"Something came up. I don't have time to explain, but I have to go into the woods for a little while."
He cut in. "So, you're bailing on the party?"
Claire blew out a long breath. "No, but I'm going to be pretty late to Yolanda's. Can you tell everyone that—I dunno—that my mom dragged me to dinner and it ran late or something?"
"Sure," Matthew said, and she wondered if she was imagining the edge of irritation she heard in his voice. "I can do that. What about Emily?" "I'll text her," Claire said, "which I need to go do right this second, 'cause if I'm not downstairs in exactly two minutes, I'm going to be cutting this way too close. Thanks for covering for me. You're the absolute best." It sounded like groveling, but she meant every word.
They hung up, and Claire sent Emily a text saying that she was stuck with her mom but she'd get to the party as soon as she could. She added some smiley faces and exclamation points, hoping that it would keep her desperation from showing, and sent it. She was already halfway down the stairs by the time she got the phone back into her pocket.
After a brief glance toward the basement, Claire slipped out of the house. In the woods, Claire stayed in her human form. It was earlier than she usually went into the forest, and the noises of the daytime animals settling down to sleep made her edgy. She was used to more quiet.
With her ears straining for any sign of reporters, Claire maneuvered her way into the clearing. When she stepped out of the pine trees, the sight of the tiny, blackened pyres made her throat tighten. They looked so ceremonial, the way they were so perfectly centered in the ring of trees. It was horrifyingly obvious that they weren't leftover campfires or lightning-struck patches, and Claire had no doubt that they would have been suspicious of the fires if Dr. Engle and his entourage had stumbled across them.
As quickly as she could, Claire scattered the burned sticks, tossing them into the underbrush. When the charred remains had been dealt with, she got down on her hands and knees and swept her fingers through the pine needles, mixing the ashes into them until it looked as natural as any other tiny clearing in the woods. The whole time she worked, she listened to the sounds of the forest, becoming more comfortable as the familiar night sounds took over. She knew the creak of a branch settling beneath the weight of an owl and could recognize in an instant the patter-swish of a raccoon moving through the bushes.
She sat back on her heels and looked over the clearing one more time. Maybe she should transform, just to see if she'd missed anything. She'd be able to smell any big patches of ash she might have left. Without hesitating, Claire struggled out of her clothes, cursing the hook-and-eye closure of her shirt for slowing her down. She practically ripped the tiny pieces of metal apart, yanked the top over her head, and transformed before the fabric hit the ground.
She stretched out her hearing over the miles of forest, just as a precaution. Since in her true form she had the ability to hear over insanely long distances, she might as well use it. She scanned the forest. Without a specific person to focus on, it was harder to hear than usual. Her senses spun like an oldfashioned radio dial searching for a signal. And then, somewhere off to the southwest, she heard it.
A nasal female voice. "We're already in the trees—I am not hiking through there
in the dark just so that you can get a more 'authentic' shot,
Jim."
Shit. The reporters.
Claire gave a hurried sniff in the direction of the clearing. She could smell one imperfect bit at the far edge, and she hesitated.
It wasn't worth getting caught over.
Claire grabbed her clothes with her mouth and ran through the woods, praying that Dr. Engle and his entourage weren't coming the other way through the forest. She tried to listen—to see if she could hear the scientists—but she couldn't focus enough to hear and run at the same time. It was almost worse than running from something—at least then she'd know for sure where the threat was and which way meant escape. All she could do was run like hell and hope that she made it out.
When the trees thinned enough that she could see a deserted stretch of road, Claire practically whimpered with relief. Only the fear that someone would hear her kept the noise from rattling in her throat. Quickly, she transformed, tugging on her clothes. Claire pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. It was damp from where she'd held it between her teeth—she'd been more afraid of losing it than drooling on it.