Captivate

by Carrie Jones

  “I’ll be fine.” I am lying liar head. That’s what Issie would say. I make eye contact with her across the room. She’s in the kitchen putting water into a teakettle. Her face is red and puffy from crying. Devyn’s got pokers and iron swords strewn across the kitchen table. He looks like he’s in shock, moving on automatic. Those weapons won’t help him fight when he’s in eagle form, but they could help Issie and me. Although, honestly? I wasn’t all that hot with the fighting a little while ago, was I? Devyn lifts up a sword, weighs it in his hand. His eyes are so different from the Devyn I know. His eyes are piercing and angry and hollow all at once.

  He turns to Issie. “We’re going to make them pay.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “I’m going to make them pay, Issie, for what you saw . . . for Nick.”

  She responds with a quote, “ ‘People sleep peacefully in their bed at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.’ That guy who wrote Animal Farm said that, I think. The Orwell guy.”

  “Zara?” My mom’s voice refocuses my attention to the phone.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Got distracted,” I say. “We need to think of a way to keep you safe, Mom. Okay?”

  Her voice comes back all fake strong. “You take care of yourself. I’ll handle me. How’s Nick?”

  “Nick is good.” I choke the lie out as Issie puts the kettle on the burner. She makes a sobbing noise. I walk out of the room and back into the living room so my mom won’t hear. I think about Astley and how I have to trust him. “Do you think all pixies are bad?”

  “Yes, Zara,” my mom says. “Yes, I do. I don’t just think it. I know it.”

  “And you’d never trust one?”

  “Honey, no—never. I trusted your father and look what he did. He came after me the moment your stepfather died and he didn’t just do it in a nice way. He kidnapped you.” Her voice becomes strong now. It’s not fake at all. It’s real. “You can never trust a pixie.”

  But I have to trust one. I have no choice. If I don’t it means I’ve given up on Nick, and I can’t do that—not ever.

  After I’ve hung up, we call Mrs. Nix and tell her what’s happened. She chitters and worries and exclaims, “We have to close ranks!” Her voice turns into her bearlike growl. “I’ll be right there.”

  I click the phone off and announce, “Mrs. Nix is coming.”

  “Good!” Issie almost sounds perky but can’t quite make it. She puts tea bags into cups. “That’s good.”

  “And Betty called and she should be clear of the hospital soon and then she’s on her way home. And my mom is staying hidden.”

  Devyn leans against the counter. His face seems a lot more pale than normal. It must be hard for him to move around without his canes. He’s got Gram’s laptop behind him and he’s been researching. “Did you tell them about Nick? Or what you’re going to do?”

  “No.” My voice breaks. “I can’t tell them about it because then—”

  He stares at me with his eagle-eye look. I stare back and try to gather up my strength. I don’t know where it went for a second. I press my lips together, try to push my shoulders back.

  His voice goes all teacher/uptight father. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, Zara.” Issie stops dunking the tea bag in hot water and comes over to grab my hands. “You don’t have to go pixie. There could be another way.”

  “I could go,” Devyn says.

  “No,” I insist. “They might keep you.”

  “Why would they keep me and not you?”

  “Because you’re a warrior.”

  “Wounded warrior,” he scoffs.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Issie abandons me for him. “Of course they’d want to keep you.” The horror of the realization pales her face. “You are not going!”

  “I am the one going,” I say as calmly as I can. “I am the worst fighter. I can’t help much here.”

  “Actually, I think I’m the worst fighter,” Issie says.

  I don’t tell her that I’ve just killed. Instead I lie and say, “Okay. We are tied for worst fighter, but I have pixie in me. I can survive the change better and he’s—he’s my boyfriend.”

  Devyn nods as though he is starting to come around to my plan.

  I grab a mug that has a picture of a horse on the side. I pull the tea bag out and set it on a paper towel. A brown liquid stain spreads and spreads across the white absorbent paper like some kind of plague.

  “But, okay . . . Let’s just say he really is there. What if he likes it better there?” I ask. “What if he’s mad at me for bringing him back?”

  “Oh . . . like in Buffy? When Willow brought her back from the other dimension when she died and then Buffy was all sad and empty inside because she hadn’t been in a hell dimension at all, she’d been in heaven? Like that?” Is pauses for a second. “I felt really bad for Willow then . . . I mean like major bad. She was playing with the powers of the universe and everything, but to have ripped your best friend out of some nice happy heaven dimension especially after the giant snake thing comes out of your mouth. I’d do that for you guys. Totally. Don’t think that’s what I’m saying.”

  I poke at the paper towel. “Is, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s a TV show,” Devyn explains. “Cult classic. From the 1990s.”

  “Oh.”

  “But you get what I mean? Like you’re afraid you’ll take him from heaven?” Is asks.

  I wipe my hands on my pants. “Yeah.”

  Devyn’s eyes meet mine. “Zara, I’ve been researching, and everything that pixie”—he spits out the word like a curse—“told you seems to be true. If Valhalla exists it exists because Odin and Thor are collecting warriors for the fight of all fights. I can’t believe they’d just let Nick go. I’m not even sure you can find your way there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, the only information I can find says that Valkyries take warriors there.”

  “There’s got to be another way,” I say.

  “There always is.” Mrs. Nix appears in our kitchen. “I let myself in. Now why don’t you tell me why you even want to go to Valhalla?” She looks around the kitchen, mentally calculating the situation. “Where’s Nick?”

  Nobody says anything.

  Mrs. Nix pushes her glasses up her nose. She repeats her question, “Where’s Nick?”

  This time her voice gets a little bit more growly.

  “You know about Valhalla?” I hedge. “So it’s real? How come you’ve never told us about it before?”

  “I only know about it because my mother told me, and when she did . . .” She pauses. Her hands go into the air like she’s trying to grab the right words. “It was more like a fairy tale. I haven’t told you about it because there was no need, and you, Zara White, are trying to change the subject. Where is Nick?”

  Something outside screams. It’s shrill and loud. Issie jumps into Mrs. Nix’s arms. Devyn moves toward her protectively. I race to the window, pull back the curtain, and peer out into our front yard.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Nix asks. Her voice fills with alarm.

  “Pixies,” I answer. “A lot of pixies. They must’ve just missed you.”

  They are twirling around in some sort of weird dance. Their feet twist over the snow in fancy, wild footfalls. Their arms reach up toward the sky. They are circling figures in the approaching dark, dancing around something.

  “What if they try to get inside?” Issie asks.

  I try to make out what’s going on. “The only one who can come in here is my father.”

  “And what if he does?” Devyn asks.

  I don’t hesitate. “Then I’ll kill him.” As I search for him in the dancing forms, I notice it. How did I not notice right away? I leap back from the window. “Give me a weapon.”

  “What?”

  “Give me a weapon,” I insist. My good hand is out. “A poker, I guess. No—
a sword.”

  Mrs. Nix slams the hilt into my hand. I rush toward the front door. “Stay here. Except Mrs. Nix. You might want to change.”

  “Uh-oh. She’s entered military commander mode. Zara? Why are you in military commander mode?” Issie’s wringing her hands but I don’t have time to talk anymore.

  Devyn goes to the window. “Holy—”

  “What is it?” Issie shrieks but I’m already at the door, throwing it open and charging outside.

  “It’s Betty,” Devyn answers. “They’ve ambushed her. She’s surrounded.”

  Definition

  Hero: you might want to be a hero if and when you and your friends are attacked by pixies. Remember, though, that heroes often die.

  The wind hits me first, bringing waves of snow that obscures my vision with pure white. It only lasts a second. The snow slaps my skin and melts. I blink the water away from my eyes and charge, just rush headfirst into the pixies. My sword guides the way.

  They howl. One turns, it’s a man. Betty takes the opportunity and strikes. She leaps on his back. He staggers forward just one step, trying to stay balanced. Her tiger teeth sink into his neck. Even with all the shrieking I can hear her fangs drop through flesh, hear flesh rip, hear bones break as she shakes the pixie’s body. He falls to the ground, limp, twitching in his Wal-Mart jeans.

  “Betty!” I scream a warning.

  Three more are closing in on her. She leaps from the dead pixie and growls. Her large paws leave the snow again as she turns, snapping. I can’t believe this is my grandmother. She doesn’t change often, but when she does it’s stunning.

  Something has smashed me from behind. I am falling. My trunk twists as I do. I pull my sword around and slash the air before I even see what’s got me. It’s pixie. It’s female.

  She smiles. Snow melts into her red hair, splatters over her cat pajamas and bathrobe. “Princess . . . we have you to thank.”

  I thrust out with my sword. She dodges it and one of her hands pins my neck. The other pins my arm. Damn, she’s strong.

  “How does it feel to be the one who is trapped?” she whispers. “How does it feel to be the one who is weak? The one who is about to die?”

  “I don’t know,” I grunt. Her hand on my neck is cutting off my air. The world spins. I choke out, “You tell me.”

  My feet kick out in this total ninja move Nick taught us. The force of it heaves my chest up and breaks her hold. It’s not much but it’s enough to allow me to roll out of the way.

  She falls sideways. Pixies shriek around us. Betty growls, low and menacing. The pixie lunges back toward me. My sword is slashing through the air before I think of it. The weight strains my shoulder. The blade hits. It goes through the cotton of her bathrobe. Her stomach bleeds out. It stains reddish blue. The color spreads onto the cats on her pjs. She just laughs. Blood spreads and spreads.

  Someone is screaming. Someone is lifting a sword through the air and slashing it down into a neck. That someone is me. I wrench it back out.

  I stand.

  A life flows away below me. My third. I have killed three times. I turn away, raise my sword, and keep screaming. Things move in slow motion. Everything but me.

  Devyn flies out of the house and swoops down, attacking a pixie man with wild blue hair and some nose bling. His talons zoom in for the eyes.

  My sword slashes through another pixie’s stomach. He’s bigger, built like a lumberjack. He staggers but doesn’t fall. His eyes go wilder, even more silver. He smiles and lunges for me again.

  I raise my sword but I don’t bring it down. Instead, a large bear crashes into him. Mrs. Nix. They fall to the snow, twisting. Mrs. Nix makes no noise. She grabs his head in her mouth.

  I turn away.

  There are so many. They swarm toward us. Betty is trying to fight four at once. Her long torso shakes with rage. She’s bleeding from her shoulder. I stomp my way toward her. I’m still wearing my slippers. My feet will regret that later. Right now, I feel nothing—just anger and this wild, wild need to protect and avenge.

  An arrow zips through the air and stabs into Betty’s side. She bucks from the impact and pain. A roar fills the air.

  “Zara . . . ,” one of them whispers behind me, from the woods. “Come to me . . .”

  I ignore it. It’s an old trick and I am so past it now. Another arrow flashes through the air. Devyn dives and grabs it in his beak. He drops it to the ground. I rush toward Betty. The pixies are closing in. I hack at the one closest to me and miss. He backs away. His long black leather jacket flaps in the wind.

  “Fashion faux pax right there, buddy,” I sneer. I lunge forward and yank the arrow out of Betty’s fur. She howls and turns on me. Our eyes meet. Fear stills my breath. I back away one step. Something hits the wrap around my wrist. Betty’s muscles tense and she leaps over my head. All I see is the white fur of her belly, giant claws, and she’s gone.

  Turning, I watch her land—claws out—on another pixie. Mrs. Nix has barreled back toward the house, swatting a path clear of pixies. She leaves them writhing and bleeding in her wake. Issie stands at the door holding a crossbow. She’s not saying anything, just squinting, focused. She pulls back an arrow. I don’t get a chance to see where it goes. A pixie on my right has yanked back my arm. Another one bites my wrist. Pain spirals through my arm. I drop my sword. I kick back and make contact. The hold doesn’t loosen.

  “Fall back!” Issie yells. “Fall back! There’s more! Get inside!”

  Mrs. Nix lumbers up the stairs of the porch. Devyn swoops down after the pixie attacking me. His talons rip into skin. The flapping of wings smash the air around us. The pixie loosens his grip to swat Devyn off. But the other one is still sucking on my wrist. I don’t have anything to hit her with. My knees. I pull one up and smash it into her chest. Nothing. I scream, still trying to reach my sword, which has sunk in the snow.

  “It’s got Zara!” Issie yells. “Damn you, evil pixie jerk!”

  Someone yells. I can’t tell if it’s me or Is. “Betty!”

  One of Issie’s arrows zings through the air but goes wide. I kick at the pixie. She doesn’t let go. Her fingers turn into claws. And she grabs for my waist, pushing me down. The pain is crazy. I’m trying to cause some serious pixie pain, but I’m failing big-time.

  “Zara!” It’s a male voice.

  Nick? No, not Nick. It’s a little lower. It’s a little more husky. Something wild and blue yanks the woman pixie off of me. It’s a man. A male pixie. He’s howling, ferocious. His forearm smashes the woman pixie in the face. Bones break. He smiles, satisfied, and turns for me. There is blood in his mouth. It stains his teeth. He lunges for me.

  “No!” I scream.

  He yanks me into him. I smash my arm against his chest. Pain shudders through me. I don’t care. I haul back again.

  “Zara, don’t.” His voice is deep and familiar. His eyes, his silver eyes, meet my own. “You were supposed to call.”

  I recognize him even without the glamour. “Astley?”

  “Hold on.” He’s insisting. I’m clutching at him as best I can, but my wrist wound is making it hard. He’s shoving me into his chest. Pain makes me whimper. Every part of my being feels painful, sharper, while the craziness all around me dulls into a haze. It’s just me and him.

  “Zara, hold on!” he orders.

  My face smushes into his chest. His chest is smaller than Nick’s. He doesn’t smell like Nick either. He is not Nick. He is Astley. My slippers aren’t touching the ground anymore. He’s taking me out of here, taking me somewhere safe? But just rescuing me is not good enough.

  I struggle against him, try to push away. “What about Issie and Gram? I have to help.”

  “They’re going inside. Look.” He angles his body so I can see down. “They’ll be okay.”

  Betty and Mrs. Nix can’t be seen. Only Devyn is circling around the pixies, back outside again.

  “He’s searching for me.”

  “He cannot see you. Glam
our. I couldn’t fly anywhere without it.” Astley smiles. “Do you want him to see you? I can make it so.”

  I think about it for a second and shake my head. “No. Then he’d come after us.”

  I imagine Devyn arguing with me, his eyes dark and condescending. His long fingers pointing and gesticulating. It would just slow the process down.

  Astley’s rib cage moves as he takes in a large breath and then he starts flying faster, rushing over treetops. I hide my face in his chest so I don’t have to deal with the cold. My toes ache with the chill. I must have lost my left slipper somewhere. My wrist still bleeds but the sharp stabbing pain has morphed into a dullish throb. When he tells me that he’s taking me to his hotel room, it does not make that throb any better.

  He tightens his arms around me. “Something in your pocket is buzzing.”

  “My cell phone. I don’t think I can get it now.”

  “Don’t try, I might drop you.”

  I sneak a peek down at the earth below us. We’re a good twenty feet above the tiny pointed spears of the treetops. “I don’t want to be dropped.”

  “I shall not let you fall, Zara. I promise.” His muscles shift. “Hold on. We’re landing.”

  “Can you do me a favor?” I ask. My phone starts buzzing again.

  “Saving you doesn’t count?”

  “Do not tease. We don’t know each other well enough for you to tease.”

  “I am the king. I should be allowed to tease.”

  “A king. Not the king. Right?”

  “Right.” He pauses. “Is not teasing you the favor?”

  “No. The favor is—can you not call me Princess?”

  “But you are.”

  I shudder. His arms tighten around me and I say, “I know, but—my father calls me that and you know I . . .”

  He finishes for me. “You do not wish for me to remind you of your father?”

  “Yeah.”

  He nods. “Good idea. Brace yourself, we are landing now. Hold on.”

  I do.

  Pixie Tip

  Pixies can out-nasty the nastiest, even on a good day.

  Astley leans forward to touch my face, maybe to apologize for the hideously bad landing, I’m not sure. I pull away a little bit. His hand falls. The motion is slow, as if we’re both accident survivors, badly dazed, looking to each other for comfort but afraid to move, afraid to even exist. For a minute we don’t say anything. Then my cell phone buzzes again. I can’t quite get it out of my pocket because my arm is so bloody. Astley reaches down and pulls it out for me.