by Eden Beck
“Come down to the river with us this weekend,” Kaleb blurts, shaking his brother’s grip from his shoulder as Marlowe tries to pull him back outside. “Don’t answer now. Not if you’re going to say no.”
I take in a breath, but I’m not sure what to say.
Marlowe grabs ahold of Kaleb, and this time he won’t be shaken free. “Come on. We need to leave now or Rory’s going to kill us.”
Kaleb grins despite his brother’s angry tug. “Saturday morning. The river. We’ll be waiting for you.”
“Now, Kaleb.”
Kaleb gives me one last look. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Marlowe says through the screen door once he’s finally wrestled his brother back out onto the front porch. “He’s an idiot. But you’ve got to come back to school. Rory’s lost on that project without you.”
I narrow his eyes at him. “Oh, so is this what this little visit is really about?”
Marlowe cracks a smile. “Just promise me you’ll come back. Whatever you’re hiding from up here,” he says, nodding up at the wood-lined walls, “holing up inside isn’t going to help.”
I know he has a point, and he knows I see it.
His face brightens a bit. “Promise?”
I have no choice but to agree, or else I think Kaleb is going to break free from his grasp and make himself a permanent fixture inside the cabin.
“Fine,” I say. “I promise.”
The words make both the brothers smile, really smile, and I feel my heartbeat skip a beat.
Just as quickly as they came, they’re gone. Lost to the forest.
Almost as lost as I am.
15
Rory
“What were you thinking, inviting her down to the river like that?”
I’m fully aware of the fact that it’s not easy to distinguish my voice from an angry growl.
Marlowe stands at the base of my bed, while Kaleb grins stupidly up at me from where he’s perched on top of it.
“Oh, come on Rory,” Kaleb says, his mood showing no sign of dampening despite my apparent best efforts. “You really can’t just keep going on pretending like this isn’t happening.”
“Like what isn’t happening?”
Marlowe steps away from the bed and folds his arms across his chest. His face grows serious for a moment.
“Kaleb’s right, Rory. You know I’m not one to pick sides …”
“Sure, whatever you say,” I grumble.
He continues on, ignoring me.
“… But Sabrina isn’t going anywhere. And you’re a fool if you keep pretending this thing, this feeling, is going anywhere either.”
I stiffen a little, which is apparently just the reaction they’re looking for.
Kaleb points an accusatorial finger at me, but that stupid grin still refuses to budge from his face.
“Ha, see? I knew it. You said you were going to check with Lydia, but you’ve been avoiding it for weeks now.”
“I’m not avoiding anything,” I say, knowing full well none of us—not even myself—is fooled.
Of course I’m avoiding it.
If what I’m thinking is right … then we’re screwed.
No, more than that. We’re royally and utterly fucked.
How is it that I’m the only one of us that seems to realize that?
Marlowe’s voice is quiet, careful. Whereas Kaleb is practically bouncing on the edge of the bed, his energy still unchecked and wild thanks to the mess of a pack we adopted him from, Marlowe at least seems to have some grasp of the situation.
“You can’t keep it a secret from Lydia forever, you know,” he says. “For all we know, she’s sensed it already.”
That low growl issues again at the back of my throat.
“Stupid gift,” I mutter again.
As if just thinking of Lydia’s uncanny ability to sense our thoughts has summoned her, our mother appears suddenly at the doorway into the hall. She cuts a willowy figure in the white, flowing clothes that contrast against her dark hair. Sometimes I think the hair is the only thing I inherited from her.
If it weren’t for my striking resemblance to my father, I’d think I was adopted like these other two mongrels.
“Why is it that every time I see the three of you together these days, I get the impression you’re scheming about something?” Lydia says, her turn to cross her arms across her torso as she levels a glare at each one of us in turn.
“And why is it that you always seem to be listening at doors?” is my counter.
To that, she grins.
“That’s my job,” she says. “Or have you forgotten?”
Normally, Marlowe and Kaleb would be rolling their eyes, but now they just look at me. Waiting.
For once, they want to get caught.
I’m the only one holding back. The only one who doesn’t seem ready to face the truth.
But that’s because I think I’m the only one who really knows what this could mean for us.
That girl … Sabrina.
As if reading my thoughts already, Lydia’s gaze comes to rest, finally, on me.
“You know you have a terrible poker face, Rory?”
I keep my face steady, even as she stares me down.
“No one else seems to think so.”
She eyes me for a minute, her own face inscrutable. Behind me, I can hear Kaleb’s breathing pick up, sense his restless energy on the bed. Even Marlowe shifts uncomfortably on his feet. I know they’re dying to ask about this new sensation, about this new girl. It’s to their credit, as much as I’d hate to admit it, that they’ve kept it a secret this long already.
Finally, after the moment drags on just a little too long, Lydia’s eyes slide from me to the door leading out onto the porch outside.
“Why don’t we go out into the garden, you and I, Rory? There’s something out there I’ve been meaning to show you.”
I couldn’t turn her down even if I wanted to.
Marlowe and Kaleb exchange a glance as we leave. I know what they’re thinking, and I have a feeling Lydia does too.
Lydia’s garden is still blooming well out of season. The plants here grow surprisingly hardy. I’ve seen bluebells poke up out of a surprise snowstorm below, their tiny leaves and bell-shaped flowers seemingly impervious to frost.
Call it another one of Lydia’s talents. She’s always seemed able to make life appear where it seemed impossible. It’s how she ended up with Romulus rather than torn apart by another pack.
We take a few steps before she bends down to examine a tiny yellow flower. Like the rest of the garden, it has a wild, stubborn quality to it.
She doesn’t pick it, just brings her nose close enough to the earth to take a deep lungful.
“It’s funny, isn’t it,” she starts, and I already know exactly what direction she’s heading, “how certain scents stick with you long after they’re gone?”
I hum in agreement, and she straightens up.
She keeps her eyes trained on the tiny yellow bud, but she’s still talking to me.
“I’m not going to launch into some long analogy here, Rory, because I’m afraid you’d miss the point if I did.”
She finally fixes me with a stare that shuts me up before I can protest—which is exactly what I was going to do.
“I’ve been feeling you boys withdraw from me, from Romulus, for a while now,” she says, “so are you going to tell me why, or are you going to make me guess?”
I consider for a moment, before I let out a short sigh and glance away from her, up into the mountains.
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Romulus.” I finally look over to her, fixing her with the same serious look she gave me earlier. “At least until it’s the right time.”
There’s really no point in holding back anymore. Like she said … either I’m going to be the one to tell her, or it’s going to come out another way. This sort of thing, as much as I’d like to, simply can’t
be avoided any longer.
Telling her leaves me feeling lighter.
And even though it doesn’t change anything … somehow, it changes everything.
16
Sabrina
Whatever the real reason for Marlowe and Kaleb’s visit yesterday, they made a good point about hiding up in the cabin. Holing up here isn’t going to do me any favors.
If my father is going to come find us, then he’s going to come find us.
It could be today. It could be tomorrow.
It could be a year from now.
All I know is even if we wanted to run, I don’t think we could. There’s a feeling I get about a place when it’s time to go, time to flee, and I haven’t felt it yet. Not quite yet, anyway.
True to my promise to Marlowe, I return to school in the morning ready to face Rory.
There’s no dramatic confrontation in the hallways this time, not even much of an acknowledgement that I was gone at all. He’s so quiet in our Civilizations class that I’m genuinely surprised when he asks me to meet up after school to finally work on the project.
“Wow, I’d started to think you were just going to pretend I didn’t exist from here on out,” I say, following him out into the hallway.
He doesn’t look at me. “As much as that would simplify things, no. I’m not very good at pretending.”
I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to say to that, if anything, so thankfully he saves me from having to answer.
“Just meet me outside after school,” he says, heading off down the hall without sending me so much as a glance.
It’s no wonder I’m left pacing in the parking lot at the end of the day.
Tom offers to wait with me when Jess and Aimee finally have to head out, but I ensure him I’m going to be fine on my own. Even still, he lingers around in his truck until he realizes I’ve caught him staring and has to reluctantly drive off.
Thank god. The only thing worse than having to face Rory is having to face him with Tom here like some sort of backup. That is, if Rory ever shows.
I’ve just begun to lose hope when he finally appears, books in tow, and heads straight for me. He’s got a determined look on his face that would be sexy if I wasn’t already so damn frustrated with him for … well … everything.
“Come on,” he says, glancing once at me and then nodding towards his Jeep parked at the back of the lot. “We should get going if we’re going to get anything done while it’s still light out.”
I make no move to leave. If anything, I plant my feet more firmly on the ground and square my shoulders to face him.
“So, you’re just not going to acknowledge the fact that you left me waiting out here for almost an hour?”
He shoots me an odd look. “An hour? And you’re still here?”
I open my mouth to reply, but I can’t think of anything good to say. Before I can turn on my heel and storm off, which so far seems like the most appropriate response, Rory hoists the stack of books up to eye level and holds them out for me to see.
“I pulled a bunch of books from the library. Took a little longer than I thought because the librarian said some of these are reference books that can’t be checked out.”
“So, you just … stole them?”
“Took a little distracting. Marlowe and Kaleb helped with that.”
I glance over his shoulder, but see no sign of the other two. “How come we don’t just go back inside and use the library?”
“I think better in the fresh air,” he answers. “And I don’t know about you, but this place is a joke. It’s hard to concentrate under the weight of such overwhelming underachievement.”
I snort out an unexpected laugh. I can’t help it.
Rory leads the way towards the Jeep. The hard top has been left at home today and he’s put down the second row of seats, leaving a blanket-and-pillow-heaped space in the back open to the sky.
“We’re working on the project in the back of your car?” I ask.
“I got pillows and stuff. That okay with you?”
It does look better than sitting cramped in a corner of the tiny dark library, trying our best to ignore the sounds of a third grade reading circle one aisle over.
“Uh, sure.”
Rory gives me a hand to help me step up over the back door, then hops up to help rearrange the blankets. I’m pleasantly surprised by how comfortable it is.
I’d be a fool to ignore the fact that this had to take some planning in advance. I wonder who I have to thank—Marlowe or Kaleb. Whoever it was, this certainly wasn’t Rory’s idea.
“So, what are all the books on?” I ask as I settle down into the back of the Jeep. The air is surprisingly warm today. I have to fight the compulsion to close my eyes and tilt my head back in the sunshine. I need to keep my eye on this one.
“Well, I wasn’t sure what idea you ended up settling on, so I got a little of everything.” He glances down at the stack again. “Actually, I might have actually taken everything. The library here isn’t very big.”
I remember that I haven’t spoken to him about the project since having decided on the topic.
“Oh, actually,” I say, suddenly feeling a bit unsure. “I kind of narrowed down the scope of the project already. I know lycanthropes are a little overdone, but everything else was either boring or already taken.”
Rory stares at me without blinking for an unnaturally long period of time. How’s he even doing that? His black eyes start to glass over and look like a mirrored reflection that I can see myself in. Finally, the pause extends too long and I am too uncomfortable to not say anything.
“Is that not okay with you? I mean, I had to pick something when you disappeared on me last week.”
“No,” he says as he returns to blinking. “It’s fine.”
He shifts the piles of books around and pulls one up to set in front of me.
“This one has some lore about the lycanthrope in it I think.”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “And you already know that how?”
For what might be the first time, I swear I see Rory blush.
“I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to were wolves.”
Turns out, Rory wasn’t exaggerating. Calling himself “a bit of a nerd” is an understatement. From the way he talks about it, he’s practically obsessed.
There are a couple times he almost catches me smiling at something he’s just said, but I try to keep my thoughts to myself. I like this version of Rory. The last thing I want to do is bring out his cold side.
We stay out long enough that the afternoon heat starts to vanish, replaced instead by a steady cool breeze coming down from the mountains.
Soon, it gets so cold that my shivering starts making it hard to write in my notebook. Rory notices and takes some of the blankets from underneath him to throw over my legs and wrap around my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I say.
“No problem. We can stop for today if you’re getting too cold.”
I shake my head. Even though I’m definitely starting to get chilled, I’m enjoying working on the project together. Rory isn’t acting at all like he had been before. He’s acting surprisingly kind and friendly. Of course I wonder what changed, but I’m glad for it regardless.
“Here, look at this,” he says as he leans closer to show me an illustration on one of the pages. I feel his shoulder press up against mine as he leans into me. There’s a hint of incredulity in his voice as he shows me an illustration of a werewolf.
It’s standing on two legs like a man, but its back is all deformed and hunched over. It has a giant hairy face and an oversized mouth with several rows of teeth. It looks both nightmarish and ridiculous at the same time.
“It’s insulting really,” he says under his breath.
“What is?” I ask.
“They get to decide what werewolves would look like,” he shakes his head again, “and that’s what they come up with?”
“I’m guessing you have a di
fferent theory?”
Rory raises an eyebrow at the picture. “Well, not like that, that’s for sure. Look, he’s completely naked and he doesn’t even have anything between his legs.”
I laugh. “Seriously that’s the thing that bothers you the most about the picture?”
“Well, why wouldn’t it?” he says with a chuckle. “I mean, if I was a werewolf, I certainly wouldn’t want a naked picture of myself to show that I had no cock and balls.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Good thing you aren’t a werewolf then.”
When he doesn’t laugh, I look up from the page and turn my head toward him. I guess I didn’t realize how close his face has gotten to mine, because I find myself about an inch away from his mouth. Something in his stare makes me freeze in place.
“Sabrina,” Rory says. I can feel his breath against my lips. “You shouldn’t be this close to me.”
I try to snap out of it and back up, but I feel like a transfixed animal that’s trying not to make any fast movements in fear of attracting a predator.
“You’re the one who leaned into me,” I remind him.
He looks like he’s wrestling with something, but he eventually leans slowly away from me without arguing.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I reply quickly. I feel shaken, partly because of what he said, but mostly because of what just happened. Or didn’t happen. Or might have happened.
This time, I don’t just let it go.
“Why did you say that?” I ask. “The part about how I shouldn’t be that close to you. What d’you mean?”
I expect him to tell me to forget it, or pretend that he didn’t say it at all since that seems to be his usual game. But instead he answers me.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not good for you,” he says. His words are soft and humble as he looks down at his lap and pretends to be reading again.
“I’m pretty sure I can make up my own mind about what’s good for me and what’s not,” I say.
He looks up at me and moves the book from his lap and onto the turned-over seat. The way he’s looking at me, with a hunger and anticipation, it makes my head swim. I think for a second that he’s leaning in again, deliberately this time, but before anything can happen the clouds overhead open up. Fat raindrops begin to fall on us and the blankets and the books, threatening to ruin more than an afternoon of notes.
