He stared at me in shock for a moment—the same shock, no doubt, that was on my own face—and then his gaze dropped back to Eve. The scars on his cheek twisted as he scowled. “Let them up. I won’t run.”
Jason hesitated.
I went to Kyle and crouched at his side. “Do what he says, Jason.”
“Mac . . .”
I glared at him over my shoulder. I couldn’t believe he had just used one of those things with Kyle and Eve in range. For a horrible second, Jason didn’t move. I held my breath, letting it out only when he finally slipped the remote back into his pocket.
Kyle recovered first. He eased me away, refusing my offer of help as he climbed to his feet.
I straightened and watched Dex help Eve up. “Why didn’t you go down?”
Dex raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question, but I think I know the answer.” He nodded at my arm and I glanced down.
At some point, I had been less than careful and pushed up my sleeves. Derby’s cut was visible on my arm. Jagged and pink and new.
“You’re not past the incubation period.”
“She’s not infected,” corrected Eve as she slipped out from the support of Dex’s arm. “What did she mean you didn’t go down?”
Jason spoke before Dex could. “Is anyone else immune? Have any of the other flea—wolves figured it out?”
Kyle glanced at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Trackers developed the first HFDs four, maybe five years ago.” Though he spoke to Kyle, Jason’s gaze remained locked on Dex. “They don’t use them because wolves develop a tolerance and the amount of time it takes varies. A few wolves aren’t affected at all. Ever.”
Eve stared at Dex. “When did they stop affecting you?” There was a vague note of accusation in her voice, as though she were really asking why he hadn’t told her.
“About three weeks ago. After they took Corry but before I found the graveyard.” Dex paused and swallowed. “Do you know about the restricted zone in the woods?” Eve and I nodded and he kept going. “Until I saw that, I thought there was still a shot of finding Corry and getting out. I kept testing the HFDs by the fence, hoping I’d find one that didn’t work—not that I had a plan for getting over the fence. After a while, setting off the HFDs hurt less. Then it stopped hurting at all. I can still hear them, but it’s like my eardrums have adjusted to the sound.”
Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. “The Trackers don’t use them because they’re unpredictable—they’d rather stick with Tasers and guns. When they found out Sinclair had designed most of her security system around the things, they assumed she had found a way to perfect them.” He shook his head; he looked ill. “She hasn’t. She’s playing Russian roulette with the staff. Guards don’t have the devices and counselors have to fill out a report every time they use one. Everyone thinks it’s because Sinclair has a soft spot for the wolves, but she’s trying to keep them from getting exposed too often and building up a tolerance.”
There was an upturned, broken wheelbarrow a few feet away. Eve sat on it and twisted the cuff around her wrist. “It’s Pavlovian. They scare us to death in the first self-control class, probably figure we’ll go near the fence at least once on our own, and then rely on the memory of pain to keep us in check.”
“The counselors, the guards, hell, the lunch ladies, and the orderlies . . .” Jason ran a hand through his hair. “If they knew the risks they were taking . . .”
“The risks they’re taking?” I stared at him in disbelief. “Jason, all those people signed on to work at a rehabilitation camp.”
“That doesn’t make them bad.”
“It sure as hell doesn’t make them good.”
He tried to stare me down. It didn’t work.
“That’s why the Trackers got you in.” Kyle’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “They wouldn’t have done it unless they were getting something in return, and they would have wanted a hell of a lot more than just money. They thought Sinclair had figured out how to fix the HFDs and wanted you to get them one.”
Jason swallowed. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
In a blur, Kyle grabbed him and thrust him against the wall of the greenhouse. The glass shook and a web of cracks spread out from the spot where Jason’s shoulders had hit.
“Kyle!” I rushed forward and grabbed his arm, but he shrugged me off.
“What did you promise them?”
Jason’s cheeks flushed bright red and his words came out a choked rasp. “An HFD and dirt on Sinclair.”
Kyle let go, stepping back so quickly that Jason lost his balance and slid to the ground.
“I wasn’t actually going to get them one,” he said, staring up at Kyle. His green eyes were dark, like the ocean at twenty thousand feet.
“Why spy on Sinclair?” asked Dex. “She’s a warden in a rehab camp—shouldn’t she be on the Trackers’ list of BFFs?”
Jason pushed himself to his feet. He glowered at Dex, not making any attempt to hide his distrust. “Why don’t you tell us what you were doing sneaking around and eavesdropping before you start asking questions?” His hand strayed toward his pocket before he seemed to remember that Dex was immune to the HFDs.
Dex shrugged. “I saw you and Mac yesterday. You were standing awfully close for a werewolf and a counselor. It made me curious.”
It wasn’t enough for Jason. “Why’d you run when I told you to stop?”
“Habit.”
For a second, I thought Jason would continue to push, but he accepted the explanation. “She’s paying the Trackers to bring wolves in. Paying them a lot. It’s making some people suspicious—especially when she could just get wolves from the other camps. Since her sister was infected, they think maybe she’s some sort of wolf sympathizer, that maybe she’s trying to create Thornhill as a safe haven for wolves.”
“If they’re suspicious,” said Eve, “why keep bringing her wolves?”
“Greed.” Jason shrugged. “Not all of the Trackers think it’s strange and not all of the ones who do care. The ones who want to know what’s really going on are the ones who got me in.” His gaze shifted to Kyle and a look that was painfully earnest crossed his face. “It was the only way I could get inside. I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
For a moment, Kyle didn’t react, then he inhaled deeply as though reining in suspicion or anger. “All right. How do we storm the castle?”
18
I PUSHED BACK A HEAVY PLASTIC SHEET AND PEERED OUT into the camp. Flashlight beams pierced the night in the distance. Lots of them.
Eve had slipped away from the dorm just after curfew, leaving a note that said she’d meet us—as planned—at eleven. With no idea where she had gone or why, I’d had little choice but to wait until I met the guys at the half-constructed classroom we had agreed to use as a staging point.
When Eve still hadn’t shown after twenty minutes, Kyle and Dex had gone looking for her. That had been fifteen minutes ago, and every additional second made the silence heavy and the air harder to breathe.
“You ever hear that expression about a watched pot?” Jason’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I glared over my shoulder.
Moonlight filtered through the plastic, but his face was in shadow. He leaned against a support beam, bottle in hand, not drinking, just twisting the cap on and off. “I’m just saying that driving yourself crazy won’t make them show any faster.”
“Aren’t you even a little worried?”
Jason shrugged. “Kyle and Dex can take care of themselves.” But he fumbled the cap and took a swig from the bottle.
He was just as worried as I was. Maybe it should have been reassuring to know that someone felt the same way. It wasn’t.