Hemlock by Kathleen Peacock

you, Mac. Werewolves kiled your best friend and you’re upset because I’ve been talking to Derby? The Trackers are the only ones doing something—realy doing something—to prevent attacks. It’s like you don’t care that she’s dead. Like you don’t want to find the freak responsible.”
    I reeled. “Of course I care that . . .” I couldn’t make myself say the rest, say that Amy was dead. Before he could hurl any other words at me, I turned and strode out of the parking lot.
    I walked past iron gates and ridiculously large houses that were lit up like birthday cakes. I wasn’t sure how long I would have to wait for the next bus, and I didn’t care. I crossed my arms over my chest as I walked, curling around the sting of Jason’s words. Tears blurred my vision and threatened to spil over. I sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on not letting them fal.
    Crying wouldn’t bring her back. I had figured that out the first week she was gone.
    Yes, a werewolf had kiled Amy. But I couldn’t blame an entire Yes, a werewolf had kiled Amy. But I couldn’t blame an entire group of people—even if that would have been easier. The only person to blame was the one who had kiled her. One person. One werewolf.
    A werewolf that someone had to find. The police or the Trackers or . . .
    Me.
    I tripped over a crack in the pavement, barely aware of where I was going.
    What if I could find the wolf? It was crazy—borderline ludicrous with a side of suicidal tendencies—but what if it was possible?
    After al, it wasn’t like I was some sheltered teenager from suburbia. I had spent my childhood being raised by a man who made flying under the radar an art form.
    Whatever else the wolf was, he was just another flavor of bad guy. Scarier and more dangerous than the ones Hank brought home for a beer, but stil . . .
    A car approached slowly, from behind.
    “Mac, get in.”
    I kept walking.
    “Come on, Mac. You heard what they said about walking alone at night. It’s not safe.”
    I snorted. Like anything bad would happen in this part of town.
    When the attacks had started last spring, Hemlock’s wealthiest residents had pooled their resources and hired twenty-four-hour security for their neighborhood and the surrounding area. None of the attacks had occurred on this side of the bridge.
    I quickened my pace. I heard the car rol to a stop and the I quickened my pace. I heard the car rol to a stop and the sound of a door opening and closing, but I didn’t look back, not even when I heard footsteps running to catch up with me.
    Jason made a grab for my sleeve and I shook him off. “Go to hel.” My voice was thick and the words weren’t entirely convincing, but I stil put everything I had into each sylable.
    He stepped around me, trying to block my path.
    I turned and strode the other way.
    Jason folowed and I whirled. “She was my best friend!” I spat, choking on each word. I put my arms behind my back, scared that I would hit him, never wanting to hit anyone as badly as I did right then. “Don’t you think I want them to find the thing that did it? Do you think it was easy for me? Sitting there and wondering if the Trackers realy could do something when I hate them?”
    I sucked in a deep, ragged breath. Behind my back, the muscles in my arms trembled. It felt like my entire body was shaking.
    “Don’t you ever say that I don’t care that she’s gone.”
    He reached for me a second time and I shook my head. “I swear to God, Jason, if you touch me, I’l hit you.” My voice was smal and quivering. Not my voice at al. A nine-year-old scared of the dark and not sure if her father would ever come home. “I swear to God I wil.”
    Ignoring me, Jason reached out and gently drew my arms forward. He slid his hands over mine, holding them for a dozen heartbeats before letting go. “I’m sorry.” His green eyes searched my face, waiting for it to soften. When it didn’t, he said, “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you