Hawk - James Patterson Page 0,20

Pietro said. “Hope they fit.”

Turns out, when my hair isn’t full of City of the Dead grease and dirt, it’s fluffy like a donkey’s mane. It was still black and shiny, but so soft and silky. My skin was a whole shade lighter than what I thought it was. And the bathwater was so gross and dirty that I quickly drained it and rinsed the tub out before anyone could see it.

The clothes, including bra and underwear, fit. It was a pair of soft, worn jeans and then a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. He’d already cut slits in the back for my wings. Right now I had so many emotions flooding my mind that I didn’t know what to do, what to think. I was still a bit light-headed, super tired, and super hungry. Why had I come here?

“Come out, you big chicken,” Pietro taunted me from outside the door. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and laughed. “Chicken!”

I opened the door. “Very funny. Like I haven’t heard that before… my lord,” I added, giving him a snide smile.

Just then there was a quick rap on Pietro’s door. It opened slightly before he had given permission, and frowning, Pietro walked quickly over.

A servant poked her head in and whispered, “My lord, your father’s coming!”

“He’s out of town!” Pietro said.

“He’s back and headed this way!” She looked terrified.

“Thank you.” Pietro closed the door and locked it.

“I’ll go,” I said, picking up my ratty backpack. I hated for it to touch my nice new clothes.

“I wanted you to spend the night,” Pietro said in a low voice, holding me by the elbows. “I want us to be close, like we were when we were kids.”

A booming voice in the hallway shouted, “Pietro? Where is my son?”

“I need to go,” I said again. “He hates me.”

Pietro didn’t deny it. “When will you come back?” he asked urgently, as his father tried the doorknob.

“Pietro! Why is this door locked?” his father bellowed.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Sometime.” I gave him a tiny smile and then took a running jump off the balcony. I snapped my wings out, feeling them catch the air, and I rose swiftly into the night, headed home.

CHAPTER 17

My head was full of Pietro, Pietro, Pietro the whole way home. His kiss. The way he smelled. How he had helped me, protected me from his father. The other half of my mind was totally focused on that bath. Oh, god. It felt like only seconds until I realized I was over the McCallum Complex. I did a slow left, checked the yard out, then came down quickly behind the big garbage dumpster, like usual.

Pietro’s life was full of light. Full of rich fabrics and polished wood and warm-colored lamps creating pools of comfort. As I walked toward the doors to the common room, I tried not to feel achingly bitter about my life. And my parents. And my life. And the lab rats. And my life.

Clete was waiting for me and pushed through the doors eagerly to meet me. He opened his mouth to speak but then noticed I looked different. His up-and-down examination of me felt quite different from Pietro’s. That memory brought a flush to my cheeks.

“Where have you been?” Clete asked. “What’s all this?” His hands gestured to my clothes, my clean hair, the huge, throbbing stitched-up wound on my face.

I searched, wondering how to explain what had felt like a dead-dream. Pietro’s house, his hands, the Chungs’ cutting a C into my cheek, and the only hot bath I could ever remember taking. But Clete cut me off.

I was just about to say that I would tell him later when he waved his hands again and blurted, “It doesn’t matter. Listen, Hawk—everyone’s gone!”

I looked through the big glass windows. The common room seemed completely empty. Smiling tiredly, I said, “Did you guys come up with a new exit? Are they hiding?” I was in no mood for this, but they didn’t understand that. They wanted to play hide-and-seek for real, have me try to find them and test out their new spots. I’d either have to play along or disappoint them by being too wiped for one of the few games they could play.

“No!” Clete said as I opened the glass door. “I mean they’re gone! The soldiers took them!”

I stopped and looked up into his face. Usually he spoke slowly and dully, like the way he moved. When someone said something funny, it took him