around me like a cat’s cradle, and if I’d had time I might’ve wondered who was picking the direction. But it was enough to just run. If I just ran, nothing else mattered, and I didn’t have to think about Mom or Dad or Gran or Christophe or any other hundred things crawling through my cluttered head. I could just be. It was like that place in the middle of tai chi where the world faded and there was just the movement, force and reaction spilling through arms and legs, hands like birds and feet like horse’s hooves.

We crested another hill. The world was spinning underneath me, I didn’t even have to move forward, just put my feet down every now and again to touch it. I heard the muffled wingbeats of Gran’s owl, and a fierce joy flushed through me, a cleaner feeling than the rage of the bloodhunger. I was clear. I was see-through, I was a girl made of crystal, and this was the best thing in the world.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but the force bled away. It got harder and harder to keep up with the world, but I was doing my best when someone grabbed my arm and everything came to a tumbling, spinning halt.

I landed hard on my knees, jarring, and retched. Someone dropped down beside me and patted my back. A couple other kids were coughing too.

“Jesus Christ,” someone gasped, a high boyish voice. Someone else laughed, a high, unsteady sound, and the hilarity spilled through the rest of them. It bubbled up in my own mouth between the retches, my stomach informing me that oh holy God, you should not have done that.

My legs were on fire. All of me was burning and my back was a solid bar of pain. But it didn’t matter.

What mattered was Graves next to me, also rubbing my back and laughing like he’d just found Christmas in his pants. Dibs was on my other side, on his knees and leaning against me, coughing.

His eyes were bright with the tears that trickled down his cheeks, but he didn’t look sad in the least.

Then Shanks squatted easily in front of me, flushed and wind-swept, leaves caught in his thick dark hair. “Well. You kept up.” For once, he didn’t sound supercilious. “Never had that happen before.”

“Told you.” Graves was breathless. A hiccupping laugh interrupted the words. “It’s in the books. Svetocha can keep up.”

“Huh.” The taller boy eyed me. I tried not to puke on him. No wonder Graves had told me not to eat anything beforehand.

But God. I managed to get some breath back. “When… can we… do that… again?”

At that, everyone burst into laughter. Some of us were still retching, but the merriment kind of canceled that out. It didn’t matter how much I hurt or how my heart felt like it was trying to climb out my windpipe. It didn’t matter that everything was fucked up beyond repair and I was stumbling blindly around in the middle of a game that was way too big for me.

All that mattered was the sun on my shoulders, the wulfen gathered around me, and the way every one of them suddenly looked like… yes. Like a friend. And Graves right beside me, his hand making little circles on my back, his face all alight. It was like standing on the Schola’s roof and seeing the world spread out underneath me, but not nearly so lonely.

It was the best I’d felt since my world fell apart and a zombie smashed through my kitchen door.

Hey, you take what you can get.