Alien in the House by Gini Koch

godfathers who were going to protect me by killing people. I’d have questioned how my life had gotten this bizarre, but I already knew—I was just lucky this way.

CHAPTER 8
    D ECIDED CLARENCE WAS probably long gone and I’d better do what my new BFFs, the Assassination Squad, said. And, as Christopher always shared with me these days, any chance to practice was time well spent. He usually snarled that at me, but it was still probably sound advice. And I was sure Peter the Dingo Dog and Surly Vic would agree with the sentiment.
    My phone was still massaging half of my butt with its nonstop buzzing that traded off with nonstop ringing. Pulled it out to see a lot of texts and missed calls from Buchanan. Decided not to read them because I could guess what they were saying and figured I could talk faster in person.
    Took one more look around, saw nothing and no one, and took off for home.
    Went back to Sheridan Circle, to find Buchanan there, trotting around the park, looking completely freaked out.
    â€œMalcolm, what’s up?”
    His expression went to relief. “Where the hell did you go? You’ve been gone for well over fifteen minutes. And you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts.”
    We were about seven minutes from the cemetery by car, less if you hit lights and traffic right, so that meant the Dingo had been tracking me before he’d ever called my phone. Not a surprise, really. That Buchanan hadn’t spotted the Dingo and Surly Vic was more surprising. Wondered if he was feeling alright.
    â€œDid you alert the Embassy?”
    â€œNo, I was too busy trying to find you. But if you’d been gone another minute, I would have. And then I’d have had your mother start GPS tracking you via your phone.”
    Was glad the Dingo had sent me home. “I wasn’t paying attention to my phone, I’m sorry. I ran after Clarence.” Wasn’t sure if I should mention my visit with my “uncle.” Buchanan reported to my mother, and Mom would
not
enjoy discovering I’d let the Dingo get away. Again. No wonder the Dingo Dog and Surly Vic were fond of me.
    â€œClarence Valentino? He’s dead.”
    â€œHe’s not. We never found his body, remember?” We hadn’t found Ronaldo al Dejahl’s body, either. However, they weren’t the only bodies that had been missing at the end of Operation Destruction—the supersoldiers and superbeings had done a lot of damage, some of which had ensured that there were a lot of folks listed as missing who were, sadly, probably dead.
    â€œThere were a lot of . . . partial bodies, if you recall.”
    â€œI’d rather not think about it.” This was quite true. Thinking about the aftermath of Operation Destruction always made me want to cry and hurt evil people who were already dead. Then again, I was now pretty sure that one of those people wasn’t actually dead. “But I saw him. Clarence was here, in the Circle, and then he ran off. I followed him, but lost him in the cemetery.”
    Buchanan shook his head. “I didn’t see him, or anyone who looked like him.”
    â€œHe helped get the package with the bomb delivered.”
    Buchanan went into Alert Mode. “What package?”
    â€œUm . . .” The package I no longer had, and which, point in fact, I’d given to the assassins I didn’t want to mention to Buchanan. “I got rid of it.”
    Buchanan went from Alert Mode into Skeptical Mode in the blink of an eye. “Where?”
    â€œThe river?”
    â€œReally. Who was the package from?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWhat was in it?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œSo, you got a mysterious package and decided, what, to throw it in the river? Was this before, after, or during the time you were chasing a dead man through the streets of D.C.?”
    â€œAfter. I think.” Was about to ask if Buchanan