Secrets and Shadows (4 page)
“Negative. The wolf has slipped the trap.” The crackling of static faded and boots tromped away.
To hunt my friend.
That was
not
part of any deal.
Final y inside and breathless from running the last distance, I grabbed the phone and cal ed the Rusakovas.
“
Allo
?” Max.
“Is Cat home?”
“
Da
, Jessie. She just came in.”
“Put her on.”
“Demanding,” he snorted. “I see why you like this one,” he said away from the receiver.
“
Allo
, Jessie?”
“They’re hunting you.”
“
Da
.”
“Why didn’t you tel me?”
“What good would it do? They are looking for an excuse to take one of us.”
“They couldn’t do it if you showed up here as—
you
,” I insisted. “Max could have driven.”
“I
did
show up as me,” Cat’s accent deepened. The phone made a noise, shifting hands.
Ugh.
“Why give them the chance to take you?”
“This is who we are, Jessie,” Max rumbled across the phone lines. “If the CIA chooses not to abide by our agreement let them try to take us.”
The phone clicked off before I could find the words I wanted. The sudden knot in my stomach proved I missed Alexi as leader of the Rusakova household. On the outs with the ful -blood Rusakovas since they learned of his involvement with the Russian Mafia, he would have been more sensible than Max. But when the wolves discovered that Alexi, long believed by Pietr, Cat, and Max to be their biological brother, was not who he claimed to be …
Everything changed.
* * *
The night Pietr became a wolf.
The unmarked SUV rocketed into the meadow, spewing leaves and bul ets.
Dropped by my attackers, I scrambled to the vehicle’s side, staring in dul horror at the fight raging so close. Officer Kent fel , wounded, gun rol ing out of his grasp just before Wanda slid beneath the vehicle and hauled him to safety.
The Mafia dropped around us in slow motion and I barreled under the SUV, going for the gun just before Wanda reached for it realizing she was nearly out of bul ets.
The leader’s second, Grigori, targeted Wanda. Squeezed the trigger. Wanda rocked back, blood a blooming red flower on her shoulder. Groaning, she steadied her gun and returned fire.
Grazing him.
In the leaf litter my hand closed on Kent’s gun as Grigori adjusted his aim to finish Wanda.
I fired.
Grigori’s eyes rol ed and he fel . Blood dribbled from his mouth, il uminated by the light of the ful moon sparkling serenely above. He coughed, a wet rattling sound.
Then he was stil .
The gun tumbled from my grip. I’d kil ed a man. Entrenched in my nightmare the sound around me muffled, my ears felt fil ed with cotton. The pop-pop-pop of gunfire slowed, dul ed to the thump-thump-thump of an ax chopping wood.
Everything went dark and grim, the bel ow of the werewolves—slick with blood—muted by the rush of my pulse as it thrummed in my ears.
A man yel ed curses at me, and I spun to see Nickolai, his gun pointed at me.
Shutting my eyes against the end, my world blinked black. I heard a roar—a cry—a gurgle … My eyes opened to find Nickolai staggering, his pistol dropping …
… as his head landed on the ground with the same thump as the muted gunfire. Landed two yards from his body.
In his wolfskin, Pietr stood over Nickolai, claws dripping gore, his muzzle and chest streaked with blood.
Very little of it was his own.
For the first time I saw a wildness to the glow of his eyes—something beyond the predatory sparkle of red reflection—a beast surpassing the definition spinning in my mind.
Werewolf
. Earlier, beneath the rising moon, I’d first seen him change.
But I realized then we were both changed.
Forever.
Sophia caught up to me outside my literature class. In her breathy little voice she explained, “You’l need to find a new photographer for the paper. I can’t do it anymore.” She passed me the communal camera.
“But, Soph—”
Her lips tight, she shook her head, blond hair shimmering in the weak light of the hal way. “I’l continue to co-edit, but no pictures. And here…” She withdrew a stack of old photos from a pocket in her backpack.
I rummaged through them quickly. “Wait. Weren’t these hanging in your locker?”
“I’m cleaning house,” she said.
I didn’t buy it. “Everything okay?” I thought about the recent rash of teen suicides on the train tracks that had sliced Junction up like a huge pie. We’d lost an athlete most recently. I hadn’t know him personal y, but he’d been part of Derek’s circle.
“Fine,” Sophie said, her brow crinkling. “And…” She inhaled deeply, like this was the worst piece of news yet. “They want us to cover a new school lunch program.”
I knew instantly who
they
were. The faculty and staff. It wasn’t real y us against them at Junction; it was more like we worked
for
them rather than
with
them.
We technical y ran the paper, but they reminded us who granted the right to have a paper at al . So we spread propaganda from time to time. Most of it was good—helpful to students. Sometimes it just felt bogus. Completely commercial.
“What’s the big deal about a new school lunch plan?”
So softly I strained to catch the words, Sophia explained, “Some corporate sponsor gave the school angel funding to make lunches cheaper and more nutritional y sound.”
“Woosh.” I skimmed a hand just above my hair. “Right over my head. Angel funding? Like, do it or die
—get angel wings?”
“No.” Sophia stared at me a moment and rol ed her eyes. “Like they don’t want money back. At al . They donated the money for al the food. They’ve arranged a distributor. The school keeps whatever money we spend on lunches.”
“Huh. So why aren’t the lunches going to be free?”
“Thatta’ girl,” she agreed. “Why would the school stil want a profit when they can guarantee free food for al the kids?”
“Okay, so—”
She sighed, tolerating my stumbling. Barely. “So
that’s
what you’re going to ask—”
Suddenly her words faded; a sound like the ocean fil ed my ears, ruining my focus.
Pietr and Sarah walked past. Hand in hand. As comfortable as any real couple.
Sarah smiled at me.
Sophia’s hand waved before my face. “Tune in, okay?”
“Um, yeah. Who am I interviewing?”
Again with the eye rol .
“Perlson. Remember him? Our vice principal?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grouched, taking the paper she offered.
“You need to cover this fast,” she urged. “The program starts soon.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Jessie.” Sophie snagged my sleeve, tugging me closer with a touch not nearly as soft as her voice.
“Quit staring at Pietr.”
“What?”
Scandalized, she hissed, “You’re staring at Pietr Rusakova.
Sarah’s
boyfriend?” She stepped back, her eyes larger than I’d ever seen them. That was saying something since Sophie always wore a somewhat stunned expression. “Wait. Whoa. You and Pietr?”
I scrunched my face up at her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Soph. He’s Sarah’s boyfriend. Like you said.”
A light sparked in the depths of Sophie’s dark brown eyes. “Jessie. Don’t get tangled up with what Sarah wants.”
“Hey, Jessica!” Derek headed down the hal toward us, his smile dimpling. Al -American good looks, a popular footbal player, and he actual y paid attention to me.
Sad I didn’t care much anymore.
“And don’t get entangled with Derek, either,” Sophie ordered, just outside the volume of her standard whispery words. She toyed with her col ar and dodged away before he reached us.
Sophie stil did what she could to avoid being near Derek. She’d dated him once and never again. As much as Amy and I tried to pry details out of her, she never said much about it. We’d gotten worried, but she’d assured us it certainly wasn’t like he’d physical y attacked her.
But that was al she’d said. And only once.
“Hey,” I greeted him, focusing on the paper Sophie had pressed into my hands. Prices to be reduced to one dol ar. A pretty stiff reduction. Who could reduce things that much in this economy? And who would give that much support to a public school so far from what most considered civilization?
“What you got?” Derek asked, slipping the sheet from my fingers with a brush of his hand.
“Research for an article.”
“I heard about this. Sounds like a great deal.”
“Yeah. Maybe too great.”
Derek grinned. “Sometimes you chase stuff that doesn’t need chasing, Miss Investigative Reporter.”
“I just want to know the truth behind stuff. Don’t you?”
“Nah. Not always,” he admitted. “Sometimes the truth’s harder to swal ow. Why worry so much?”
“So ask the easy questions—if any questions at al ?”
“Sure. Perlson’s a good guy. No need to see ghosts where there’s only shadows, right?”
“And that’s why you’re an athlete and I’m an editor,” I quipped with a smile to echo his. “You can take sports at face value most times. But people?” I shrugged. “They can be harder to figure out.”
“Interesting point, except people devise and play sports,” he retorted, his grin tilting.
I’d swear his teeth twinkled. “Huh.” I took the paper back, stuffing it into my backpack.
“Not just a pretty face here,” he said with a chuckle. The warning bel rang. “Whoops. Better get to class.” He jogged off.
In silent agreement I headed down the hal , doing a little mental math. Even lunch at a dol ar a day might be too much to make sure there was money for Christmas. Dad’s factory was stil laying off workers and though we doubted he’d be cut, there was little hope for a holiday bonus.
* * *
Glancing up and down the hal way I decided it was safe enough to join him. We were alone. I reached out to him, but he dodged back, his gaze guarded.
I dropped my hand.
“Tomorrow night we’re scouting,” he said. “Neither Wanda nor Kent have contacted us about seeing Mother.”
“They
want
you to scout.”
He shrugged.
“Don’t give me the same crap Max is pushing—that macho ‘let ’em try’ stuff. They have guns. Don’t be reckless, Pietr.”
“We have limited options. Limited time. And”—he checked the hal —“fangs and claws.” A lazy grin sprawled across his lips.
My knees threatened to buckle. “So. Tomorrow night.”
He gave a sharp nod and pushed back at the shock of dark hair spiking toward his right eye. “Cat wants you along. I—” Looking down at the floor between us, he seemed to measure the distance. “I don’t think you’re needed.”
“I’m not …
needed?
”
He rubbed his nose and looked away.
“You’re going.”
“
Da
,” he said, settling his eyes on me again, puzzled.
“Then count me in,” I insisted.
His jaw tightened.
“Count. Me. In.”
One simple word, given so reluctantly: “
Da
.”
Sarah stepped out of the bathroom, making a beeline for us. Her blond hair was perfect. But it already had been when she went in to fix it.
had been when she went in to fix it.
I smiled and waved at her like there was nothing going on beyond two friends chatting. “Pietr,” I said with a grin plastered across my face while Sarah remained out of earshot, “if you care for me—keep your hands and your lips off Sarah.”
* * *
Cat laughed, her voice crackling over the phone. I needed to put the receiver back in its base later.
“What’s next?”
“Silver bul ets.”
“
Nyet,
it does not take a silver bul et to kil us if the shot is perfect. That is a Hol ywood invention like having to change under a ful moon.”
“But you and Pietr turned under a ful moon,” I protested.
“
Da,
because our birthdays fel at that time. The change activates after the first ful moon of our seventeenth birthday. We feel increased desire to change under the moon, but Alexi believes it is because instinctively we know the light is better and easier to run and hunt by. We are the result of scientific tampering, not magic.”
“Says the tea-leaf-reading werewolf. How is Alexi?”
“Alive.”
I shivered at how cool y she dropped the single word.
“Next?”
“Imprinting.”
I heard the smile disappear from Cat’s face. “Next?”
I repeated myself.
“Are you referring to Stephenie Meyer’s books?”
“Yes,” I said. A little unwil ingly.
Cat chuckled. “There is no shame in reading enjoyable books. But this topic is better discussed later.”
“Got it.”
Since we’d learned the CIA had tapped the Rusakovas’ phone we were careful about chatting. Cat readily answered things she felt the CIA knew from the Soviet files. Or things that drove them insane—like sales on clothing, who needed to wax, and suitable caloric intake for girls, werewolf or not.
Some nights I thought I could almost hear agents groan.
“Would you like to speak to Pietr?”
My heart hammered at his name. “Of course.”
There was a shout and the clunk of one phone clicking off as another was picked up.
“
Allo
,” he said, his voice a rumble in my ear that made my blood rush and my vision blur.
“We need to talk.”
“We are talking now.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”