Claire waved away Marie’s gratitude, but she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “You’re my mother,” she said. “Of course I did it.”
Claire slipped out of the room and crept silently down the stairs. She left a note for Lisbeth on the table in her best imitation of her mom’s handwriting. Then Claire walked out into the night, squaring her shoulders against the weight of what she was about to do.
All but one window of the Engles’ house was dark. Matthew was still up. If his parents had been asleep when he got home, there was a chance that he hadn’t talked to his dad—that Dr. Engle didn’t know yet.
Claire picked up a handful of the smooth pebbles underneath a crabapple tree. Carefully, she lobbed them against the glass pane. As tense as she was, it would be all too easy to throw the pebbles hard enough to break the window. Matthew’s face appeared in the window just as the fourth stone hit the glass. He leapt back out of sight and Claire cursed under her breath.
She waited until he peeked out again, and then waved frantically. Matthew slid the window up a few inches. “Claire? What are you doing here?”
“We have to talk. I’m sorry I lied to you before. I really, really am. But if you don’t listen to me now, we’re both going to regret it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you serious? Why should I believe you now? Can you give me a single reason to trust you?”
Claire’s nostrils flared and she fought to control her temper. “Okay, I deserved that. I understand why you’re pissed, Matthew, but this is serious. My mother sent me here.” He’s right. I am a liar, but not this time.
“I don’t care if the pope sent you. I need some space. I have to think. And it’s late. I’m going to bed, and you should go home.”
“I’ll go now, if you want. But let me talk to you before you—before you do anything about it, okay? Tomorrow, maybe, after you’ve had some time to think about stuff ?” Claire hated the whine that crept into her voice, but she couldn’t stop it.
Matthew sighed and rested his head against the window frame. “Fine. I’ll meet you tomorrow night at Greenway Park, on the side where we had our picnic. I’m practicing with a couple of the goalies until eight thirty. I’ll be there at nine.”
Claire let out a long breath. Greenway Park would be really exposed, and who knew how healed Zahlia would be by tomorrow night? Still, she wasn’t in a position to argue. “Awesome. That’s perfect. Thank you, Matthew, you don’t know how—”
He cut her off. “Go home, Claire. I’ll meet you tomorrow.” He closed the window, and Claire’s gaze darted to the other darkened windows on the second floor. They stayed dark. Matthew hadn’t woken his parents.
Claire slunk into the deeper shadows of the backyard and watched his window until he turned off his light. She checked her watch—12:18. If she hurried, she could still beat Lisbeth home.
When she made it back to her house, the lights were off. I made it. Claire hurried inside and checked on her sleeping mother. Exhaustion crept up on her like a spider and her injuries throbbed in time with her heart. She downed a couple of pain relievers and tumbled into bed. In spite of everything that had happened, Claire slept like the dead—still and dreamless.
Late the next afternoon, Claire slipped into her mother’s room.
“Ah, Claire. How are you feeling?”
Her mother looked more like herself—still pale and sharply thin, but better.
Claire shrugged. “My ear hurts, and my ribs, but everything else is pretty much okay. As long as we don’t run out of Advil, I think I’ll be fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve just talked to Beatrice, and we’re gathering early tonight, just before dark. It should give us time to make a plan and then take action before morning.”
“Tonight?” Claire rubbed her eyes. “Crap.”
“What?”
Claire sat down hard on the delicate-looking chair near her mother’s bed. “Matthew was too mad to talk to me last night. But he said he’d meet me at the park tonight, and he promised not to do anything until after I’d told him … well, you know … what I have to tell him. He should be there just about nine o’clock.”
“The timing will be bad.” Her mother leaned back against the pile of pillows. “But talking to him is every bit as important as dealing with Zahlia. I will make sure you are able to meet him.”
Claire licked her lips. “Does Beatrice know about the Matthew … thing?”
“She is the Alpha—I had to tell her. She is the only one who can truly grant permission to create a secret-keeper, and it is her duty to inform the rest of the pack.”
Claire squirmed in her seat. “Is she angry?”