The Amazing Wolf Boy Page 29

  He shrugged.

  “Now, you see?” I said. “I don’t appreciate that.”

  His eyes flashed. “Do you think I give spit for what you appreciate?”

  “Is that supposed to convince me to join your little gang?”

  “We’re way beyond that.” He dropped his arms and took a stance.

  I didn’t move. Frankly, I was too scared to, so I just waited to see what happened next. After a moment, he screwed up his face. “You really aren’t afraid of me, are you? Maybe you should be.”

  He got into the car and gunned the motor. I stood there, knowing I could never jump away in time if he tried to mow me down. He didn’t. With a spray of gravel and dirt, he backed out of the drive and took off.

  Shaking inside, I walked to the house. Brittany looked stricken. I put on my brave face. “He’s gone.” I shrugged. “No big.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He’s just a jerk.”

  Her mother came out carrying a tray. “Dessert time. Cody, would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “He drinks milk, Mom. I told you.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She set the tray on a wicker table and rushed back inside.

  Brittany and I sat down. I couldn’t meet her eyes. I knew I’d put her in danger.

  Instead, I inspected the tray. It turned out that rabbit holes were cupcakes with green coconut along the rim and a circle of fudge on top. Two white feet were drawn with icing on the fudge—the rabbit jumping into its hole. They looked delicious, and I knew she’d gone through a lot of trouble to make them.

  But I couldn’t eat one. My stomach turned at the thought. All I wanted was for Uncle Bob to show up and take me home.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Uncle Bob wasn’t bluffing when he said I was grounded. For the next week, I had little time to myself. He drove me to school, picked me up afterward, and hung over my shoulder in the evenings. Brittany and I couldn’t have a phone conversation with him always within earshot.

  But the week that followed, he hired on to re-roof Mrs. Portland’s barn. He asked Howard to drive me home after school, and Howard was happy to delegate that honor to Brittany.

  That was when I noticed the pack leader and his stolen black Mustang everywhere. He cruised past the school when I was in class. He honked and waved going the other way on Southern Boulevard. On Tuesday, he followed us home, but when I hopped out of the car to confront him he squealed away.

  Tuesday night, I slept with my window closed, although it was stifling in my room. I was unnerved, but couldn’t let on to anyone.

  “Why can’t he leave us alone?” Brittany said Wednesday at lunch.

  I shrugged. “Why don’t you drop me off at the Sunshine Motel and I’ll ask him?”

  “No way,” she snapped. “Don’t even think it. Besides, I have to stop by Walgreens to pick up some salve for Grandpa.”

  So after school, we headed to Walgreens. Brittany drove in silence, not her usual talkative, bubbly self. We parked in the lot. It was crowded, but we found a good spot.

  As we unbuckled our seatbelts, a black car screeched to a halt behind us, blocking us in. “Oh, God.” Brittany stared in the rearview mirror, her face pale.

  “Go into the store. I’ll talk to him.”

  “But—”

  “Go on.”

  She got out and, trembling visibly, walked forward between the cars. Her cell phone was in her hand, and I wondered if she planned to call the sheriff. That thought gave me courage enough to walk to the passenger side of the Mustang.

  The pack leader grinned. “Hello, pup.”

  I leaned to look in the open window. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to be afraid of me.”

  “And you’ll accomplish this how? By harassing me?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?” He chuckled. “I’m just trying to get to know you, learn your routine, your weaknesses.”

  His words landed hard in the pit of my stomach. My hands shook, and I rested them on my knees. “Seems like a lot of work. Why bother?”

  His smile faded. “Because I don’t like feeling you’ll be talking about me after I’m gone. Now, I could kill you, but I hate to deprive the world of another wolf, even one as housebroken as you. I could rip out your tongue, but I’d much rather teach you to hold it.”

  Try as I might, I could not think of a witty comeback. I could only stare. My uncle was right. The guy was dangerous and unpredictable. And I’d dissed him off.

  At that moment, a green-and-white sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot.

  The pack leader scowled. “Don’t be talking about me behind my back, you hear?” He put the car in gear, merged with traffic on Southern, and disappeared.

  I gulped my heart from my throat and walked to the store.

  Brittany threw her arms about me. “What did he say?”

  Should I tell her he wanted to kill me, or that he was going to rip my tongue out? I hooked my thumb. “He said to stay away from the sheriff’s car that just pulled in. Did you call them?”

  “I said there was an altercation in the parking lot, but I didn’t name names.”

  “Thanks. It got me out of a boring conversation.” I didn’t let on that I finally realized there was no reasoning with the pack leader.

  Thursday after school, Brittany had another errand to run for Grandpa Earle. This time she stopped by the Sheriff’s Office in Royal Palm Beach to leave a package for Sheriff Brad.

  “He probably won’t be there,” she said as she parked before the County Building. She was much more animated, probably feeling safe with all the sheriff cars around. “I think he’s at the main headquarters in West Palm today. I’ll just leave the box with the lieutenant. He knows me.”

  “It seems everyone knows you.” I closed my door and met her at the front of the VW.

  She opened the trunk and showed me a box containing three mason jars. I picked one up. It held half a jar of honey, a chunk of honeycomb, and a few dead bees.

  “Sheriff Brad likes honey, does he?” I asked.

  “Gramps and Sheriff Brad had an argument. Remember that shed in the backyard where we took you when…um—”

  “The one with Butt Crack’s comic book collection?”

  “Yes. Well, some bees started a hive inside. You couldn’t get near it. Butt Crack was beyond bummed. I guess it was like his clubhouse or something. So Grandpa called the sheriff’s department. Sheriff Brad said, ‘Now Earle, you can’t be calling me for bees. I’ve got murders to solve.’ And Grandpa told him that his job was to serve and protect, and he needed protecting.”

  I laughed. “Did the sheriff rush over?”

  “He didn’t show. So Grandpa rigged a contraption that held burning newspaper and shot smoke out a spout, and he went back there himself. Only the hive was bigger than he expected, and he got all stung up. He dropped the smoke contraption, and it caught the shed on fire.”

  I gasped. “With all those vintage comics?”

  “Mom had a fit. She said he could’ve burnt down the forest with the drought going on. Anyway, the shed is gone, and all that’s left of the hive is a half dozen jars like these. He’s sending some to the sheriff as a statement. He should’ve been there.”

  I picked up the box. “That’s quite a story.”

  “There’s always something happening when Gramps is around.”

  We walked into the welcomed coolness of the building and went up to Suite 300. Brittany stopped at the front desk. “Lieutenant Koombs, please. He’s expecting me.”

  The officer at the desk picked up the phone. “Commander, there’s a young lady here to see you. All right.” She smiled at Brittany. “Go on back.”

  “Wait here,” Brittany told me. She took the box. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  I watched her walk away, appreciating the sway of her hips, until she disappeared down a hallway. With a sigh and a smile, I glanced around the room. It looked like any other office space
, full of desks and activity. Two deputies passed, escorting a man in handcuffs. An older woman who had to be a hooker judging by her abbreviated outfit entertained onlookers with colorful language.

  There was a waiting area of sorts, but I didn’t feel like sitting. I headed for a water cooler along the far wall, dodging people and desks. No one stopped me, so I figured I wasn’t breaking any rules.

  I pulled a paper cone from a dispenser, nearly crushing it in the process. The cooler gurgled as I siphoned the water. It was cold and refreshing. I refilled my cup and started back across the room. As I wound through the obstacles, I noticed a fax on a desk. It had a photo of a black Mustang—a stock shot you might see in a magazine. Underneath was a police report—model, year, plate number.

  “Hey, I’ve seen that car,” I said a little loudly. “Yep, that’s the one.”

  That garnered the attention of several deputies. “Where?” said one man. “Here in Royal Palm?”

  “No, in Loxahatchee. At the Sunshine Motel. I was cutting through on my bike. Couldn’t help but notice the car. It’s a beauty. Stolen, eh? You never know.”

  They looked at each other. I slurped my water.

  Just then, Brittany came down the aisle accompanied by a man with short, curly hair. They both laughed, probably at Brittany’s story of Grandpa and the bees. I nodded at the deputies clustered around me and walked toward her. By the time I reached her, the man was gone.

  She turned her smile on me. “See? That didn’t take long.”

  “I was just getting some water. Want some?”

  “No, thanks. We better get you home before your uncle misses you.”

  I crumpled the empty cup, pocketed it, and followed her out. We passed the front desk and entered the elevator. Brittany hugged my arm, and it tingled down to my knees.

  “Tomorrow night’s the big night,” she said.

  “Yeah. The new moon is coming. We have to start the potion.” Like I could forget. “I don’t know how I’m going to get out of the house.”

  “Just tell your uncle the truth. It’s Friday night. We want to spend some time together.”

  “I’m grounded,” I said. “He won’t care about that.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  I shrugged. And if it didn’t work, I’d climb out my bedroom window and face the consequences later.

  We stepped from the building into bright sunlight and crossed the parking lot. Brittany still held my arm. It felt natural and amazing at the same time. But then her fingers slipped and she missed a step. I looked at her in alarm. Then I followed her gaze.

  Parked in front of the library next door was a black Mustang. The pack leader leaned against the hood.

  “He’ll have the wrong idea,” Brittany whispered. “He’ll think we told the authorities about him, and we didn’t.”

  But I did. When the deputies stop by the Sunshine Motel, he’ll know I sent them. I hoped they were good at their jobs, because I didn’t want to find out what he’d do if they failed to arrest him.

  The next morning, I sucked up my courage and walked into the kitchen. Uncle Bob sat at the table with his coffee and newspaper. A breeze drifted through the window and circled the room.

  I stood in the doorway with absolutely no idea what to say—which was funny because I’d played and replayed the scenario all night long.

  When he looked up, I stammered, “I-I would like to take Brittany out tonight. With your permission. It’s Friday night. I don’t want her to get tired of waiting and find someone else to go out with.” I thought that last bit was a stroke of genius. Make him feel guilty.

  “Where did you plan to take her?”

  “Somewhere nice for dinner. Like the Olive Garden. Then maybe hang out.”

  “Well. I appreciate that you didn’t climb out your window.” He made a show of turning the page and folding it just right. “I want you back by eleven.”

  “Yes, sir.” I grinned. “I can do that.”

  I went to school in a better mood than I’d been in some time. Even the mass of kids clogging the hallways didn’t dampen my spirits. As I rounded a corner, I ran into none other than Effraim Higgins.

  We stood for a moment, staring at each other. His eyes narrowed with hatred. I understood. If I hadn’t come to town, he’d still be on the football team, winning girls and terrorizing anyone who crossed him. But with everything going on—the potion, my uncle, the pack leader—I found that what good ol’ Eff thought of me didn’t matter very much.

  I shrugged. “Hey.”

  He nodded and passed without the traditional slam into my shoulder.

  It was a fun topic at lunch with Brittany.

  “He didn’t have his thugs with him?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “No. He was alone.”

  “For the first time in his life.” She laughed. “He’s really changed.”

  “Because of me.”

  “He did it to himself. You were a victim. I’ll never forget seeing you tied up in that tree.”

  I closed my hand over her warm fingers. “It’s over. He doesn’t matter.”

  “All that matters now is you. We have to get that potion started.”

  My stomach did a little flip, partially at the prospect of becoming a normal kid again, but mostly because she said I mattered. “I talked to my uncle about letting me out tonight. He said I have to be back by eleven.”

  “That’s great. We’ll be done by then.”

  “I told him I was taking you to the Olive Garden.” I looked down at our hands. “So, do you want to? Go to dinner with me?”

  A mischievous smile crossed her face. “And do our magic stuff afterward?”

  “As magical as you want.” My cheeks heated. “It will be kind of like our first date.”

  “Unless you count the Valentine’s dinner you cooked for me.”

  “Yeah.” I chuckled. “I’d rather forget about that one.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me.

  I wanted to cup her face in my hands and kiss her right there in the cafeteria. But the bell rang, breaking the moment. I settled for her peck on my cheek as she hurried to class.

  After school, I dressed in the clown outfit I wore on Easter, vowing to buy myself new clothes. Brittany picked me up at five so we would beat the crowd at the restaurant. The building looked like every other Olive Garden in the country. Which was a good thing—I knew what to expect.

  “I’m going to have bowtie pasta,” Brittany told me as we waited to be seated.

  “You don’t have to settle for that. Get whatever you want. A steak, or the fish special—”

  “That is what I want. Their pasta is delicious. And you can order two kinds of sauces, one on each side.”

  So we dined on alfredo and marinara. It was great. Brittany chattered on about her Computer Graphics teacher telling her she had a real knack. She talked about her mother’s addiction to crafts, and how she once tried to redecorate Brittany’s room. She retold the story of Grandpa and the bees, this time with embellishments.

  I was content to listen to her laugh and watch her perfect face. But after a while, I started having trouble following the conversation. I kept glancing out the window at the fading light.

  When I apparently failed to laugh at an appropriate spot, she said, “Do you want to leave?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just worried. What if the potion doesn’t work? What if we do something wrong?”

  “We followed the instructions.” She shrugged. “I went there this morning before school. Everything’s set.”

  Gratitude and love mushroomed inside me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I meant it. I couldn’t imagine my life with her gone.

  “It’s dark enough to keep away prying eyes.” She pushed back from the table. “Let’s get started.”

  Brittany drove in near silence to our hidden courtyard in the woods. At first, I thought she was mad at me for cutting dinner short, but maybe she was just as nerv
ous as I was.

  “So, you came out this morning?” I said in an attempt to break the ice. “Must’ve been at the crack of dawn.”

  “Yeah, and you’ll never guess who followed me. Our friend in the black Mustang.”

  “What? You’re just telling me this now?”

  “It was no big deal. I drove about a mile down the road before I stopped. There’s an old rock quarry down there. I pulled to the side, and he went by real slow. When he didn’t come back, I got out of the car and ran through the woods to check our stuff. Then I had to run back again. I barely made it to school in time.”

  “This is bad,” I said. “We have to call it off.”

  “No way.”

  “He might have tracked you from the quarry to the cauldron.”

  “He wasn’t there. He kept on driving.” She shook her head. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “But you did tell me. You knew something was wrong.”

  She parked on the grass before the courtyard. “All I know is it’s important to you and I don’t want to call it off. If anyone’s been nosing around, you’ll smell them, right?”

  “Sure,” I said, not sure at all.

  We got out of her car. The area was dark so far from city lights. The air was damp and cool. I smelled the hot engine, heard field mice and crickets.

  “Is he here?” she whispered.

  “No. We’re alone.”

  “Good.”

  We walked hand-in-hand through the trees into the hidden clearing. I saw the shadowed outline of boxes and bags.

  “Watch where you walk,” she said. “I left the barrier up.”

  I nodded. “I hear it.”

  The hum was annoying. I stretched out my hand and rested my fingers on a wall of thick air. The surface gave slightly beneath my touch. With my toe, I kicked a flap of sod onto the magic circle carved in the ground. The circle was broken, and the barrier popped out.

  Brittany took a hesitant step forward. “Was anyone here?”

  “Rabbits,” I said. “An armadillo. You came in from over there.”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “But no one else.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said. “Take a look at what I’ve done.”