Even from the back of the crowd, Claire could see Dr. Engle’s knuckles turning white as he squeezed the edges of the podium in his long hands. All around her, people strained forward like flowers leaning toward the sun.
Because they want me dead. And he’s holding their hands and telling them that they’re absolutely right. The realization hit Claire like a slap. They don’t even care what the truth is. They’re scared, and they’re mad, and they want someone to pay for that.
She forced herself to look over at Matthew. His features didn’t hold the same slow-burning anger that shone on everyone else’s face. But he didn’t look disgusted by his dad’s rhetoric, either. He’s been listening to this for seventeen years, Claire reminded herself. He’s probably immune to it by now.
Dr. Engle leaned into the microphone, his voice booming over the crowd. “It ends today. This is Day One of a new era. It gives me great pleasure to announce the formation of the P.A.C.—the Protective Action Council. This community-based group will work in conjunction with Federal Human Protection Agency and the local police. Your cooperation will allow us to take every measure available to us to capture the beast that lurks, unwelcome, in our midst.”
Claire shivered, glad he didn’t know just how accurate his words were.
“Anyone who would like to volunteer their services … and we need everyone, from those who can stuff envelopes to those of you who are skilled and experienced hunters”—Claire blanched—“can sign up before you leave here today. The time for action has come, and I am counting on each of you to answer the call. Thank you, and God bless.”
The crowd erupted into cheers. They thrust their signs into the air, whistling and applauding. The table where the sign-up clipboards lay already had a line snaking around the parking lot. Claire stared, unable to pull her gaze away from the stream of people who, one after the other, signed up for the privilege of killing a werewolf.
Matthew slid his arm around her shoulders. “You’re not thinking of joining, are you?” he asked.
A strangled laugh slipped out of Claire’s mouth. “Uh, no.” Way to blend in, Claire. “But your dad’s a really good speaker. Everyone seems really excited.” I hate him, but yeah, he can fire up a group of morons, all right.
Matthew rolled his eyes. “It sort of loses its oomph when you’ve heard him practicing in front of the bathroom mirror for two days. Come on, if we don’t get out of here soon, I’ll get stuck shaking hands for the next hour.” He steered Claire toward the cars. With trembling fingers, she opened the door, slid into the oven-hot car, and leaned her head back against the seat.
This is the worst date I have ever been on.
Matthew’s car couldn’t get cool fast enough for Claire—between the heat and the panic, she felt faint.
“You look flushed.” Matthew’s voice was worried. “Why don’t we go get some ice cream? Cool off a little?”
“Can I take a rain check?” She hated how shaky her voice sounded. “Right now I just want to go home and take a shower. And maybe lie down for a little while.” The urge to get home, to sort through what she’d just seen, was too strong to ignore.
“I’m so sorry, Claire.”
Matthew turned the air-conditioning vents on his side of the car toward her. Since they were still blowing hot air, it didn’t do much good, but it was still sweet of him.
“I should never have dragged you out in this heat to stand around with a bunch of self-righteous morons.”
She reached over and took his hand. “I liked being there with you.” The last two words made it true.
Matthew pulled up in front of her house. “Do you want me to walk you inside?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for dropping me off.”
He leaned over and kissed her, just a quick, light pressure of his mouth against hers. “Call me later and let me know how you’re doing.”
“I will.” Claire slid out of the car and walked into the house.
She dragged herself upstairs, worn out from the heat and the crash from the adrenaline high she’d been on at the rally. She pushed open the door to her room and cringed to see her mother sitting on her bed.
“What are you doing in here?” Claire thought of the journal hidden under her mattress, and the shirt—the one she’d taken from her mother’s closet without permission—that lay in a stained lump in the bottom drawer of her dresser. There were secrets stashed all over her room. If she’s been snooping around in here, I’ll die.
Claire’s mother pursed her lips. “I’m waiting for you, obviously.”
“Couldn’t you just wait in the kitchen?” Claire complained. She edged into the room and sat down on the bench in front of her vanity.
“No. I want to talk to you, and it is not a conversation that I want to have an audience for.” Her mother glanced pointedly at the door.
Claire got up to close it, rolling her eyes once her back was to her mom. She sat back down on the bench and waited. Marie eyed Claire like an apple she suspected of having a worm.