Crimson (The Silver Series Book 3) (3 page)

***

By the time we reached the first signs of
civilization, my calf burned and my limbs felt hot and heavy with
fever. I left Grace by a cluster of trees and stole into the
closest house without a car in the driveway. I found a dark gray
sweatshirt and black sweatpants folded on top of the dryer and was
putting them on when a faint hint of smoke touched my nose. I
finished pulling on the clothes and turned to leave, but my
conscience tickled at the back of my mind.

I followed the faint scent through the house
and up a set of stairs. A string hung from a pull-down ladder near
the end of the hall. I listened to make sure no one was returning
home, then pulled the ladder down and climbed gingerly into the
attic. I traced the scent to a slowly twisting tendril of smoke
next to the furnace. Burn marks on the insulation signified that
this was a reoccurring problem.

I quickly pulled away the insulation packed
tightly around the furnace vents, unplugged the furnace and made
sure the smoke was completely gone, then left a short, anonymous
note on the kitchen table explaining the problem and thanking them
for the clothes. A pair of sunglasses sat in a coin dish by the
sink. I thought of the nurse's reaction to my eyes and slipped them
in my pocket, then left out the back door. I shut it tight behind
me and hurried back to the trees where Grace waited.

The look of relief on her face when she
heard my footsteps made my heartbeat quicken. I couldn't imagine
how she must feel hiding and wondering if I was coming back. I took
her hand and smiled slightly at her barely audible sigh of
relief.

“
Was your expedition
successful?” she asked, walking beside me.

“
Definitely,” I replied,
thinking of the smoke in the attic. “They lost some clothes, but
not their house.”

She threw me a questioning look but didn't
press for details. We walked past the sign at the entrance to the
tiny city and my heart slowed. I stopped and stared at it, then
looked around at the surrounding sage brush and scattered houses;
mountains tinged in the red of dawn sat in the distance.

“
What’s wrong?” Grace
asked.

“
Have you ever been to
Utah?”

She shook her head. “I’m from
Washington.”

“
Well, you’re in Utah now.”
We walked slowly up the road to the town. A diesel-engine farm
truck roared past and shook the bridge we crossed; Grace squeezed
my arm tight and I put my hand over hers reassuringly, but couldn't
think of anything to say that didn't sound pathetic.

As we walked down the main street, I felt
the eyes of the locals watching us. I was surprised to see so many
people up that early, but I guessed farmers worked odd hours. We
crossed at the only street light, then walked across a well-kept
lawn to the public library. It didn’t open for another couple of
hours, so we settled on the steps and waited as the sun rose and
chased away the last shreds of chill from the air.

“
Why did you want to die?”
Grace asked quietly, her back against one of the handrail poles and
her face toward the rising sun.

My stomach twisted. “It’s not a topic for
discussion.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Ouch.”

I frowned. “Not to be rude or anything, but
I just don’t want to talk about it. It’s not pleasant.”

She nodded, then a few seconds later said,
“You know, being a werewolf isn’t that bad.”

“
Looks like it did you a
lot of good,” I replied before I could stop myself.

Her brow creased and she turned her face
away, but not before I saw the hurt that swept across it.

I touched her hand. “Grace, I’m sorry. I’m
not good at this.” I gestured vaguely. “I’m not the polite
conversation type.”

“
Oh, really?” she asked,
still looking away. “What type are you?”

My heart clenched, but I told the truth.
“Before all of this, I was the drinking, lying, stealing type who
hurt my family and everyone who got close to me just because I
could.”

She turned back to me, surprise on her face.
“You don’t pull your punches,” she said softly.

“
I’m an easy target,” I
replied.

She smiled and was silent for a while. Her
fingers ran softly along the cool concrete of the step like a piano
player getting familiar with a new instrument. “How old are you?”
she asked in an offhand tone.

“
Eighteen. You?”

“
Nineteen,” she replied,
her voice thoughtful. “My birthday was yesterday.”

I glanced at her, uncertain what to say. I
finally settled for, “Sorry you had such a crappy birthday.”

She shrugged. “It was pretty good. At least
I got out of that place.”

“
How long were you
there?”

“
Six long
months.”

I stared at her, wondering how she could
have survived six months when I couldn’t even last a day fully
conscious.

Grace sat up. “Someone’s coming.” I listened
for the footsteps and heard them just before a person rounded the
corner of the library.

The lady walked up the steps and eyed us
curiously as she turned a key in the door. “You’re welcome to come
in,” she said with an amiable smile.

I took Grace’s hand and led her inside. The
lady gave me another glance when I didn’t take off my sunglasses,
but I figured the glasses would be less conspicuous than red eyes.
“Do you have a computer where we can access the internet?” I asked
in my best innocent tone.

“
Of course,” she said. She
led the way down a row of books and into an empty room full of
computers. She turned on the first row and gestured for us to use
whichever we would like.

“
What are you looking for?”
Grace asked in a whisper when the woman left.

“
Someone who can help us,”
I replied. “You need to get back to Washington and we don’t have
any money. We either need to find your family-“

“
My pack won’t be there,”
Grace said, cutting me off with a carefully expressionless tone.
“Hunters found where we lived. We were running when I got shot.
Gabe stayed behind to help me and they got him, too.”

“
The rest of them left
you?” I asked, incredulous. “Who was in charge?”

“
My brother,” she said
quietly. She turned her head away so I couldn't see her
expression.

My heart ached for her. I took a deep breath
and looked back at the computer. “Okay, then let’s shoot in the
dark and see if we can find something.”

After an hour of fruitless searching through
websites on werewolves which made them out to be anything from
demons of the night to angels to messengers of both God and Satan,
I came across a small, single white page with black, unassuming
letters that said merely, ‘If you are a werewolf and need help,
call Jaze.’ It listed a phone number next to a single small wolf
paw print. I copied the number down on a piece of scratch paper
beside the computer.

“
It was the only thing I
could find besides cult worshipers or people asking to be bitten,”
I said, leading Grace back through the library. I frowned. “Does
the whole bitten thing work?”

“
You mean would it turn
someone into a werewolf?” She shook her head. “Until you came
around, werewolves were born, not made.”

The fact that I was the harbinger of a new
form of werewolf didn't cheer me in the slightest. “Maybe this Jaze
person can help me get back to normal.”

“
Well, it’s something at
least,” she said, though the doubt in her voice was
obvious.

I didn’t want to trust anyone, but since
neither of us had change for a pay phone, I went back to the
librarian. “Could we use your phone?”

She looked us both up and down, then gave me
a small smile. “Just don’t talk too long,” she said. She set a
phone on the desk and took an armful of books toward the
shelves.

I punched in the number, held my breath for
a moment, then let it out slowly when a male voice answered.
“Hello?”

“
Is this Jaze?” I asked
carefully.

“
Yeah, who’s
this?”

“
I called the number on the
website.”

Jaze fell silent for a moment, then said,
“Okay, where are you? We’ll come get you.”

Grace stiffened beside me; after what we had
been through, I agreed with her distrust wholeheartedly. “How do I
know we can trust you?”

“
You called me. The website
said to call if you need help, so how can I help?”

When I didn’t answer, I heard him take a
slight breath. “You can trust me. I don’t know how I can prove that
over the phone, but if you’re in trouble, that's what we're here
for. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come myself to pick you
up.”

Despite my reservations, something told me I
could trust him. My leg throbbed and I felt lightheaded. There was
no way we would get far without help. I squeezed Grace’s hand
reassuringly, then told him the name of the town we were in.

The voice on the other end of the line went
silent for a minute, then he said in a sure voice, “Okay, we’re in
Texas. It’s a day and a half drive. If that's too long, I'll buy
you plane tickets; you can fly into DFW and I'll meet you at the
airport.”

“
They’ll be looking for us
at the airport,” Grace whispered.

“
Is someone else there?”
Jaze asked, his voice sharp. “Is this a prank?”

I gritted my teeth. “No, this isn’t a prank.
I’m here with someone else who also needs help, but we prefer not
to go to the airport.”

“
Is someone looking for
you?”

“
Yes,” I said
simply.

He fell silent again, then said, “Alright,
where can I meet you?”

I took a steeling breath. “The city library.
We’ll meet at noon two days from now.”

“
I’ll be there,” he
said.

I hung up the phone before I could change my
mind.

“
What do we do until then?”
Grace asked, her voice just above a whisper.

“
Hide out, and find some
food,” I replied.

“
Can we go back to the
barn?”

The note of fear in her voice at the unknown
caught my heart. “You felt safe there?” I asked. She nodded before
ducking her head and the action made up my mind. “We’ll go back to
the barn. I felt safer there anyway.” She smiled, her fingers
toying with the hem of her shirt.

I took her hand as the librarian came
back.

“
Have a great day and come
visit us again soon,” the lady said.

I gave her a smile. “Thanks for your
help.”

“
Anytime,” she said. She
straightened her glasses and picked up another armful of books. I
led Grace through the front doors and out into the
sunshine.

Chapter 3

“
What do we do about food?”
she asked quietly, a touch of concern to her voice.

“
Leave it to me,” I
replied. I led us toward the closest gas station. “I’m an old hand
at this. Not that I’m proud of it.”

She turned her face my way, but didn’t say
anything when I led her into the gas station and asked her to wait
near the door. Only two other customers were in the store at the
early hour, so I waited until the cashier was busy talking to one
and slipped a couple packages of honey baked peanuts, a few candy
bars, and a bottle of root beer into the convenient pouch of my
borrowed sweatshirt. I also lifted another pair of sunglasses for
Grace to help her look more casual.

I was about to leave when a newspaper near
the soda pop machine caught my attention. I glanced at the date,
then froze. According to the paper, I had been at the lab for four
months. I set a hand on the counter to steady myself. A cold, hard
knot formed in my stomach at the thought of my family and the pain
I had put them through.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to
focus on the task at hand. By the time the cashier was done with
his customer and looking around for me, we were out the door and
down the street.

“
Do that a lot?” Grace
asked, chewing thoughtfully on a handful of peanuts as we walked
down an empty farm road.

“
I did, more often than I
care to think about,” I replied honestly. I opened the bottle of
root beer and handed it to her. She took a sip and handed it
back.

“
So you’ve changed?” she
asked.

“
A lot has changed,” I said
with more bitterness than I could hide.

She stopped and her fingers, so light on my
arm, made me stop, too. “Being a werewolf's not so bad.”

“
That’s not what I meant,”
I said before I could stop myself and take the easy way
out.

She fell silent for a minute, then asked,
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you?”

I shook my head and started walking again so
she had no choice but to follow. “Probably not. It’s not
pleasant.”

She swept her free hand to indicate our
surroundings. “And this is?”

I shrugged. “Green stuff waving in the wind,
the sunlight in my hair, and the sky a bright shade of blue I’ve
never seen before? It's not so bad.” Then I remembered she couldn't
see and glanced at her. “Sorry.”

She gave a smile that touched her eyes.
“Don’t be sorry, just describe it to me. I expect more from the son
of an English teacher. Oh, and the green plants are alfalfa; I can
tell by the smell.”

I fought back a smile.
“Okay, farm girl. Wind blows through the
alfalfa
,” I threw her a look and she
smiled as though she felt it, “Making the dark green tops with
purple flowers dance like waves before an ocean breeze.” Her hand
tightened on my arm. I continued, “The blue of the sky is lighter
than a robin’s egg, but it glows as though reflecting back the
warmth of the sun from the purple mountains in the distance. Golden
sunflowers sway along the sides of the road as if listening to
music only they can hear, and the closest mountain, a little one
we’re walking toward, sits like a toad emperor surveying his
kingdom of cows and fenced farmland.”