Exposure (13 page)

“Go left.” Hi was crouching beside. “We have to get to the boat.”

“Through the backyard?” Shelton hissed. “That’s where the dude was!”

“Move!” Ben ordered from behind us. “I think someone’s coming down the stairs!”

That clinched it. Time for a sprint.

But, turning to go, I noticed Coop stalking back toward the steps. Ears flat. Tail rigid.

I felt a rush of panic. “Coop, no! Here!”

Coop growled, his entire posture expressing reluctance.

I slapped my side. “Heel, boy! Now!”

With a last snarl at the staircase, Coop spun and bounded to my side.

“Go, go, go!” I pushed the boys ahead of me, one by one, then grabbed Coop’s collar just to be safe. Together we raced into the night.

A dozen strides brought me to the corner of the house. The boys were halfway across the yard, sprinting toward the dock.

Porch lights flicked at houses adjoining the Gable property. Neighbors. Alerted by the commotion.

Coop needed no further prodding. Side by side, we pounded after the other Virals, shooting across the yard, down the dock, and aboard
Sewee.

Hi and Shelton frantically untied the lines, then piled aboard.

Ben gunned the engine and threw it into reverse.

Sewee
lurched from the pier, spun a tight 180, and then fired into the river, leaving behind nothing but choppy wake and a lightly rocking dock.

Wednesday

I
rose early the next morning.

The moment my eyelids opened, there was no going back.

Last night’s scare had soured my dreams.

So I sat on my bed, half asleep, examining the photocopied Man with Snake. I turned the page this way and that, hoping a change in orientation might trigger some insight.
Nada.

On a whim I grabbed my laptop and tried a few Googles, but quickly gave it up.

Searching “Old Man + Snake + Toga” is not an exercise I recommend.

A glance at my clock. 6:07 a.m.

Gonna be a looong day.

My mind began to wander. For the umpteenth time, I wondered who’d seen us inside the Gable home. A concerned neighbor? A cop? For some reason, I didn’t think it was either.

Why had the person crouched outside the basement window? Why set off the alarm?

The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I became.

How long had that stranger crouched there, in the dark, spying on us? I broke out in goose bumps, remembering the feel of those hidden eyes.

Once spotted, our watcher hadn’t run. Hadn’t immediately charged inside. Hadn’t raised a shout. The figure had remained frozen in place, observing us for a few moments more. As if committing our faces to memory. I shivered at
that
thought.

We’d high-tailed it back to Morris Island, watching
Sewee
’s wake for any sign of pursuit. None had appeared. Back home, Coop and I had scurried into the townhouse. I’d spent the rest of evening pretending nothing was amiss.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the Gables’ basement. The glowing circle of blue.

Blood on steel and tile, carefully and methodically cleaned.

We
have
to do something.

Lost in thought, I glanced at the page in my hands. Was startled by its clarity.

I could make out tiny wrinkles on the paper’s surface. Microscopic creases, creating subtle variations in color and grain. The black ink practically leaped off the page, refining into a hundred variations of gray and assuming almost three-dimensional properties. Its acrid smell infested my nostrils.

A loud clicking made me jump. My eyes darted to the clock, where every shift of the second hand now reverberated like a snare drum.

I became aware of a raft of scents surrounding me. Shampoos and soaps wafting from my bathroom. Frying bacon drifting from downstairs. A half-gnawed bone Coop had deposited underneath my bed.

I sprang to my feet, unsure what was happening.

Too quick—I toppled over backward in a heap. Lay there panting.

“What the hell!?!”

Moving more carefully, I hurried to my bathroom. Knew what I’d find.

The mirror revealed a frazzled-looking redhead in light blue pajamas, a distressed expression crimping her face. Impossibly, her eyes glowed with golden fire.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I backed away, stunned.

I was flaring. But I hadn’t reached for my powers. Hadn’t invited the wolf to come out.

There’d been no
snap.
No grueling transition. No spikes of pleasure or pain.

My powers had simply switched themselves on.

I sat back down on my bed, mind racing. What did this mean? Had I lost control? The thought of my powers randomly coming and going, without warning, was beyond terrifying. I wouldn’t avoid detection for a single day!

The flare came so easily this time.

The realization stopped me cold.

Usually, the transition all but floored me, testing my strength and endurance. And lately, that struggle had become more pronounced. I’d begun to worry my powers were getting too wild to trust. That removing the leash was growing too dangerous to justify the benefits.

Yet
this
flare had bloomed without the slightest ripple of difficulty, unfolding so gently I’d fail to notice anything was happening. I had no idea what to make of that.

Was there a better way to flare? Had my unconscious mind found a solution?

Have I been doing it wrong, all along?

A prickling sensation crashed my train of thought.

I wasn’t alone.

Close by, someone
else
was flaring, too.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The flaming cords sprang to life—fiery ropes that connected my mind to those of my packmates. The lines thrummed wildly, illuminating then fading as they skittered across the black field of my unconscious mind. I could barely follow their frenetic movements. Had never seen them react like this.

One line in particular danced and twirled, glimmering with twice the radiance.

I sensed Coop, snoozing in his doggie bed downstairs. Calm. Unperturbed. But the wolfdog always seemed linked to our pack’s shared head space. His presence was never fleeting, like that of a flaring Viral. Coop wasn’t who I’d detected.

Concentrating, I
shifted
my perspective, attempting to impose my will on the links in the manner I’d tried the night before.

This time, the cords became tunnels with ease.

I didn’t hesitate, firing my consciousness down the gleaming conduit.

A shock of cold. A blast of heat.

Suddenly, I was in another bedroom, staring at a computer through thick-lensed glasses. Dark-skinned fingers pounded a keyboard faster than I could follow.

Shelton?

My vision lurched as the typist shot to his feet, head swinging wildly.

“Who’s there? Tory? Is that you? This ain’t funny!”

I felt an unpleasant tearing sensation as my awareness slammed backward.
Outward.
Like a pilot’s ejector seat. Untethered, my thoughts tumbled in a black haze.

I could hear Shelton shouting. Then, oddly, I sensed Hi’s presence. Both boys seemed to be trying to communicate something, but my mind was wrapped in cobwebs. I floated farther and farther away.

An image appeared, small at first, but rapidly growing in size.

Cooper.

My pet. Charging toward me. Teeth bared. Tail low.

Not rest. Bad place.

Hey, Coop. Good boy.

The wolfdog drew close.

Drifting, listless, I reached out a hand.

Coop’s teeth sank into my flesh.

An electric shock sizzled through my brain. My mind recoiled like a rubber band.

SNUP.

I awoke from the trance. Heard Coop whining and scratching at my bedroom door. I stumbled over and unlocked it. Coop bowled me to the floor, then planted his front paws on my chest and licked my face.

“Thanks, boy.”

• • •

Sixty seconds later, I was bounding up Shelton’s front steps.

He opened the door before I could knock, eyes wide behind his clunky black specs. Shelton slipped outside and followed me down to the common.

We huddled on the dew-covered grass, me in girly pastel PJs, him in yellow basketball shorts and a Green Lantern tee. The sun was just breaking the horizon, sending out tentacles of soft yellow-orange light.

“What’s going on, Brennan?” Shelton grimaced like he’d eaten something rotten. “I just emptied my stomach into the porcelain god. Do I have you to thank?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” In a rush, I told him how my flare had sprung to life on its own, and about the harrowing out-of-body experience that followed. “I think something is seriously wrong with our powers,” I finished.

Shelton looked everywhere but at me.

“The transition came easily.” I tilted my head, trying to catch his eye. “I could reach you with no trouble. Which means
you
must’ve been flaring, too. Right?”

Shelton bobbed a guilty nod. “I was feeling run-down this morning. Tired. Bad headache. But lately, if I flare for a few minutes, whatever’s bothering me seems to fade away.”

I was about to scold him—couldn’t Shelton understand how
dangerous
that sounded?—but managed to hold my tongue. At that moment, I was in no position to criticize.

But using our powers as some kind of magical cure-all? A way to sidestep the daily grind? My instincts screamed in warning. Nothing is ever free.

Every shortcut has a price. Every action, a consequence.

I was about to say as much when a door opened a few units down from where we stood.

Hi emerged, spotted us, and hurried over. He also wore sleeping attire—black pajamas adorned with the crest of House Stark.
Where does he get this stuff?

“Where’d you get those?” Shelton asked, but in a reverent tone.

“The Internet.” Hi popped his shirt, then made hand explosions. “Serious business, Devers. They’ve got House Lannister, too, if you prefer reppin’ the baddies.”

“Why are
you
up?” I asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” Hi answered primly. “I saw you guys from my window, thought I’d mosey on out, and inquire into what just happened to my brain.”

“What do you mean?” Though I knew the answer.

“Well, I was minding my own business, enjoying some pre-breakfast toilet time, when I felt eyes on my back.” Hi frowned. “No, not my back. More like,
inside my skull.
Not a great feeling while manning the throne, I assure you. Then you and that mutt hijacked my thoughts and started dancing Gangnam Style on my cerebral cortex. Next thing I know, Shelton’s inside my head, yelling, Coop’s howling like a rabid monkey, and then something red-hot came and scrambled my brain completely. When I snapped out of it, I was lying facedown on my bathroom floor, which isn’t nearly as cool as Taylor Swift would have you believe. Oh, and I was suddenly flaring, FYI.”

“Oh, man.” Shelton reached for his earlobe. “That’s not good.”

Hi snorted. “No, Shelton, it isn’t. So, would either of you mentalists care to shed some light on these events?”

Glumly, Shelton and I filled Hi in.

Color drained from Hi’s face. “If we can’t control when our powers come and go, we’re screwed with a capital
S.
Hell, in
all
caps.”

My eyes strayed to the last unit in the row. It occurred to me that I hadn’t felt anything from Ben during the flare incident.

“Is Ben here?” I asked quietly.

“No,” Shelton answered. “I texted him last night. He’s at his mom’s this week.”

“We need to know if he felt what happened.” My tone made it clear that
I
wasn’t going to ask. “Are his flares getting screwy at all? Have any sparked uncalled? Find out.”

“Yeah.” Hi’s gaze flicked to Shelton.

“Um.” Shelton looked at his shoes. “About that.”

“What?” I knew I wouldn’t like what was coming.

Hi cleared his throat, then looked me square in the eye. “We told you Ben’s been flaring a lot, but it’s worse than that. He’s like a bonfire, all the livelong day.”