Vesper (25 page)

She linked her arm through mine and started strolling up the walkway to the school entrance. Only then did her smile falter, and I realized that whatever goodwill facade she'd been forcing was not long for this world.

"I was expecting you to call me this weekend/' she said, her voice rising higher. "After you made me go all the way to Seattle to get my car."

I stopped and pulled away. A couple of guys ran Into me, muttering,

"Watch it," as they walked past us into the school.

"Listen, Megan—," I said.

She interrupted me, crossing her arms. "You know, I expected you to make a bigger effort to apologize than just give me some money and expect everything to be better."

"Megan..."

"I spent the whole weekend waiting around for you, Emily," she spat. Her chest heaved as she got herself worked up, ready to unleash all the anger she'd held in all weekend. "While you went off and did whatever you're doing with your new friends."

"Megan!" I shouted. "Will you shut up for a second and listen?"

Stunned, she did just that, finally looking me in the eye. Nearby some other kids watched us, laughing at us behind their palms. I didn't care.

"Look," I said, lowering my voice and leading her off the walkway. "I know things have been weird lately, and I wish I could explain, but I'm still figuring it out. But you need to know one thing: You are the last person I would ever leave or hurt on purpose. I don't have any new friends that I'm going to abandon you for."

"What about
him?"
Megan's expression darkened.

"'Him'?" I repeated. "You mean Spencer?"

I stood on my tiptoes to see over the other kids. Spencer was no longer by the front doors. He'd probably headed off to class.

"Yeah," she said. "Is he your boyfriend now? Is that what all this stuff is about?"

"What? No!" I sighed. "Megan, I don't want to fight with you. I don't want you acting like I'm some demon for, I guess, trying to be more ... grown-up."

She snorted, but couldn't hide a small smile. "'Grown-up,' huh? Which means I'm not."

"That's not what I mean," I said. Megan didn't respond.

We stood together in a long, awkward silence. Ahead of me, there was a thud of leather against skin, and a girl cried out. I saw class president Tracie Townsend race out of the crowd and into the grass next to the walkway, brandishing a football that I guess had hit her in the face. She chased after a gawky guy wearing a too-big Seahawks jersey.

Finally I sighed once more. "Look, Megan, I
am
sorry. I promise you I am.

Nothing that happened this past week is anything I ever expected to happen.

And that includes taking your car. You're right, I should have called to apologize. I just…”

I trailed off. I didn't quite know how to finish, or to truly explain. Spencer and I, along with a few other kids I had yet to find, we shared a secret. A secret I didn't know if I could tell Megan.

But Megan had been my best and only friend for years and years. And, forgetting all the insanity of the weekend, I had missed her. I couldn't imagine not having her to talk to.

I swallowed. "Please, Megan, just... just accept my apology, will you? I can't imagine us not being friends/'

She didn't respond, or even look me in the eye, for what felt like an eternity.

"Something is going on with you," she said softly. "Are you ever going to tell me what? Are you actually sick?"

"I... yeah," I said. "I am. But I think I figured it out. I think from now on, I'll be better."

Megan looked up at me, and I could see the disbelief in her eyes, but also hope. Because I knew Megan, and I knew her well: I was her only real friend, just as she was mine. And she didn't want to lose me, either.

"All right," she said. "Okay, fine. I accept your apology. But at some point, you're going to sit down and tell me everything that's been going on."

"Deal."

Side by side, we re-entered the stream of kids heading up the walkway to the school.

"One thing," she said as we walked. "If you ever—
ever—
do anything else to me like you did Friday night, I
will
cut you. Got it?"

I laughed. "Got it."

We reached the front doors just as the first bell rang. All the students who had mingled outside until the last minute rushed to their first classes. Megan and I were about to do the same, but something caught my eye.

"Actually, I'll head to class in a minute," I said to Megan. "Just need a sec out here, okay?"

She regarded me curiously, then shrugged. "All right. See you in a few."

I left Megan and the crowd behind, strolling just off the walkway to the wall where the makeshift memorial to Emily Cooke and Dalton had sprouted up the week before. The ribbons on the pole nearby had started to come untied, the flowers were wilted, teddy bears were soaked with rainwater.

Only the pictures seemed to have weathered the weekend unscathed, protected as they were behind laminate.

I pressed my fingers against the photo of Emily Cooke. I looked into her smiling blue eyes and whispered, "I did it. I got him."

I had wanted to flip the switch that would make me become a normal teenager. But this? This could prove to be so much better. And now I had someone who understood me. Someone who was like me, with whom I could share all these changes. Several someones, in fact.

Not everything was right in my life, not by a long shot. I still had so many questions about what was going on with me, and despite what I'd told Megan, I still didn't know if I would ever be able to control the wild behavior of my other selves. I still had a whole family who thought I was becoming someone else, and a best friend who didn't seem entirely convinced I was still the same person, and a whole school full of teenagers—specifically some incredibly popular cheerleaders—who thought I was the corporeal embodiment of Satan. Not to mention I had a nervous feeling that Jared's brief interrogation of me and Spencer that morning wouldn't be the last we heard from the police.

Yeah, life was changing for me all right. It was scary and exciting, painfully sad and blissful all at the same time. Nighttime Emily had proven reckless, brazen, sometimes out of control. The wolf me was something totally different altogether.

But Daytime, Nighttime, Wolftime ... they wore all me. Frightened and fearless and frightening, all in one body. I didn't have all the answers, wasn't quite sure where life was going to take me, if I would ever feel completely in sync with my selves. But standing in front of that photo of the other Emily, it didn't matter. I let the worry wash away.

The final bell rang then, shaking me from my thoughts. I turned to find the front walkway to the school completely empty, save for a few loose pieces of notebook paper fluttering across the lawn.

Gripping my backpack tight, I raced through the front doors to the school, sneakers squeaking over the linoleum. I started to race toward class—when two officious-looking people stepped out into the main hall, deep in discussion.

The woman, who I recognized as one of the office ladies, turned toward me, her eyes registering recognition. I expected a stern glare at my lateness, but instead she put a hand on the shoulder of the man next to her and gestured in my direction.

"That's her," I heard the woman say.

I stood rooted to the spot, not sure what was going on. My heart pounded—was this guy from the police? Had they figured it out? Did they know what I was?

The man turned to face me. He was mousy and thin, no taller than me. He wore an unexceptional gray suit that seemed a size too large for him. His brown hair was thinning, his wire-rimmed glasses tilted slightly off center.

The man left the office lady's side and came toward me, smiling.

"Emily Webb?" he asked me, his voice surprisingly deep despite his diminutive size.

I nodded, confirming. "Am I in trouble?" I asked. "I didn't mean to come in late, I was just—"

The man let out a gentle laugh and rested a hand on my shoulder. I squirmed uncomfortably.

"No, not at all," he said. "I was sent from the school district to talk converse, erm,
counsel
students like yourself who have been directly affected by all that's been going on lately."

Stepping back, out of his grasp, I said, "I haven't really been affected. I don't know why—"

The man shook his head. "We got a call from the police department about how you and another student discovered a man's, ah,
body
last night. A man who could have been the person responsible for Emily Cooke's untimely death. Of course we understand how that might be traumatizing."

Yeah. Just a little.

I didn't want to stand there anymore. I felt so exposed in the wide, empty green hall. It was just the two of us standing there now, me and the small man—the office lady had disappeared. It was eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of muffled voices leaking through closed classroom doors.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, that was ... Look, I should probably get to class, Mr.….?"

"Savage," the man said, not letting his kind smile drop. "You can call me Mr. Savage. And of course, your studies should come first. But you should come find me in the office after the school day is done."

"Sure," I muttered as I brushed past him and speed-walked down the hall toward my half-over homeroom. "See you around."

"I'm sure you will," Mr. Savage called after me. "There is much we should discuss."

The Vesper Company

"Envisioning the brightest stars, to lead our way."

- Internal Document, Do Not Reproduce -

Partial Transcript of the Interrogation of

Branch B's Vesper l

Part 6—Recorded Oct. 31, 2010

Vesper 1 (V1): Looks like we've come full circle, Mr. Savage. Because that week ended the day I met you. Or at least who you pretended to be.

F. Savage (FS): [clears throat] I apologize for all the initial deception, Emily, but like I've said—

V1: You did all this for my own good, yes, I've been hearing that ever since you people put a gun to my face and marched me into a truck.

FS: It's the truth, Emily, I swear to you it's the truth.

V1: Are you sweating, Mr. Savage? I think you are. I can smell you. You're afraid, and the stench is totally nauseating.

FS: I—

V1: What did that text message say, Mr. Savage?

FS: Everything's under control, I—I—I—it's—

V1: What were those noises in the hall? Are things not going as you planned?

Did it turn out that you and your freak bosses and their shadowmen underestimated us... deviants?

[Chains clang and then make the sound of snapping as they are pulled apart.

Screeching sounds as furniture is tossed aside.]

FS: Emily, please, please, I—

V1: You know, Mr. Savage, me and my friends thought about it, and we guessed that you weren't actually going to let us go. Because we know what you and the Vesper Company have been up to all this time. We know all about BioZenith and how we were made into vespers and what we were made for. I know that all the horrible, awful things that have happened have been because of you and the other deluded people like you. And so we're not going to sit here and take it. Not after you made me—you made me—

[There is a shuffle of loafers on linoleum.]

V1: You can't really run anywhere, Mr. Savage.

[A cacophonous boom. (NOTE: Go back and detail time stamp here to clarify that this is the moment the door to the interrogation room was blown off hinges. Will need to reconcile with video footage at later date.)]

Unidentified Female (UF): Going somewhere?

FS: I—I—I—I—please, I—

V1: Took you long enough, Amy.

UF: Well, we had some things to take care of.

FS: Please, please, I don't want to die, I was just doing my job!

V1: We're not going to kill you.

UF: We're not?

V1: No. Like I told him, I'm not a big fan of blood.

FS: Thank you, oh God thank you, I—

V1: You better hurry and get out of here before I change my mind.

[Running footsteps; FS leaving room.]

UF: Why did you let him go?

V1: Because I want him to go back to the people behind all of this. I want them to know what we're capable of.

UF: You know, Em, I underestimated you. You're not just an undercover skank, after all.

V1: Thanks, Amy.

UF: I mean it.

V1: So do I.

[Shuffling as the two move about the room.]

V1: Wait. Don't destroy any of that.

UF: But they have your conversation recorded, and all that you wrote, too.

V1: I know. And I want it that way. I want them to read every single page and see who I was. Then I want them to hear everything that happened today and know what they made me become. And I want them to be afraid.

UF: You're
crazy,
girl.

V1: Only a little bit. Hey, did you know that they call people like us deviants?

UF: Who? You wolves?

V1: No, you psychs too, maybe others. Any of their vespers that they didn't totally control. Guess that tells you what they think of their creations.

UF: [laughs.] Deviants. I sort of like it.

V1: Me too. Now shut that thing off and let's go. We've got others to break out, and the night only lasts so long.

[Rustling as the tape recorder is picked up. A click as the recorder is shut off.]

End of Partial Transcript of the Interrogation of Branch B's Vesper l Acknowledgments

Getting the first part of Emily Webb's journey from my brain and into your hands was a long and sometimes tumultuous journey that couldn't have been completed without the help of many other very talented people. A special thank-you to Stacy Whitman, Nina Hess, Shelly Mazzanoble, and the rest of the Mirrorstone crew for helping me get the idea off the ground and for their continued support; to Michael Stearns for his endlessly excellent guidance, editorial or otherwise, and for tirelessly working with his fellow Upstart Crows to find this story a home; and to Kristin Daly Rens, Sara Sargent, and everyone else at Balzer + Bray for seeing me through to the finish line and for working hard to make this the best book it can be. Thank you all!