Hemlock (3 page)

Though people were starting to go out again, they usualy drove after sunset. Almost everyone believed that the werewolf that had terrorized the town had either been kiled or had left—but the uncertainty made it hard to completely feel safe. Multiple werewolf attacks were rare, and the number of attacks in Hemlock was unheard of—even if you didn’t count the eight victims who had survived only to develop lupine syndrome and be shipped off to the rehabilitation camps that were mandatory for anyone carrying the virus.

I shuddered and quickened my pace until I finaly reached Elmwood Avenue. A century ago, Elmwood had been home to the nicest digs in town, but most of the old, sprawling houses had been gutted and converted into apartments—like the one Tess and I shared.

I noticed a group of figures in the shadowy gulf between two streetlights a block away. I felt a momentary spark of fear. I slowed my pace, wondering if not caling a cab had been a mistake. Then I recognized them.

With a population just shy of 160,000, Hemlock was a little too quiet for gangs, but the town did have its own group of stereotypical bad boys.

stereotypical bad boys.

They could be a complete pain in the butt, but they wouldn’t hassle me. Not realy. Most of them were fairly harmless—though there was one guy who was doing a jail stint for slipping a girl GHB

at a kegger.

As I got closer, I realized they had someone surrounded.

Whoever it was, he was already on the ground and must have taken at least a few hits. I caught a glimpse of a black jacket and broad shoulders, but then someone stepped in front of me, blocking the figure from view.

“Need someone to walk you home, Dobs?” Trey Carson gave me a lopsided grin, revealing the dimples in his dark cheeks. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his gray T-shirt strained over the muscles in his upper arms and chest, almost as though he had bought it a size too smal. Knowing Trey, that was probably exactly what he had done. If he’d spent half as much time on school as he did on his pecs, then he wouldn’t have been doing a replay of senior year.

The guy on the ground groaned, but there wasn’t anything I could do for him—at least not at the moment. I could cal the cops when I got home. If I had to. If it looked bad enough.

I was realy hoping it wouldn’t look that bad. For one thing, I was friends with Trey’s sister. For another, I’d spent my formative years around people who’d had very strong opinions about the police and rats.

Trey raised an eyebrow, waiting for my reply.

“Thanks but I’m good. Besides, it looks like you’ve got your hands ful.” I stepped around him just as the figure on the ground hands ful.” I stepped around him just as the figure on the ground looked up.

The guy they were pounding was Jason.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I RAN TO JASON AND CROUCHED AT HIS SIDE. BLOOD trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he was going to have one heck of a bruise on his cheek.

“Are you okay?”

He reached into his jacket pocket and hauled out a slim bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “I’m having a blast.” He tried to laugh and ended up coughing. “Don’t be like that,” he complained as I snatched the bottle from his hands. “It’s medicinal.”

I ignored him and stood. Six months ago, the sight of Jason bleeding on the ground would have had me crazed. Now I just wondered what he had done to deserve it. There was a limited amount of trouble you could find in a town the size of Hemlock, amount of trouble you could find in a town the size of Hemlock, but Jason kept doing his best to sink to new depths. I was starting to worry it was some sort of passive-aggressive suicide.

I tossed the bottle to Trey. “What did he do?” Trey shrugged, uncomfortable, and I shook my head. “You wouldn’t be using him as a punching bag if he hadn’t done
something
.” Despite the trouble he was always getting into and the scams he was always running on the side, Serena’s brother was weirdly honorable; he never hit anyone without a reason.

Jason spat on the sidewalk and tried to stand. It took him two tries. “Gentlemen’s disagreement, Mac. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a condescending grin.

If anyone else had used that tone with me, I’d have walked away and let Trey go to town. But it was Jason and that made a difference. It was impossible to know exactly what Amy would say or think if she were here, but I did know one thing: she’d want me to take care of him.

I stared at Trey and repeated my question. “What did he do?”

Trey sighed and tugged on his earlobe. “He lost on a bet and hasn’t paid up.”

I couldn’t believe Trey had been stupid enough to take a bet without colecting cash upfront, but the way he ran his high school gambling ring wasn’t any of my business.

Jason coughed. “It’s not my fault you don’t take AmEx.”

I glared. “Shut up, Jason.” To Trey I said, “How much does he owe you?”

owe you?”

“Eighty and an apology.”

Eighty dolars. The thirty-seven I had made in tips, plus almost al the cash I kept in my walet for emergencies—enough to cover the power bil if Tess forgot again. I shoved my backpack against Jason’s chest. “Hold this,” I spat, too livid to look at his face.

“Mac . . .”

“Don’t say anything.” I unzipped the front pocket and yanked out my walet. I spoke in deliberate, clipped tones, hauling out bils a few at a time to punctuate each word. “You. Are. Going. To.

Pay. Me. Back.”

I handed the cash to Trey.

“Sorry, Dobs,” he said, taking the bils and slipping them into his back pocket. He probably was. Taking money from his kid sister’s friend was different from taking it from a guy like Jason. Besides, Trey probably knew how hard I had worked for it, something Jason—who’d always had everything handed to him—would never get.

I glared at Jason. “Now tel the nice man with my money that you’re sorry.”

He spat again and handed me my backpack. “I’m sorry,” he told Trey as he squared his shoulders. “It must suck, knowing you fight like your mother.”

This time, when Jason hit the ground, it took him longer to get up.

I pressed a damp washcloth to Jason’s face, gently trying to wipe I pressed a damp washcloth to Jason’s face, gently trying to wipe the blood away. “Wel, you’re certainly going to turn heads tomorrow.” I frowned as I examined the massive bruise that was just starting to rise on his cheek, a bruise that roughly matched the size and shape of Trey’s knuckles. “I’l say this much: Serena’s brother knows how to land a punch.”

Jason shrugged. “Might as wel give everyone something new to talk about. Besides, chicks dig men with battle scars.” He took the cloth from my hand and tossed it onto the coffee table.

I almost pointed out that it would leave a water mark, but honestly, the coffee table was so battered that one more blemish would never make a difference. “Yeah, wel, next time you get into a fight, try
not
bringing up the guy’s dead mother.”

Jason flushed. “I forgot.” He actualy looked genuinely embarrassed—something that didn’t happen often. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the money. I’l pay you back.”

I made a noncommittal noise. I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet.

Getting him to walk the block and a half to my apartment building hadn’t exactly been fun, and getting him up the winding staircase to the third floor had been nearly impossible. When we hit the second-floor landing, he had turned slightly green and I could have sworn he was about to puke al over my new pink Chucks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? You were walking like they hurt your ribs.” I reached for his T-shirt and started to haul up the blue cotton, trying to get a good look at the bruises on his torso.

“First she invited me up to her apartment, and then she tried to undress me. . . .”

undress me. . . .”

I roled my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I muttered, letting his shirt fal back into place.

He shook his head. “I’m al right. Besides, if I go to the hospital, they’l cal my dad. He already dragged me to the shooting range on Sunday, so I think I’ve used up my alotted quality time this week.”

I sighed. “Why is it that quality time in your family always seems to involve injuries or guns?” I never could figure out why Jason’s father was so obsessed with firearms when he could afford to pay people to conceal and carry for him.

“Not entirely true,” corrected Jason. “Some quality time involves making piles of money and having torrid affairs with the household staff.”

He caught my hand. “Thanks for taking care of me, Mac,” he said, giving me a smal grin. It wasn’t his old smile; it was the sad half smile he sometimes wore after he had been drinking. Lately, it seemed like the only time Jason smiled was when he was at least a little drunk.

And that was becoming more and more of the time.

Everything was messed up without Amy around.

I bit my lip and fought back the sudden urge to cry. Amy was the one who had died, but I sometimes had the feeling that she wasn’t the only one I was losing. “Jason . . .” I gently freed my hand. “She wouldn’t want—”

He cut me off. “Don’t, okay? We can talk about her tomorrow, if you want. Just not tonight.” He rubbed his temple. “Al right?” He shivered, even though it was warm in the apartment. Any time I shivered, even though it was warm in the apartment. Any time I tried to bring up Amy, Jason started shaking.

I nodded, though I knew we wouldn’t talk about her tomorrow.

We never did.

Jason roled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks from his fight with Trey. “Don’t suppose you have anything to drink?” The half smile was gone, his expression locked down and inscrutable.

“You tossed my JD.”

“Sorry. Just water and soda.” There actualy was a bottle of vodka—Ben’s and safely tucked away behind a box of cereal—

but I wasn’t about to let him have it.

Jason’s green eyes narrowed. “It’s not nice to lie.”

I wondered what had given me away. “Whatever. Besides, haven’t you had enough?” I was seriously starting to worry that Jason was going to end up in some sort of rehab facility, right down the hal from a celebrity catastrophe. Only the best for a Sheffield.

“Am I stil conscious?”

I nodded, not sure I liked where this was going.

“Then I haven’t had enough.”

“Jason . . .”

“A reporter caled the house today, Mac. He wanted to know if I had heard about the attack last night and if I had a comment.”

Jason watched my face, waiting for me to get it, then shifted his gaze to the floor. “There was another attack. A werewolf with white fur. The police are keeping it quiet so people don’t start panicking.”

I felt like I had just been doused in cold water. The beginnings of a headache danced along my skul and I was suddenly freezing.

What if it was starting again?

It took me a while to find my voice. “It might not be the same one,” I said slowly, uncertainly. White was a rare color among werewolves—like naturaly redheaded humans—and white fur had been found at each murder scene in the spring. Amy’d had white fur clutched in her fist—or so the
Dateline
special had said.

A thought occurred to me, and I reached out to tilt Jason’s chin up, forcing him to look at me. “It can’t be the same wolf—this is the first attack in months.”

The wolf that had gone after Amy had probably been suffering from bloodlust—a condition that was sort of like rabies. Less than 2 percent of people infected with LS developed it. Not al werewolf attacks were committed by wolves suffering from bloodlust, but multiple ones almost always were. And once a wolf with bloodlust starting kiling, it didn’t just stop. It craved it.

No way could that same wolf have gone al summer without attacking anyone.
Unless it left Hemlock and came back
, whispered a smal voice in the back of my head; I tuned out the thought.

“I guess . . . ,” said Jason uncertainly. He sighed and rubbed his cheeks roughly, like he was trying to sober up a bit. “I should cal a cab or something. Get out of your hair.”

“Why don’t you crash here tonight?” I knew the cramped two-bedroom apartment I shared with Tess would be preferable to the huge house across town. Besides, I didn’t like the thought of Jason huge house across town. Besides, I didn’t like the thought of Jason hitting up his father’s liquor cabinet. Not tonight. He shouldn’t be on his own. “We can watch a movie and you can sleep on the couch.” The sofa was a lumpy, plaid hand-me-down Tess had gotten from someone at work, but given how much Jason had been drinking, I didn’t think a few broken springs would bother him.

He looked up. “Tess won’t mind?”

I roled my eyes and stood. “You know she won’t. She probably won’t even notice.” Truthfuly, she might not even make it home before Jason left in the morning.

Ben lived one floor below us, and Tess, reasoning that she was stil in the same building and therefore stil being a responsible guardian, had starting spending some nights at his place.

“Tess the mess,” Jason muttered. He let his head fal back against the couch. “Thanks.” That one word was filed with relief.

“Do you think you should cal home?”

He closed his eyes. “What for? It’s not like they’d care.”

I wanted to argue, but it would have meant lying. On the surface, Jason had everything—money, connections, a house that was better suited to 90210 than Hemlock—but the picture underneath wasn’t that pretty. Most of the time his parents barely remembered they had a son.

“It’s al right,” he said, somehow picking up on the things I wanted to say and couldn’t. He sat up straighter and opened his eyes. “You don’t have to lie for them. They are who they are.” The words were empty, almost totaly free of inflection or recrimination, but I knew Jason cared more than he let on.

“I’m going to hop in the shower and get the smel of pepperoni

“I’m going to hop in the shower and get the smel of pepperoni out of my hair,” I said, tugging my ponytail out of its elastic. “You can find us a movie on cable.”