Soon the car exited the freeway and traveled along a maze of back roads. Without the aid of streetlights, the darkness outside transformed to blackness. Trees raced by, illuminated by moonlight and the Cadillac’s brights, their steady, thickening stream seeming to keep beat with the music.
Isobel felt a bobby pin scrape her scalp, then another. The Cadillac dipped down a hill, and her stomach lurched to high-five her heart.
They would be pretty far out from town now, she thought, watching the trees grow denser, their skeleton shadows more wicked. She hadn’t been watching for signs, but she figured they were probably somewhere out in Henry County, or Spencer, though she couldn’t be sure.
Then again, could she really be sure of anything anymore? Reality? Reason? Herself?
Isobel looked down at her lap, at her hands. She turned her left one over, remembering where Varen had written his number on her that first time. Those numbers were gone now, but in hindsight, he may as well have tattooed the moment onto her soul. She clenched her hand into a fist.
What had he meant by not wanting things to “end” this way? Why did it feel as though the note was his way of trying to tell her good-bye? And why had he said everything would
“disappear” after tonight?
Isobel squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to reach into her bag and read the note again. It was as though she hoped the writing there could have changed while she wasn’t looking.
Then again, why not, when everything else around her seemed to be doing just that?
An unnerving feeling unfurled through her stomach, a poisonous blossom of uncertainty and doubt and fear. She wondered if Varen had known what the Nocs would do. Worse, she wondered if he’d sent them—Pinfeathers, after all, had come bearing his letter. Or were the Nocs part of what he’d meant by having lost control?
“Done,” Gwen said finally, dropping her arms. “Now, where’s your tag?”
Freed, Isobel opened her eyes. She pulled the tag from her gym bag. Gwen snatched it from her, grabbed Isobel’s hand, and looped the red ribbon around her wrist. She tied it there, tightening the knot until the ribbon pressed into her skin, almost to the point of cutting off her circulation. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don’t lose this.”
The Cadillac slowed suddenly, and Isobel had to brace herself as the front tires bumped over what felt like a log. Gwen bounced as though having expected the jolt, and went to securing her own tag. They shuttled off the last of the long, snake-winding back roads, the tires crunching and popping over gravel.
Mikey switched off the brights, and the Cadillac’s normal headlights dimmed to cast a yellowish white light over a wide lot of pale dirt and rock. Dust and grit kicked up to swirl through the two beams like mist. Rows of dark cars lined their path like sleeping monsters. Isobel scooted forward, grabbed the back of Mikey’s seat, and squinted through the windshield.
Ahead she saw groups of figures standing outside a long two-story building—something that looked part barn and part warehouse. A pulsing green-to-pink light radiated from within, and distantly Isobel could feel more than hear the low thump of music.
As the car crept closer, its beams passed over a set of tall, pallid figures. Isobel’s insides tightened at the sight of them, at the way they stood huddled together beside a black Honda, sharing a cigarette. She pressed to the window, scanning their faces.
Smoke swirled up from the group, and as the Cadillac crawled past, each white face turned to stare. They glowered at her, their sharp noses and starkly painted faces menacing but nevertheless whole. Isobel sat back, taking a moment to breathe, to urge her heart to slow.
“Hey,” Gwen said, nudging her. “Look.”
Her heart thudding anew, she turned to scan the parking lot. The headlights passed over the rear of a familiar car, and Isobel let out a small cry as she caught sight of the jagged letters against the black finish, the hateful word FREAK spelled out on the side of a Cougar.
Isobel unlatched the door. It swung out, and the Cadillac stuttered to a halt.
“Hey, what gives?” Mikey shouted.
She slipped from her seat into the cool air that instantly latched to her bare shoulders. A shiver ran through her, but the sharpness of the cold felt good—further evidence that she was really here, that she was awake, alive—that Varen must be too.
“Isobel, wait!”
Ignoring Gwen, she ran at full speed for the warehouse, her feet joining in with the thumping, chaotic beat of music. She glanced up at the sky. An almost full moon beamed silver-white through a gauzy haze of cloud cover. Shining like a lazy serpent’s eye, it cast the world around her in a ghostly pallor and caused the pink satin and lace of her dress to turn luminescent.