Seizure(115)

“No, I mean the deal your father struck to keep LIRI running.”

“First, Kit created a nonprofit trust and donated the manuscript,” I explained. “The cotrustees are the new Loggerhead Island Foundation, of which Kit is the director, and Trinity College in Dublin, keeper of the Book of Kells. Then the newly created trust secured a loan from the Bank of Ireland. Very nice terms.”

All three boys opened their mouths.

“Don’t ask,” I said. “But the answer is, a lot. A whole lot.”

“So the trust bought Loggerhead Island?” Ben asked.

“Correct. And not just the real estate. The trust now owns LIRI and all of Morris Island as well. The institute is no longer subject to CU’s fickle budget.”

Kit had insisted on the purchase of both islands. The State of South Carolina had agreed, with one stipulation. Loggerhead and Morris would forever remain nature preserves. Neither could be commercially developed. Kit had been happy to agree.

Everyone viewed the deal as a win-win.

“With the Kells folio as collateral,” I said, “LIRI will never have funding issues again. In fact, Kit says they may expand. LIRI is poised to become the premier veterinary research facility in the world.”

“No wonder they appointed your dad director,” Hi said. “He saved Christmas.”

“He’s perfectly qualified. The position’s been vacant since Karsten, and Kit is a member of the senior staff. He’s a logical choice.”


“Easy there, Lady Defensive.” Hi twirled his earring. “Just yanking your crank. I couldn’t be happier that Kit is director. He raised everyone’s salaries. My father may hang a picture of him in our living room.”

“Did you read today’s paper?” Shelton asked. “Sounds like the Bates brothers rolled on Short. They copped to the Fletcher murders.”

“You still believe Short knew what the treasure was?” Ben asked. “Pages from the Book of Kells?”

I nodded. “He’s a rare-document expert. My guess is that Short saw a copy of the same report Jonathan Brincefield did. I think he was willing to kill because he knew the stakes.”

Marlo, Duncan, and Short had each been charged with two counts of murder and four counts of attempted murder. My view? Lock the slimeballs up and toss the key.

Kit’s generosity had benefited the Virals as well. Though a shockingly long list of museums, landmarks, and wildlife organizations had banned us for life, we’d avoided criminal charges.

Because we were minors, the police had kept our names from the media. Very few knew what had actually occurred, or how and where the folio had been discovered. That was fine with us. Kit could have the celebrity.

The man who gave away a fortune had tongues wagging all across the Lowcountry. Kit had become a local media darling. Whitney was in heaven.

“How’s the auction going?” Shelton asked.

“The last doubloons sold this morning,” Hi said. “Great price. I shut down the eBay account and moved the money from PayPal. I think we’re good.”

An AV geek tweaked a microphone. A loud tap tap carried over the afternoon air. Kit thumbed a stack of note cards. Nervous.

I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Streaks of silver outside the perimeter fence. I stayed alert, knowing the sighting was not accidental.

Coop appeared, Whisper at his side. Buster and Polo crowded behind, completing the family portrait.

They shouldn’t be here. Too risky.

Maybe it was the good vibes, or my giddiness at how things turned out.

It could’ve been my happiness at seeing Kit receive the recognition he deserved.

Or perhaps it was being with my best friends. My pack.

Whatever the reason, I decided to have some fun.

I slipped on my shades.

Reached deep.

SNAP.

The flare pulsed through me. The transitions were getting smoother, the change less physically jarring.

But the powers remained volatile. A mystery. And the virus still plagued our nightmares.

Worries for another day. Focus.

I closed my eyes, plumbed my subconscious. Images sprang forth. Me. Ben. Hi. Shelton. Coop, watching through the fence.

I’d tried to explain, but the others didn’t fully understand. They got the main point—our mental linkage was possible only when the pack was together. We didn’t know what that meant, but took comfort in the bond.

In my mind, I saw the fiery ropes. The flames were even brighter with Coop near. The wolfdog was the final link.

Opening my eyes, I sent the briefest of messages.

SCRAM!

Coop yapped, circled, then disappeared into the forest.

Beside me, the other Virals flinched.

Three voices hissed in unison.

“Get out of my head!”

Smiling, I complied as Kit rose and walked to the podium.

No way I’d ruin my father’s big day.





Acknowledgments

The Virals series would not be possible without the tireless effort and creativity of my son, Brendan Reichs. Thank you for making Tory Brennan’s world come alive.

I am eternally grateful to Don Weisberg at Penguin and to Susan Sandon at Random House UK for believing in the series from the start. Huge thanks to Ben Schrank, Jessica Rothenberg, and Anne Heltzel at Razorbill for their brilliant editing and for mentoring me through the unknown territory of young adult fiction.