Call muttered something like “Sure” and stumbled off the bus, Havoc at his heels.
There was a pay phone on the corner. Call stared at it. He had the vague idea that you could use them to call information and get people’s numbers, but he had no idea how. He’d always used the Internet for that sort of thing. He was about to start toward the phone when a red-and-black taxi pulled up to the curb, depositing a bunch of rowdy kids from a fraternity onto the pavement. The driver got out, unloading their luggage from the trunk.
Call jogged over to it, ignoring the twinge in his leg. He leaned in the window. “Do you know where the Gables is?”
The taxi driver raised an eyebrow. “Pretty fancy place, yeah. Big old house.”
Call felt his heart lift. “Can you take me there? And my dog?”
The driver frowned at Havoc. The wolf was sniffing the wheels of the taxi. “You call that thing a dog?”
Call wondered if he should mention the service thing again. “Havoc’s a rare breed,” he said instead.
The man snorted. “That I believe. Sure, get in. So long as neither of you gets carsick, you’ll be better passengers than the frat kids.”
A few moments later, Call was sliding into the backseat, Havoc hopping in next to him. The cushions were torn, showing the foam padding underneath, and Call was pretty sure a spring was sticking into his back. The cab didn’t seem to have any seat belts or shock absorbers, either — they banged and rattled along the street, with Call being thrown from side to side like a pinball. Despite Call’s promises, Havoc was starting to look a bit nauseous.
Finally, they reached the top of a hill. Before them was a tall iron fence, the massive and ornate gate standing open. A neatly trimmed lawn stretched out on the other side like a sea of green. He could see uniformed people hurrying across it carrying trays. He squinted, trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe Tamara’s parents were having a party?
Then he spotted the house, on the end of a winding driveway. It was grand enough to make Call think of the manor houses on the BBC programs Alastair liked to watch. It was the kind of place that dukes and duchesses lived in. Call had known Tamara was rich, but he’d thought of her as having money the way some of the kids at his old school did — kids who had new phones or the good sneakers that everyone else wanted. Now he realized he had no idea what kind of rich she really was.
“That’ll be thirty bucks,” said the cabbie.
“Uh, can you take me up to the house?” Call asked, intent on finding Tamara. She could definitely afford to loan him the money.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the cabbie said, heading up the driveway. “I’m keeping the meter running.”
A few other cars were pulling in behind the taxi, gleaming black and silver BMWs, Mercedes, and Aston Martins. There was definitely a party going on — people milling around in the garden at the side of the house, separated from the long stretch of green by low boxwood hedges. Call could see twinkling lights and hear far-off music.
He slid out of the car. A broad-shouldered white man with a shaved head, wearing a black suit and shiny shoes, was consulting a list of names and waving people inside the house. The guy didn’t look anything like Tamara’s father, and for a moment Call panicked, thinking he’d come to the wrong place.
Then Call realized the guy had to be a butler — or something like that. A butler who looked at Call with such hostility as to remind him that he was only wearing pajamas under his jacket, that his hair was probably still sticking up from the bus ride, and that he was being followed by a large and unsuitable-for-garden-parties wolf.
“Can I help you?” the butler asked. He wore a name tag that said STEBBINS on it in elegantly scripted letters.