“Katie.” Hazel waits until I meet her eyes before continuing. “You might have come back with battle wounds—or um, a battle rash—but you kicked ass tonight. You saved Natalie’s dad, and you’re ready to catch some chimeras. You can do this, okay?”
I smile a little, relaxing into her hug.
She’s right. If I stop panicking about what’ll happen if I fail, there’s an opportunity to feel hopeful about what comes next: an actual shot at catching a chimera.
“Show me your chimera map,” I say, putting the lid on the coconut oil.
“That’s the spirit.”
Hazel grabs her laptop and returns to sit beside me on the couch.
The map has way more pins than the last time she showed me—at least thirty are scattered everywhere between downtown and the suburbs, the majority in clusters.
“I made a sliding timeline, and watch what happens.” She drags the slider from left to right, and the pins appear in succession, moving slowly outward, like a weather map showing cloud movement. “I think a lot of these clusters are the same few chimeras shapeshifting as they migrate. Like, if you look at this pin that started in the West End in February, over time you can see it move east.”
I lean in, my heart beating faster. “Hazel, you’re a genius.”
“Just wait,” she says, animated. “Based on these movements, I can use predictive analytics to guess where each one will appear next.”
“Oh my God.” I reach over to play with the map, dragging it around and moving the timeline slider. “So let’s say we look at the most recent sighting—this one at Cambie. Going back in time…” I drag the slider backward, and more pins appear near it. “If this is the same one hanging out in the area, you’re saying we can predict where it’ll be next?”
“Theoretically.” She tilts the laptop back toward her and opens a different window. Her fingers fly over the keyboard. I stay silent as she works, not wanting to interrupt her thought process.
“Hm. Interesting,” she says at last.
“What?”
“This trail of pins moving south. I think we can predict where this chimera is headed.” She points, and I drag the timeline to watch the pins appear in succession.
“So…we should keep a lookout in White Rock?” I ask.
“Yep. Seems to be moving that way at a steady rate.”
My heart leaps. “I’ll tell Natalie.”
She gives me a reassuring smile and continues tweaking her code. “In the meantime, want to help me craft the perfect pickup line for a girl I matched with?”
I sit up straight. “Yes! Who is she?”
As she tells me about how the dating app has been going, I’m more grateful for her than ever. She’s the anchor to normalcy I desperately need when I’m wedged between curses and chimeras. And she’s fighting right alongside me when she could easily back away with her hands raised in surrender.
My next step is as clear as a pin on her map. Tomorrow, I’m going to return to C.S.A.M.M. and learn about chimera catching from Natalie’s dad. Then, it’s time to start hunting.
I spend the morning rubbing tea tree oil, baking soda, calamine lotion, and anything else I can think of all over my hives. Thankfully, by the time Natalie picks me up, my skin has calmed enough that I won’t meet her dad looking like I’ve caught something contagious.
We enter C.S.A.M.M. through the steam clock, and the familiar brick halls feel darker, more threatening. Everyone is hushed, whispering about what happened to Troy Zacharias.
The place has been restored since the Madsens attacked in February, but something’s off, like paint over a deep scratch. The fireplace, stone chimney, booths, and tables are repaired, but the ivy-covered walls and other plants aren’t as lush as before. The poor willow tree is propped up with wooden supports—but it’s alive, surviving against impossible odds. The bean bags, bookshelf, and board games that were once beneath it have been moved to give it space to heal.
Heads turn as we pass, familiar faces watching me but saying nothing. I ignore them. I’ve got enough to worry about without caring about being stared at.
The infirmary is as I remember it—sterile, white, the only part of the building not covered in plants and wood. My stomach churns as a sense memory hits me, a jolt of pain shooting through my ankle. Last time I was here, Natalie had to carry me in after Wyatt treated my leg like a tug-o-war rope.
Sky sits beside the nearest bed, her hand on her father’s arm like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go.
I hover at the threshold. This feels too private for an outsider to intrude upon.
But Natalie’s hand finds the small of my back, and she gently guides me to the bedside.
