Free Hemlock by Kathleen Peacock Page B

joined the ones who were questioning stragglers and kicking at broken signs. A handful of people were standing watch over a couple of girls who had gotten trampled and were waiting for an ambulance.
    On the other side of the street, Trey puled up in the orange rust bucket he and Serena shared. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since she had texted him; he must have already been on minutes since she had texted him; he must have already been on this side of the river.
    “Do you want us to drive you home?” Serena asked, eyes darting to Jason and the Tracker.
    I shook my head. “No thanks. Jason can take me.”
    She gave me a quick hug. “I’l cal you tomorrow, okay?” She broke away and crossed the parking lot. She wasn’t limping or moving stiffly. I guess she realy was okay.
    Jason returned just as Serena reached her car. I tried to ask him how long he’d known the guy in the denim jacket and if he was realy going to join the Trackers, but the questions wouldn’t come out.
    I was too scared of what the answers might be.
    “Jason, can we go somewhere and . . .” My voice trailed off as goose bumps swept along my arms. Branson Derby was headed our way.
    “Jason,” said the older man, nodding as he reached us.
    “Sir.”
    The undisguised respect in Jason’s voice took me aback and I tried not to stare. I couldn’t remember Jason ever sounding that respectful to anyone.
    Up close, Derby appeared older than he had looked onstage.
    Fine lines had begun to snake their way outward from the corners of his eyes and mouth. His skin looked like parchment—like he had spent too much time in hot, dry climates. He was probably in his mid- to late forties, but he wasn’t aging gracefuly.
    “I haven’t met your friend,” he said.
    “This is Mackenzie Dobson. She attended the meeting.” Jason

    “This is Mackenzie Dobson. She attended the meeting.” Jason swalowed. “She was friends with Amy.”
    Derby offered me his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached out and shook it. His grip was sure and firm, just this side of being too firm for comfort. I withdrew my hand and resisted the urge to wipe my palm on my jeans. The man made my skin crawl.
    “Such a tragic loss,” he said. “I’ve become quite wel acquainted with Senator Walsh and the family.” He glanced at Jason and there was something disturbing and proprietary about the look, almost as though Jason was a horse he was thinking about buying. “I assume, like Jason, you’l be joining our teen chapter.”
    I smiled and kept my eyes carefuly blank. “I’m not much of a joiner.”
    Derby didn’t return my smile. “In times like these, Miss Dobson, pure citizens need to stand together.”
    He shifted his attention to the police and to an ambulance that had puled up for the injured girls. “If you’l excuse me,” he said, turning and striding purposefuly toward the flashing lights.
    “I can’t believe those idiot fleabag lovers had the nerve to show up here,” said Jason, once we were alone.
    The nerve? Had he seen the same fight I had? “The crowd rushed them.”
    Something flashed in Jason’s eyes. “The crowd was provoked .”
    “By twelve people carrying flimsy signs?” I watched Derby as he shook hands with the police. “He gives me the creeps,” I said, voice low.
    “Derby? He’s great—as long as you’re not a werewolf.” Jason shoved his hands into his pockets. “They kiled his family, you know. A gang of wolves in Nevada. That picture he showed at the start of the meeting—the woman and boy? Those were his wife and son. They kiled his other kid, too. His whole family was wiped out.”
    He cleared his throat. “Derby . . . understands. He knows what I went through. What I’m going through. I can realy talk to him.”
    Hurt and not thinking, I said, “Maybe the two of you can form a support group. Lord knows you won’t talk to Kyle or me.”
    Jason took a step back, annoyed and out of reach. “I don’t get