The Nine Lives of Chloe King (13 page)

Then she realized.

This was him. The person from the note.
A friend.

He was crouched very much like a cat on its haunches, arms and hands between his legs, watching her. He must be wearing all black, and his face was always in the shadows. He held up a hand—
paw.
What she was waiting for?

Chloe looked around. There was another house next to the one she was on, about ten feet away. An ugly, modern ranch like her own, with a tar roof. She started for it and then paused, scared. She looked up: he was still watching her. She took a deep breath and ran.

At the last moment she leapt, and instead of straight up like a high jumper, she stretched her body out almost like in a dive. She saw grass, sidewalk, and shadows pass far too quickly beneath her. Then her right hand touched the roof and her feet followed, landing in a perfect crouch.

Chloe had been holding her breath. She let it out and realized she was …
thrilled
. It was like the best free-fall ride at the park, no machinery necessary. Just her. She turned to look at the shadow figure across the street.

He gave her a thumbs-up, cocking his head. Then he leapt down off the roof on the other side, disappearing from sight.

“No!” Chloe cried, and looked around desperately for some quick way to get there, but there were no buildings that overhung the street or trees she could use to cross. She leapt down to the ground—without thinking this time; it was like she just decided to
fall
—and slipped down alongside the wall, landing with no sound. Her hands came flat against the pebbly concrete.

She ran across the street to the other side of the building. A single streetlight dimly illuminated an empty parking lot, gated shut. Someone had sprayed a colorful, huge tag on the brick wall that enclosed the far end. A plastic bottle rolled across the asphalt, pushed by an invisible breeze. Other than that and a billboard advertising Hankook Tires, nothing else was there.

What am I supposed to do now?
For a few minutes it had looked like she had some strange sort of friend who could do the same things she could—and more. Who might be able to tell her who she was, why they were like this. What it all meant …

Ssst.

There was the faintest scratching noise above her. Chloe looked up and saw him crouching on top of a pole that supported a wire for the Muni electric buses.
I could have gotten across the street that way without coming down—but isn’t it dangerous?

As if to answer her question, he stood up and very carefully leapt onto one of the wires so that he never straddled the pole
and
it at the same time. Then he crouched down and sort of scuttled across it, using hands
and
feet to cling. He leapt up to the top of the billboard.

“How am I supposed to
get
up there?”

He jumped off the billboard, letting himself fall down its face. Ten neat rips in the paper lengthened as he fell, revealing the older ads underneath.

He had used his claws, she realized.

She walked over to the closest wood pole and tried swatting it. Nothing happened. She looked back at the shadow man and he crossed his arms impatiently.
Remember the jump,
she told herself.
No thought. Just
do. She leapt up and found herself clinging. Just with her hands and claws.
I’m gonna have the biggest delts,
she thought smugly. When she lifted her right hand for a grip farther up, her left hand and arm continued to supporting her; her claws were anchored deeply in the wood.

She quickly scuttled up the pole, using her legs at the last moment to vault herself up over the wires and onto the top. Chloe found herself grinning uncontrollably. The freedom of movement she now had—she could go anywhere—
anywhere
! Roofs, cliffs, tunnels, trees—all of those places outside normal human occupation. She could hide forever if she wanted or run across the skyline under stars, outside convention.
Free.

She ran across the wire the way the shadow figure had but much faster and leapt to the billboard to meet him. But as soon as she landed, he took off for the gate, making an amazing leap to balance on its top bar.

“Hey!” she cried, laughing. A strange smell lingered behind him. He smelled like gasoline—like he’d fallen in a puddle of it.
An easy scent to follow.

She tried to do the same as he did but wound up not quite making his last leap, falling into the parking lot, trapped—if, that is, she had been a normal human. She clambered up the gate and vaulted over it.

I could be a
cat
burglar now.

He was waiting for her, perched on a mailbox. But as soon as she recovered her breath, he was off again, running and leaping onto a fire escape, then climbing up to the roof.

Oh, you want to play, do you?

Chloe took off after him.

She chased him from rooftop to rooftop, from tree to telephone pole, neither of them ever touching the ground until they reached the park. Normally Chloe would never have even considered entering Golden Gate after dark—but obviously she was no longer a normal person.
Besides, he’ll protect me if something happens.
Chloe felt sure of it.

It was mostly empty. Starlight wasn’t enough to illuminate the paths, trees, and shadows, but her new night vision made everything, even the blackest dirt in the deepest shadow, glow like it was bathed in moonlight. The sidewalk gleamed like a fairy-tale road. She took to the grass instead, which was a little crunchy from the cold.

He paused near a bench under a ginkgo tree. He put his hands down as if to leap over it but instead straightened out so he was doing a handstand and then slowly let himself down the other way.
My arms aren’t that strong,
was her first thought, before she realized what she had done that night already. He hooked his feet around a low branch and then pulled himself up into the tree.

Chloe ran forward, grabbed the top of the bench, and pushed, fully expecting to flip over and smash her face, arms, and body on the bench. But she straightened her hips when they were over her head and found herself doing a handstand as easily as if she had been a circus performer.

Suddenly there was a thud as all the weight in the world landed on her feet, bending and crushing her knees almost to her chin. And just as suddenly it was gone. Chloe lost her balance and tipped over onto the ground.

When she got up, she heard soft laughter, the first noise he had made. He stood with his arms crossed several yards away: he had leapt down from the tree and used her feet and legs as a springboard.

“Funny,” she said aloud.

He turned and ran again.

Chloe followed, straight into the trees and bushes which had probably hidden a thousand muggers and rapists over the years. He darted from shadow to shadow sometimes up a tree, sometimes over a shrub, always just keeping out of her reach. His scent was fading; if she lost sight of him, it would be over.

Suddenly she was at the other side of the park, in front of the exit. He was nowhere to be seen, and the scent trail was gone.

Chloe looked around, up trees and down the sidewalks, to see if he was hiding somewhere, waiting for her, ready to push her on again. But after five minutes there was still no sign.

“Come on,” she called out plaintively.
“Please.”

With the excitement and the thrill of the hunt over, she suddenly felt lost. Just plain old Chloe King again, alone.

She started back the way she came, the shortest path through the park toward home, disappointed and sad.

Then she saw the oak tree.

About five feet up, its bark had been ripped to shreds by something with large claws, violently and deeply.

And under it, carefully dug in by single claw, was a smiley face.

Twelve

When Mrs. Abercrombie
handed their quizzes back, Chloe had to remind herself:
Super-cat powers don’t include the ability to do trig.
There was a big, ugly red D at the top of the page. Part of her fiercely didn’t care; her life involved other things right now, more important things, like nighttime games of hide-and-seek and the fact that she wasn’t like anyone else in class. Things like finding out about her past and what really happened to her dad.

But claws or no, Chloe was still Chloe, and she mentally calculated how much better she would have to do for the rest of the marking period to bring her grade back up to a respectable B. She snuck a glance over at Paul’s paper and felt an evil satisfaction. He’d actually
studied
and only got a C.

When the bell rang, she got up and left quickly, giving Paul a quick “hey” in passing—but he was already making a beeline for Amy, who was out in the hall, waiting. Fortunately Alyec was also there, waiting for Chloe.

“Hey, Mamacita,” he said. “How
you
doing?” The Spanish meets Joey from
Friends
spoken with a faint Russian accent was ridiculous, but his sexy face made it hard to take anything he said seriously, anyway.

“Hey.” Unlike most other high school couples—note Amy and Paul—Chloe and Alyec did not kiss each other hello after class. They weren’t even really a “couple”—which somehow made things sexier. They stood close without touching, faces inches apart.

“Do you want to go off campus for lunch, maybe?” he suggested. Chloe considered; this was strictly a no-no, grounds for detention, but it
was
a beautiful day out.

Just the sort for a picnic with a handsome Russian student.
She pictured them on a hillside under a tree with a Red Delicious or two, somewhere between the Garden of Eden and something more wholesome, like apple picking.
Too bad there’s no place like that around here.

“Absolutely,” she said, deciding that McDonald’s would have to do.

This was the closest thing to a date she and Alyec had ever really had, Chloe realized. Their relationship was sort of reversed. And this was no relaxing, bucolic hillside: just a bench outside the McDonald’s, and the air was redolent of
fry.
At least it was a nice day.

“So … what was it like growing up in Russia?”

Alyec shrugged. He was very carefully arranging his cheeseburger, opening its wrapper and folding it around the sandwich so that his fingers never touched it. Once it was properly (and somewhat daintily, Chloe thought) assembled, however, he opened his mouth wide and shoved in as much as he possibly could, like a normal teenager.

“The McDonalds there suck,” he said, through a mouthful of meat. “They don’t know how to do fries.” Then he paused, reflecting. “Shakes were better, though.”

“I’m
serious,
Alyec!”

“I
am
serious. They really are better. Not just McDonald’s milk shakes, though. All ice cream and dairy.”

“Yeah … ? And … ?” Chloe prompted him.

“And? It sucked. Nobody has any money, except New Russians. That’s the mob. Everybody else—well, a movie costs a month’s salary for most people. And a month’s salary for many is like fifty dollars. A lot of people don’t eat meat every day. So people drink a lot, you know?” His eyes narrowed, and for just a second Chloe thought she saw something deeper in them, something sad. But the moment was over and he shook his head. “At young ages, people start. I’ll bet I could drink those football idiots under the table. But I don’t,” he added importantly.

Alyec poised over his remaining burgers and fries, deciding what to attack next.

Chloe dipped a single french fry into ketchup and chewed it slowly.

“How ever do you keep your girlish figure?” she asked.

“Sex,” he answered promptly, setting about preparing another burger. In between he picked up a few fries
with
a napkin
—and bit off their heads. Then he popped the remainder into his mouth. All without touching them. Chloe was tempted to ask if this was a Russian thing or if he just had obsessive-compulsive disorder. “No, I am just kidding. I do eat a lot, though.”

“What was St. Petersburg like?”

“Ha—Leningrad? Well, it is a beautiful city, for Russian cities at least, not like San Francisco, of course.” He threw up his arm as if indicating the most obvious beauty in the world, but she didn’t know if he meant the sky, the fog, the bridge, the weather, or what. “Lots of domes and steeples. Gold now because of restoration work. In the summer it is light until two o’clock in the morning, and the sun is low the entire time, very pretty. But really, it sucks.”

She couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed about his past, secretive, or just honest: that was his old life, but now it was over.

“I thought it was hard to emigrate,” she said, trying to draw him out.

“
I
got a rich uncle.”

“Is he a … New Russian?”

“Yeah, kind of like that.” He looked sadly at the empty wrappers and plates.

“Teach me some Russian,” she said, lying down and looking up at him.

“Pazhoust,”
he said, leaning forward, his nose almost touching hers.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.
“‘Please,’” he said, kissing her.

I should do that
every
day,
thought Chloe as she waited for her bus home. While Alyec had not revealed himself to be a great thinker or philosopher or—er—someone with a sexy, mysterious, tortured past—he
was
an excellent kisser. The rest of the school day had passed in a dream—colors really did seem brighter and the future more optimistic.

And then Amy appeared.

“Want to hang tonight?”

Chloe took a moment to surface after she was torn rudely from her daydreams.

“Uh, what? No thanks. I really have to work on my trig. I’m in the danger zone,” Chloe said coldly.

Amy stared at her a long moment, like a museum specimen she was trying to analyze. “What’s your problem lately?”