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Did he notice how they treated him? I'm sure he did. Nothing escaped Derek, and I suspected it only reinforced that he needed to be in here.
As the movie droned on, I fretted about him. He'd been so careful not to let Simon know he'd been sick. If Simon could tell he “wasn't feeling great,” that had to mean he was too sick to hide it.
I slipped from the media room, got four Tylenol and a glass of water, and took it upstairs.
I tapped on the door. No answer. Light shone under it, but he could have fallen asleep reading.
Or be too sick to answer.
I rapped again, a little louder.
“Derek? It's me. I brought water and Tylenol. ”
Still nothing. I touched the doorknob, cold under my fingertips. He was probably asleep. Or ignoring me.
“I'll leave it here. ”
As I bent to set the glass on the floor, the door opened, just enough for me to see Derek's bare foot. I straightened. He was in his boxers again, and my gaze shot to the safety of his face, but not before noticing the sheen of sweat on his chest. Sweat plastered his hair around his face, and his eyes were feverish, lips parted, breath coming hard, labored.
“Are y-?you—?” I began.
“Be fine. ”
He ran his tongue over his parched lips and blinked hard, as if struggling to focus. When I held out the glass, he reached for it through the gap and took a long gulp.
“Thanks. "
I handed him the Tylenol. “Are you sure you're okay?”
“Good enough. ”
He braced the door with his foot and reached around his back, scratching.
“Maybe you should take a bath,” I said. “A cold bath, for your fever. Baking soda would help the itching. I could get-”
“Nah, I'm okay. ”
“If you need anything…”
“Just rest. Go on back down before someone notices. ”
I headed for the stairs.
“Chloe?”
I glanced back. He was leaning out the door.
“Nothing to Simon, okay? About how bad I am?”
“He knows you're not feeling well. You really should tell—”
“I'm fine. ”
“You're not fine. He's going to figure that out—”
“He won't. I'll take care of it. ”
He withdrew and the door clicked shut.
* * *
That night in bed, Rae couldn't keep quiet. She wanted to talk about her backpack and what she'd packed and whether she'd made the right choices and should she take anything else…
I hated to shush her. She was as excited as a kid getting ready for her first overnight camp, which was weird because after what had happened to her friend, Rae should know that life on the street wasn't going to be some fabulous, unchaperoned adventure.
I suppose, to her, this wasn't the same thing. She was going with Simon and me, and there were few kids less likely to turn Bonnie and Clyde. This wasn't an act of delinquency; it was a mission. And, besides, like Simon and Derek said, old rules didn't apply to us anymore.
“ 'Cause we're special. ” She gave a bubbling laugh. “That sounds so lame. But it's what everyone wants, isn't it? To be special. ”
Do they? There were a lot of things I wanted to be. Smart, sure. Talented, definitely. Pretty? Okay, I'll admit it. But special?
I'd spent too much of my life being special. The rich girl who lost her mother. The new kid in class. The drama major who didn't want to be an actor. For me, special meant different, and not in a good way. I'd wanted to be normal, and I guess the irony is that, the whole time I was dreaming of a normal life, I already had one . . . or a whole lot closer to it than I'd ever have again.
But now I watched Rae lying on her stomach, matches in hand, struggling to light one with her bare fingertips, the tip of her tongue sticking through her teeth, determination bordering on desperation, and I could see how badly she wanted a supernatural power. I had one, and I cared so little for it that I'd gladly give it to her.
It was like in school, when other girls drooled over designer jeans, counting the babysitting hours until they could buy a pair, and I sat there wearing mine, four other pairs in the closet at home, no more meaningful to me than a pair of no-?names. I felt guilty for not appreciating what I had.
But necromancy wasn't a pair of expensive jeans, and I was pretty sure my life would be better without it. Definitely easier. And yet, if I woke tomorrow and couldn't talk to the dead, would I be disappointed?
“I think it's getting warm,” she said, pinching the match head between her fingers.
I crawled out of bed. “Let me see. ”
“No. ” She pulled it back. “Not yet. Not until I'm sure. ”
Was Rae half-?demon? Derek said they did burn things with their hands. By her age, Rae should have been lighting that match no problem. But then he'd never heard of a necromancer who woke up one morning and suddenly started seeing ghosts everywhere. Usually it was a gradual process.
Wasn't that typical for development in general? A book might say “at twelve, children begin a process of puberty, ending at eighteen,” but that's a generalization. You get girls like me and guys like Derek, neither of us fitting the norm.
Maybe Rae's supernatural powers were late blooming, like me and my period. And maybe my powers were like Derek's puberty, the changes hitting all at once.
Apparently half-?demons had a human mother and a demon father, who'd taken human form to impregnate her. That fit Rae's history, with a mother who'd given her up at birth, no father in the picture.
“Smoke!” she squealed before slapping a hand over her mouth. She waved the match. “I saw smoke. I swear it. Yes, I know, I need a life, but it was just so cool. Here, watch. ”
She pulled another match from the book.
Was Rae a half-?demon?
I really hoped so.
Forty
RAE'S WATCH ALARM WAS set to go off at three. According to Derek, that was the quietest time of night, when we'd be least likely to be spotted. At 2:45 we shut the alarm off, and by 2:50 we were out of our room, backpacks in hand.
When I eased our door shut, the hall fell to pitch-?black. The ticking of the grandfather clock guided us to the stairs.
I swore this time every step creaked, but as hard as I strained for sounds of Tori or Mrs. Talbot stirring, I heard only the clock.
At the bottom of the stairs, the moon peeked in around the drawn curtains, lifting the darkness just enough so I could make out chairs and tables before I crashed into them. I was turning into the hall when a dark shape stepped from the shadows. I bit back a yelp and scowled, ready to blast Derek. But it was Simon, and one look at his ashen face killed the words in my throat.
“What's—?” I began.
