Hemlock (30 page)

A blush crept across my cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“No, that’s not it.” Her gaze flicked between my face and the closed door. I realized this was the first time I had ever seen Serena without makeup and wearing sweats. It made her look younger and a little vulnerable, like I was seeing her without the armor she usualy wore. “It was a long time ago and it doesn’t bother me to talk about it. I’m just not sure you need to be hearing about werewolf attacks right now.”

I slowly exhaled, glad I hadn’t upset her by asking. “Honestly? I could realy use the distraction.” Anything to disrupt the horrible litany of
what-if
s that kept running through my head.

Serena studied my face for a moment and then shrugged. “It was when we were living in Maine. Our house bordered a wooded area with hiking trails. Trey and I were playing out back and this huge, black shape came out of the trees. I thought it was a dog at first, and then Trey yeled at me to get inside. I tried to run, but it was too fast.”

She touched her shoulder and I wondered if there were scars there, like the ones Kyle had on his back. “It went after me first and then attacked Trey when he tried to help me.”

“I can’t believe you both survived.” Children under fifteen had less than a 40 percent chance of living through their first transformation. No one realy knew why. Some people theorized transformation. No one realy knew why. Some people theorized that it was because their bodies were stil developing, that some critical change happened around fifteen that alowed the human body to survive the shift. The younger the victim, the lower their chances were.

“I almost didn’t,” said Serena softly. “That first year, I got horribly sick any time I shifted. The first time it happened, I ended up in bed for a month.” She shuddered. “I remember feeling like my entire body was on fire and like a thousand spiders were crawling under my skin.”

“But you made it through.”

Serena nodded. “And so wil Kyle.”

I wanted to believe her. More than anything. I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to keep from crying again. Crying felt too much like admitting Serena might be wrong.

“What about Henry?” I asked, desperate to keep her talking.

“How do you know him?”

Serena smiled. “Henry’s from Hemlock; he grew up here. His wife left him when he got infected. We just sort of ran into him in the woods one day after we moved to town. About four years ago.

He was curious and folowed us home. We’ve learned a lot from him. Like self-control. That thing you told Jason about Trey not being infected because he hadn’t shifted? That wasn’t totaly off base.”

I tried to remember what I had said. The previous few hours were a nightmarish blur, like a horror movie shot out of order and played backward. “What do you mean?”

played backward. “What do you mean?”

“Most wolves would have shifted long before we did, but Trey and I have been taking lessons from Henry three times a week for years. Lots of meditation. Physical exercises. Breathing techniques.

Some herbs and vitamins. Henry used to be a vegan and a Buddhist and he’s al about self-control.”

“Sounds like
The Karate Kid
.”

“It’s not far off,” she said thoughtfuly. “We use meditation to control our shifts, to keep our emotions in check.” Serena rubbed her eyes; she looked as exhausted as I felt. “It helps that Trey and I have each other and that we found Henry. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through the whole wolf thing on your own.”

She was quiet for a moment. “That’s why Trey’s repeating senior year. He got held back on purpose because he was worried about me being by myself—especialy after what happened to Amy.”

She twisted her hands and looked down. “Anyway, that night after the Tracker meeting was the first time I ever came close to losing control in public. That’s why I got Trey to pick me up instead of letting you and Jason drive me home. If Trey hadn’t been around, I would have caled Henry.”

“Not your dad?”

She hesitated, like she was weighing her words. “I love my dad, but he doesn’t always get the wolf stuff. In bigger cities, wolves usualy form packs—pockets of people who haven’t registered and who help each other. Or control each other. In Hemlock, there’s just Henry, Trey, and me. And I guess Kyle now.”

“And whoever’s been attacking and kiling people,” I added.

A wary look crossed Serena’s face. “Trey didn’t hurt Amy.”

A wary look crossed Serena’s face. “Trey didn’t hurt Amy.”

“I know.” For one thing, Trey didn’t look anything like the werewolf that had been terrorizing Hemlock. For another, I’d seen the expression on his face when he confronted Jason. If he had drugged Amy, he wouldn’t have been so furious at Jason for hurting her.

“She must have realy hated me, huh?” My voice broke over the words.

Serena wrapped an arm around me. “You didn’t know,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

But it was. If I had paid attention—if I had noticed what was realy going on—then maybe none of this would have been happening.

It had never occurred to me that I could lose Amy twice, but that’s what it felt like. It felt like I was losing her al over again.

The door across the hal creaked open and I climbed unsteadily to my feet as Trey stepped out.

“Kyle’s stil unconscious, but Henry said you can go in.”

I started to push past him, but he grabbed my arm. “Dobs . . .

He’s not in good shape.” Trey’s eyes were sad and serious and his face was stil streaked with soot.

He glanced at Serena and then moved aside to let me pass.

Inside, Henry stood between me and the bed.

I’d seen him when we first arrived, but I’d been too shaken to realy notice anything about him. The man standing in front of me, blocking Kyle from view, was only about five seven, but he was wide through the shoulders and built like a barrel. Though he had salt-and-pepper hair, he didn’t look that old—midthirties, maybe.

salt-and-pepper hair, he didn’t look that old—midthirties, maybe.

I opened my mouth to ask how Kyle was, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Henry pushed a pair of thick, horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Trey and I set a few broken bones in his legs—

otherwise, they would have healed badly and he would have had to shift to fix them. Which can be excruciating. The burns weren’t as bad as Trey thought they were—your friend’s body probably healed some of them in the car.” He cleared his throat.

“Werewolves can heal much faster and take more damage than humans, but there are stil limits. We sometimes need to go into a sort of sleep to heal critical injuries. That’s what’s going on with Kyle right now. His body is keeping him unconscious while it tries to repair itself. There isn’t anything else I can do for him.”

“But he’l be okay, right?”

I didn’t miss the look Henry exchanged with Trey.

Just outside of town, where the river narrowed, there was a suspension bridge. Amy and I used to go out there on windy days and stand at the halfway point, clutching the ropes as we swayed over the water.

That’s how I felt—like I was stuck in the middle of the bridge, swaying back and forth, as I stared down at the icy water below.

Serena took my hand.

“I don’t know,” Henry admitted, eventualy. “If he jumped out of a second-floor window
after
parts of the house fel on him, then he has to have internal injuries. Not to mention damage he might have taken from smoke inhalation. We won’t know if his body can have taken from smoke inhalation. We won’t know if his body can heal itself until he wakes up.”

“How,” I swalowed, trying to get the words out, “how long until that happens?”

Henry shook his head. “There’s no way to know. I’d say at least four or five hours—probably longer. But the longer he’s unconscious, the greater the chance that he isn’t able to heal his injuries.”

The light in the room seemed to dim. “What happens then? He wakes up hurt?”

Henry didn’t answer.

“Mac . . .” Serena let go of my hand and tried to touch my shoulder.

I brushed her off. “He just wakes up hurt, right? And then we try something else, like a human hospital? He just wakes up hurt.”

The room blurred. “Serena, tel me he just wakes up hurt.”

She looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

“If the injuries are too severe to heal,” said Henry, “I’m afraid Kyle won’t ever wake up again.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

HENRY AND TREY LEFT. THERE WASN’T ANYTHING ELSE they could do.

I stared at Kyle from across the room. If I didn’t go any closer, I could pretend he was just sleeping. If he was just sleeping, then everything would be okay.

“Do you want me to stay?” Serena’s voice seemed far away even though the room was smal and she was standing right next to me.

I must have shaken my head or said something, because she left and closed the door behind her.

She left and I was alone with Kyle.

I took a step toward the bed and faltered. Tears filed my eyes, turning the room into a jumble of blurred shapes and colors. I wasn’t strong enough for this. I could lose almost anything—almost anyone—but I couldn’t lose Kyle. I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying to suppress a jagged sob in case he could somehow hear me.

I wasn’t strong enough for this.

Anything or anyone, just not Kyle.

I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to rewind the past twenty-four hours, the past week, the past month, and do everything differently. I wanted to disappear, to be one of the shadows in the corners of the room, because shadows couldn’t feel pain.

corners of the room, because shadows couldn’t feel pain.

But then I remembered the way Kyle had cupped my face in the hospital, the warmth and strength of his hands and the quiet intensity in his eyes as he helped me through my panic attack—

even though part of him was scared I would reject him. If I were in that bed, Kyle wouldn’t be hovering across the room.

He was stronger than that.

I had to be stronger than that.

I had to be stronger for him.

Someone—Trey or Henry—had left a chair next to the bed. I forced myself to walk forward and sit down and take Kyle’s hand.

A cotton sheet covered him from the waist down and his torso glistened with sweat. Bruises, burns, and cuts marked his skin like grotesque body paint. For each wound I counted, I felt an answering pain in my chest until it hurt so much that it was hard to breathe.

My eyes kept insisting that it wasn’t Kyle, that Kyle could never look so . . .
broken
.

What if he didn’t wake up?

The thought pressed on my chest and ripped the air from my lungs and shattered any ilusion of strength I had fooled myself into thinking I possessed. It tore things deep inside my body and flooded my mouth with the taste of copper and my eyes with tears so hot they burned.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, later, when my sobs had subsided enough to speak. “Al of this is my fault.” I was the one who had wanted to find out what had happened to Amy. I was the reason Kyle had stayed in Hemlock, the reason he had been at Trey’s. It Kyle had stayed in Hemlock, the reason he had been at Trey’s. It was my fault he was lying in this bed. Each thought fel like a stone dropped into water, and the ripples shook my shoulders.

I didn’t know what to do. Sometimes I tried to talk—even though the words came out haltingly and al wrong—and sometimes I just cried. Once, I prayed—trying to bargain with God, even though I had never understood why people did that.

I understood now. I would have promised anything.

As the sky outside the window lightened to mauve and dawn touched the trees, the bruises and cuts on Kyle’s body slowly faded. It was like one of those time-lapse videos of flowers blooming. The changes were too smal to notice as they happened, but I’d glance away, and when I looked back, more of them would be gone.

But his eyes didn’t open. He didn’t move, and no matter how hard I searched his face, there was no sign that he knew I was there.

“Please, Kyle. You have to wake up.” If he didn’t, part of me would never leave this room. I’d be twenty-five and then thirty and then an old woman and I’d stil be waiting for him. I’d turn down a street or walk into a room and scan the face of every person I passed, trying to fool myself into thinking that one of the faces would be his.

I walked over to the other side of the bed. It was narrow—just a double—but I stretched out on my side, careful to keep a few inches between us, scared that I would hurt him if I got too close.

I took his hand and gently pressed my lips to his shoulder. His I took his hand and gently pressed my lips to his shoulder. His skin was warm, like he had a fever. “You’re right, you know. I do make it hard for people to love me. I don’t mean to. If you had grown up the way I did . . .” I swalowed. “But I’l be better. If you wake up, I’l stop pushing people away. I’l stop being so standoffish and stubborn. Anything you want.”

I closed my eyes and tears leaked out from under my lids. Voice thick and strangled, the sylables barely distinguishable from one another, I said the only words I had left. “I love you.”

“God. Poor Kyle.” Amy sat in the chair next to the bed wearing a men’s white dress shirt that was at least three sizes too big and that hung halfway to her knees. “He had to practicaly die for you to admit you love him. Not that he’l remember it when he wakes up.”

She glanced at the door.

“So Derby thinks Trey kiled me, and Bishop is sure Jason did it. You look pretty comfy considering there’s a guy suspected of my murder downstairs.”

I shrugged. Carefuly, I let go of Kyle’s hand and pushed myself to my feet. This wasn’t realy the kind of conversation I wanted to have lying down. “I don’t think Trey did it.”

Amy blinked. “And what makes you think that?”

“He has an alibi. I think Derby was setting Trey up so Jason would kil his first wolf or something.”

“Sounds like a bad soap opera script.”