People had started buzzing, giggling nervously, shifting. Now the stillness was replaced with an electric energy. And as Nat took one halting step toward the gate, and then another, the tigers, too, stood up—twisting onto their feet, stretching, yawning their enormous jaws so their teeth glistened in the floodlight—as though they had decided to perform.

Nat paused with a hand on the gate. Then her other hand. Then both hands. Her mouth was moving, and Heather wondered if she was counting or praying, whether for Nat they were the same thing. Dwarfed by the gate, silhouetted against the sharp, unnatural light, she looked unreal, one-dimensional, like a cardboard cutout.

“You don’t have to do it.” Dodge’s voice was loud, and so unexpected that everyone turned to stare. Nat turned too, and Heather saw her frown.

Then she pulled open the gate and stepped inside.

“Start the timer,” Heather cried out. She saw Diggin fumbling for his phone. “Now.”

“Okay, okay,” Diggin said. “Time!”

It was too late. The tigers had started to move. Slowly, their massive heads swinging between their shoulder blades like some awful clock pendulum . . . tick, tick, tick. But still they were too close, already too close; three strides and they covered five yards, mouths open, grinning.

“Three seconds!” Diggin announced.

Impossible. Surely Nat had been in the pen for ten minutes, for half an hour, forever. Heather’s heart was bursting out of her throat. No one spoke. No one moved. Everything was a black sea, dim and featureless: everything but the bright circle of white light, and the cardboard-cutout Nat, and the long shadow of the tigers. Nat was shaking now, and whimpering, too. Heather feared for a second that she would collapse.

Then what? Would the tigers pounce? Would she, Heather, be brave enough to try to stop them?

She knew she wouldn’t. Her legs were water, and she could hardly breathe.

“Seven seconds!” Diggin’s voice was shrill, like an alarm.

The tigers were less than eight feet from Nat. They would be on top of her in two more paces. Heather could hear them breathing, see their whiskers twitching, tasting the air. Nat had started to cry. But she still held herself there, rigid. Maybe she was too scared to move. Maybe their eyes, like deep black pools, had transfixed her.

“Eight seconds!”

Then one of the tigers twitched; a muscle flexed, and Heather knew it was getting ready to pounce, felt it, knew it would jump on Natalie and tear her apart and they would all stand, watching, helpless. And just as she was trying to scream Run but couldn’t, because her throat was too thick with terror, Nat did run. Maybe someone else screamed it. There was noise suddenly—people shouting—and Nat was out of the gate and slamming it shut, leaning back, crying.

Just as the tiger, the one Heather had been sure was moving to spring, lay down again.

“Nine seconds,” Diggin said above the sudden roar of sound. Heather registered a small burst of triumph—Nat was out of the game—and then a stronger pull of shame. She pushed over to Nat and drew her into a hug.

“You were amazing,” she said into the top of Nat’s hair.

“I didn’t make it,” Nat said. Her voice was muffled and her face sticky against Heather’s chest.

“You were still amazing,” Heather said.

Nat was the only one who wasn’t celebrating. She returned almost immediately to the house. But everyone else seemed to forget about the threat of cops, forget about what had happened at the Graybill house and about the body of Little Kelly, found charred and blackened in the basement—for a short while, it felt almost as it had at the beginning of the summer, when the players had first made the jump.

It took more than an hour for Heather to get everyone out, into their cars and off the property, and the whole time the dogs were going crazy and the tigers were still again, as though deliberately making a point. By the time the yard was almost empty of cars, exhaustion numbed Heather’s fingers and toes. But it was over, thank God. It was all over, and Anne would never have to know.

There were only three players left. And Heather was one of them.

“Heather,” Bishop tried again when almost everyone had gone. “We need to talk.”

“Not tonight, Bishop.”

There were a few people lingering, leaning up against their cars, hands down each other’s pants, probably. Strange how just a few months ago she had been one of them, hanging out at parties with Matt, her capital B Boyfriend, flaunting it however she could. Wearing his sweatshirts, his baseball hats, like a badge of something—that she was lovable, that she was fine and normal and just like everybody else. Already the old Heather seemed like someone she barely knew.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Bishop said, deliberately moving in front of her as she stooped to collect a cigarette pack, half trampled into the grass.

She straightened up. His hair was poking out from every side of his hat, like something alive trying to get out. She resisted the urge to reach up and try and wrestle it into shape. The worst was that when she looked at him now, she still saw their kiss: the heat that had roared through her and the softness of his lips and the brief electric moment when his tongue had found hers.

“I’m not avoiding you,” she said, looking away so she wouldn’t have to remember. “I’m just tired.”

“When, then?” He looked lost. “It’s important, okay? I need you. I need you to listen.”

She was tempted to ask him why Vivian couldn’t listen, but she didn’t. He looked awful, and miserable, and she loved him even if he didn’t love her. The thought that he was upset, in pain, was a worse feeling than her own pain.

“Tomorrow,” she said. Impulsively, she reached out and squeezed his hand. He looked startled, and she dropped it quickly, as though it might burn her. “I promise, tomorrow.”

MONDAY, AUGUST 15

heather

IN THE MORNING, HEATHER WAS WOKEN UP BY SHOUTING. Lily was calling her name, pounding up the stairs; then the door flew open, so hard it struck the wall.

Lily said, “The tigers are gone.” She was breathing hard, her face red and damp with sweat. She smelled a little like manure—she must have been out feeding the animals.

“What?” Instantly Heather was awake and sitting up.

“The gate is open and they’re gone,” Lily said.

“Impossible.” Heather was already pulling on clothes, shoving her legs into shorts, wrestling on a T-shirt. She didn’t even bother with a bra. “Impossible,” she repeated, but even as she said it, a dull thud of terror began, bringing back images from last night, disjointed memories—hugging Nat, latching the gates.… Had she replaced the padlock? She couldn’t remember. Mindy Kramer had been talking to her about her job at Anne’s, and then she’d had to yell at Zev Keller for trying to get into the pigpen.

She must have replaced the padlock. Maybe the tigers weren’t really missing. Maybe they were just hiding out in the trees somewhere, where Lily hadn’t spotted them.

Downstairs, Heather saw that it was already eleven a.m., that she’d overslept, that Anne would be home soon. Lily followed her outside. It was another day of thick heat, but this time the sky was overcast, and there was moisture shimmering in the air like a curtain. It would rain.

She was halfway across the yard when she saw it: the padlock, coiled in the grass like a metal snake, exactly where she had placed it last night when she unlocked the gate for Natalie.

And the gate, now swinging open.

The terror turned to stone and dropped straight through her stomach. There was no need to search the whole enclosure. They were gone. She could feel it. Why hadn’t the dogs barked? But maybe they had and she hadn’t heard. Or maybe they’d been frightened, bewitched like the crowd last night.

Heather closed her eyes. For a second she thought she might faint. The tigers were gone, it was her fault, and now Anne would despise her and throw her out. She’d have every right to.

She opened her eyes, fueled by a wild panic: she had to find them, now, quickly, before Anne came home.

“Stay here,” she told Lily, but she didn’t have the strength to argue when Lily followed her back into the house. She hardly knew what she was doing. She found a bucket under the sink, dumped out a bunch of shriveled sponges and cleaning supplies, and filled it with some half-thawed steaks. Then she was out of the house again and plunging into the woods. Maybe they hadn’t gone far, and she could lure them back.

“Where are we going?” Lily asked.

“Shhh,” Heather said sharply. She felt the bite of tears in her eyes. How could she be such an idiot, such an absolute moron? The bucket was heavy and she had to pull it with both hands, scanning from left to right, looking for a flash of color, those luminous black eyes. Come on, come on, come on.

Behind Heather, there was a rustling in the undergrowth, a shift in the air—a presence, animal, watchful. All of a sudden it struck Heather that what she was doing was idiotic: charging off into the woods with Lily, searching for the tigers like they were lost kittens, hoping to lure them home. If she did find the tigers, they’d probably tear her head off for a snack. A hard zip of fear went up her spine. She was overconscious of every rustle, every snapping twig, the diamond patterns of light and shadow that could easily conceal a pair of eyes, a swath of tawny fur.

“Take my hand, Lily,” she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Let’s go back inside.”

“What about the tigers?” Lily asked. She thought it was some kind of adventure, obviously.

“We’ll have to call Anne,” Heather said, and instantly knew it was true. She still had the unmistakable sense of something Other watching her, watching them. “She’ll know what to do.”

A raccoon poked its head suddenly from between the fat leaves of a spirea bush, and Heather felt a flood of relief that nearly made her pee. She abandoned the bucket in the woods. It was too heavy, and she wanted to move quickly.

As they were emerging from the woods just next to the outdoor shower, Heather could hear tires spitting on the driveway and thought that Anne must be home. She didn’t know whether to feel grateful or afraid. She was both.

But then she saw the rusted hood of Bishop’s Le Sabre and remembered she’d promised him they could talk today.

“Bishop!” Lily was running to him before he had even fully extricated himself from the car. “The tigers are gone! The tigers are gone!”

“What?” He looked even worse than he had the night before, as though he hadn’t slept at all. He turned to Heather. “Is it true?”

“It’s true,” she said. “I forgot to padlock the gates.” All of a sudden the truth hit her like a hard punch to the stomach, and she was crying. She’d get kicked out of Anne’s house; they’d have to move back to Fresh Pines or go on the run. And Anne would be devastated. Anne, who was practically the only person who gave a shit about Heather.

“Hey, hey.” Bishop was next to her. She didn’t resist when he hugged her. “It’s not your fault. It’s gonna be okay.”