The Summoning

Forty-one

I SQUEEZED THROUGH THE gap between the fence and shed, with Derek's shoe clutched in one hand, while the other tugged the shirt from my jeans, and mussed my hair. When I reached the end of the shed, I peeked out. Dr. Gill had her back to me, her flashlight scanning the other side of the yard.

I darted behind the shrubs and continued along the fence until I reached the porch. Then I crouched in the bushes there, daubed dirt on my cheek, and stumbled out, twigs crackling.

"D-Dr. Gill." I fumbled to shove my shirt back into my jeans. "I —I was just out g-getting some air."

I hopped on one foot, trying to put on Derek's shoe.

"I don't think that's yours, Chloe," she said as she approached, flashlight in my eyes.

I shielded my face from the light and lifted the shoe, squinting at it. Then I let out a nervous laugh. "Whoops. Guess I grabbed the wrong one when I came outside."

"Where is he?"

"Who?" I squeaked.

She pointed at the shoe. "Derek."

"Derek? Is this his?" I cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder, into the bushes, drawing her attention there. "I —I haven't seen Derek since dinner. Is h-he out here, too?"

"Oh, I'm sure he is. Long gone, I suppose, with Simon and Rae. Making their escape while you stand guard and provide a diversion."

"Wh-what?" That time the stammer wasn't faked. "E-escape? N-no. Derek and I were . . ." I gestured at the bushes. "He knew the code so we came outside to be alone and . . . you know."

She stepped closer, beam right in my eyes. "Pick up where you left off Friday afternoon?"

"Right." I tugged down my shirt and tried to look embarrassed.

"Do you really think I'm going to buy that, Chloe? Girls like you wouldn't give boys like Derek Souza the time of day, much less roll around in bushes and crawl spaces with them."

My head shot up. "B-but you caught us. Friday. You're the one who said —"

"I know what I said, Chloe. And I know what you were really doing in that crawl space. I found your new friends."

I stood, feet rooted, unable to believe what I was hearing.

"What did they tell you?" Her fingers went around my arm. 'They were his, weren't they? Samuel Lyle's subjects." She leaned toward me, eyes glittering, as feverish as Derek's but with a glimmer of madness behind them. "Did they tell you his secrets? His discoveries? I'll make sure no one knows you ran away. I'll say I found you asleep in the TV room. Just tell me everything those ghosts said."

"I —I can't talk to ghosts."

I tried to pull away, but her fingers clamped down tighter. I went limp, as if giving in, then threw myself in the other direction. Her hand fell from my arm, but I'd pulled too hard and stumbled, off balance. She plunged toward me. I dove, hitting the ground. As I clambered out of her way, a dark shape vaulted over the deck railing.

Dr. Gill only had time to see a shadow passing over her. She turned, mouth opening. Derek landed right in front of her. Her arms flew up, and she let out a shriek, falling back, but she was still in mid-turn and tripped over her own feet. As she went down, she fumbled for something in her pocket. Derek dove and pinned her arm as she pulled out a two-way radio. It flew onto the grass. Her skull smacked into the cement pad.

I ran forward. Derek was already crouching at her side, checking her pulse.

"She's fine," he said, exhaling with relief. "Just unconscious. Come on. Before she wakes up."

His fingers closed around my arm. Dirty, but very human fingers, his face and hands back to normal, the ripped and sweaty shirt the only sign of his ordeal. I brushed him off, jogged over to his shoe and picked it up, then turned to see him holding the sneaker I'd discarded.

"Trade?"

We pulled our shoes on.

"Simon's waiting at the factory," I said. "We have to warn him. They know about the escape."

He pushed me toward the side fence. "The road won't be safe. Cut through the yards."

I glanced over my shoulder.

"I'm right behind you," he said. "Now go!"

At the first fence, I started climbing, but I was too slow for Derek, who grabbed me and swung me over, then vaulted like it was a hurdle. Two doors down, the wail of a siren sent us diving behind a child's playhouse.

"Police?" I whispered.

"Can't tell."

After a moment, I said, "Dr. Gill knows about the bodies. When I raised them, she must not have been holed up in her office like we thought. She knows I can contact the dead, and about Samuel Lyle, and —"

"Later."

He was right. I squeezed the thought from my head and concentrated on the siren. It whipped past, heading back the way we came, then disappeared.

"Did it stop at the house?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I can still hear it. Now go."

According to Derek, there were seven backyards between Lyle House and the end of the block. Trust him to have counted. We were racing through the fifth when his hand shot out like a railway guard and I plowed into it. When I turned, he had his head cocked, listening. Ten seconds passed. 1 plucked at his shirt, but he ignored me for another ten. Then he lowered his head and whispered, "I hear a car idling. Someone's out there."

"Where?"

An impatient wave. "There. On the street we need to cross." He held up a finger. "Footsteps. Someone's talking. A woman. She's whispering. I can't make it out."

"Do you recognize the voice?"

He shook his head. "Stay here. I'll get closer, see if that helps."

He loped closer to the house, stopping behind a cluster of bushes.

I looked around. I was standing in the middle of the yard, exposed to anyone who heard a noise and glanced out the window. His spot looked a whole lot safer. When I approached, he whirled, pinning me with a glare.

"Sorry," I whispered, and moved slower, quieter.

He waved me back. When I didn't stop, he glared again, then turned away. I crept up behind him and went still. His head moved slowly, tracking the voices, I presumed. But when his head swiveled my way, I noticed the lift of his chin, the flare of his nostrils, and realized he was sniffing the air.

When he noticed me watching, I got a full-blown scowl.

"Can you recognize the, uh . . . ?"

"Scents." He spat the word. "Yes, I can track scents. Like a dog."

"I didn't mean —"

"Whatever."

He looked away again, scanning the fence line. "I suppose you figured out what I am."

"A werewolf."

I tried to say it casually, but I wasn't sure I succeeded. I didn't want to sound freaked out because that was exactly what he expected —why he hadn't told me the truth. I told myself it was no different than being a necromancer or a sorcerer or a half-demon. But it was.

As the silence stretched, I knew I should say something. If he'd told me he was a half-demon, I'd be peppering him with questions, and when I didn't now, my silence damned him as something different than us, something less natural, something . . . worse.

"So what . . . happened back there? You were, uh . . ."

"Changing." He stepped to the right, leaning out for a better listen, then pulled back. "It's not supposed to start until I'm at least eighteen. That's what Dad thought. Last night, the itching, the fever, the muscle spasms —that must have been a warning. I should have figured it out."

His head tilted as a breeze fluttered past. He took a deep breath, then shook his head. "No one I recognize." He pointed to the back of the yard. "We'll climb the back fence, go through that way, and loop around. Hopefully, they'll have driven off by then."

We dashed over the rear fence, and through the next yard to the drive. Derek scanned the street, looking and listening and, I guess, sniffing, then waved me across the street. We slipped into the first yard and continued heading east, cutting through yards.

When we reached the road, I saw the car he'd been talking about. It was a silver SUV, a block down. The headlights were off, but someone stood at the driver's window, leaning in, as if talking.

"We'll have to make a run for it," Derek said. "Hope they don't notice us."

"You think they're looking for us?"

"No, but —"

"Then if we run, it'll look suspicious."

"It's three-thirty in the morning. We're going to look suspicious anyway." He looked at the car for a moment. "Fine. But any sign of trouble? Follow my lead."

"Yes, sir."