Strange Angels (11 page)

I didn’t hear any footsteps, but after a while the alarm shut off. I waited. Graves was propped against the inside of a stall, shivering so hard his teeth clicked together rapidly. He was in shock, and I didn’t know what to do for him. The bite—would he begin to change? I should have left him behind. You don’t fool around with werwulf bites. You just don’t . It was a law. When he started to get hairy and hungry, I’d have to—

Christ no. Don’t think about that.I checked my watch again. Still ticking, even though it

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took a licking. Just like me.

My legs shook, tired all the way down to the bones. My head was full of cotton wool. I hurt all over , adrenaline fading in fits and starts. I went to the entrance to the restroom, where the hallway did a sharp bend so nobody could peek into the girls’ pee-palace. I listened with every fiber of my being, focusing out, my entire body becoming an aching pair of ears. The compact ball of my self inside my head relaxed too, sending little fingers out, searching for any disturbance. I heard nothing. No voices, no sounds of movement.

Okay. How do I get us out of here?

I could bet that the werwulf, if it was still alive, had fled. They’re strong and unholy quick, but they avoid the authorities just like suckers. A cadre of cops with firepower and vests can cause plenty of damage, and neither wulfen or suckers want to be caught in the open like that. It attracts too much attention. They live by staying at the edges of things, under the cover of night.

Of course, the cops and other authorities didn’t want news of the weird getting out; it might cause a panic. Cops, EMTs, firemen—they cover up this sort of thing as a matter of course, consigning it to the dead-file section. Dad always argued with August about whether it was a Conspiracy or just the human need to have things fit into neat little boxes. So neither side, Real World or officialdom, wanted to meet each other face-to-face. Even if cops had vests and greater firepower, a wulf could wreak a lot of havoc. They’re expensive to replace, fine officers of the law. Freelance hunters like Dad have to make do with even more firepower and sneaky cunning, understanding their prey in order to think three steps ahead of it.

Too bad I was just a kid. Dad was the brains of the operation. I just tagged along and told him where to find the biggest weirdness, or broke a hex or two. I mean, I was a great accessory , the best weirdness detector around, but he was the boss and the brains and the one with the guns. I was worse than useless on my own, and I had someone else to worry about now, too.

But the situation is what the situation is , Dad always said. There was nothing else to do but keep going. If I stopped now I’d drown without even a bubble.

“What’s going on?” Graves whispered. He sounded about three years old and scared of the dark. “Jesus Christ, what’s going on?”

“It has nothing to do with Jesus,” I whispered back, checking the gun for the fiftieth time. If I’d had a spare clip for the gun I’d have racked it in, on the theory that it was better to have a full one than a half-empty one if something else happened. Dad, you should be proud of me. I’m thinking like you. Trying to, anyway. I just hoped I could think enough like him to keep us both breathing. Graves blinked at me. “You shot it.” His voice shook like a bad engine. “I thought you were going to shoot me.”

I should. Dad probably would.I shut my eyes, leaned the back of my head against the tiled wall, my wet hair finally stopping its dripping. “I wasn’t aiming at you.”

“What was that thing?” His hand clamped over his shoulder, the pressure bandage mercilessly tight. “It had teeth. It had big teeth. It smelled.”

“It was a werwulf.” I shouldn’t tell him anything. I should put a bullet in his brain. Dad would put him down as a casualty before he changes. Once bitten, you have twelve hours,

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sometimes less. That’s a fact.

And a wulf who knew about a hunter was a liability. Dad always said “liability” like it was a filthy word. To him, it probably was.

“You know about these things?” The question ended on a squeak. I shushed him. If he made noise and the cops heard it—were they still around? I checked my watch again. Eight thirty-eight p.m., or 1638 hours if you were all military. Fifty-three minutes since I’d moved us to this bathroom. Was it enough time for the cops to clear a scene this weird?

Outside it would be getting colder. I was bruised and exhausted. I walked cautiously past the stalls to the sinks, where I took another deep breath in, all the way down to the bottom of my lungs, and looked in the mirror.

There was that long but freshly scabbed-up gash along my hairline, but if I left my hair down I’d just look wet and scruffy. Anyone out tonight would probably be wet as well. If I could get us downtown I could probably hail us a cab—if the cabbie was suicidal—and take it to three streets over from my house, and hope nothing was waiting for me inside. Yeah. And I could fly to the moon, too. If it was bad enough to shut the mall down early, there was little chance of a cab, right? But these people were serious about snow. Maybe they had everything scraped now.

There was a sound behind me. Graves floundered around the end of the stalls. “Don’t leave me here.” At least he didn’t shout it, but he might have thought he was shouting, his voice was so hoarse and constricted.

My throat closed up on me. Dad had told me over and over again what to do if something happened to him. I usually tuned it out—who wanted to think about that ? Not me, that’s for sure. But still . . . Don’t take on any weight; you’ll drown. You remember that if anything happens to me. You take care of yourself, Dru. You be strong and do what you have to do.

But this kid wasn’t a sucker or a werwulf yet. He was just a kid. He’d brought me food and let me see his private hideaway. I got the idea he didn’t do that a lot. He’d trusted me. I couldn’t just leave him.

Could I?

“I’m not going to leave you.” I sounded funny even to myself—breathless, as if I was running up a hill. “You’re going to have to do what I say.”

Amazingly, he smiled at me. “You’re bossy.” His pupils were still huge, but a little color had begun to come back into his face, especially along his cheekbones. “I like bossy chicks.”

Jesus.At least someone around here was feeling better. “Shut up. You’re going to have to do exactly what I tell you to do. Got it?” Or we’ll get arrested. Or maybe just killed.

“Sure. You do this to all your dates?” It was a type of courage over a screaming well of panic. He was really a brave kid, or maybe it was just the shock.

“I don’t date.” I never stay anyplace long enough to date. “Is that silver?” I pointed to his earring, forgetting I still had the gun in my hand until he flinched. He covered it well.

“I guess so. The guy I bought it from said it was.”

“What about that? The chain?” This time I used my left hand to point at his necklace. My bag’s down in his room. I need my bag.

It was too risky. All of this was too risky. If I went back down to Graves’s little bolt-hole,

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we could be caught by the cops (bad) or caught by the possibly rabid werwulf (even worse), healed and ready for round two. They recovered quick . I had to get both of us out of here.

I need my bag.The urge was like the urge to pee. I wanted my bag the way little kids want a hug after they’ve scraped their knees, the way you want sunshine after a long rainy month, or a drink of water in the desert.

“The chain’s silver.” Some sense came back into his eyes. Giving him questions to answer was a good idea.

“Good. I’m going to go get my bag. You stay here.”

That made his eyes wide and wild, the pupils shrinking so the green irises showed. “Don’t leave me here!” He scraped himself away from the stall, his voice bouncing off tiles. I shushed him again. “Look,” I whispered fiercely, “you don’t know how to move under cover. I’m going to go down and get my bag. I’ll come back for you and I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“It’s not safe here?” Sarcasm tinted his tone, but at least he said it quietly. “Jesus. What was that thing?”

“Werwulf. I told you.” I looked nervously at the entrance, hoping nobody heard us, hoping nobody was in this part of the mall. Were they gone? It wasn’t like the cops to clear a scene in under an hour. Then again, if it just looked like a really weird vandalism thing, they might not stay too long. There had to be plenty of other stuff happening out in the world tonight. Bad weather always strains the emergency infrastructure. I chewed my already-sore lower lip, tried to think. I needed my bag, and I needed to get us both out of the mall and back to the only safe place I knew. How would Dad do it?

If I thought about it that way it seemed almost doable. Almost. Except for the not-havingany-idea-what-to-do-next part.

“Stay here.” I was already thinking about cover, plotting out routes and backtracks. Graves grabbed my arm with surprising strength. “Dru. Don’t leave me. Please .”

I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up and do what I told him, but then I got a good look at him. Deathly pale, the high spots of feverish color still standing out on his cheeks, about ready to fall over by the way he swayed on his feet, his fingers biting into my upper arm. His other arm hung limp and useless.

If I left him here in the girls’ bathroom, I might come back and find him unresponsive or already changing. I struggled to think clearly, but my clear-thinker seemed busted. I should have left him there. Dad might have shot him just to cut down on the variables; he would definitely be telling me to get a move on. The longer I stayed here, the more dangerous it was.

I didn’t have anyone else, and I was the reason Graves had been bit. It must hurt like hell.

“Dru.” He couldn’t speak louder than a sandpapery whisper, and his fingers dug in with feverish strength. I was going to bruise there, too—if I hadn’t already. There didn’t seem to be an unbruised place on my body. We were both in pretty bad shape. Another thought rose: Graves’s arm awkwardly around me while I cried. He hadn’t asked questions or tried any funny business.

I couldn’t leave him here.

“All right,” I told us both. “Stay right behind me. Move the way I do. We’re going to try to stay under cover. How many different ways can you get me down to your room?”

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The relief crossing his transparent face bit me hard in the chest. If he hadn’t been so pale, he would have looked like Christmas. “Four or five. Take your pick.” He swayed, caught himself, and tried to straighten. “I’ll keep up. Just don’t leave me.”

Four or five different routes was good news, if I kept him conscious enough to navigate me. “Okay.” I tried again to think clearly, failed just as miserably as before. “I need my bag, and our best option’s a bus route that’s still going out east. Are any going to be running?”

“The 53.” He nodded, his hair flopping in his face. Even his nose looked pale, for God’s sake. “Runs all night, even when it snows. I can get you there.”

I took an experimental step toward the entrance. He swayed after me, and I thought I had maybe twenty minutes before I had to hold him up.

Move it, Dru.“Okay,” I said again. “You and me, Graves. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 12

The buses werestill running. Chained up and slow as hell on their nighttime schedule, but they were still running in the right direction, and we had our first bit of luck catching the 53 almost as soon as we got to the stop across the main thoroughfare from the mall. We looked normal enough, shivering and cold; bus drivers don’t look too closely if you don’t seem actively inebriated. A cab was a lost cause—it also occurred to me during the wait at the bus stop that cabbies are probably inordinately curious about their passengers. That was no good.

I watched my house from the corner, shivering in my boots. Graves slumped against me. He’d been almost okay on the bus, but now his head hung and strings of wet curly hair fell in his eyes, curtaining his milk-pale face. His eyes were dilated again, and his lips were close to blue.

Snow in my front yard was pristine. The truck was still missing from the driveway. The light in the living room was on, a rich golden glow in the gloomy orange snow-city light. Thick flakes of white whirled down; both of us were covered in the stuff because I’d dragged Graves off the bus two streets away. He’d almost pitched headfirst into a drift, and we had to walk in the road because of the snowplows racking up mountains of frozen, slushy chunks of ick in the gutters. The sidewalks were damn near iced over and impassable, and sand crunched under my boots. Our tracks would be obliterated in less than half an hour.

Can werwulfen track through snow? Especially if they have a blood trail—I’ll bet they can smell it.I shivered at the thought. I didn’t even want to think about what the burning dog and the werwulf had been looking for.

Because there was only one answer for that, wasn’t there? It was an answer I’d run up against on the bus, the gun a cold weight in my pocket and Graves slumped against me, his head bobbling a little bit as we were bounced around. It looked like nobody had messed with the house. It looked like the shooting had gone unnoticed. Snow made sound carry itself around weird, and the house had been pretty closed up. I wondered if anyone would have found me yet if the zombie had done what it set out to do.

Now there was a nice, happy thought.

There was no cover, but I didn’t want to struggle around through the drifts to the back. For one thing, I didn’t want to see the shattered debris of the door the zombie had come

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through any sooner than I had to. For another, Graves was slumping more and more heavily each passing second. I was doing okay keeping him moving, but I didn’t feel up to carrying him if his legs gave out.