Out of This World (5 page)

I think I'm going to die by the fourth time up.

“Remember,” Tío Goyo says. “The mountain lion is yours to control.”

I hit a wall halfway up. I'm all set to just say screw it and sit down right where I am, but I don't want to give Tío Goyo the satisfaction of being right. So I push on, cursing him with each painful step.

The mountain lion is pissed. It wants to break free and lope up the gulch, then maybe swat Tío Goyo around a few times to let the old uncle know what it thinks about this pointless exercise.

But as I go back down, I think about it—the faster and stronger element of being a Wildling, but also the increased stamina. So why am I having so much trouble?

The mountain lion is yours to control
.

Yeah, so? I've been controlling it. I haven't been cheating and shifting to its shape. I haven't knocked Tío Goyo's head off. Yet.

But then I realize I'm not using its full capabilities, either. I can take more from its strength and speed and stamina without having to shift into the full mountain lion shape.

So, coming up the fifth time, I push through the wall of
exhaustion and actually feel lighter on my feet by the time I get to the top than back when I started. This is cool.

When I reach the top on my seventh trip, Tío Goyo grabs my arm before I can start back down.

“How's that conversation inside your head?” he asks.

It takes me a moment to get out of the zone and register what he's asking, then a moment longer to answer.

“What conversation?” I ask, grinning.

He nods. “Good. I think you can stop.”

“So,” I say when we're back in the shadows of the house across from Josh's place. “How do we do this?”

I can't see the sniper from where I'm standing, but Donalita pokes her head around the corner of the house and assures me he's still there on the roof.

“I've got a great idea,” she says.

I turn to look at her. She's got a gleam in her eyes that makes me nervous.

“Okay,” I say. “But it doesn't involve death or dismemberment, right?”

“Well,” she says, drawing out the word. “Not on purpose.”

“Dude!” I start, except then she gets that big grin of hers.

She holds up a hand. “I know. It's just a word. Like
yo
, or
wassup
.”

“Exactly. One I obviously use too much. And you're changing the subject. What's your plan?”

I almost wish I wasn't asking.

She leans close, filling my nose with her fruity musk smell.

“You,” she says, laying her palm on my chest, “walk up to the front door of Josh's house, all casual, la-la-la, and while Big
Stupid on the roof is watching you, I'll bang him on the head and knock him out.”

“You want me to be bait.”

“More like a distraction.”

“Dude, he'll probably just shoot me!”

“I won't let that happen.”

My eyebrows go up.

“Because,” she says, “you're going to give me a head start. Count to three hundred and twelve and then step out onto the street. I'll be ready to do the rest.”

“Why three hundred and twelve?”

“It's kind of a fun number.”

“In what universe?” I ask.

She shrugs, then slips away.

“Hey!” I call after her in a loud whisper. “I never said I'd do this.”

But she's long gone. I sneak a peek around the corner of the house, but I still can't see the sniper.

Sighing, I start to count. When I get to Donalita's “fun” number, I take a deep breath and walk along the side of the house.

I realize I'm an idiot. Why did I let her talk me into this? If I'm also a target and she doesn't get to the sniper fast enough, this could be the last chapter in the very short book of my life.

I force myself to not look where the sniper is hidden as I step out onto the street. I imagine Marina hearing about this plan of Donalita's.
Are you a complete idiot?
she'd say. Even Josh would try to talk me out of it.

But they aren't around and the only person in my corner is a bloodthirsty Wildling who's more focused on the fun of taking out the sniper than what might happen to me.

Let's face it. I
am
an idiot.

The hairs on the nape of my neck are standing straight up and I've got a crazy itch crawling up and down the length of my spine. I try to keep my pace casual, but it's all I can do not to break into a run and take off as fast as I can go.

Eventually—like about a century later—I turn up the walk to Josh's house. I get all the way up to the front door when I hear a short sharp whistle.

I freeze until it's repeated, then I slowly turn to scan the flat roof on the other side of the street. I expect to see a rifle pointed at me, a muzzle flash. Instead it's just Donalita, silhouetted against the sky, waving at me.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and wave back. Looking up and down the street, I trot across, stopping under where she's standing.

“Is everything okay?” I whisper up to her.

She gives me a mad grin and a thumbs-up.

“And he's not dead?”

“He's just tied up.”

“Okay. Good. You should come—”

Before I get to finish, she's already jumped, landing lightly on her feet beside me. Man, would I like a little dab of Wildling in me to be able to do that kind of thing. The tricks I could pull off on my skateboard.

“That was so fun. Now what do we do?” she asks.

“Now I call Solana.”

I pull out my phone, punch in the FBI agent's number and start walking. Donalita falls in step beside me. When Solana answers, I rattle off the address where we left the Black Key Securities guy and tell him to look on the roof.

“What the hell did you do?” Solana asks. “I told you not to—”

“Relax. I never even went up. I just saw somebody take him out and tie him up.”

“Yeah? And what were you—”

I thumb the End button and stow the phone back into my pocket. When it rings, I see it's Solana calling back, so I turn off the power and put the phone away again.

All this time, Donalita's walking along beside me, a bounce in her steps.

“Where are we going now?” she asks.

I almost wince at the perkiness in her voice. I was already exhausted before we got into all of this. Now that the adrenalin rush has worn off, I just want to crash.

“I don't know about you,” I tell her, “but I'm beat. I'm going home to bed.”

“Can I come?”

“Dude, I live with my parents.”

“I'll be good. I'll be as quiet as a mouse—quieter really, because they're always making these scritchy-scratchy sounds and I won't make a single one.”

“Do you have any idea how long I'd be grounded if my parents caught me with a girl sleeping over?”

“I'll be a coati girl and sleep in a corner and no one will ever know I was there.”

“I don't know …”

“Please please please please. I've nowhere else to go. And Theo said I'm supposed to watch out for you.”

I'm too tired to argue, so against my better judgment, I let her tag along.

Tío Goyo tosses me a canteen. The water is warm and has a metallic tang, but I don't think I've ever tasted anything as good. I have another long pull. That's when I see the two big backpacks sitting on the ground by his feet.

“Where did those come from?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“And how did you get up and down so fast? Did you change into a hawk and fly?”

“Where do these stories come from?” he says.

“Well, you know—”

He holds up a hand. “Is the conversation in your head starting up again?”

I got through the last ordeal faster than he expected, but I don't feel like starting all over again.

“I'm fine,” I tell him. “Head empty, ready to rock and roll.”

He nods. “All right, then. I'm going to walk out of your sight. I want you to call up a map of the area in your head and figure out where I am.”

I watch him leave, tiny plumes of dust rising from his footsteps. Then he's gone. I take another pull from the canteen.
Sitting on his rock, I close my eyes and try to tune in to the GPS thing in my head. It was so strong back home I had to damp it down or I thought I'd go crazy. But here? Nothing. It's like I never had it.

I find my thoughts starting to drift, and force myself to concentrate on locating Tío Goyo. But no matter how hard I focus, I get nothing.

I stand up and turn in a slow circle. I can't even catch his scent. When the wind shifts and I finally do, I follow it to where he's sitting on the edge of a flat rock. The ground drops away from the edge in a sheer cliff. The bottom has to be a couple hundred feet below.

He looks at me over his shoulder and smiles. “You found me.”

“With this,” I say and touch the side of my nose.

“Ah.” He shrugs. “That's okay. We'll figure it out.”

He hops to his feet with more agility than I'd expect for an old guy, and with way more
cojones
than I'd have on that precipice. But I guess if he can turn into a hawk, what does he have to worry about?

“What makes you think I can fly?” he asks.

I'm sure my mouth hangs open.

He laughs. “No, I can't read your mind. But I can read your face and your body language.”

I close my mouth, then clear my throat. “Well,” I say, “I've heard that you—
los tíos
—the uncles from Halcón Pueblo, you're not cousins, but they say you can still take the shape of hawks.”

“Huh. Wouldn't that be something? Imagine what the world looks like from up there.”

I can't tell if he's being disingenuous or if it's really not true.

I can't think of any reason for him to lie to me, but if he can't turn into a bird, how does he get around as quickly as he does? It's not like—

“You're making friends with that conversation in your head again,” he says.

I smile. “And I suppose you've got nothing in yours.”

He cocks his head like a bird and considers it.

“Only what I need,” he tells me. “Come on,” he adds, heading back to the top of the gulch. “Let's get our gear and make camp.”

I open my mouth to ask him where these backpacks came from—because he never did answer me—then shut it again and just fall in behind him. He shoots a grin over his shoulder.

“Now you're learning,” he says.

I really wish I had Josh's weird GPS ability—this topographical map inside his head that tells him where every nearby living thing is in relation to him. My Wildling sense of smell and hearing are acute, but they can only do so much. Right now I can't hear anything out of the ordinary approaching the playground, and if someone
is
creeping up on me, they're doing so with the breeze taking their scent away from me. All I have to go on is a warning prickle at the nape of my neck.