Hemlock 03: Willowgrove (15 page)

My stomach twisted as I pictured dozens of bodies swaying from trees. I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t find the words.

Eve sighed and glanced at Serena. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect, horrified O. “Jesus . . .”

I turned and then scrambled off the couch. “Trey!” I screamed for Serena’s brother as tracks of blood ran from her eyes and dripped onto her clothes.

I reached for her shoulder, but Eve grabbed my arm and yanked me back. “Don’t touch her, Jesus—whatever you do, don’t touch her.”

“Her blood can’t hurt me.” I struggled against Eve’s grip as she pulled me across the room. “Blood doesn’t transmit LS.”

“And werewolves don’t normally bleed from their goddamn eyes.” Eve wedged me into the corner as Trey burst through the door. “We don’t know what Sinclair did to her.”

Serena pushed herself to her feet.
Trey?
No sound came out as her lips formed her brother’s name. Thin rivers of blood began running from her nose and ears.

Trey caught her as a spasm rocked her body. Her head
whipped back so hard and so fast that something cracked while blood hit the wall like a Rorschach test.

Trey’s arms locked around Serena, trying to keep her from hurting herself as spasm after bone-snapping spasm threatened to tear her apart. The convulsions were so strong that he had to struggle to hold her.

“Get Kyle!” he shouted as he tried to ease Serena to the ground.

I couldn’t think and I couldn’t move. I just stood there, staring at the flecks of blood on the wall.

“Mac!” Eve shook me, snapping me out of it. “Get Kyle. Now!”

She pushed me to the door, trying to keep her body between me and Serena.

I didn’t fight her. I let her shove me out of the room, and then I raced down the hall and out the door, raced as though I could outpace the sight of Serena’s blood splattered across the wall.

Kyle’s car was still parked behind the church, but it was empty. Heart in throat, I ran around the front of the building. Where would he and Jason have gone? Not far—not when the men who were after Serena were still out there—but somewhere they could talk without being overheard by the other wolves.

The housing development.

My sneakers skidded on gravel as I sprinted down the lane.

“Mac?”

Kyle’s shout spun me around and pulled me up short as I reached the street. I gasped for air and tried to find my voice as he and Jason jogged toward me. “Serena,” I managed. “Seizure.”

Kyle didn’t wait to get the rest. He sprinted for the church, moving far faster than a reg could. Jason started after him, but slowed when he realized I was having trouble keeping up.

“Something’s really wrong.” I forced the words out between gasps. “She was okay and then she started bleeding and shaking. . . . Trey . . . he said . . . to get Kyle.”

Jason threaded his fingers through mine. In that moment, our argument in the church didn’t matter. “Come on.”

Together, we ran back up the lane.

Kyle had already disappeared inside. As Jason let go of my hand and reached for the door, we heard the first scream.

Every hair on my body stood at attention.

Jason’s fingers curled around the door handle, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white. He glanced at me, eyes wide, as a second scream followed on the heels of the first.

No throat—wolf or reg—should have been capable of making a sound like that.

Swallowing roughly, Jason pulled open the door.

“Hold her arm! Don’t let—” Trey’s voice was lost under a large thud and a sharp crash.

Jason reached the office first. He choked out a stream of curses and then turned and tried to block the door with his body.

I ducked under his arm. He should have been able to stop me, but whatever he had seen had left him slow and shaken.

“Mac, wait—”

The acrid scent of vomit and the tang of copper hit me like a slap as my eyes struggled to make sense of what was happening.

The room was a scene from a horror movie. It was blood and breaking bones; 3-D gore with surround sound.

Serena thrashed on the floor. Eve held her legs down, while Trey and Kyle each fought to restrain an arm. For weeks, Serena’s strength had been reduced to little more than a reg’s; now it took three werewolves to hold her down.

Kyle’s hands were slick with blood. He lost his grip and in the three seconds it took him to regain control, Serena reached up and clawed at the skin on her neck, peeling it back the way you’d peel an onion.

A wave of bile rushed up my throat and I stumbled back against Jason.

Kyle’s gaze snapped to the door and went wide. “Get out of here!” he yelled as Serena managed to shake off both him and Trey.

Jason’s arms locked around my waist. If he was trying to keep me from running forward, it was a wasted effort: it was all I could do not to bolt from the room.

Eve threw all of her weight down as Serena’s muscles began to twist and jump under her skin.

The amount of time it took each werewolf to transform varied, but it was never like this. As Serena shifted, I was
able to see every muscle tear beneath the skin and I could hear every bone snap—all 206 of them. It was like it was happening in slow motion.

I tried to watch, but in the end, I turned in Jason’s arms and buried my face against his chest. He tightened his arms around me, but the embrace offered no comfort. Not when I could still hear the noises Serena’s body made—sounds that somehow managed to be both brittle and wet.

And then it was over.

I felt Jason let out a deep, shuddery breath as silence filled the room.

Nerves humming like a power station, I stepped away from Jason and turned.

“Serena.” Her name was a raw whisper as relief made my knees weak.

She was alive.

A large, black wolf pushed itself—herself—up onto shaky legs. She turned to Trey and let out a high-pitched, almost apologetic whine.

Trey, Kyle, and Eve all looked decidedly worse for wear. Their clothing was ripped and stained, and both Eve and Trey were sporting gashes. The cuts would only take a few minutes to heal—one of the perks of being infected—but for now they looked painful.

Kyle climbed to his feet and reached for me before remembering his hands were covered in blood.

Jason cleared his throat. He stared at Serena for a long moment and then glanced at the blood splatters on the wall. He looked ill, so ill that he was practically shaking. “Is
she . . .” He turned to Trey. “Is she all right?”

Serena let out a sharp bark.

“I guess that’s a yes.” Relief flashed through Jason’s eyes as he ran a hand over his neck.

Eve pushed herself to her feet and headed for the door. She held her hands slightly in front of her as Jason and I stepped aside to let her pass.

“I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, but this is just gross,” she muttered. She glanced over her shoulder at Kyle and Trey. “I’ve got a jug of water in the trunk of my car if you want to clean up.”

Trey hesitated, watching his sister for signs of further trouble, but Kyle followed Eve out into the hall.

“Wait,” said Jason. His shoulders tensed and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Everyone stared at him expectantly, even Serena in her wolfish form.

“I was wrong.” He raised his head. “Before.”

Silence greeted his statement. His voice took on an edge that was harsh and a little defensive. “CutterBrown has billions tied up in research. Their security system makes the one at Thornhill look like a joke. Getting past it won’t be easy.”

I stared at him, unsure if I had heard him correctly. “You changed your mind? About CutterBrown?”

“I’m still hoping you’re wrong, but if there’s even a chance you’re not . . .” Jason didn’t look happy; if anything, he looked like someone getting ready to face a firing squad. “One way or another, we have to find out—though how you
think we’ll get through the front door is beyond me.”

A ridiculous, goofy grin split my face and I had to fight the urge to throw my arms around him. I knew it would be safer for everyone to leave town, but selfishly, I was glad I wouldn’t have to do this on my own. “I don’t want to break into CutterBrown.”

Four pairs of confused eyes stared at me while Serena cocked her head to the side like she was waiting for the punch line.

To Jason, I said, “Do you still have that tux?”

L
IKE EVERY INCH OF THE SHEFFIELDS’ SPRAWLING HOUSE
, Jason’s bedroom had been placed at the mercy of his mother’s interior designer. The result was a lot of mahogany, black-and-white pictures of skyscrapers, and leather-bound books that Jason had no intention of ever reading. It was a space that was as metrosexual as a subscription to
GQ
.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been up here. Not since Amy had died. Even before that, I had rarely been in Jason’s room.

Paula Sheffield had never bothered hiding her dislike of me. She couldn’t understand how someone like Amy could be friends with a girl she considered trailer trash. And when it came to her son, she saw me as a walking pregnancy scare in the making. The handful of times Jason and I had been alone up here—waiting for Amy or Kyle or working on homework—she had found about a hundred reasons to interrupt.

Amy said not to let it get to me, that I reminded Jason’s mother of her past. Paula had been waiting tables in the
middle of Nowhere Kansas when she snagged Matt Sheffield. If you looked at the wedding photos from the right angle, you could see the baby bump.

I didn’t know if that was the real reason she hated me and I didn’t care—or at least I tried not to—but I could just imagine how ballistic she would go if she knew I was standing in the middle of her son’s room wearing a towel.

Thank God she and Jason’s father had left for the party before we arrived.

There was no use in pretending we could get past security at CutterBrown: They had the best system money could buy. It would take months of planning and an unbelievable amount of luck. Even if we could get in, it wasn’t like we had any idea where to look. But if CBP had been involved with the detention block at Thornhill—if Amy’s father had been involved—then the corporate headquarters might not be the only place to find proof.

Ryan Walsh was a workaholic, and his private study was the one room in the Walsh house that was completely off-limits. Only Amy’s father had the key—in theory. In reality, Amy had managed to sneak it out and make a copy after her father had revoked her shopping privileges and confiscated her credit cards.

I knew where she kept the key. Or at least where she used to keep it.

Tonight, the Walsh residence would be filled with guests. It would be our one chance to move freely around the house without being noticed or explaining our presence. It was the perfect opportunity. Maybe our only opportunity.

Of course, crashing a fund-raising gala filled with politicians, bureaucrats, and rich Trackers meant looking the part.

I stared down at a white dress box that had come tied with a black velvet ribbon. Almost timidly, I trailed one finger along the edge of the velvet before unraveling the neatly tied bow. I lifted the top of the box and set it aside and then parted layers of gold and white tissue paper to reveal yards of midnight-blue fabric.

I had balked at the idea of Jason buying me a dress, but he had been right: castoffs from high school dances wouldn’t help me blend in at one of the Walshes’ parties.

So I had given in and let him call one of the chic boutiques where his mother had an account. I had listened as he arranged for a dress to be sent over and tried not to be too unnerved when he was able to tell them my dress size without asking.
He’s lending Kyle clothes
, I had told myself.
This isn’t any different.

I glanced at the clock on Jason’s nightstand. The two of them were probably getting dressed and bonding over their mutual hatred of bow ties at this very moment.

I turned my attention back to the bed.

Another box, long and narrow, sat next to the first.

I peered inside and withdrew a pair of opera gloves that were the same deep blue as the dress and just long enough to cover the scar on my arm. Jason really had thought of everything.

I tossed my towel over the back of a leather armchair and slipped on the dress, careful not to wreck my hair as I
slid the fabric over my head. Locks this short didn’t come with a lot of options, but I had still attacked my hair with mousse and a curling iron until it looked a little like something from one of those old Audrey Hepburn movies Tess liked so much.

The dress fell around my legs in soft waves, almost reaching the floor. I ran a hand over the fabric, smoothing out the few small wrinkles, and then pulled on the gloves. I frowned down at my hands. Though the gloves covered the scar on my arm perfectly, the fit was too snug to wear Amy’s bracelet underneath.

I glanced at Jason’s desk where I had left the small jumble of coins while I showered. Maybe it was better not to wear it. Given that we were on our way to look for information that might hurt Amy’s father and brother, I wasn’t sure I should wear it.

Swallowing back a wave of guilt, I turned my back on the bracelet and walked to an antique mirror in the corner of the room.

I blinked at my reflection. The girl who stared back didn’t look like me.

The mousse made my hair seem darker—less dishwater blond and more honey brown—while the deep-blue fabric of the dress made my skin look like porcelain. The cut dipped dangerously low in the front and hugged my hips, giving the illusion of curves. Miles of them. Tiny bits of metal had been sewn onto the stretchy fabric of the skirt; it was like someone had taken a handful of stars and cast them over the night sky.

It wasn’t a dress for a girl like me. Hell, the money Jason had spent on this one piece of clothing was probably enough to cover my rent for a month.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Mac?” Jason eased the door open and stepped inside. “Kyle’s on the phone with Eve. Checking in . . .” His voice trailed off as he saw me standing in the corner.