Rachel, leaning against the wall and looking at the lockers on the other side of the hall, said, “Makes the world seem bigger, doesn’t it?”
The naïveté of the question irritated me, somehow. “It’s just another way to die.”
Rachel looked at the side of my head. “You really do default to bitch, don’t you? That’ll only work as long as you’re young and hot. After that, you’ll only be able to teach AP History.”
I looked at her and narrowed my eyes. I said, “I could say the same for quirky.”
Rachel smiled a wide, wide smile, her most innocent one yet. “So what you’re saying is you think I’m hot.”
Okay, Rachel was all right. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a smile back, but I felt my eyes giving me away. The door opened. We regarded each other. As far as allies went, I guessed Grace could do worse.
As I went in to see Ms. McKay, I thought that Rachel actually was right. The world seemed bigger every day.
• COLE •
Another day, another night. We — Sam and I — were in the QuikMart a few miles away from the house, the sky black as hell above us. Mercy Falls proper was still another mile away; this convenience store was mostly for the oh-shit-I-forgot-to-get-milk moments. Which was exactly why we were at the QuikMart. Well, it’s why Sam was there. Partially because we had no milk and partially because I was beginning to learn that Sam didn’t sleep without someone there to tell him to, and I wasn’t about to tell him. Normally this would fall to Grace, but Isabel had just called with the exact model of the helicopter that would be carrying the sharpshooters and we were all a little on edge. Grace and Sam had engaged in a wordless argument that somehow managed to involve only their eyes and then she had won, because she started making scones, and Sam had sulked on the couch with his guitar. If she and Sam ever had kids, they’d be gluten-intolerant out of self-defense.
Scones required milk.
So Sam was here for milk because the grocery store closed at nine. I, on the other hand, was at the QuikMart because if I spent another second in Beck’s house, I was going to break something. I was figuring out more about the wolf science every day, but the hunt was almost here. In a few days, my experiments would be about as useful as medical research on the dodo bird.
Which brought us to QuikMart at eleven P.M. Inside the store, I pointed to a rack of condoms and Sam gave me a look completely devoid of humor. He’d worn too few or too many to see the amusement in it.
I broke off to navigate the aisles of the store, full of nervous energy. This crappy little service station felt like the real world. The real world, months after I’d murdered NARKOTIKA by disappearing with Victor. The real world where I smiled at security cameras and somewhere, they might smile back at me. Country music wailed low through speakers hung next to the sign for the bathrooms (FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY). The plate glass windows were painted with the green-black night that only lived outside of service stations. No one was awake but us, and I’d never been more awake. I browsed candy bars that sounded better than they tasted, checked tabloids for mention of me out of habit, looked at the racks of overpriced cold medications that no longer had the ability to impair either my ability to sleep or drive, and realized there was nothing here in this store that I wanted.
In my pocket, I felt the weight of the little black Mustang Isabel had given me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I slid the car out and drove it over racks to where Sam stood in front of the milk case, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Though he faced the milk, his face wore an undirected frown, his thoughts consumed by a problem somewhere else.
“Two percent is a nice compromise between skim and whole, if you’re having problems deciding,” I said. I kind of wanted Sam to ask me about the Mustang, to ask what the hell I was doing with it. I was thinking about Isabel, about shifting into a wolf for the first time, about the black sky pressing against the windows outside.
Sam said, “We’re running out of time, Cole.”
The electronic bell of the QuikMart door opening kept him from saying more, or me from answering him. I didn’t turn to look, but some sort of instinct made the skin crawl at the back of my neck. Sam had not turned his head, either, but I saw that his expression had changed. Sharpened. That was what I was subconsciously reacting to.
In my head, memories flashed. Wolves in the woods, ears pricked and swiveling, suddenly at attention. Air sharp in our nostrils, scent of deer on the breeze, time to hunt. The wordless agreement that it was time to act.
By the counter, I heard the murmur of voices as the newcomer and the clerk exchanged greetings. Sam put his hand on the handle of the cooler but didn’t open it. He said, “Maybe we don’t actually need milk.”
• SAM •
It was John Marx, Olivia’s older brother.
Speaking with John had never been easy for me — we barely knew each other, and every encounter we’d ever had had been on tense terms. And now his sister was dead and Grace was missing. I wished we hadn’t come. There was nothing to do but to carry on as usual. John wasn’t quite in line; he was staring at the gum. I slouched up to the counter beside him. I could smell alcohol, which was depressing, because John had seemed so young before.
“Hi,” I said, barely audible, just so I got credit for saying it.
John did the man-nod, a curt jerk of the head. “How are you doing.” It was not a question.
“Three twenty-one,” the clerk told me. He was a slight man with permanently lowered eyes. I counted out bills. I didn’t look at John. I prayed that he didn’t recognize Cole. I eyed the security camera, watching all of us.
“Did you know that this is Sam Roth?” John asked. There was silence until the clerk realized that John was talking to him.
The clerk darted a glance up at my damning yellow eyes and then back down to the bills I’d placed on the counter, before replying politely, “No, I didn’t.”
He knew who I was. Everyone knew. I felt a surge of friendliness toward the clerk.
“Thanks,” I told him as I took my change, grateful for more than the coins. Cole pushed off the counter next to me. Time to go.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” John asked me. I heard misery in his voice.
My heart jerked inside me as I turned toward him. “I’m sorry about Olivia.”
“Tell me why she died,” John said. He took a step toward me, unsteady. A breath laced with some kind of alcohol — hard, neat, and recent, by the odor — gusted toward me. “Tell me why she was there.”
I held a hand out, palm toward the ground. A sort of That close is good. No closer. “John, I don’t kn —”
John swatted my hand away, and at that gesture, I saw Cole move restlessly. “Don’t lie to me. I know it’s you. I know it is.”
This was a little easier. I couldn’t lie, but this didn’t require one. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t have anything to do with her being there.”
The clerk said, “Good conversation to take outside!”
Cole opened the door. Night air rushed in.
John seized a mighty handful of my T-shirt at the shoulder. “Where’s Grace? Why out of everyone in the world, why my sister, why Grace? Why them, you sick —”