I sway in the snow. “It doesn’t matter,” I gasp. “Oliver ran away from his foster family.”
Theo’s eyes narrow, and he studies me, like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying.
“He ran away!” I cry. “Last night. I think he’s trying to get back to you.”
This time, Theo’s reaction is immediate. He sweeps me up in his arms and plunges forward, kicking up fans of snow as he moves. I cling to his jacket, my whole body shaking. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d gotten.
“I don’t know for sure,” I say, my breath puffing out. “The social worker told me the cops are looking for him?—”
Theo makes a kind of scoffing sound.
“But I know you could find him more easily. Couldn’t you?”
We burst out of the forest, Theo’s cabin rising up in front of us. I stare at it, feeling vaguely dizzy. All I can think about is the polite cop who interviewed me at the sheriff’s station.He had drawings of you in there, Ms. Monroe. He almost certainly would have killed you if you hadn’t killed him first.
A falsehood I never bothered to correct.
Theo sets me down on the porch. “Where was he?” he asks, his eyes hard and glinting, his hands shaking a little.
“Rockingstead,” I say. “Not far at all. I didn’t realize?—”
Theo shoves past me and slams into the house, the door banging on its frame. I blink, vaguely stunned. I wasn’t sure what reaction I expected from him. It certainly wasn’t this.
“Theo?” I hear the quiver of fear in my voice, but I go into the house anyway. It feels stale and closed off, even more than it didsix months ago. Theo’s thumping around in the kitchen. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you?—”
I stop in the doorway. Theo slams open kitchen drawers, one after another, clearly looking for something, and the fear tightens in my chest. Because what else do you keep in a kitchen but knives?
We found a stash of weapons. More axes, hunting knives, a machete…
But what Theo finally pulls out of one of those drawers isn’t a knife at all. It’s a map, ancient and faded, that he spreads out over the kitchen table and then hunches over, tracing along it with his finger.
“What are you doing?” I breathe out, even though I already know the answer. I can feel it, pulsing in the air between.
Theo looks up at me from the damp fringe of his hair, his expression hard and determined.
“I’m going to find Oliver,” Theo says, “before the police do.”
40
THEO
The old highway map of North Carolina is over fifty years old, but it doesn’t matter. Rockingstead is still here. I didn’t wipe it out of existence like I did Veritas.
Before Chloe said the name of that town, I was consumed by something that I can only describe as terror. I am very used to the scent of human terror, of course, but sensing it in myself was alarming. What do I have to be afraid of, aside from others of my kind? But apparently, there’s an answer to that question:
Oliver. Getting lost. Getting hurt.Dying.
But Rockingstead, I know that name. I know that Highway 74 runs through it, an artery that connects it to Hanging Lake. On this map, that highway is surrounded by woods, and I’m not sure if that’s still true. The last time I was on that road was the same year this map was published.
“What are you doing?”
Chloe’s voice startles me. I jerk my gaze up to her, and my fear tightens again. She was furious at me for what I did six months ago. If Oliver dies because he tried to find me on his own, she might try to kill me again. I wouldn’t blame her.
“I’m going to find Oliver before the cops do,” I tell her. Then I shove the map around and point to the highway. “Can you drive me there?”
Chloe holds her breath, just for a second. Then she nods.
“Take me.”
