Hemlock 03: Willowgrove (16 page)

“Wow.” The word was soft. Almost reverent.

Our eyes met in the mirror as he crossed the room. Warmth flooded my cheeks. Even though I was completely dressed, I felt the strange urge to cover up.

Jason was clean shaven, and as he drew closer, I could smell the faint trace of expensive aftershave. He had styled his hair so that it was an artfully disheveled contrast to the sharp, crisp lines of his tux. He looked like he had stepped off a movie screen.

The only thing that ruined the picture was the black dagger tattooed on his neck.

“Is everything okay at the church?” I asked.

He nodded.

It had taken Serena a while to change back to her human form, but once she had, it was as though she had fully recovered from what they had done to her at Thornhill—physically, at least. She and Trey had stayed behind at the church. If CutterBrown had sent those men after her, going anywhere near the fund-raiser would be beyond insane.

Eve had balked at the idea of staying with them, but Jason had only been able to get two tickets. As it was, we were one person too many, but I had refused to tell either
Jason or Kyle where Amy had hidden the key to her father’s study and neither of them was willing to stay behind while the other went with me.

Besides, I wanted Eve to stay with Serena and Trey. I trusted her to protect them in ways I couldn’t.

The corner of Jason’s mouth lifted in a crooked grin. “Need someone to zip you up?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

Jason stepped closer. His fingers grazed my lower back, raising goose bumps on my skin as he reached for the zipper and slowly pulled it up. “You look gorgeous,” he said.

“It’s the dress.” I shook my head. “Anyone would look good in this.”

The memory of the way Jason’s body had covered mine as we kissed swept through me. I pushed it away, but not before he caught a glimpse of the flashback on my face.

He gave his head a small shake as though trying to clear it. “You know, someday you might actually learn to accept a compliment.” A faint blush crept across his cheeks. “I was wondering . . .” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He kept his fist closed, hiding whatever was tucked inside. “I bought this last year. For Amy. Before everything happened.” He opened his hand and a flash of silver tumbled out. A small disc spun at the end of a dainty chain, catching the light as Jason dangled the necklace between his fingers.

I turned and captured the pendant in my palm. It was a small silver compass. North, South, East, and West. A star between them and tiny letters that wound their way along
the outer edge.
May you always know the way home.

“It’s stupid and sentimental,” said Jason, raking his free hand through his hair, disheveling it even more, “but part of me always felt like she was pulling away—especially this last year. I saw the necklace in a store window and I felt bad about how much we had been fighting and I just, dunno, wanted to try and do something nice for her. I knew it was too little too late, but I still wanted to try.”

He pulled in a deep breath. “I never got the chance to give it to her, and after the funeral, I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I just . . . I thought it would look nice with your dress.”

His hands went to the clasp, a silent question in his eyes. It felt wrong—as wrong as wearing Amy’s bracelet—but looking at the earnest, slightly lost look on Jason’s face, I found myself nodding.

I turned so he could fasten the chain around my neck. The silver felt warm against my skin. Almost hot.

My chest felt suddenly tight. I was standing in Amy’s place. I was wearing the kind of dress she belonged in and a necklace that had been meant for her. I was standing with the boy who should have loved her more than he loved me.

I felt like a thief.

Jason traced the edge of the chain with the barest brush of his fingertips. “I keep thinking about where we’re going tonight, and I keep wondering how many ways you can betray a person. Amy’s gone, but I still keep finding ways to hurt her.”

“You don’t have to come with us.” It was hard to say
the words—now that I had accepted that he and Kyle were staying, I couldn’t imagine doing this without them—but I needed Jason to know he had a choice. To know that he
always
had a choice. “Kyle and I can go. You could head back to the church and wait with the others.”

“No,” he said, voice low and serious. “I can’t.”

He held my gaze in the mirror. Like the ocean during a storm, his eyes pulled me under. “Why?” I asked. “What changed?” It was the question I had wanted to ask him for hours.

“Serena.” He continued to hold my gaze. “Until this afternoon, I didn’t think I would ever see anything as horrible as those videos of them torturing her in the camp. After what happened to her—after what keeps happening to her—she deserves to know who’s responsible. You were right: this is bigger than us. I hate where we’re going and why—I hate everything about this—but it’s necessary.”

He started to lower his hand, but I reached up and held it in place. “I don’t want to lose you over this. I don’t want you to hate me if we go there and find something.”

A small, sad smile crossed his face. “You won’t lose me. As long as you want me around—however you want me around—I’m here. Don’t worry,” he added, catching my flicker of unease and the way I bit my lip. “I know it’s him. It should be him. He’s better than either of us.”

“Jason . . .” My heart twisted. I loved him—just not the same way he loved me. Not the way I loved Kyle. I didn’t feel guilty for the feelings I had for Kyle—it would be like feeling guilty for breathing—but I wished there was some way I
could keep those feelings from hurting Jason.

A floorboard creaked behind us.

I released Jason’s hand and turned.

Kyle stood in the doorway, a blank, careful expression on his face that I couldn’t decipher.

Jason stepped to the side, putting plenty of space between us. We hadn’t done anything wrong, but another blush flared across my cheeks. That one, stupid kiss after Thornhill made everything so awkward and complicated.

Kyle stared at the two of us for a handful of heartbeats before stepping over the threshold.

My pulse sped up as I watched him cross the room. Kyle wasn’t as comfortable in a tux as Jason was—he tugged at the collar and the cuffs—but that didn’t change the way the jacket emphasized his broad shoulders or how he moved with an impossible amount of grace.

For a second, I forgot the awkwardness of the moment as a single word filled my brain:
Damn.

My approval must have shown on my face because the corners of Kyle’s mouth quirked up in a slightly cocky grin. His gaze took in every inch of my dress and the skin it didn’t cover as he walked toward us. He stopped just in front of me. Without glancing at Jason, he placed his hands on my hips and brushed his lips against mine.

The kiss was brief and light, but it still left my knees shaking.

“You look amazing,” he murmured, pulling back as heat spread slowly through my body, warming me from the inside out.

His eyes lingered on the necklace for a moment. He glanced at Jason and raised an eyebrow, eliciting a barely perceptible shrug. I wondered if he had been with Jason the day he bought it.

“Aren’t you going to tell me how pretty I look?” Jason ran a hand over his lapel. His eyes were dark and the joke was forced, but a small grin still flashed across his face.

“You’re a gorgeous specimen of manhood,” deadpanned Kyle.

“Not to interrupt the bromancing, but . . .” My gaze darted from one boy to the other. “Are you guys sure you want to do this?”

The look Kyle shot me was pure exasperation. “Do you even need to ask?”

I shrugged. Of course I did.

“Free drinks, hors d’oeuvres, and women in low-cut dresses.” Jason let out a small, very male laugh. “Your concern for our well-being is touching, but I think we can handle it.”

Half of those women in low-cut dresses would probably be anti-werewolf zealots, and the idea of Jason and free drinks didn’t exactly give me warm and fuzzy thoughts, but I tucked a hand into the crook of each boy’s arm. “Let’s go sparkle.”

If Jay Gatsby had lived in Hemlock, he would have crashed parties at the Walsh house.

Amy’s family was the closest thing the town had to royalty and their parties were legendary. Even an invitation to
something like this—a boring fund-raiser where wealthy socialites and politicians could mingle with prestigious Trackers and high-ranking LSRB officials—was highly coveted.

Despite the fact that the National Guard was patrolling the streets and the entire town was under a ten o’clock curfew, plenty of people had turned up—way more people than had invitations. The party had been under way for over an hour and the line outside the gates kept growing.

“Do you want my jacket?” asked Kyle as I stood between him and Jason and hugged myself for warmth.

I shook my head. I’d be okay—for now—though I was seriously regretting our decision not to don coats before walking the short distance from Jason’s house.

We inched our way forward as the security team turned away another group of gate-crashers. I had watched more than one party at Amy’s house from the shadows, but I had never seen security precautions like this. Five men worked the gate. They didn’t allow any cars to remain within fifty feet of the driveway, and each guest who made it through was scanned with a portable metal detector before being allowed to proceed up to the house on foot.

But that was only the second layer of protection. Before you could even approach the gate, you had to make your way through a gauntlet of Trackers. Like a living wall, dozens of them lined each side of the street, stretching from one edge of the Walshes’ property to the other. Something about the way they carried themselves—the set of their shoulders and the way they snapped to attention whenever someone spoke
to them—made me wonder if they’d had military training. Some of the more extreme Tracker chapters trained their younger, fitter members for what they saw as an impending war between wolves and regs.

The Walsh family hadn’t asked for the added security—not according to the snatches of whispered conversation I caught around us—but with so many important Trackers inside, the group wasn’t taking any chances.

With a miniature riot last night and the National Guard crawling over Hemlock, I guess I couldn’t blame them for wanting the extra protection—and that was without factoring in the idea that an unknown number of werewolves were planning God only knew what for the night of the rallies.

I remembered Trey’s words about the town being a tinderbox and shivered.

Even though contacting our families felt like a risk, I had called Tess and tried to convince her to get out of Hemlock for a few days—without luck. She had insisted she’d be fine as long as she stayed inside. With the National Guard controlling the flood of traffic in and out of town, she felt safer in the apartment than stuck for hours at a checkpoint. Kyle’d had better luck with his parents. Despite the delays on the roads, they were now safely on their way to visit his grandparents out of state. By the time they figured out he was not—as he had promised—already on his way there, it would be too late for them to make it back before the rally.

They’d be safe.

I twisted the chain at my throat as we neared the front of the line.

“Are you all right?” asked Kyle.

I opened my mouth to tell him I was just thinking about Tess, but was cut off by a man with an earthquake of a voice and a face that would have looked at home in the Neanderthal exhibit of any natural history museum. “Names?”

“Jason Sheffield, Mackenzie Dobson, and Kyle Harper,” said Jason as he handed over two invitations.

The man’s thick fingers danced over a tablet. “You and the girl are on the list. He’s not.”

“He’s supposed to be,” bluffed Jason. “Must be an oversight. Call the house.”

“Kid, I’ve turned away thirty ‘oversights’ in the past hour. If he’s not on the list, he doesn’t get past the gate.”

Kyle stiffened, but Jason just shrugged, the gesture long and languid. “He was a friend of Amy Walsh’s.”

“I don’t care if he’s the Pope,” replied the man. “He’s not on the list.”

Jason held his arm out to me. “Come on, Mac. I’m sure Senator Walsh will be thrilled to find out one of his granddaughter’s closest friends wasn’t allowed through—especially when he asked the three of us to come and say a few words.”

A small flicker of doubt crossed the Neanderthal’s face.

One of the other guards recognized Jason. “You’re the boyfriend, right?”

“I was.” Whispers broke out in the line behind us; Jason ignored them. He inclined his head toward Kyle and me. “They were Amy’s best friends. The senator thought our presence would help underscore the importance of
tougher anti-werewolf legislation.”

It was sometimes frightening how good Jason was at lying.

The Neanderthal stared at Jason. Jason stared back. Finally, the second guard—the one who had spoken up—broke the stalemate.

“They’re fine. He’s a Sheffield and his parents are already inside.”

I held my breath.

For a moment, it looked like the guard with the tablet wasn’t going to listen, but he eventually stepped aside and let us pass.

“Remove any metal items from your person and stand with your arms out, sir,” said another member of the security team as Kyle stepped through the gate.

Kyle did as he was told, staring straight ahead as the man passed a handheld metal detector over him.

Jason and I were each subjected to the same search before we were allowed to proceed to the house.

Ahead, other people were making their way up the long, cobblestone driveway. Glowing paper lanterns had been placed every few feet and the trees had all been strung with small, white lights.

High heels and I didn’t get along at the best of times; throw cobblestones and a long skirt into the mix and I teetered like a tower of Jenga blocks.

I stumbled and made a desperate grab for Kyle’s arm.

He grinned as he steadied me. “I thought walking in ridiculous shoes was a trait all girls were born with.”