13

11:07 P.M.

BRILLIANT PLAN

Broken Arrow hadn’t changed much, as far as Rex could see.

The town was still Bixby’s little sister, with no buildings over a few stories marking its skyline. Clanking oil derricks and mesquite trees went right up to the city’s edge, and instead of green lawns most people had dirt front yards. The native desert scrub they planted to keep the soil from eroding needed a lot less water than grass—and looked better, Rex thought—but in Bixby not having a real lawn meant that you were poor or lazy, which most people figured was pretty much the same thing.

He drove carefully, checking the street signs, following the exact route that Dess had used for her calculations. She’d complained about that part of the plan because too many things could mess with the math—how fast Rex drove, the air pressure in the tires, even the temperature outside. She spent a lot of time complaining about something called “fumes.”

Rex couldn’t think about all that. It was all he could do to drive this rumbling, smelly, human machine. His reflexes were much faster now, but the plastics and metal in the car put him on edge.

Besides, there were lots of ways this plan could go wrong. The precisely measured gas in the Ford’s tank was only one.

It was strange being in Melissa’s car without her along, but Angie had demanded three things: that they meet no later than 11:00 P.M.., that they didn’t go anywhere near Bixby, and that Rex come alone.

He remembered how nervous Angie’s voice had sounded on the phone. But Rex didn’t want her too anxious. He wouldn’t get any information from the woman if things got violent.

He found the corner Angie had named, two narrow back alleys that intersected among dark and looming warehouses, the prey marks of humans scant—the perfect place for Rex to disappear, if that’s what Angie had in mind. Of course, if Rex were still relevant to the family’s plans, they probably wouldn’t have gone to this much trouble.

Still, he was glad it was just him here in the car and not all five of them. The Grayfoots were old hands at making people vanish.

Angie was already there, smoking a cigarette and wearing a leather coat that reached her knees. She gave him an angry glare, checked her watch, then cast a wary glance around. As she walked toward the Ford, Rex realized that he’d never seen her in normal time before. In motion and without the waxy pallor of the secret hour laid across her skin, she didn’t look that much older than a college student.

He remembered to turn off the Ford’s engine; Dess’s calculations didn’t include any idling time.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Sorry. My mom came over. Had to sneak out—school night.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but then she let out a smoke-tinged sigh. Nothing like being reminded that the latest person you’d kidnapped was still in high school. Rex hoped that seeing Anathea dead out in the desert had made Angie think twice about her employers. Hopefully she was fed up with the kid-snatching business.

“Fine, let’s talk,” she said. “But in exactly twenty minutes I’m out of here. You’re not going to pull any of that spook crap on me.”

Rex laughed. “What sort of ‘spook crap’ are you expecting? We’re miles from Bixby.”

“Yeah, I know where the edges are,” she said. “But before the Grayfoots stopped talking to me, Ernesto said that things were changing.”

Rex nodded. Ernesto was Constanza’s cousin—the family definitely knew something.

“They are,” he said. “Get in and I’ll tell you what we know.”

“What? Get in that car with you?”

He gave her a bored look. “Don’t be so paranoid, Angie. Midnight still comes at midnight, not…” He checked his watch, as if he hadn’t planned this all out to the minute. “Eleven-fifteen. And I’m not standing around in the cold.” He tugged on the front of his T-shirt; not wearing a jacket had been Jessica’s idea. “So get in.”

Her nervous eyes scanned the buildings around them again. “Okay, but my car.”

“Forget that,” he said. “My wheels or no deal.”

Rex held her suspicious gaze, wondering if that last line had been too much. He’d rehearsed it on the way over here, trying out various inflections, settling on a dramatic pause between “no” and “deal.” But maybe he’d blown it. The rest of the plan wouldn’t work unless Angie got into Melissa’s car.

But as he watched her think about it, Rex felt something else replace his jitters—the same calm he’d experienced just before he’d turned Timmy Hudson into jelly. He could smell Angie’s fear now, could see it in the play of lines on her face, and he realized that she’d been telling the truth about the Grayfoots cutting her off. She carried the anxious scent of a human rejected by its tribe, left to its own devices on the harsh desert.

A trickle of anticipation went through Rex, the same excitement he’d felt tracking Cassie Flinders across the blue time. He was the hunter here, not this human.

“Take it or leave it, Angie. But don’t make me sit here.” He drew his lips back from his teeth. “Like I said: it’s a school night.”

A long moment later she said, “Okay. But if you start that engine, I’m sticking this between your ribs.” Steel flashed in the darkness.

At the sight of the knife Rex felt some of his predatory confidence slip away. He could smell that the blade was tungsten stainless; its very touch would burn him. Rex couldn’t imagine what the weapon would feel like thrust into his side.

Angie walked the long way around the car, checking the backseat for any surprises. Finally she opened the passenger door and slipped inside, bringing in the scents of anxiety and cigarette smoke.

“You know,” he said. “Seeing as how you kidnapped me, you’ve got a lot of nerve acting like I’m the bad guy.”

She snorted, running nervous fingers through her blond hair. “Spare me. I know what you midnighters are.”

“What? High school students?”

She turned away to stare through the front windshield, watching the empty alley. “It doesn’t matter how old you are. A monster is still a monster.”

“Me? A monster?” For a second the word made him shudder. Did she know about the way he was changing?

Angie turned to him, her words spilling out with furious speed. “Listen, Rex, the family may have shut me out after what happened two weeks ago, but I know a lot about the history of Bixby. Probably more than you do.”

Rex’s jaw dropped open. “I doubt that.”

“Right, I’m sure you think you know everything.” She smiled. “You may know a few tricks, like how to read fifty-year-old propaganda, but you don’t know what things were really like in Bixby back then. You weren’t there. The old guy I work for was.”

“What? He’s a…” Rex started, but he was too indignant to finish. This traitor to humanity, this Grayfoot lackey, this daylighter was lecturing him about the lore? Rex’s amazement sputtered out of him like an old car engine giving up the ghost.

He’d made Melissa swear to take it easy on Angie’s brain, but Rex doubted it would be tough to make her break that promise.

“After they freed Bixby,” Angie continued, “the Grayfoots discovered a lot of what you midnighters call ‘the lore.’ That’s how I learned to read the symbols, practicing on all that old rubbish about how the great midnighters kept everyone happy and safe.”

“The Grayfoots freed Bixby?” was all Rex could manage. “From what?”

“Come on, Rex. What do you think it was really like back then? A small, unelected group of people running a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. People who could play God with time, who could ruin the brain of anyone who disagreed with them. Doesn’t that sound great, Rex, growing up in a place like that?” She paused, giving him a disgusted look. “Of course, you would have been one of the people in charge.”