Havoc (8 page)

I swallowed, then looked out the window to my dark bedroom window. I could almost swear I saw a shadowy figure moving behind the curtains. Any normal person could rationalize that away as nerves, post-traumatic stress, whatever. But I was living in my own insane TV show now. It felt like anything and everything someone could conjure up in their demented brain could and probably would happen.

The pills, Spencer, they placated me. But only for so long. All the fears were there, just beneath the surface, no matter what I did.

It sucked.

Besides, I didn't want a newly changed Dalton roaming the streets alone, getting into trouble.

Maybe for one night, just one night, I could let go again. Let myself be fearless and crazy and worry free. I wouldn't let it go too far. Nighttime Emily and I had made sort of an agreement about that, hadn't we? The night I went after Emily Cooke's killer?

Yes, we did.
The voice in my head.
Listen to yourself. Listen to
me
. Together we can be awesome again. You know we can.

I looked into Dalton's excited, waiting eyes. And I told him, “All right. Let's do it.”

7

I'M RIDING SHOTGUN

I left Dalton in his car and ran inside my house. I paused to hug my dad playing his MMO at his desk, assured him I'd eaten at Dalton's even though I hadn't, told my stepmom my school day went well when she asked, then speed walked as nonchalantly as I could up to my room.

And I sat rigidly straight at the foot of my bed, then changed into the same black sweatpants and turtleneck that I'd worn the night Spencer and I faced Dr. Elliott in a dark backyard. I picked at my amateur stitching attempt on the pant leg, where a few nights earlier I'd been stabbed with a serrated hunting knife. Aside from that scar of black thread, and the turtleneck being stretched out in strange places because I had worn it when I changed into wolf-girl, there wasn't any sign that it had been worn during the battle. My blood and the blades of grass had all been washed away.

I didn't want to be wearing those clothes, but I figured if I was going to let myself change, I should probably be productive and get all stealthy. Maybe scope out BioZenith again. It'd be easier in all black.

I breathed in slowly, eyes closed, shutting away the blurry, bright room. Waiting. My alarm clock had said 8:11 when I set my glasses next to it after getting dressed.

“Okay, Nighttime,” I whispered, my eyes still shut. “We worked together well last time. I know we can do it again. So … just don't get into trouble or anything. Please.”

Nighttime didn't say anything back.

I breathed out. Breathed in once more—and the breath caught in my throat.

My eyes snapped open. My vision was crystal clear.

I was back. After two nights of being forced into unconsciousness, I was finally, mercifully, wide awake.

“Hell yeah,” I said, my lips splitting into a grin. “Don't worry, Daytime. I got your back.”

The routine was quick by now: Pillows artfully stuffed beneath Daytime Emily's covers to more or less resemble the shape of a nonbreathing and feather-stuffed person. Lights out. Window open. Feet on the sill—and a leap to the dark, wet grass below.

I landed in a crouch, my sneakers squelching in the damp ground. The rain had petered out now and the air was crisp, clear. I breathed in the earthy smells around me, the air scrubbed clean of exhaust. It was so good to be outside again, to stretch my muscles and let them move in the ways I'd longed to for the past few nights, trapped as I was behind a haze of stupid pills.

Even if I was dressed all cat burglar again instead of as fabulously hot as I knew I could be. Whatever. I'd play nice for Daytime Emily. I mean, for me. The both of us.

Across the street came a steady, thudding, muffled beat. Dalton. Still in the car, waiting for me. Only now he had his fancy sound system on full blast. I saw him through the window, banging his head, waving his hands around to pound on invisible drums.

I grinned and stalked toward the car. I rounded to the passenger side and opened the door, freeing the music. It was louder than I'd expected, so much that I couldn't even recognize what was actually playing. I cringed, but quickly leaped into the passenger seat and slammed the car door shut. Last thing I needed was a neighbor or my parents stepping outside and catching me sneaking off with a guy. That would certainly dampen the evening, and I was so not down with damp.

Dalton didn't notice I'd come back. His eyes were closed, and he was singing in an off-key, high-pitched voice, his head bopping up and down, his fists lunging back and forth. I rolled my eyes, then reached forward and turned down the volume until it wasn't at a decibel level that would destroy small children's eardrums.

Dalton snapped his head toward me, a dark look on his face. But it lasted only a moment—he breathed in, inhaling all of me, and his face softened.

Awesome.

“You trying to see if you can literally make your speakers explode?” I asked. “Or did you get shot in the part of your brain that processes sound?”

Dalton boomed a laugh, sounding a lot like his ass of a father. He pounded his palms against the steering wheel and jumped up and down in his seat. “It's music, man!” he said. “I love it loud. I love it pounding inside me till my heart wants to explode. Love it!” He slammed his hands so hard against the steering wheel that it knocked itself into a new position.

“Whoa there, Sparky, I get it, you like music.” I pressed down on his shoulder until he stopped bouncing. “You miss your dose of Ritalin?”

He looked at me, shaking with barely contained energy. “Nah, you don't get it, Emily,” he said. “It always has to be quiet at my house. I put my earbuds in when I'm lifting, but it's not the same as having it all around you. It makes me want to—” He stopped, shook his head. “This is awesome. I feel strong as hell right now. Feel this.”

He unzipped his jacket, flung it off, then flexed his right bicep. It bulged like there was a boulder beneath his skin. His veins pulsed across it.

“Come on, feel it,” he urged.

I shrugged. “All right.” I poked the muscle with my finger. And it didn't just look like a rock—it felt like one. His skin was smooth and warm. I let my hand linger, caressing his arm, enjoying the feel of a strong boy showing off to try and impress me.

A memory of Spencer popped into my head. Short, slender, muscle-less Spencer grinning at me, his messy brown hair falling into his eyes. A pang of guilt flashed through me, and I yanked my hand away, scowling.

Dalton nodded at me, grinning wide. “Right? Right? I could punch through a steel wall right now!”

“Well, don't,” I said. “Was your whole goal of getting me down here to make me feel your muscles? Because, hate to break it to you, but I'm not into you like that.”

It was true, even though I despised admitting it. I was Nighttime. Boys were there to entertain me, not make me get all fluttery like Daytime whenever Spencer popped up. Still, Spencer was my
mate
. Dalton most certainly wasn't. It was supposed to just be me and Spencer, Spencer and me, and—

What was this romantic nonsense? Was boring Emily seeping into my Nighttime fabulousness? Or was it Wolftime, getting all hormonal?

Screw that.

Dalton lowered his arm, his face dark again.

“Look, your muscles are great, Dalton,” I said. “But I have better things to do than sit here all night and play doctor.”

“What's the plan?” Dalton said, jittering in his seat. “Where are we going? A club?”

“I was thinking we could go scope out BioZenith. Find out more about who did this to us. You know, like…” I waved my hand. “Intel.”

Dalton tilted his head back. “Boooring!” he boomed.

I scrunched my eyebrows and looked at him side-eyed. “Uh, excuse me?”

He shook his head at me. “
Man
, that sounds boring. I don't want to go look at some empty building all night. My dad works there, I've been there. It's just cubicles.”

Well. When he put it that way, it did sound pretty dull. And I did not want dull, not when I was finally
free
. I was wide awake now; energy coursed through me. I needed to do something to ramp up the adrenaline—and digging through paperwork in offices wasn't going to cut it.

Licking my lips, I nodded. “Yeah, you're right,” I said, grinning now, imagining the strobes and beats of a club. The feel of all that energy and tension, all eyes on me. Only this time, there'd be no killer to worry about and ruin my night. “We should—” I began to say.

“Got it!” Dalton shouted. He was already putting the car into drive and pulling out into the street as he spoke. “I know what we're doing.”

Crossing my legs, I leaned back into the leather seat. “And what's that?”

Dalton grinned dangerously at me. “Street race.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like
The Fast and the Furious
drag racing or something?”

“You got it. Scott Schwartz does 'em. I know there's one tonight. I never go, but
man
I want to. I could outdrive all their asses!”

I looked out at the dark, slick street of the quiet suburban neighborhood. It would be dangerous. Possibly deadly. And completely over the top.

It sounded perfect.

“All right, Paul Walker,” I said. “Let's do it.”

I rolled down the window as Dalton drove, sticking my head outside and letting the wind tousle my hair. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The air after the rain was still crisp, and the cool wind was refreshing as it washed over me. I'd almost forgotten this part of being nighttime me, the way my senses were heightened, the way the world felt so vibrant that being Daytime felt numb in comparison.

Not that she'd—I'd—noticed the difference during the day, what with being so stupidly worried all the time about
everything
.

Dalton turned his music back up, not as loud this time, and I heard him slamming his palm against the steering wheel to the beat as he steered the car to wherever he was taking me. I opened an eye and peered at him to see him driving with his eyes half-closed, head banging like he was front row at a concert. I thought I'd had a lot of energy, but Nighttime Dalton seemed like he'd snorted freeze-dried Red Bull or something.

I smiled and went back to letting my head loll out the open window.

Headlights flashed through my eyelids, and I heard the grumbling of cars, the sounds of voices. The car slowed, and I looked up to find that we had turned down some road lined with empty, industrial-looking buildings with real estate signs stuck to the blank windows. Probably companies that caved with the economy so bad. I recognized the area as part of the business district in north Skopamish—the same area where BioZenith was based.

Go check it out
, a distant voice whispered in my head.
You're here anyway.

I snapped up and sat straight. Daytime Emily, talking to me? Not a chance. Right? She—I—never had before. Though on the night I kicked Gunther Elliott's ass, I distinctly remember feeling as though she and I had become one and the same, for at least a little while. But that didn't mean I wanted her around all the time.

Of course, the past few days I'd been talking to Daytime. Or at least she thought I had been. I wasn't sure anymore who said or thought what.

Check it out
, Daytime's voice insisted.

“Chill out,” I muttered to myself. “We're going to have some fun tonight. You need it, and you know it.”

The voice, if it was ever there, didn't respond.

Good.

The car stopped, and Dalton held down a button to lower his window. He turned off the radio, then leaned out and waved over some guys led by a tall kid I didn't know. He was all broad shoulders and bodybuilder mass up top, with disproportionately skinny legs. He had a military haircut and smoked a cigarette.

“Yo, Dalton!” The guy flicked away his cigarette and slapped Dalton's hand as he came to the window.

Dalton tilted his chin up in greeting. His left leg shook anxiously.

“What up, Scott,” he said.

“Just the usual, bro. Getting ready to race. You here to watch?”

Dalton laughed. “Hell no, man, I'm here to race!”

One of the guys behind bodybuilder Scott laughed. “In an old-man Lexus? Are you joking?”

Scott looked over Dalton's lap and shouted back, “It's even an automatic.” It was then that the guy noticed me. I raised an eyebrow and smirked as he checked me out. “Hello there.”

“Hello there back,” I said. “I'm Emily.”

“Well, you definitely ain't Nikki,” Scott said. He grinned and shook his head at Dalton. “Man, if you're trying to hit on a new girl, do you really want to embarrass yourself by racing me?”

Dalton nodded. “I'm not the one who's gonna be embarrassed.”

Scott pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slapped it against his palm, then placed one between his lips. His lighter cast his face in flickering orange as he lit the tip. Inhaling, his eyes flicked from Dalton, to me, and to the car. Then he snorted out two streams of smoke.

“Fine,” he said. “You'll get the first race with me. Nothing fancy, just side by side to the end of the road, around the roundabout, then back here.”

Dalton raised his hand and slapped the hood of the car. “Easy! Give me a challenge, man!”

Taking another drag, Scott shook his head. “Trust me, I'm a challenge.” He peered back at me over Dalton. “You can watch with the other girls. They're in the parking lot over there.” He gestured behind him.

I rolled my eyes. “Are you serious? I'm not a sideline kind of girl. I'm riding shotgun.”

“You ever been in a car going over eighty miles per hour on a residential road?” he asked me.

“Can't say that I have. But I've survived worse.”