Dangerous (17 page)

do with nudity till Luther had to go home.

I stood by the door and watched him ride his bike away. It

felt so normal having him around, like I was still just Maisie

Brown, working with my study buddy. I wondered if I was happy

now. I’d left home and come back changed. In a way, wasn’t

that what I’d wanted?

My stomach squelched. I was probably just hungry, be-

cause hey, I hadn’t eaten in ten whole minutes. But the squelch

seemed like fear.

I carefully shut the front door and locked it. The deadbolt

felt cheap under my fingers. I wasn’t sure what I was locking the

house against, but I suspected the act was useless. Something or

someone would find its way in.

134

C h a p t e r 2 0

I was awakened by hunger the next morning. Mom had

gone grocery stopping and hard-boiled three dozen eggs. The

increase to my skin’s sensitivity as well as my strength enabled

me to walk without stomping through the floor, pick up a cup

without cracking the glass, and peel an egg without damaging

the white flesh.

“I’m coming into the kitchen,” Dad said, narrating his ac-

tions as my parents had begun to do around their brute daugh-

ter. He yawned and rubbed his bald spot. “First thing in the

morning, a hard-boiled egg is hard to beat.”

“Uh-huh.”

He pointed to the last egg in my hand. “Are you going to

eat that?”

I plopped it into my mouth unpeeled. Crunchy.

“Good for you. Eggshells are rich in calcium,” he said,

cracking a banana off the bunch.

“Ruth took a few days to gain and control her strength, but

the effects of the second token were faster for me.”

“Because your nanite network was already laid?” said Dad.

“Maybe. I also wonder if the first couple of days the nanites

were scoping out our internals and reporting to the token, and

the token was reprogramming the nanites for human specifics.

The second time around, the brute token already knew the in-

ner workings of my species.”

“Have you noticed changes to any other bodily functions?”

Dad asked.

Shannon Hale

“Well, I don’t seem to produce very much, um, waste.”

My body was so efficient now, nearly everything I ate was

used to enhance energy and strength.

“Fascinating,” said Dad.

Yes, my father was fascinated by my poop schedule.

Biologists.

Dad shambled off again, so I was alone when I became

aware of
him
. Heat and cold poured through my middle; my

heart beat so that I heard it. I pressed against a wall away from

the windows, which was pointless since I knew he could sense

me too.

Then a dog barked.

I peeked out the blinds. A gorgeous German shepherd was

sitting on my front lawn. The guy holding the leash wasn’t hard

on the eyes either. I wanted to run away. Hold him. Scream.

Hide. Die.

I opened the door.

Wilder was leaning against a yellow convertible.

“Maisie. How are you? You look good. You look great, ac-

tually.”

“I’m okay.” My chin started quivering as if I would cry, so I

focused on the dog. “What’s his name?”

“Laelaps,” said Wilder. “Happy birthday.”

“How did you know it’s—”

“I still have your astronaut boot camp papers.”

I had his memorized. I jumped down the steps and knelt

by the dog, letting him sniff my hand before I pet his head. My

skin sensed every hair of his thick coat.

“Since your rhapsody about Europa the moon, I read up

on Europa the queen,” he said. “Did you know Jupiter gave

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Dangerous

her four gifts? There was the dog Laelaps, a javelin that never

missed—I’ll have to work on that one—and a bodyguard named

Talos. But you don’t need a Talos. You are the bodyguard.”

Laelaps nuzzled my hand. My pets over the years had in-

cluded a turtle, hamster, and hermit crab. Let me say that Ger-

man shepherd trumps hermit crab. But I wished it was just the

dog that was making me feel all jump-up-and-down-ish. I won-

dered if drugs did for addicts what Wilder’s nearness did for me.

“Jupiter also gave her a necklace,” Wilder said, pulling one

out of his pocket. It looked handcrafted, beads in white, black,

and several shades of brown, woven as a choker with a separate

strand dangling a brown tanzanite. I would have taken Wilder

for the gold-and-pearls type, but this looked like something I

would wear. If I were rich.

He gestured to my neck, asking for permission. I stood up.

He stood close to me, facing me, leaning around to see

the back of my neck as he did it up. Taking his time. His hands

touched my neck, his chest pressed against my arm, his breath

tickled my ear. My eyes closed.

“I could do it up faster with one arm,” I said.

I could hear him exhale a small laugh. I wanted to cling

to him and tear in half anyone who got too close. Was I a giddy

girl or a wasp-stung caterpillar?

I heard the last clasp click, felt the necklace settle, but still

he didn’t move. The side of his head rested against mine, his

hand pressed the back of my neck.

“Come back with me,” he whispered. “We need each other

to get through this, and whatever else is coming. I know you

feel that.”

Like a bonfire in my chest I felt it. But I also remembered

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Shannon Hale

Wilder talking to Ruth beside the helicopter, so suave, so sin-

cere—all lies. An hour later, she was dead.

“These nanites mess with our heads,” I said. “And they’re

probably filling us with instincts that don’t make sense and a

premonition of a danger that will never appear.”

Laelaps nudged my leg. I pulled away from Wilder and

crouched to scratch the dog’s neck. His pink tongue lolled out

the side of his mouth. Wilder sat beside me, petting the dog’s

other side. I glanced at Wilder’s profile, his chin, his lips. I sus-

pected that the dog was the only thing keeping me sane in that

boy’s presence.

“I’ve missed you, Danger Girl.” Wilder’s hand crossed over

the dog’s neck, and his fingers hooked mine. “Missed you a lot.”

I wanted that to be true. I wanted him to like me so much,

it hurt. I opened my mouth, not sure what I was about to say.

“Who is this trog?” Luther asked.

I stood up fast, moving away from Wilder, and blushed as

if I’d been doing something bad. Luther was standing on the

sidewalk, his arms folded.

“This is Jonathan Wilder, a . . . friend I met at astronaut

boot camp. Wilder, this is my best friend Luther.”

The boys looked at each other. The mood was Arctic Cir-

cle.

“Okay, break up the love fest.” I took Luther by the arm

(gently) and escorted him to the front door. “I’ll be in soon.” I

shut the door after him.

Wilder was staring with pleased incredulity. “
That
was Lu-

ther, your BFF, your top gun, your Tweedledum?”

“He’s a good guy. Some can actually manage the good-guy

thing.”

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Dangerous

Wilder blinked, then shrugged. “I’m sorry.” He took a

couple steps forward, holding out his hands as if asking to hold

mine.

I wanted the whole world to shut off, rush to night, and

leave me and Wilder with a starred sky and maybe a moon, no

one else around. And I wanted his thinker self to answer all

my questions and make everything make sense. But the more I

talked with Wilder, the harder it would be to cut him loose, so

all I said was, “Thanks for the dog.”

His hands dropped. “I wanted you to have someone to

watch your back, if that someone couldn’t be me.”

“Thanks,” I said again. “Good luck.” And I went inside. Be-

cause if I didn’t go quickly, I wouldn’t go at all. I leaned against

the closed door, taking deep breaths.

Luther was sitting on the stool, fingers drumming his

knees.

“Report,” he said.

I peered through the blinds. Wilder was screwing a stake

into the front lawn. He attached Laelaps’s leash and unloaded a

few sacks of dog food from his car before driving away.

I sighed. “It’s a nice dog.”

“What dog?” Luther peered through the blinds beside me.

“Did you get a dog?”

“Seriously, Luthe, you’re as observant as a hibernating bear.”

He grilled me as I went back outside, filling up water and

food bowls for Laelaps.

“That guy knows what you are? Why was he all Betazoid

on you?”

It never helped to ask Luther questions like, “What does

Betazoid mean?” He would just mock me and not answer.

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Shannon Hale

“I don’t like him. He kept calling you by your middle name.”

“He calls me Danger Girl sometimes, but it’s not a big deal.”

Luther folded his arms. “You think your middle name is a

feeble joke. If I’d called you Danger Girl, you would have hated

it. But he does and you think it’s all girlie cute?”

“Luther, you’re freaking out about nothing.”

“Oh, am I? Then let me freak out of your way.”

He got on his bike and rode off. Laelaps and I watched.

“I think he forgot it’s my birthday,” I told Laelaps.

Mom came out, saw the dog, and muttered in Spanish that

if Dad was going to get me a mammal for my birthday he might

have checked with her first.

She drove us to the west desert where I could exercise and

punch rocks. That dog could run. I was falling in love. When

we got back the phone was ringing. I answered.

“Miss Brown? Is that you?”

“Oh. Hi, Howell.” I sat down.

“You made it home then. I’ve tried calling you on your Fido

phone but never have success.”

“Yeah, you won’t. I had set it up so the number is constantly

rotating. Can’t be tracked or traced. How . . . how are you all?”

“Well, we’re not riding unicycles and juggling at the mo-

ment. Actually, I
am
juggling, but just for practice. I’ve worked

up to four balls now.”

“Wow. Congrats on that. Um . . . so, how’s the rest of the

fireteam?”

“I’d like to know. They all left after you did.”

“Left?”

Come back with me
, Wilder had said. Back where?

“Mi-sun didn’t want to go home, but when Jacques ran off

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Dangerous

she changed her mind. How am I to protect you when your

behavior is so unpredictable as . . . is that a donut? No, just the

shadow my lamp made on my desk. Anyway, if your secret gets

out, the government will come after you, Miss Brown—maybe

not even ours. And heaven knows who else. You’re not safe.”

I looked around. I couldn’t see my mom.

141

C h a p t e r 2 1

I hung up on Howell and ran to Mom’s bedroom. She

glanced up from her desk, her expression turning to alarm

when she saw my face.

“I have to go,” she said on her phone and clicked it off.

“I can’t leave you alone anymore.” I was weirdly out of

breath. “The others . . . they’re not with Howell. We’re all sepa-

rated. That feels wrong. The fireteam was supposed to stay to-

gether. It was dangerous to be apart. We all felt that.”

Mom called Dad, asking him to come home, her eyes nev-

er leaving my face. A line from a Yeats poem was going around

and around in my head: “Things fall apart; the center cannot

hold.”

“Ruth died and broke the team,” I said. “Maybe I helped

break it by leaving, and I bet none of us function right anymore.”

Sitting was impossible. I paced. “Four powerful people who

were tied to a leader. I think . . . I think bad things can happen

to us when we’re apart. Lions loose in the circus without the

tamer, or maybe sheep without a shepherd. Or both. Am I mak-

ing sense? We’re vulnerable or the tokens won’t work right or

maybe we’ll go bad like Ruth or just crazy when we’re alone—”

“You’re not alone,” Mom interrupted.

“But the team . . .”

She took my hand and said it in Spanish, so I’d know she

meant it. “
No estás sola
.”

Laelaps started barking. I told my mom to lock her room

behind me, and I inched open the front door.

Dangerous

GT, in a frayed Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, was com-

ing up our walk, two men in black suits following. I’d read up

on GT—high school dropout, moved up from bag boy to su-

permarket owner to filthy rich corporate mogul. Three times

acquitted on federal charges of corporate espionage, embezzle-

ment, and conspiracy to commit murder. In an interview, when

asked to explain his shocking success, GT said, “Clean living.

I don’t smoke, drink, gamble, carouse. I’m at peace with the

world. But I’m relentless. When I have my eyes on a prize I

never, ever give up.”

Right then, his eyes were on me.

“Maisie Brown,” he said, his voice warm, his smile charm-

ing. “How are you? May I come in?”

He seemed so tranquil and harmless, maybe I would have

let him in, but Laelaps kept barking. It kept me on edge.

One of the suits looked at Laelaps through his dark glasses,