The Awakening (Darkest Powers 2)

“That’s the problem. Dad put his number on our cell phones, but they took those when we were tossed in Lyle House. We know his name and where he lives—we’ve been there plenty of times. But when we tried looking him up on a computer, we couldn’t find anything. ”

“His number must be unlisted. Or he’s using an alias. ”

“Or he’s not there anymore. It’s been a few years since we saw him. He and Dad had a falling-out. ”

“Maybe you shouldn’t contact him then. ”

Simon crumpled his wrapper. “I shouldn’t say ‘falling-out. ’ A disagreement. Dad and Andrew kept in touch; we just didn’t go visit him anymore. He was still our emergency contact. So we should go see him, like Derek says. I’m just…not ready to give up on finding Dad. But with you and Tori here, and your picture everywhere, Derek’s ready to buy the bus tickets. ”

“How about another solution? I need to get out of Buffalo. You need to talk to this guy. What if Tori and I go find Andrew while you and Derek look—”

“No. I don’t trust Tori with you, especially after last night. Derek wouldn’t go for it either. ”

I wasn’t so sure. He might jump at the chance to get rid of me.

Simon continued, “Even if Tori’s not homicidal, she’s careless and reckless. Worse than me, which is saying a lot. We’ll find another way. ”

Twenty-six

FOR MOST OF THAT day, both Derek and Tori steered clear of me, like I had a bug they didn’t want to catch. I didn’t see a lot of Simon either. He went off with Derek to the library, still trying to find their dad or his friend Andrew. Tori tagged along. I stayed put in a lovely dank alley Derek had chosen for me. Simon left me with a movie magazine, snacks, a hairbrush and soap, and promised they’d get me to a bathroom after dark.

It was mid-afternoon when I heard footsteps tromping down the alley and I scrambled up to meet Simon. Derek might be bigger, but it was Simon who made all the noise. Derek was only loud when…

Derek stomped around the corner, scowling. …when he was mad.

He had a newspaper rolled in his hand, bearing down on me like a puppy that had piddled on the carpet.

“Bad Chloe,” I muttered.

“What?”

I’d forgotten his bionic hearing. “Bad Chloe. ” I gestured at the rolled-up paper and put out my hand. “Get it over with. ”

“You think this is funny?”

“No, I think it’s tiresome. ”

He slapped down the paper. In the bottom corner of the front page was the headline “Missing Girl Spotted” with a picture of me. I skimmed the short paragraph, then turned to the rest inside.

It had happened last night, when Derek had been yelling at me after my run-in with the street girls. The windows around us may have been dark, but a woman had been watching from an apartment over a shop, drawn by Derek’s voice. She’d seen “a girl with light hair and red streaks” being yelled at by “a large, dark-haired man. ” So now police speculated that I might not be a runaway but a kidnap victim.

“Well?” Derek said.

I folded the paper carefully, my gaze down. “Guess you shouldn’t have yelled at me in public. ”

“What?”

“That’s what caught her attention. You chewing me out. ”

“No, what caught her attention was your hair. If you’d kept your hood up like I said—”

“Of course. Totally my fault. After nearly getting my face carved up, how dare I forget my attacker yanked down my hood. Bad Chloe. ”

“So this is a joke?”

I looked up at him. “No, it’s not a joke. It’s a serious problem. The joke is this. ” I waved from him to me. “You’ve been sulking all day, brooding—”

“Brooding?”

“Just itching for me to screw up so you can rip me a new one, your favorite pastime. You couldn’t just come back and calmly say we have a problem that we need to discuss. Where’s the fun in that?”

“You think I enjoy—”

“I have no idea what you enjoy, if anything. But I do know what you’d like. Me, gone. ”

“What?”

“I’ve served my purpose. I got Simon out of Lyle House. Sure, you were willing to make a half-assed effort to find me, so it looks good for Simon—”

“Half-assed?”

“You showed up hours late. Left a hidden note. Came by once a day. Yes, half-assed. ”

“No. Ask Simon. I was worried—”

“I’m sure you faked it well. But, unfortunately, I found you and, worse, I showed up with Tori in tow and a price on my head. So it’s time to activate the backup plan. Make me so miserable and unwelcome that I slink away. ”

“I’d never—”

“No, you won’t. ” I met his gaze. “Because I’m not going to slink away, Derek. If I’m too much of an inconvenience to keep around, then at least have the guts to tell me to get lost. ”

I brushed past him and walked away.

I didn’t get far. I bumped into Simon and Tori, and Derek caught up with us. And then he got his way. Not about driving me off—he still had to work at that. But this new development gave him all the ammunition he needed to persuade Simon it was time to go to their father’s friend’s place. The bus left at four. First, though, the half-million-dollar runaway needed a disguise.

Derek took me to a restroom in the park I’d seen from the roof. The building was locked for the off-season, but he easily broke the locks and got me in. He made sure the water hadn’t been turned off, then slapped a box of hair color on the counter.

“Gotta get rid of that,” he said, pointing at my hair.

“I could just keep my hood—”

“Already tried. ”

He walked out.

I strained to see by the bit of light coming through a row of tiny, filthy windows. It was hard to read the instructions, but it looked similar to the red dye I’d used, so I applied it the same way. I couldn’t tell what color Derek had chosen. It looked black, but the red dye had, too, so that didn’t mean much. I didn’t think too much about it until I washed out the dye, looked in the mirror, and…

My hair was black.

I hurried to the door and propped it open to get better light. Then I went back to the mirror.

Black. Not sleek glossy black like Tori’s hair, but dull, flat black.

Before now, I hadn’t been thrilled with my latest haircut. I’d had my long straight hair chopped shoulder length in a layered style that had turned out wispy and waiflike. Still, the worst I could have said was that it made me look “cute”—not what a fifteen-year-old girl wants to be called. In black though, it was not cute. It looked like I’d hacked my hair off with kitchen shears.

I never wore black because it drained any color from my pale skin. Now I saw there was something that washed out my face even worse than a black shirt.

I looked like a Goth. A sick Goth, white and hollow-eyed.