The Hunted

  I take it, grab a cookie from the plate, and sit next to my friend.

  “I still can’t believe this is happening to us,” Hazel says, her voice quivering. “Why my Evie?” Her hands creep up to shield her face as she cries.

  We’d all like to know the answer to that question. If the Taylor pack is trying to inflict as much pain on us as they can, without torturing us themselves, why not take Dad? As much as I’m upset over Eve’s disappearance, I’d be devastated if he suddenly dropped off the face of the earth.

  The grief in this house is palpable, draped over the furniture and light fixtures like gauze. I can’t imagine what her parents are going through. They must be out of their minds with worry. I would be.

  “So,” Miley says as Hazel dabs the corner of her sweatshirt over her eyes and lowers her hands to her lap, “you said earlier that Eve texted you just after eleven-thirty, to let you know she was on her way home?”

  “That’s right, yes. Bruce was locking up for the night—Eve has a spare key—when he noticed her car in the driveway. The hood was barely warm when we went to investigate.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Murphey.” Miley sets down her mug and attempts to wiggle mine free from my hands. “We’d best get going.”

  It’s apparent she has something to tell me that she doesn’t want to say in front of Eve’s mom, so I relinquish the mug and rise with her.

  “Thanks for dropping in,” sniffle, “and occupying Riley. You girls take care, okay?” Overcome with anxiety, or possibly fear for her daughter, she bursts into tears.

  Outside, Miley drags me over to a corner of the yard, out of both Hazel and Riley’s earshot.

  “What is it?” I say.

  “Which shoes was she wearing that night?”

  Random question, but okay, I’ll play along. “Umm. Converse? Yeah, black-studded Chucks. Why?”

  “Hazel said they found one of her sneakers a few paces away from the car. But there wasn’t any blood or traces of a struggle. It just looks as if she was—”

  “Overpowered.”

  “Yeah.” She tips her head to one side. “How’d you know I was going to say that?”

  “Lucky guess…”

  Seb

  Instead of walking into their territory to interrogate Ash—that would be a suicide mission—I sent Kat to find out anything he could about Eve’s disappearance. Two hours after I sent him away, while I’m scouring my brain for ideas of where’d they keep her, he returns.

  There’s a grim set to his mouth. “Not good, mate. Not good.”

  “What happened?”

  He unslings his backpack from his shoulders. “They were out, so I took it upon myself to have a little look around.” Opening the zipper, he hunts around for a beat, and then retrieved a pink bundle of cloth. Unfurls it and—

  It’s a shirt. A girl’s shirt.

  We exchange a look bloated with concern and hatred before I push off from my chair and cross the room.

  Damn them. Damn them all.

  “You think—?”

  “It’s got to be Eve’s.”

  I spread a tartan blanket over the grass. From the corner of my eyes, I see Cass raise the camera, a sly grin on her lips. The flash blinds me for a couple of beats. “Hey, no fair.”

  “Are you even gonna show up on this?” she says.

  I chuckle. “I’m not Dracula.”

  “Oh.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Well, capturing Dracula on film would be fun. Make a bucket of dough.”

  I deposit the picnic basket on the blanket and sit next to it. “You could buy yourself an apple tree.” I hold out my arms for her.

  She smirks, snaps another photo of me, and then settles in my lap. “What’s in the basket, Yogi?”

  “Sandwiches.” I peel back the flap and remove a container.

  “Did you make them? Or Sarah?”

  I hang my head. “I helped.”

  She giggles and selects a half. “Ooh, chocolate spread.”

  I hand her a takeout cup.

  She sniffs at the small opening. “Coffee!”

  “You’re easily pleased.”

  “You thought I was the high-maintenance type?” She barks a laugh. “You should meet Eve.” She stills. “Shit. For a second, I forgot.”

  I massage her back. “It’s okay, honeybee.”

  She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I want her back.”

  Is now the time to tell her what evidence Kat found? There’s got to be a better time than this moment.

  “Have you heard anything from your ex-pack?” she says, as if guessing what plagues my mind.

  I can’t lie to her, not to her face. “Yes. Kat, uh…” I scratch my chin as I try to work out a way to tell her.

  “Kat what?”

  “He went snooping while they weren’t home and found what might be her shirt.”

  She’s silent for a long time, nibbling at her sandwich like an adorable rabbit. Then her gaze swings towards me. “Are you sure it was hers? What color was it? Style?”

  “A pink V-neck.”

  “Shit.” Three lines appear between her eyebrows, and her mouth quivers into a heartbreaking scowl. “I hope she’s all right. If they hurt her…”

  “I know.”

  Her thoughts take a path mine can’t connect to. “What if I’m next?”

  “I’ll keep you safe, Cass, whatever it takes.”

  “But who’s keeping Eve safe? Who’s watching over her?”

  Fair point. Maybe angels are. Maybe no one.

  School is different without my best friend—boring and long. And then there are the pointed looks and snide remarks as I sit next to her vacant chair in English.

  I catch one of the whispered conversations from the pair behind me.

  “I heard she was the one to see her last.”

  “I bet her boyfriend did it. He’s all mysterious and ax-murdery.”

  Great. Can’t Mrs. Browne begin the class already?

  To drain them out, I slip my earbuds into my ears and crank Paramore up to the extreme.

  Marcus clomps into the room, books tucked under one arm and his backpack hanging off the other. His gaze sweeps over his classmates, settling on me. With a grim smile in place, he makes his way over to me and then, with a beat of hesitation, takes Eve’s place at the desk next to me. I rip out my earbuds, both grateful for a friendly face and annoyed that it’s Marcus.

  “Thought you might want some company.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  The conversation behind me had continued uninterrupted through the Paramore song.

  “My uncle saw a massive wolf with those same green eyes once.”

  My spine stiffens. I fight the urge to turn around and kick them both in the shins.

  Marcus, suddenly virulent with anger, spins around in his seat. “Shut your mouths! You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  Peering over my shoulder at them, I see the red-haired boy raise his hands in mock fearfulness. “What, are you her big defender now or somethin’?”

  Both of the boys crack up, and Marcus’ hands curl into fists.

  Seething, Marcus says, “You have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

  Sure, I was the last to see Eve, but since when does that make me a target for ridicule? And why are they bringing Seb into it? How do they even know about him?

  “You’re gettin’ yourself worked up over nothin’, mate,” said the red-haired one while chuckling.

  The second boy folds his hands behind his head and rocks back on his chair, as if this is just another day at school. “She’s probably dead, lying in a ditch somewhere.”

  Now I want to punch them. “Turn around, Marcus.” I don’t want to listen to them anymore, and Mrs. Browne has begun to write on the whiteboard.

  After a tremendously drawn-out moment, he turns back around in his seat to face the front. Fists still clenched tight unde
rneath the desk.

  “What was that about?” I say to him. “Why’d you let them get to you?”

  His head pivots a fraction towards me. “Because this isn’t just about Eve.”

  Seb

  It’s Liam’s turn to lock up tonight, so at three I say goodbye to him and Chad, heading for the door.

  Chad is spinning around in his office chair—he must be getting dizzy—but catches me before I can slip out of the door. “Hey, hey, hey—hold up a sec, dude!” Planting his feet, he stops the chair and gets up. He wobbles about for a bit before coming to stand in front of me.

  “What’s up? I gotta go pick up Cass.”

  “I know, I know. Just wanted to tell ya that your sister called a couple minutes ago. Says you’re not answering her calls.” Squinting at me, he says, “Really, dude? That’s like—I’d always answer my sister’s calls because she’d beat me up if I didn’t.”

  “Chad. You don’t have a sister.”

  He pokes my chest with a finger. “You’re right on the mark there; if I did have one, I know she’d beat me up. Boxer or something else fierce.”

  “Okay. Thanks for this delightful conversation.” I twist the doorknob. “Now, I’ve gotta go.” Yanking it open, I catch a whiff of sour milk and rot, and I’m instantly on high-alert.

  Ash is outside.

  Why is he here?

  There’s a string of answers nudging their way into my brain, but before I can decide on one, I step out into a blissfully sunny day and shut the door behind me. Best to get this over with.

  “Hello, Sebby.” He steps into view, malicious smile in place.

  Feigning boredom and keeping my tone flat, I say, “What do you want?”

  “Thought we could have a chat.”

  “About?”

  The smirk ratchets up a handful of notches. “You. The girl.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s a pretty one. Smells good too—mouthwatering.”

  A rapid heat claws its way through my body, waking up the wolf inside. “You stay away from her,” I growl, shoving him into the opposing wall. “She’s not yours to play with, you hear me?”

  His maniacal laugh ricochets off the brick, a sharp reminder that Ash is as merciless as they come. “She’s already part of the game, Sebby. Just wait’n see.”

  “No—” The right hook to my temple surprises me, knocking me off my feet. My back slams into the wall behind me with a jolting thud, and I slide down onto my ass.

  Leaning over me, he twists a fistful of my shirt into his hand, dragging me back up to my feet. His face is a mere inch from mine, red eyes sparking with a challenge. “She’s mine.”

  Cassie

  When the bell rings, signaling the end of the school day, I shove my sketchpad into my bag and head out into the corridor. Turning left down the hallway to my locker, I crash into Miley.

  She clutches my arm to steady us both. “Whoa! Sorry!”

  “They should think about installing traffic lights and a stop sign,” I say, readjusting my bag on my shoulder.

  “Yeah, totally. There must be tens of crashes per day, at least.” Her smile is genuine, though her eyes hold a bucket load of apprehension.

  “Something up, Miles?”

  “Ah…” She winces visibly. “I was just coming to find you.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Chewing on her bottom lip, she takes a moment to answer. “Your locker—someone kind of vandalized it.”

  “What?” I shove past her, round the corner, and stop when I notice the small gathering of students in the corridor. All in a semi-circle around my locker.

  Miley rushes up behind me. “Cass, wait! You shouldn’t see—”

  But I had already seen. Two of the smirking students, the boys from English, are arrogant enough to step out of the way.

  The words Freak Lover and Killer are smudged across my black locker door in red paint. The students turn and snigger at me, enjoying the shock splashed onto my face. Hatred travels through me, so thick it scrubs out all rationality.

  I march up to the red-haired boy and shove his shoulder. “You did this. I know you did.”

  He pushes me and I topple over, falling to the gray-speckled linoleum as Mr. Jameson rounds the corner.

  “Hey!”

  My peers scatter like mice in a hailstorm, but not before my art teacher recalls the red-haired boy with a hooked finger. “Mr. Stewart. Causing trouble again, I see.”

  “Hey, are you okay?” Lending me a hand, Miley helps me up.

  “Yeah.” I straighten my shirt. “Just a bruised hip and ego.”

  “Don’t worry; we’ll get the paint off.”

  It’s not the paint I’m worried about, instead it’s—how do they know what Seb is? Do they just have their suspicions, from the Navajo tales? Or is there solid evidence they have that prove the skinwalkers exist?

  “You will get the paint off,” Mr. Jameson says to the student. “Right now.”

  “But I have—!”

  “Either that or a week of detention.”

  “Fine, okay.”

  The teacher looks over at me. “You okay, Cassie?”

  Nodding weakly, I rub the hip I’d fallen on. “Yeah. I think so.” I feel the boy’s eyes on me, and I return his stare with a hardened one.

  “Okay, let’s get this cleaned up.” Mr. Jameson heaves a sigh. “Come on.”

  I wait for the two of them to disappear around the corner before opening my locker and grabbing my books. In the mirror on the inside of the door, I catch Miley smiling kindly at me.

  “It’ll be okay, Cass. This will all blow over soon, once they find someone else to bully.”

  A vaguely reassuring thought.

  “I’ll walk you out?”

  I shove the last notebook into my bag. “Thanks.”

  ***

  Seb’s late.

  The last few students are trickling out of the school, some throwing me a curious glance, others ignoring me. Some offer me spiteful stares, which I defiantly return twofold. They don’t scare me, a bunch of kids following the bread crumbs of rumors. They can vandalize my locker, push me around, call me names, and none of it really means anything. There’s much more going on in the world for me to care about.

  Sliding my cell phone from my pocket, I peek at the time—3:20. Where is Seb? He’s usually right on time. I settle down on the grass, underneath a tree, to wait.

  Five more minutes pass before Seb’s SUV pulls up to the curb in front of me.

  “Sorry I’m late, honeybee,” he says as I hop in.

  As he looks at his side mirror, waiting for a car to pass us so he can pull out, I notice a shadow of a bruise on his temple. Gesturing towards it, I say, “What happened to you?”

  “Ash happened. He was waiting for me outside of the record store.” He glances over at me. “I hope you had a better day.”

  Oh, where to start?

  I fill him in on the day’s events as he drives me home. When I’m done, and when he swings into my driveway, he shakes his head.

  “Some people can be such jerks.” He shuts the engine off. “But you’re okay? You want me to have a word with anyone?”

  Oh, sure, having my ‘freak’ of a boyfriend talk to the ones spreading that crap about him? That will go over well. “No. I don’t think they even know what they’re talking about. But, thanks.” Unclipping my seatbelt, I grab my bag and lean in to kiss him.

  “Want me to come in?”

  I yank on the handle and prop open the passenger door with my foot. “Dad will be home soon. Sneak back in after dinner?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He waits for me to get inside and click the deadbolt into place before taking off.

  Food. I needed a massive amount of sugar after the day I’d had. I can swing by Rocky Roads—no. Won’t be the same without Eve’s comforting, yet snide, remarks. Settling on a bag of jelly babies and a container of Sarah’s gingersnap cookies, I spread m
y homework out on the coffee table. Switching on the TV, I scour the channels for something half decent. I want to keep my mind occupied until I have to cook dinner.

  Dad clomps through the door at a little after five and goes straight to the fridge for a beer. “Hey, kiddo. Your day all right?”

  I don’t know if I want to tell him how my day really was—I’m getting sick of repeating it—so I evade his question. “Mm. How was yours?”

  “Fine.” Taking a swig of beer, he looks at what I have cooking on the stove. I get a feeling I’m about to get caught out when he follows up with, “Your art teacher called me about half an hour ago.”

  Damn him.

  “He said two boys vandalized your locker with ‘Freak Lover’ and ‘Killer’.” He watches me carefully as I turn over the chicken pieces. “Have any idea what that means?” A forced chuckle. “Or is that some kind of slang the kids are using now?”

  Careful what you say, Cass. There’s a chance he already knows about Seb and me, if he has a notebook with the pack’s names in it, but I won’t be the one handing over the evidence of our relationship. “No idea. They know I was the last person to see Eve, so they’re probably spinning their lies off that. You know how whispers can spread and be altered.”

  I should’ve known at the time, that denial was what drives him to seek out the truth.

  “Should I talk to your headmaster?” he says.

  “I’m sure it will all get sorted out.”

  ***

  6:45 am. I brush back my hair and secure it in an elastic. 6:50. I drizzle milk over my high-fat, high-carb, teeth-rotting cereal and pour a bowl of the low-fat, cardboard stuff for Dad. 6:51. Dad makes his way downstairs, into the kitchen, and grumbles what passes as “Morning.” He plops down on his usual chair and manages to slosh milk into the muesli I’d arranged. I slide a mug of coffee across the table.

  “Thanks Cass,” he mumbles, picking up the paper.

  This is what our mornings are like, when he’s not gone early to save people’s lives. I don’t mind the lack of chitchat. Actually, I revel in it. Gives me a chance to think things through.

  But at 7:01, someone knocks on the door.

  Dad, now caffeinated, jumps up and says, “I’ll get it!”

  I shake my head at him in mock shame as he heads down the hall.

  Less than a minute later, Miley pops her head around the corner, followed by Xavier.

  I stare at them, wary. “Guys?” It’s rare to get a visit this early from them.