There's a crackling sound. It reminds me of the library and Tree Woman. Crackle! Snap! Crackle! A shattering sound interrupts the moment, and then Officer Two's coming at us. His claws, swing at Owen and narrowly miss me.
A murderous look crosses Owen's face. "Come here."
Apparently, I don't respond quickly enough, because he reaches a hand behind the back of my neck, his fingers almost a caress. Before I realize what's going on, my cheek is jammed against Owen's rock hard torso and I get a strong whiff of soap and snow and boy.
"Hold your breath." His threatening tone propels me. I pull in a breath just before Owen expels one. His heart pounds hard against the spot where my ear rests on his chest.
All sound fades away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Leather Jackets and Stolen Kisses
After a moment, Owen releases me. I blink. Everything around us is encased in ice. I can’t even make out the shapes of the policemen in the other vehicles anymore.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. "You just killed them." I sputter the words. My legs shake beneath me. I'm not even sure they'll be able to hold me up for much longer. Tears make my throat thick, my vision blurry. "What about the people in the other cars? You killed them. They're people with lives and families an—and daughters." It makes me think of my own family. Am I ever going to see them again? Or will they just worry about me until they learn the truth?
Owen presses a strong hand to my back. "Only the non-humans. The good guys will be fine."
"Are you sure?" I'm sick, shaking. All those people.
"How I use my power depends on the intent. If I want the person knocked out, they're knocked out. If I want them dead..."
I swallow, trying to force away the terror his unfinished sentence drudges up.
"All except for him. He's almost impossible to kill."
"What about the tree cop...could we have saved—"
"The cop was never really a person, but a tree warrior, like the woman in the library. They can shift into...other things, people, when they need to. When they're commanded to."
I shudder. That sounds better, somehow, but still horrifying. "Are you a non-human, too?" Every part of me is shaking. "I know you're special. I just don't get it and I need to."
"I'm not fully human."
"How can someone not be entirely human?" I'm shaking so bad I'm surprised Owen isn't blurring before my eyes.
"It's a long story, but not for the side of the road when we're being followed." Owen reaches up and settles the jacket around my shoulders.
My heart gives a surprised thump. Cool it, Jem, he's just helping you. "Thanks." Warmth radiates through me, like the jacket's lined with an electric blanket.
"You're shaking so bad you'll slow us down even more. I figure I might as well let you wear it." He smirks at me as he turns toward the car. Scratch the doing something nice part. "Come on, Jemma." He offers me his arm and I take it. The ache in my ankle flares as I hobble to the car.
I tug Owen's jacket tighter around me. In the back of my mind, I think about what my parents always told me. Trust is earned. Hasn't he already earned it by now, though?
Besides, maybe he'll explain how someone can be not entirely human?
When we get back to the car, we're inside only a moment, when Owen tips my chin up. "Oh no, you got cut. He got you, good. Damn it. Did you get any other cuts?" His eyes seem serious, not mocking.
"One yesterday on the tree outside the coffee shop and a little one at the library from the tree woman." I hold up my hand.
Owen draws my hand toward him, his touch gentle. "Shit. You're bleeding."
"It's just a paper cut. What the tree cop did is worse." I point to my chin again. "None of them are deep though. I'm sure I can pick up some Band-Aids and I'll be good." I try and free my hand, but he's got it locked in some super-hero grip.
"He already cut you twice, and now a third time. That'll make the process go faster. By morning, you won't remember who you are or where you came from." He reaches up and brushes my bangs aside. Warmth spreads everywhere his fingers come in contact with my skin. "I'm so sorry, Jem. I should've realized you'd been poisoned."
"Poisoned?" I grip his arm. "Poison. What are you—"
"—Not here." He releases my hand and starts the car. We pull back onto the highway.
"Yeah, I get it. A safe place and all that." I glance back. "Are you sure those cops are going to be okay? Maybe we should call an ambulance? Stay with them?"
Something shifts in his expression. A pendulum swinging from anger to almost-understanding to something I can't define.
"They'll be okay. We can't go back, though." He runs a hand through his hair. "Let me get you back to my house first."
I nod. "But then you spill, okay?"
"Agreed." He keeps a hand on my arm.
We drive in silence for several more minutes before we cross onto a bridge. A massive river runs beneath it. Owen does the last thing I expect. He pulls the car over to the side of the road then stops.
"We're here. Sort of. You're not going to like how we get to my place, though." His furtive glance in my direction sends warning bells ringing in the back of my mind.
"What do you mean?" I ask, peering out at the black water.
"You'll see."
We climb out of the car. Owen jogs around to my side, then takes my hand. Purple half-moons stand out under his eyes. When did he start looking so tired? "Come on. They won't be able to follow us where we're going."
"Okay." My voice sounds small, my vision slipping in and out of focus for a moment. If I keep standing, I'll probably faint.
We reach the low railing when Owen stops. So far, he's practically dragged me all over town—I can't remember a time when we haven't been on the run from something. Now, he's gentle as he pulls me close. His hands send shivers over my skin. "Jemma." Things move in slow motion as he touches his thumb to my lips, running it along my bottom one. "Forget about him. Don't think about him. Think about me."
My head spins in a tug of war between Owen and the mystical boy from my childhood. The difference is that Owen is here, right in front of me, and he's no fairytale.
He leans in, just like in the parking garage. I still. Before I can process what's about to happen, he brushes his lips against mine. My thoughts implode. It doesn't matter that he's taller than I am. He's somehow the perfect kissing height. The air in my lungs evaporates as our mouths explore one another's. I wind my arms around him, holding on tight. I've been kissed before, but it's never been like this. An all-encompassing heat wraps around me, while at the same time ice shoots through my veins.
Before I realize what's coming or even guess at what he has planned, Owen pulls us over the railing of the bridge and we fall, plunging toward the water below while screams, that aren't my own, echo inside my head.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Boy's Name
When I open my eyes, I'm lying on something uber-comfortable. I stretch. Ouch. My ankle is a swollen mess. It's plopped on top of a couple of pillows. I'm shoeless, but there's a thick blanket over me. It warms every part of my body except my face. Even that isn't cold, though, because the air is toasty.
I'm in some sort of living room. A fire blazes in a stone hearth, the cracking of logs the only sound. I suppress a shudder. It reminds me of the tree people who are after me. Of him. There isn't much furniture. There’s just this couch and a low table with a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of what appears to be water resting atop it. Where am I?
I run a hand through my hair. Then I remember Owen and me jumping off of the bridge. Or maybe falling off would be a better way to phrase it?
Something shifts beneath my head. There's a grumbling sound. I tense, then glance up, straight into Owen's open eyes. My head is apparently on his lap. On. His. Lap.
"Oh." I jerk to a sitting position. The last memory I have is of Owen kissing me. Then I go and fall asleep with my head on his lap. Smooth, Stringer, smooth. "I'm sorry, I didn't
realize I was, uh, laying on you." My entire face burns.
He shrugs. "It's all right. I make a convenient pillow."
I blink. "Are you joking with me?"
"Guess I am. Why?"
"I'm just not used to you acting like anything other than an ass."
The glare is back. "Thanks so much." He purses his lips as he offers me the glass.
I take it and sip. It’s water, but its stale—room temperature. I don't want to be rude, so I pretend to drink more before I set it down.
I touch two fingers to my own mouth. "You kissed me." I hide my statement behind my hand. Sure, Jem. Maybe it won't be as awkward if he can't see your mouth?
He cups my cheek; the pad of his finger grazes my skin, sending tingles through me. "I should have realized you'd been poisoned sooner."
Owen takes my hand, turning it over. The cuts on my finger and palm stand out. They're not painful. It looks like someone drew on me with a marker and it's started to fade. It probably compliments the slash on my chin—in a horror movie chic sort of way.
"You said I wouldn't know who I was by morning."
"You wouldn’t have. The poison is actually his blood—it drugs you. You can't stay away from him. Like when you threw yourself from a moving car." He rolls his eyes.
"Oh." Now that I'm not in the moment, just the memory of me jumping out of the car reeks of ‘bad idea.’ "That explains a lot."
"Yeah. Something like that. Anyway, by kissing you..." His gaze shifts. "I was able to draw the poison out of your system. Even holding your hand, making contact with you, will drive his influence away. My body's designed to absorb and destroy it. Yours on the other hand..."
Disappointment I can't explain crashes through me. He didn't kiss me just to kiss me? So what? Big deal. I can't stand him. Right?
"Was there a reason we had to jump in the river?"
He chuckles. It makes him sound a lot older. "The less you know about how we actually got here, the better."
More secrecy. "Okay, maybe you'd better start with who he is?"
"His name is Balen. He's the guardian of all trees. Trees have a sort of collective consciousness, like they're a family or something. He acts as a channel, binding them all, looking out for them. He also keeps them safe, feeds them."
"Okay, now that doesn't sound so bad. Trees need guardians. There's all this deforestation going on. I can see that."
"It's bad, Jemma. Real bad." Owen toys with a ring on his right hand, moving it in slow rotations around his finger. "Balen used to be human. His family dabbled in magick, but he wanted to do more. He performed a rite that would provide him with the ultimate power. He became the tree guardian. Of course, that type of power doesn't come cheap—an insatiable hunger followed it.
"Every few years, he has to choose a child to live amongst the trees." Owen frowns, like he'd rather be doing anything other than telling me about this. "He harvests the child's lifeblood."
Nausea twists my stomach, bile rises in my mouth. I force it back. I will not puke. "That's..." I try and come up with the right word, "...sick."
"Tell me about it." Owen seems fixated on his right shoe. "Worse, his victims...they don't live long. They change, age, weaken, whereas Balen doesn't. He's forced to take another child and..." Owen glances up at me. "If your parents hadn't moved you to the city, it would have been you. He was too weak to track you. He's responsible for the disappearance of Molly McGee."
I close my eyes. "I know. I was there. I saw her get taken."
"And you're lucky you survived that night." He doesn't meet my eyes. "He lures children to him. He cuts them, gives them his blood like it's a drug, and they're hooked. They have to be with him."
"Once he lures them?" I ask, my ankle throbbing as I shift positions.
"The children become part of the trees themselves."
Poor Molly. My mind flashes back to that night. Molly being pulled into the tree, consumed by it. “But I’m not a kid anymore. Why does he want me now?”
“I don’t know. The one who got away, maybe?” he shrugs. “All that matters is he’s after you. You were just three when you first saw him, right?"
"How did you know?"
"I told you. I know everything. At least, about Balen." There's a grim smile on Owen's face. "He has a penchant for artists. He likes people to immortalize his likeness. It makes the first phase of his victims', I guess you could call it assimilation, happen faster." He reaches over and takes my hand. My skin burns. "That's why you couldn't stop sketching him."
"And what about you?" It's easier to focus on gaining more information rather than all of these terrifying things I'm hearing. Still it doesn't slow the pounding of my heart or stop my stomach from turning, especially with Owen's hand on mine.
"My family and I were given some of the gifts you've seen to stop Balen. Our abilities have been handed down through each generation. Legend has it that a coven of witches bestowed the power on us. We have to put an end to this. That's our charge."
There's so much mystery about Owen. His family, his powers, his connection to Balen. I can't shake the feeling that Owen’s telling the truth—as far-fetched and insane as it all is. I read it in his eyes, feel it in my bones. "And that's what you were doing in ‘Beans & Bravado’? Watching me?"
"Yes. Searching for signs he'd returned. I thought there might be a chance he'd hunt you down."
The idea I've been observed without my knowledge almost freaks me out as much as the whole concept of Balen and his tree guys. Almost.
"You should have just stayed away from me. Then none of this would be happening. You wouldn't have the lame chore of having to watch me."
His eyes burn an intense blue—what looks like three different shades at once. "I can't stay away from you, Jemma."
Oh. Oh, my. What does he mean by that? Is that because of his duty or because he doesn't want to? The questions rest on the tip of my tongue, but I can't force them out.
I've had boyfriends, but they've never lasted. Honestly, I've never wanted them to. They didn't know me anyway.
But Owen.... He might know me better than anyone.
CHAPTER NINE
The Truth About Why Owen Hates Me
I'm all hyped up inside. I can't turn away from Owen, but I don't know what to say or do. I'm afraid to believe he might really like me, but he's confusing. Like he wants to say one thing, but he's being forced to say another.
I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "I need to call my parents." Once again, epic coolness on my part.
He rubs his eyes. "Don't worry about it. I called them."
"Wha-what?" He nods and I stare at him. "What did you say?"
"I told them there was a library sleepover for some elementary school and you'd forgotten you were helping to chaperone. They haven't missed you. Yet."
"I need to talk to them. I need—"
Owen shakes his head. "They'll panic. They'll try and search for you. He'll find them. They're safe. For now."
At least, Mom and Dad aren't in freak-out mode. I can't say as much for Shaz. We call one another at least ten times a day. I’ve never gone this long without texting her—even on vacation. She’s probably spazzing. "Thanks. I mean, that was thoughtful."
"Don't sound so surprised. I guess you don't think I can be thoughtful?" A wry smile tugs at his lips, but it's erased by a slow yawn.
"Are you okay? I mean, you seem really worn out."
He shrugs.
"Is it the poison?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Nah. When I destroy any of Balen's people, well, I'm half-human. So that means it beats the crap out of me. Slowing them down doesn't take as much energy."
I clutch the blanket tighter. "So, how old are you?"
"Seventeen, two months older than you."
“And you’re not fully human.”
“Everything about me is human—I just have these abilities." He picks up my glass of water and blows on it. It begins to freeze before my eyes, th
ough not all the way. He offers it to me. "Here you go. That's why you didn't drink more of this, right? It was too warm."
My face burns. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I didn't want to be—"
"You didn't want to be rude and refuse it. I understand." He presses the drink into my hand.
"How did you know?" I ask.
"I've been watching you a long time, Jem. And not just since yesterday. Always worried about other people. Always trying to do the right thing. Except where your art is concerned. You don't mind crossing boundaries there." He winks.
Oh, crap. Does he know about Milford's junk? I'm suddenly thirsty. I sip the water. It's perfect this time. Cold, but not entirely frozen. I chase it with a couple of the ibuprofen.
"Balen usually targets children who are alone, usually girls in abusive situations. It's easier for him to convince them they're better off with a new life. Your parents are good to you, though?"
"Mom and Dad are great."
"Then why were you drawn to him?"
"I wanted to help him. I used to leave care packages for him. Food, blankets, stuff like that. So he wouldn't feel alone."
"You what?" Owen's eyes widen. "Why?"
"What would you have done? Here's this little boy in the woods—about my age. He looked lost, scared. I just wanted to help him, to be his friend. I've always had a thing for helping wounded animals, I guess it extended to people."
"Like Molly." Owen's voice is even, but there's an edge telling me he knows about her parents hitting her.
"Yeah. Like Molly."
He slips his fingers along mine. It's as if my entire body is tuned into a single set of nerve endings. The points where Owen's skin meets mine crackle with electricity, sending a pool of heat to my belly.
"My parents were freaking out after she disappeared. All the blood in those woods where we used to play. We put our house up for sale the next day." I finish the water, setting the glass on the table. "So how many of there are you?"
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