Kathy Reichs - Code

They hated me. I loathed them.

Last semester, the sight of these three would’ve filled me with dread. They’d made my freshman year a living hell.

That was over now.

Last August, at a cotillion event, I’d unloaded on the Tripod with all of Bolton’s in-crowd watching. Flaring, I’d used my hypersenses to read their emotions. Sniff out their weaknesses. Then I’d struck without mercy.

Shocked speechless, the Tripod had retreated in angry tears.

The tell-off had been epic .

Since that outburst, the other “cool kids” had been slightly more respectful to me. Almost polite. Not out-and-out friendly or anything, but the open hostility was gone.

High school popularity is so fickle .

My classmates suddenly liked me more because I’d shown teeth. Because I’d savaged a few of their own. I could scream at the childishness of it all.

That day, I’d finally bested the Tripod. But then I made a mistake.

Unleashing the wolf had gotten my blood pumping. Flaring seemed to exacerbate my aggressive nature. Caught up in the rush, I’d done something incredibly foolish. Disastrous. I’d lifted my sunglasses and flashed my glowing eyes.

Courtney and Ashley had missed it, but Maddy had enjoyed a front-row seat. Terrified, she’d bolted. And had avoided me ever since.

Normally, I’d call that a win-win. The Tripod had fled and continued to stay away. The relentless harassment had stopped.

But I worried. What did Madison suspect? Who would she talk to?

If word of our powers got out, we’d be government lab rats by lunch the next day.

Thanks to my stupidity, Madison was a threat.

At that moment, the threat caught sight of me. Her face paled and she slowed.

Ashley and Courtney bumped into Madison from behind. Confused by their queen bee’s hesitation, they followed her sight line.

Gripping her books tightly, Madison fired past me and ducked into a bathroom. Courtney and Ashley hurried on her heels, shooting uneasy glances my way.

“Man.” Hi had noted the exchange. “You’ve got Madison spooked, that’s for sure. Let’s hope she’s not sending letters to Cosmo .”

I’d told the Virals about my blunder. They hadn’t been pleased. At all.

I was about to respond to Hi’s comment when Jason Taylor rounded the corner.

“Tory.” Jason began fidgeting with his tie. “I hope you’re, uh, doing well. Had a good weekend, all that.”

Ben’s lips formed a smirk. Eyes rolling, he turned and walked off. Hi and Shelton drifted a few feet down the hall.

Jason had the blue eyes and white-blond hair of a Nordic god. The physique too. Big and strong, he was a sick athlete, and captained Bolton’s lacrosse team. A truly decent guy, he’d been an ally at Bolton from the outset.

An ally with a surprising interest in me.

I’d never known how to feel about Jason. Still didn’t.

Jason was the only guy at Bolton who seemed to notice me. He was cute. Friendly. Funny. Super popular. Everything a girl could want in a boyfriend. At least, I thought so, having no real experience in the field.

And yet … nothing. For some reason, Jason just didn’t do it for me. I’d never felt the same attraction. My palms didn’t sweat. My pulse didn’t race. It made no sense. I couldn’t explain it, even to myself.

Which made the situation … awkward.

I shouldn’t complain—for most girls, Jason’s attention would’ve been all that mattered. And I treasured him as a friend. He looked out for me at school, keeping the nastier trust-fund brats off my back.

“Hi, Jason,” I said awkwardly. “My weekend was fine. You?”

“Me? Oh, great. Took the boat out, played golf. Nice weather, um, right?”

“Definitely.” I shifted, needlessly adjusting my book bag straps. “Sunny.”

Uneasiness around Jason was collateral damage from my reckless display. Flustered by my blunder with Madison, I’d been totally unprepared when Jason offered to escort me to the debutante ball. Angry with myself, I’d lashed out at him, too.

We didn’t speak again until school started, and even then we’d carefully avoided that topic. The eggshell dance was moving into its second month, with no end in sight.

It didn’t help that Madison had eyes for Jason, and viewed me as a rival.

And Ben seriously disliked him.

Nothing is ever simple .

The bell spared us further discomfort.

“Gotta run,” I said, thankful for the reprieve. “See you later!”

“Later.” Jason tossed a head-nod to Shelton and Hi as he passed them. The Two Stooges clumsily returned the gesture.

Shelton drifted back to my side wearing a sly grin. “That was smooth, player.”

“Shut it.”

The awkward conversation had reminded me of Whitney’s instructions. I needed guys for my stupid debut, and didn’t have a plan.

Jason had volunteered, but that was months ago, and I’d rejected his offer. Rudely. Did it still stand? Choosing an A-lister might be a good move. Jason had always defended me when he could.

But I totally embarrassed him. Why would he say yes now?

Shelton tapped his watch. “Today, Brennan.”

Just then, Hi scurried across the hallway in a rush. “Did you guys hear the news?”

“What news?” Shelton tugged his earlobe, a nervous habit. “I already know I’m not going to like it.”

“It’s all over Twitter. He’s out! They released him last weekend.”

“Who?” But I knew.

Had no doubt.

“Chance Claybourne.” Hi shook his head in disbelief. “He’s coming back to Bolton.”

CHAPTER 7

TINY DROPLETS SPLASHED my arms.

Tom Blue’s shuttle, Hugo , was kicking spray up into a fine mist. I stood alone in the stern, watching downtown recede as we churned home across the harbor.

My thoughts were of Broad Street, and a pricey piece of real estate known as Claybourne Manor.

I bet he’s alone in that gigantic mansion. Right now .

I’d been unable to concentrate in class.

Chance Claybourne.

Out of the hospital.

Returning to Bolton Prep.

Guilt shrouded me like a cold, wet blanket. The awful thing I’d done. How I’d played with Chance’s mind to protect our secrets.

And now he’s back .

Ben’s voice floated from behind me. “It’s not like you had a choice.”

“I know.” I sighed, turned. Ben often knew what I was thinking. “But messing with his head. Making him think he was crazy. I’ve felt terrible ever since.”

If not the richest man in Charleston, Chance was certainly high on the list. Son of former state senator Hollis Claybourne, and heir to an enormous family fortune, Chance’s mental breakdown had been the scandal of the decade.

Chance had suffered a total nervous collapse, with every salacious detail reported in the press. He’d been hospitalized for five months—leaving only once, to help us search for a lost pirate treasure.

Twice Chance had witnessed our flare powers unleashed. He’d seen our canine speed. Our strength. Our glowing eyes.

After the second incident, Chance had approached me, confused and vulnerable. Needing answers.

Instead of helping him, I’d twisted the knife. Betrayed his trust.

To protect the Virals, I’d convinced Chance that he’d imagined the whole thing. That the images he described were unreal. Figments of a distressed mind. Frightened, and in shock, he’d returned to the psych ward for further treatment.

Your revenge .

I sat up straight. Where had that thought come from?

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over me. My own hurt feelings hadn’t factored into deceiving Chance … had they?