“Sounds good, I’m starved.” Claire watched Lisbeth’s shoulders slump in defeat. A shower of guilt that felt all too familiar pattered down on her. “Maybe after dinner we could watch some TV or something,” she added.
“That would be great!” Lisbeth perked up at the suggestion. “I better go get the meat on the grill.”
When she’d left the room, Claire called her mother. It didn’t make sense that her mom wanted to know when Lisbeth was home, but still … The call went to voicemail and Claire’s heart sank. Her bad feeling about all this had just become really terrible.
After dinner Claire sat curled up on the couch with Lisbeth. She bit her cuticles and tried to look like she was paying attention to the sitcoms that blared on the screen. If something had happened—if she’d been caught—the news would interrupt this crap. The thought only half-comforted her. If her mother had run into the seule, the news wouldn’t know about that, now, would they?
Hours later, Lisbeth stood and stretched. “Ugh, that’s as much mass-market media as I can take tonight. I’m going to bed, Claire-bear. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. And don’t call me that.”
Lisbeth sniggered and headed for the shower. Claire walked over to the window and stared out at the dark lawn, willing her mother to come loping across the grass. The desire to sneak into the dark forest was so strong it made Claire’s bones ache. She couldn’t stop imagining her mother, caught in some sort of hideous trap or mangled by the seule. But no matter how badly she wanted to go, Claire couldn’t just ignore an order from a senior pack member. Some primitive compulsion to obey emanated from deep inside her wolf-brain, keeping her trapped in the too-empty house. When she heard Lisbeth close her door, Claire wandered upstairs and watched the woods from her bedroom window.
For three nights, Claire kept her vigil. She gave Lisbeth fake messages from Marie, and hoped desperately that Beatrice would decide to do something.
By the time the sun crept over the horizon after the third night, Claire had collapsed onto her window seat, frightened and exhausted. When the first bright rays touched Claire’s face, a fierce determination swelled inside her. Why should she be the good little listener she was supposed to be? It wasn’t getting her anywhere and it wasn’t helping her mother.
Screw the pack order. Screw my mother’s command. If she’s dead— Claire forced herself to think the word— it won’t make any difference, anyway.
Claire flipped on her computer and looked up Victoria’s address. It was halfway across town, but there was no way she could ask Lisbeth to drive her there. She’d have to bike it. Claire drummed her fingers against the edge of the keyboard. It was like teetering on the edge of the high dive. She knew she could jump—she knew she should jump—but the animal part of her brain screamed at her not to do it, not to endanger herself so foolishly.
Claire’s muscles twitched with indecision. Go. Stay. Go. Stay. Okay, I’m definitely going. But if Mom’s okay, she’ll be freaking furious with me. Crap.
Outside, the forest waited, wearing an early-morning haze like a nightgown. Matthew’s dad might already be out there, checking his traps again. The idea shook Claire to the core. She had to go—if he wouldn’t waste any time, Claire couldn’t, either.
After she scribbled a bogus note to Lisbeth about where she was going and blew the dust off her bike helmet, Claire took off down the sloping driveway.
This is so stupid. If I’d gotten a car for my birthday like every other sixteen-year-old, I could still be in the air-conditioning.
By the time she pulled into Victoria’s driveway, her shirt was soaked with perspiration, and the smell of fear and exhaustion wafted up from the damp fabric.
Claire rang the doorbell, and then looked at her watch. Holy crap. How did I get here in twenty minutes? It should have taken an hour to ride here! She’d have to be more careful. When she was scared it was too easy to do things faster than a normal human could.
Victoria opened the door.
“Oh, Claire, I should have guessed you’d come.” She pulled Claire inside with her free hand. In the corner of the room, Beatrice looked up from her knitting.
“I’m sorry,” Claire panted. “It’s just—my mother still hasn’t come home. I know you said it’s no big deal, but I think she was looking for the seule. If she’s hurt, if something’s happened to her—we have to find her.”
Beatrice glanced in the direction of the TV. The BREAKING NEWS banner scrolled across the screen. “Have—you haven’t seen the news,” she said, her eyes trained on the pastel square of yarn in her lap. “Claire—your mother has been caught. I am so sorry.”
“Caught?” The word twined around Claire’s throat as she said it, choking her.
“Yes. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before they force her to reveal her identity, and then Dr. Engle will administer his ‘cure.’”
Beatrice’s hands trembled when she spoke, and that was the last thing Claire noticed before the floor swirled up to meet her and everything went dark.