Chapter 24: Chapter 24

I’m asleep when Logan taps on the door. I don’t wonder for a second who it is. I know that tap.

For the first years of our lives, Logan and I shared a room, right up until that became awkward. Awkward for everyone else. That was the only time in my life I wished I were a boy, and only because if I had been, no one would have insisted on separate bedrooms until we wanted them. But there comes a time—too soon, in my opinion—when opposite-gender siblings are not supposed to share a room.

Mom made it seem like a celebratory rite of passage. We were old enough to have our own bedrooms. Wasn’t that special?

No, it was not.

I had shared a crib with my brother. I don’t remember it, of course, but I’ve seen photos, and I’ve heard the stories, how they’d bought two cribs, but I’d scream until Mom and Dad put Logan in mine. Even if they tried keeping me up and putting him down alone, he’d fuss softly until I was beside him. When it came time for beds, one of us always crawled in with the other until Mom and Dad gave up and shoved them together into a double.

While Mom said we’d “earned” our separate rooms, we knew it was more about them than us. They wanted us in our own rooms because that was “proper.” So we didn’t complain, but if we couldn’t sleep, we’d creep to the

other’s door. While I’d slip into Logan’s room, he’d always tap on my door, and when he did, it sounded just like this.

I slide from bed and crack open the door to see Logan with a burly dark- haired guy.

“There’s been an incident,” Logan whispers. “May we come in?”

I lift a finger. I’m wearing a T-shirt, which is decent enough with Logan, but I’ll pull on sweatpants for the stranger. I also rouse Holly, whispering that Logan needs to talk to me and asking whether she’d like us to go outside. She says no and rises to put on her own clothing.

I let Logan in. When the big guy starts to follow, I block him. “Are you Mason?” I ask.

He nods and steps forward again, presuming that’s the ticket to entry. I grab him by the shirtfront and say, “Outside. Now.”

His brows lift. Behind me, Logan says, “Kate, he’s—”

“Having a conversation with me. This won’t take long. Now move, asshole.”

Those brows rise higher, but I march him to the exit by the stairs. The entrance door is only secured with an internal deadbolt. I undo it and push him outside. When we’re far enough from the building, I swing in front of him.

“You must be the sister,” he says, looking amused.

“And you must be the jerk roommate who’s been hassling my brother. Who stomped off when he saved your ass from your blood-sucking afterlife.” “Kate,” Logan says behind me, his footfalls swishing over the dew-damp

grass. “It’s fine, Kate.”

“Has he thanked you yet?” I ask. “There’s no need—”

“The hell there isn’t.” I turn on Mason. “You can’t treat people like shit and expect them to stick their neck out for you. You’re lucky Logan didn’t just run to camp, yelling for help, telling them you were dead. By then, you

would have been, and let’s hope your family knows enough not to embalm you or you’re going to have the worst vamp-life ever. Logan brought you back to life. And you walked away without letting him know you were okay, let alone thanking him.”

“I didn’t ask him to save me.”

I sputter. “What the hell? I bet you told your parents you didn’t ask to be born, either. Seriously, you need an image makeover. Emo-vamp is so 1990. Wear bright colors. Smile once in a while. Say thank you.”

Mason starts to walk away. “As amusing as this is, I don’t have time—”

I haul him back. “Oh, you’ll make time. Logan might not get into a pissing match with you, but I will. You want to compare fangs?” I lean into his face. “Trust me, mine are bigger.”

From behind me comes soft laughter that must be Holly.

“Just apologize,” she says. “Kate’s not letting you go until you do.” “I’m sure I’ve already thanked him.”

I turn to Logan, who shrugs. “That’s a no,” I say.

“Fine.” Mason calls a too-bright, “Thanks, roomie!” He turns back to me. “Better? I’m not sure he actually saved me, though, considering this.”

Mason yanks up his shirt. It’s awash with smeared blood.

“You two got in a fight again?” I say. “Well, I’m sure you started it, and I don’t see any damage, so quit whining.”

“Whining?”

“He was slashed with a knife,” Logan says.

Logan doesn’t need to clarify that it wasn’t him—we don’t use weapons. “Where?” I ask.

“Here.” Mason points to unmarked skin under the smear of blood. “Asshole split me open a good six inches. Bled like a son-of-a-bitch. That was ten minutes ago.”

“You healed,” I say. “Like a vamp. You’re obviously alive, though.” I

peer at the spot and then straighten. “Logan mentioned you were part of an Edison Group experiment. I know they played with side effects. They might have given you pre-vamp-life healing abilities, but I’m sure you’d have noticed by now.”

“Kinda.”

“Huh.” I glance at Logan. “So the death-and-resurrection cycle triggered a partial change to vamp-hood.”

“That’s what I presume,” Logan says.

I turn back to Mason. “If you start craving blood, do not ask my brother to donate. He’s done enough for you already. Start with the guy who stabbed you. Unless you deserved it.”

“He didn’t,” Logan says. “It was that kid you talked to in the dinner line.

The blond. Hayden.”

“You mean the Aberzombie who talked at me. Let me guess: you mouthed off to him. I’ve heard you like to do that.

“I didn’t. He came for your brother . . . to cut his Achilles tendon while he slept.”

I may be somewhat incoherent for the next few minutes. Logan explains once I’m calm enough to listen, but every sentence only reignites my rage. It doesn’t help that my brother stays completely cool, as if these guys really had snuck in for a camp prank as he first presumed. I’ll be angry for him. That has always been my role in our relationship. I rant and stomp and throw things, channeling his rage in a way he cannot.

They tried to lame my brother. If this asshole’s dad is really a doctor, he’d have known exactly what he was doing. It’s called the Achilles tendon after the Greek Achilles, whose mother had protected him by dipping him into the River Styx while holding that part of his body, meaning it was his only vulnerable spot. Like most myths, it has a deeper meaning. We are all

vulnerable there. It’s a necessary tendon for walking, running and jumping. Cut that and my brother would have been sent home with a serious injury, perhaps never able to run or jump properly again. For a werewolf, that would be catastrophic.

This was no prank. It was malicious and cruel, and the only thing my brother did to “deserve” it was to be born a werewolf.

“There really is something going on,” Holly says. “Those guys are jerks, but this is insane.”

Logan explains the hormone-overdrive theory to Mason.

When the vampire rolls his eyes, Holly says, “You were a real jerk the other night. Are you telling me that’s normal for you?”

“Yep. Sorry. No excuse for my behavior except that I don’t want to be here, and if I have to be here, I want to be left alone.”

“I introduced myself,” she says. “I wasn’t hitting on you. Wasn’t asking for your life story. Wasn’t trying to make a new BFF. I said, ‘Hello, I’m Holly.’”

He shrugs, but color touches his cheeks in a look that says it’s a whole lot easier to be nasty to a stranger.

“I’m an asshole,” he says. “And proud of it,” she mutters.

“Should we warn Elijah?” I say. “Regardless of what’s causing this, these guys have a batshit crazy issue with werewolves, emphasis on the crazy.”

“Elijah?” Mason says. “Wait, that’s the dude with the dreads, isn’t it? He’s a werewolf, too? Fuck, maybe Surfer Boy had a point. You guys are taking over.”

“We are,” I say. “So please feel free to jump onto Team Surfer.”

“Let’s leave Elijah out of it for now,” Logan says. “No one else knows he’s a werewolf, not even the counselors. We can quietly warn him in the morning. I don’t want to call attention to this.”

“You were attacked with a knife,” I say. “In your bed. At the very least

we need to tell the counselors.”

“Do you trust them to handle this?” Logan says. “Or will they make it worse?”

He’s right. I remember Tricia when we got back from the cabin walk. Earlier today, she didn’t want to tell others what we are. Now she’s openly talking about it herself. The cheerleading counselor has vanished, replaced by a petulant and testy babysitter.

Something hormonal is sparking aggression and libido, increasing both tension and mood swings. Yet we are teens. Sometimes I want to just slam my fist into the wall for no reason. Sometimes I want to invite random cute guys into the nearest dark hallway and make out with them. Other times, I want to go in my room, shut the door and cry. And all three impulses can take place in a single day . . . or a single hour. Yet the situation here is exaggerated. It’s as if someone went looking for a teen-movie scriptwriter and hired a sixty-year-old who hasn’t spoken to an actual teen in thirty years.

Worse, whatever’s going on, the counselors aren’t immune to it. “Paige will be here tomorrow,” Logan says.

“We keep saying that.”

“I know, but it’s true. Do you think we’re in serious danger? If you do, then let’s pack our bags and head into the forest. We can hike to the nearest town.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re right. As angry as I am about what happened to you, it’s three guys, not a lynch mob.”

“We’re on alert now. We’ll stick together until Paige gets here.”

“What about calling her?” I say. “The cell phones are in the office, and I know where that is.”

“Wake her in the middle of the night to say weird stuff is happening? That some guys came after me, but I’m fine? It’s . . .” He checks his watch. “Three in the morning here, which makes it midnight in Portland. Too late for her to catch a flight. She’s due here around noon tomorrow, so she must

already be booked on the first flight out. If you are really concerned, we can call Mom and Dad.”

“If I was really concerned, I’d do what you said, grab my bag and head out. I’m not there yet, so you’re right. Hanging tight and waiting for Paige is the best option. I just really don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”