“Of being sent to one. I should have helped. I—”
“You tried. It wouldn’t have mattered. They’d already made up their minds.” She went quiet for a moment. “Mom tried to warn me. Sometimes she’d show up at my school, high on dope, going on about experiments and magic powers, and saying I had to hide before they found me.” Another pause. “I guess she wasn’t so crazy after all, huh?”
“No, she wasn’t. She was trying to protect you.”
She nodded. “Okay, enough of that. You need to rest up so you can find the guys. Nana always said I was good at helping people fall asleep. Better than any pills. You know why?”
“Why?”
She grinned. “’Cause I can talk your ear off. Now, let’s see, what can I talk about that’ll bore you to sleep? Oh, I know. Guys. Hot guys. I have this list, see? The ten hottest guys ever. Actually, it’s two lists, ten each, ’cause I needed one for real guys—guys I actually know—and one make-believe list, for guys in movies and bands. Not that they aren’t real guys, because of course they’re real…”
I finally drifted off and didn’t wake until the roar of a truck sent me jerking up, limbs flailing.
Light streamed through the windows. I checked my watch. Eight thirty. No sign of Liz. Was she on patrol? Or had she left already?
Tori was still sound asleep, snoring softly.
I shook her shoulder. “It’s morning. We need to search for the note.”
Tori opened her eyes, muttered that there probably wasn’t any note, the guys were long gone, and we were screwed. A ray of sunshine, our Victoria.
But after moaning about not having lifted breath mints or a hairbrush or breakfast she did rise and help me.
We’d been searching for about a half hour when Tori said, loud enough to be heard by anyone walking past the windows, “The taggers in this town really have too much time on their hands.”
I hurried over to shush her. “Taggers?”
She waved at the surrounding stacks of crates and I saw what she meant. A crate in every stack had been tagged with graffiti. “My dad’s store gets hit every month, but he never had one this fancy.”
She pointed to one almost hidden in shadow. Where the others were typical tags—nicknames and symbols—this was a sketch in black marker of a teenage guy with a paw print tattoo on his cheek, brandishing Wolverine-like claws.
I grinned. “Simon.” When Tori gave me a huh? look, I said, “It’s Simon.”
“Uh, no. It’s a guy with a paw on his face.”
“It’s Simon’s work. This is one of his comic-book characters.”
“I knew that.”
“Help me lift the crate.”
She didn’t move. “Why?”
“Because the note”—I heaved the top crate off by myself—“will be under it.”
“Why would he put—?”
Sure enough, under the crate was a folded piece of paper. We both grabbed for it. I won.
Simon had drawn three pictures. In the top left corner, like a salutation, was a ghost. The middle had a big sketch of Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Terminator. The third in place of a signature, was a lightning bolt surrounded by fog. Beside the drawing, someone had scrawled in inch-high letters 10 A.M.
Tori snatched it from me and turned it over. “So where’s the message?”
“Right there.” I pointed from picture to picture. “It says: Chloe, I’ll be back, Simon.”
“Okay, that’s just weird. And what’s that mean?” She pointed to the time.
“That would be Derek, making sure I know when they’ll be back.”
“Only once a day?”
“Every time they sneak in here, it’s a big risk. Anyway, the time isn’t really important. If I pick up the message, Derek will smell me. He can follow my trail.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Like a dog?”
“Cool, huh?”
“Uh, no.” She made a face. “So they weren’t kidding about him being a werewolf. Explains a lot, don’t you think?”
I shrugged and checked my watch. “We’ve got just over an hour to wait, so—” I swore under my breath, making Tori arch her brows in mock-surprise.
“We can’t let the guys come back,” I said, “not with that Edison Group guard patrolling.”
There wasn’t an Edison Group guard patrolling. There were two. I sent Liz to check all possible entry points. She returned, naming four: the main gate, the front delivery gate, the back delivery gate, and the entire surrounding fence.
I doubted Derek would climb the fence again. He’d be exposed up there where anyone could see him. If I were him, I’d pick the same entry point as the Edison Group had yesterday—that rear gate.
But I also knew Derek well enough to admit that I didn’t know him well enough to guess his strategy with any real confidence. So we had to split up and cover all three entrances. I needed to stay close to Liz, so she could communicate with me. That meant Tori got the back. I could only pray she’d actually remember to watch.
By nine thirty we were in position. The factory yard was at the edge of a residential area—a neighborhood of older homes including, a block away, Lyle House. Derek and I had come this way Saturday night when we escaped and I still remembered the general layout. The roads ran north-south, with the factory yard down at the southern end.
My spot was across the street from the factory, behind one of the end houses. No one was home—the driveway was empty and the windows dark.
I crouched behind a shed watching the front delivery gate, ready to whistle at the first sign of the guys. At 9:45 an SUV passed in front of the factory, moving at a crawclass="underline" it was the same Edison Group vehicle Derek and I had run from on Saturday night.
As it rolled past, I saw Mike in the driver’s seat. Beside him sat Tori’s mom, watching out the side window. The SUV continued to the corner, then made a right, heading for the back of the factory yard.
I waited until it was out of sight, then leaped up. As I moved, a shadow loomed over me. My fists flew up, but before I could turn, hands grabbed me, one clamping over my mouth, the other around my waist, yanking me back behind the shed.
“It’s me,” a deep voice rumbled.
The hands released me and I turned. There stood Derek, all six foot something of him. Maybe it was just the thrill of seeing him, but he looked better than I remembered. His black hair was still lank, and his face was still dotted with acne. But he looked…better.
“I am so glad to see you,” I said, grinning up at him.
His snort said the feeling wasn’t necessarily mutual. Maybe I should have been a little disappointed, but I was too relieved to care. At this moment, Derek’s trademark scowl was better than any smile.
“I am so glad—”
“Got that,” he said. “Stop bouncing, Chloe, before they notice you.”
“They’re gone. That’s why—” I looked behind him and my grin faded. “Where’s Simon? H-he’s okay, isn’t he?” I fumbled to pull out the insulin pouch. “I know he needs this. It was—”
“That’s his backup. He had another one in his pocket.”
“Oh. Right. Um, good. So where—?”
“Around back. I smelled Tori so I thought it was a trap and—”
“Tori! Her mom—The car—We have to warn her.”
“What?”
I wheeled, motioning for him to follow. I crossed the yard, darting from hiding place to hiding place as I headed for the road the SUV had taken. Derek tried to keep up, his harsh whispers of “Chloe, get back here!” mingled with harsher curses when I slid into spots he couldn’t fit.
Finally, as I dashed along a row of hedges, he caught me by the jacket collar and swung me off my feet, letting me dangle there like a puppy.