Casler, from Clive—from her father.
With trembling fingers, he dialed her number again. Again her voicemail.
Aaron slipped the phone back into his pocket. Damn it, Amber. He started walking.
He could go to the police. First they would interrogate Amber’s parents, then her half, Clive. Both conversations would convince them that Aaron was just causing trouble, that he was just a boy who had fallen for the wrong girl. He had no proof.
And in six and a half hours, the entire Juvengamy Brotherhood would be watching her, the heiress. She would be untouchable. Aaron inhaled through his nose, and the stale morning air churned inside him. Its usefulness was rapidly ticking away.
Except there was proof. In the woods behind Dominic’s house, the body. Proof that Dr. Selavio, the figurehead of Brotherhood, was a murderer. The police couldn’t ignore a body—
Aaron’s cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Amber’s ringtone.
He flipped open the phone. “Are you okay?”
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
And she sounded deliriously, impossibly happy.
TEN
0 Days, 6 hours, 29 minutes
Aaron’s pulse flickered. He shut his eyes and breathed in slowly. She sounded just like she was supposed to, like herself—safe.
“Tell me later,” he said. “You have to get out of your house right now.”
“Why did Clive have your phone?” she said.
“I got it back.”
“Obviously,” she said, her voice still bubbly. “Now aren’t you going to invite me over so I can tell you?
“I’m not home.”
“Where are you?”
Aaron stared at the moldy sky through a cage of dark, gnarled oak trees. Forty feet ahead, the pavement veered into the murky wilderness.
“I’m at Buff’s house.”
“You are such a bad liar—”
“Because I don’t do it all the time like you do,” he said. “Just meet me at his house, please.”
“Only if you tell me where you are,” she said.
Aaron sighed and stepped up to a lonely mailbox. He lit the number with his cell phone screen. “Number twenty-two, Via Cordillera. It’s out in the middle of nowhere—”
“Stay there,” she said. “I’m picking you up.”
Aaron peeled the phone from his ear and stared at it in disbelief. Was she serious? “Amber, stay where you are. Don’t come anywhere near this place.”
“I thought you wanted me out of my house?” she said.
“I’ll come get you.”
“So you’re wandering around alone in the middle of the night, out in the rain, and you think I’m the one who isn’t safe?”
“Good. You understand,” he said.
“No, what I understand is that knowing you, Aaron, you’ll probably get yourself thrown down a well or something. Bye.”
“Amber, don’t—”
But she’d already hung up. He redialed her number and it went straight to voicemail. Great, she was being reckless. Typical.
Aaron kicked the mailbox, and droplets tumbled into the grass. The post wobbled sleepily. Aaron had only just leaned against the mailbox, too exhausted to speculate about Amber’s good news, when he felt another twinge in the back of head.
Aaron’s questions resurfaced. Had he caused Clive’s bleeding? Or was it Clive’s weak connection to his half, a symptom of the “loose forces,” as his father called them? Was he sensing Clive again now, lurking nearby in the woods perhaps, following him—?
Aaron’s thoughts blurred together as fatigue weighed down his eyelids.
***
A few minutes later, Aaron’s eyelids sprang apart, and he found himself on the ground squinting into the silver glare of headlights. His jaw fell open as Amber’s blue beetle pulled off the road and stopped just short of him.
He stood, yanked open the door, and stared in at her. “How fast did you drive?” he said.
She smiled. “Fast.”
At four-forty-five on Saturday morning, Aaron peered around the dark street then slid in next to her, into soft, black suede. Warm vents glazed his skin. Her car smelled brand new, like toy plastic. The dashboard twinkled with purple LEDs, and in their glow, Amber’s hair looked glossy, almost translucent.They both hesitated, as if they wanted to lean in and kiss each other. But the moment passed.
“What’d you want to tell me?” he said.
“Aren’t you going to wish me happy birthday?” she said.
“It was my birthday first,” he said, shoving his fingers through his knotted, grimy hair. “Just drive.”
But her eyes froze on the fresh black blood trickling out from underneath the scraps of gauze still clinging to his arm, then darted to his tattered, bloodstained shirt.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Why do you always get hurt?” she said, leaning over him.
“Just drive—please.” Aaron glanced at the rear view mirror, and for a terrifying split-second, he thought he saw a figure cross the road. He swiveled and looked behind