Kathy Reichs - Code

“Your advice, remember? No fear?”

Instantly regretted. I didn’t want Chance thinking about last summer.

“Oh, I recall.” Chance smiled thinly. “I haven’t crashed on your floor so many times that I’d forget. But showing a little backbone doesn’t explain why Madison turns to jelly at the mention of your name.”

I shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“I wonder if it’s something else.” Chance idly tapped a locker. “Maybe she saw something surprising in you. A unique quality, one others don’t possess.”

My pulse quickened. Color rose to my pale cheeks. Was Chance flirting, or threatening me? I wasn’t sure which I’d prefer.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Careful not to meet his eye.

“You don’t think you’re special? I do.”

“What I think is that I’m going to be late for class.” I hoisted my pack and started past him. “Excuse me.”

“Save me a dance on Friday.”

That stopped me. I glanced over my shoulder.

“You’re going to the debutante ball?”

Chance executed a small bow. “Madison asked me to be her escort. I think it’s just the two of us. But I hear you’re bringing the whole entourage.”

“That’s right.” Anxiety fueled my temper. “The four of us look out for each other. So if some rich douchebag tries to start trouble, we’ll have each other’s backs.”

“Good for you, then.” Smug smile. “Tell the Morris boys they’re invited as well. Though Ben must promise to behave himself.”

“Invited where?” I didn’t follow.

“To my after party, of course. At Claybourne Manor.”

“After party? Claybourne Manor?” I knew I was gibbering, but couldn’t stop.

“I’ll drop the invitation in your locker.” He snapped a wink. “It should be quite an event.” Then he turned and strode away.

“Wait!”

But Chance entered a classroom and shut the door behind him.

“I’m not going to your freaking party!” I shouted at the closed door. “In that house? No way!”

The few students hurrying by shot me odd glances.

I barely noticed. Things were spinning out of control.

Special? Unique quality? What was Chance hinting at?

A cold pit opened in my stomach. He could only mean one thing—Chance had seen our flare abilities on more than one occasion.

So why would he invite me and my friends to a party?

I was still rooted in place when the bell pealed.

“Crap balls!”

I sprinted for class. Was halted outside the room by a gray-haired man in a bad guayabera shirt.

“ Qué lástima, Señorita Brennan! ” Señor Messi intoned sadly. “ Estás tardía. Frente a la detención, por favor .”

“ Sí, Señor Messi .” I sighed. “ Lo siento mucho .”

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the hallway.

“ Ay de mi .”

CHAPTER 36

LOCKOUT DRAGGED.

Barring tardy students from class made no sense to me. I got that we’re supposed to be on time, but how did missing a full lesson improve the situation? Didn’t an absence just make the problem worse?

I sighed. At the front table, Mr. Warnock glanced up briefly, then returned to his John Grisham novel. He looked as thrilled to be there as I was.

Two boys shared the cafeteria with me. One was sleeping, the other was doodling. I’d never met either.

After reading the next unit in my Spanish text, I slumped in my seat, bored and frustrated.

Watch check: thirty minutes to go.

This is nuts .

The other Virals would be wondering where I was. Skipping class wasn’t a hobby of mine.

I should do something productive .

But what? I’d finished my homework, and didn’t know what the next assignments would be. Plus my other books were still in my locker.

Forget about school. We’ve got bigger issues to deal with .

Número uno being the Gamemaster.

I thought of Marchant. The snare gun. We’d never heard back about ballistics. I could follow up on that.

But how? Technology was forbidden in lockout, or else kids might skip class just to surf and text their friends. Warnock would confiscate my iPhone on sight.

I watched the apathetic gym teacher slouching at the front table. Devised a plan.

“Mr. Warnock?”

My jailer looked up, surprised at the break in silence.

“If you need something, Miss Brennan, come to the front so I don’t have to yell.”

Shouldering my bag, I approached. “Could I dash to my locker? I don’t have my world history book, and I’d like to read ahead.”

Warnock frowned. “You know the rules. Though I can’t say I’ve seen you in here before. No one can leave until the next bell.”

“I know. It’s just, I have nothing to do, and it makes more sense to study than to stare at the wall.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Warnock set his book aside. “I’ve taught at Bolton for over two decades, and have never understood this policy. We all could be making better use of our time. But rules are rules.”

“My locker’s just down the hall.” Hopeful look. “I won’t tell if you won’t?”

Warnock regarded me for a moment. “You’re the one who wrote that letter to the school paper, aren’t you?” He nodded to the empty kitchen behind him. “The op-ed about childhood obesity, criticizing the nutritional value of our lunch menus?”

“Yes, sir.” Hesitant smile.

“For that fine piece of work, you get a hall pass. I’ve been complaining for years about ketchup counting as a vegetable. Glad someone agrees.”

“Thanks. I promise I won’t be long.”

“See that you aren’t.” He handed me a pass. “Though why I’m supposed to imprison one of our brightest students I’ll never understand. Hurry now.”

Speeding from the cafeteria, I ducked into the closest ladies’ room, locked myself in a stall, and dialed Marchant’s number.

Four rings. Then a robotic voice asked me to leave a message.

Damn .

“Good morning, Mr. Marchant. This is Tory Brennan, calling about the issue we discussed last weekend. If you could get back to me, I’d love an update. And thanks again for your help. Bye-bye.”

I hung up, regretting the childish “bye-bye,” but unable to take it back. I slipped back into the hall and hurried for my locker.

Something dropped as I opened the door.

A thick white envelope, my name in calligraphy on its face.

Chance’s invitation.

“Nope nope nope.” Yet I jammed the envelope into my bag.

I was almost back to the cafeteria when my phone buzzed. No caller ID. Pumping a fist, I ducked back into the restroom and answered.

“Sorry I missed you,” Marchant said, “department meetings seem to eat up all of my time.”

“Oh no, don’t worry.” Backing into a stall, sitting, and locking the door. “I appreciate you returning my call so quickly.”

“I found something interesting,” Marchant continued. “Are you free to meet? I’m headed out for a caffeine fix in thirty minutes.”

Um, what? Did this guy not understand I was fourteen? Bolton wasn’t big on students popping out for midday lattes.

But the Gamemaster was my top priority. The Roman Empire could sit tight until tomorrow.

“Sure. Where?”

Marchant gave me an address and the line went dead.

Uncertain what I’d gotten myself into, I returned to the cafeteria, cracked my text, and killed the last fifteen minutes reading about Caligula. Dude was a wacko.

After the bell, I slipped out a side door and through the front gates. Hustling down Broad Street, I crossed my fingers that I hadn’t been observed.

I felt guilty not telling the other Virals about the meeting. They’d probably worry after back-to-back missed classes. But I wasn’t calling the shots. I’d fill them in at lunch.