Beware the Wild

by Natalie C. Parker

  “Nut up, Durham.” She grips his shoulders and gives him a quick shake. It’s the shake she uses on the court when someone’s head isn’t in the game. “Mean it or go home.”

  “I’m good, I’m good.” Heath dances away from Candy, giving his head a shake of its own. “I can do this.”

  We have a plan. It might be a good one, it might be a bad one, but we don’t have time to search for another.

  “Sterling.” Lenora May catches me before we leave the house behind. The bruise on her cheek is darkening nicely. There’s no way Fisher will keep calm once he sees it. “What about you? Can you see again?”

  This is the question I was hoping to avoid. Though none of us has eaten since church, I didn’t skip breakfast and the Shine is still as dim as it was yesterday.

  I pitch my voice low enough that Heath and Candy walking ahead won’t hear. “Well enough.”

  Her brow creases. She doesn’t believe me and probably shouldn’t. She won’t like my plan any more than she’d like to see me starve, but there are only two ways to get close enough to the Shine to use it: through weakness or strength. And I’m choosing strength.

  “I have a plan,” I say, producing the second cherry Fisher gave me. “It’ll work fast, right?”

  For a second, Lenora May doesn’t answer, but presses her bloody lips together. Then, she nods and says, “Oh, Sterling,” in a whisper strained by emotion. “Would you listen if I told you you shouldn’t?”

  “No,” I say with kindness.

  “Then, whatever you do, keep that charm on you.” And even as she tries to hide her concern with a smile, I see it in the corners of her mouth.

  “I promise.” I pocket the fruit and give the silver bracelet on my wrist a turn. I have everything I need to get this done.

  She links her arm through mine. Before we left the house, she changed from her Sunday dress into something more suited for a rescue mission. She picked a gray canvas sundress with pockets over her thighs, a few oil stains here and there. I recognized the cloth as that of Phin’s work pants and asked, “The swamp couldn’t give you a pair of pants?” To which Lenora May responded, “Why? On a girl, they’re the single greatest travesty of this century.” And we’d shared a laugh.

  She added black cowboy boots instead of sandals. Both seem pretty pointless to me, but nothing could be more Lenora May. As much as I’ve hated her this week, watching her boots cut through this tall grass makes me smile, and I realize that at some point, I stopped hating her altogether.

  “Thank you,” I say, squeezing her arm. “No matter what happens, thank you for trying.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “I’d do anything for my sister.”

  Ahead, Candy and Heath stop at the crest of the hill, where wild sweet William dances a blithe, blue path all the way to the fence. We join them and pause, our attention fixed on the path ahead.

  “Phineas Harlan Saucier,” I say quietly.

  “Phineas Harlan Saucier,” Heath repeats the name.

  “Phineas Harlan Saucier,” Lenora May adds, followed by Candy.

  “Phineas Harlan Saucier,” the three of them say together and I swallow hard.

  I raise my voice with theirs and together we give his name to the air, to the ground, and the swamp that took him. “Phineas Harlan Saucier.”

  A crack of thunder shouts a response. Loud as an explosion. The earth rumbles beneath my feet. Ahead of us, the trees lean across the fence as if a great wind pushes against them. One look at my friends tells me they all know what I do: Fisher is waiting.

  In unison, three cell phones start ringing. Candy, Lenora May, and I all reach for our pockets.

  “It’s Mama,” Lenora May says, nervous.

  “It’s my dad. He’s never home this early,” Candy states.

  “Darold,” I add.

  Heath’s grin is slippery when he says, “Bet my parents wish they hadn’t restricted cell privileges now.”

  Below, tree limbs whip in a furious wind that doesn’t reach us. The clouds have swallowed the sun, and panic makes me cold.

  I ball my fists for strength and clear the tension from my throat. “Let’s go.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  THE SWAMP GREETS US WITH a humid sigh.

  By the time we reach the trees, they’ve quit their fury. Fresh pine needles litter the ground, torn down by the wind that abused them a moment before. Mockingbirds fill the silence, laughing and shrieking above, and from deep inside the swamp comes the hiss and clatter of beetles, the trill of frogs, the too-human cry of a loon.

  As we planned, Heath and Lenora May approach the fence cautiously but do not cross it. Lenora May is preparing Heath, giving him all the information he’ll need to get under Fisher’s skin. Like any good Southerner, she started with his middle name and branched out from there. Heath will need all the fodder he can get if he’s going to keep Fisher at the fence.

  I lead Candy away, through the pines along the fence until we can barely see the others. We need to be far enough that Fisher won’t notice us waiting, but not so far that we can’t see what’s happening. Lenora May watches us with her hand twisted in the fabric of her skirt. When I’m satisfied with our position, I wave and she nods before slowly, slowly advancing toward the fence. Even from this distance, I feel her fear. She hesitates. It’s impossible that I see her shiver, yet I feel it skitter down my own spine. So much of this plan rests on her willingness to get close and cuddly with her terror.

  Cold sweat settles in between my shoulder blades. The swamp holds its breath, and finally, Lenora May drapes her arms over the top plank of the fence. Shine reaches for her. She lets its tendrils taste her skin before pulling her hands to safety.

  Immediately, I hear Heath’s voice call Fisher’s name. It doesn’t echo so much as hiss through the swamp, as if the leaves and vines and mosses pass the name along.

  Fisher, Fisher, Fisher.

  Minutes go by. Shine tries again and again to cross the fence and reach Lenora May, but it can’t. Candy fidgets beside me, the ground snickering beneath her shoes. I jump when Heath’s voice becomes a shout.

  “Fisher Enoch Lillard! I have your sister, Lenora May, and I want to make a trade!”

  Candy growls her approval and adds, “Sexy.”

  I bump her shoulder with mine. “Now is not the time.”

  Lenora May verifies my statement by leaping farther from the fence with a small shriek. Heath grips her shoulder and gives her a rough shake, fulfilling his role as her warden. That’s the only sign I need. Fisher is there and we have no time to waste.

  We slip between the planks of the fence and run as fast as we can. As soon as I think it’s safe, I pause. I take the cherry from my pocket, place it in my mouth, and bite. It’s tart and divine, every bit as perfect as it appeared. If Miss Bonnie got her hands on a bowl of cherries like these, she’d kill half the town with a pie so exquisite they’d swear off food for the rest of time. It’s gone too quickly and I drop the pit.

  The effect is immediate and similar to when Fisher commanded his magic to heal me. Nausea sweeps up from my belly, dizziness washes down from my head so furiously that I stagger. Candy catches my arm. The feeling passes and I give her a confident nod. When I open my eyes, Shine is as bright as it’s ever been. Maybe brighter. I pluck a bit of it as Fisher taught me, and roll the wisp of magic into a ball between my palms.

  “Take us to the cherry tree,” I whisper over the glowing ball while Candy looks on skeptically. To her, I probably look like Featherhead Fred, talking to nothing.

  The light flies from my hands, flitting through the trees and Spanish moss. I follow it as Candy comes behind with the bag of peaches over her shoulder, and together we run. Candy’s not the squeamish type, but even she squeals when our legs sink to the shins in dark water.

  “Hurry, Candy, please,” I
urge.

  “I’m not lingering because I like it, Saucier,” she snaps, but she hefts her feet through the slick mud.

  We run and run. At some point, I realize I’m no longer following the Shine I commanded, but a feeling in my gut that seems to say, This way! We run until pink flashes bright between the tree trunks, and we break into the clearing of the cherry tree.

  “This is it,” I say needlessly because Candy’s already reaching into her bag of peaches. Even here, so far inside the swamp, Shine pulls away from Candy. It won’t or can’t rest on her for too long.

  “Where is he?” she asks.

  Kneeling at the water’s edge, I dip my hand into the murky pool and stir it around. The water is warm and thick between my fingers. Little bits of duckweed stick to my skin and I can’t see more than two inches beneath the surface. With discomfort I recall my first encounter with gatorPhin.

  “Phineas?” I call not too loudly. Only the frogs respond. “Phineas!” Shouting makes me feel bold, purposeful, and ridiculously exposed. “Please, Phin, you must come.”

  Every second feels like it could be the last. If Fisher isn’t fooled by Heath and Lenora May’s ruse, it won’t take him long to suss out what I’m up to. When that happens, he’ll be on me faster than I can say boo and I don’t think he’ll be inclined to mercy.

  This is my only chance.

  “Phin, please, it’s me, Sterling, and I’ve come to take you home.” I stir my hand in the water again, and again watch the ripples relax and go stagnant.

  “Any other ideas?” Candy asks when more precious minutes have passed.

  I want there to be another, better idea. I want to tell her that I have a plan B. But I shake my head and speak past the tightness in my chest. “He has to do this part.”

  Shine warms in the mud beneath my hand. It glimmers darkly in black, brown, and ochre, and I pull a small bit into my hands. I imagine Fisher growing impatient with Heath and turning his attention to the swamp. I imagine the expression on his face as he tilts his head, as if listening, while he feels me tugging on this web of Shine. And I imagine how like a spider he’ll move, so much faster than I ever could, straight to the place where I’m struggling to make my brother see me.

  Focus, I think, taking a long, slow breath and turning all my thoughts to Phineas.

  Phineas crying in the dark when he thought I couldn’t hear. Phineas sweating over his chemistry homework. Phineas smiling and happy because he got the engine in the Chevelle to turn over. Phineas red-faced and spitting mad with a beautiful purple bruise on his jawbone from a fight after school. Recalcitrant Phineas driving Mama and Darold up one wall and down another. Shy and embarrassed Phineas two years ago, admitting he had a girlfriend for the first time. Proud Phineas showing off his new tattoo.

  Phineas home. Phineas home. Phineas home.

  Candy grips my shoulder.

  “What is that?” She points to a place where ripples have begun to slide toward us. Their progress is slow and patient and unmistakable and, just behind them, are eyes. “Alligator? It looks like a gator. Shit, if it is, run in zigzags, remember?”

  It’s possible that it really is a gator, a possibility I probably should have thought of before now. I try to ignore the thought as Candy repeats the lessons every child in Sticks learns about fighting an alligator—go for the eyes, the ears, the nostrils, and if you have to, the valve behind the tongue, but mostly run like your britches are on fire.

  Finally, he’s close enough I can see the tortured blue of his eyes and the slick black of the hair on his head. “It’s him,” I say, relaxing a bit. “It’s Phineas.”

  “Whatever you say,” she says, pressing a peach to my shoulder and backing away.

  That she can see him at all tells me something else about the puzzle that is Candy’s strange ability—that she’ll see whatever makes the most sense to see. In this case, a gator instead of a gatorboy.

  The eyes continue to snake through the water looking so much like an alligator that all the hair on my neck stands at attention. I’m not wrong, but if I were wrong, this would be a very dangerous place to be. The closer he comes, however, the more certain I am that it’s Phin. I’m just not sure how much of Phin is left.

  “It’s him,” I say again, but edge away from the pond just the same. “But stay where you are anyway.”

  “Don’t have to tell me twice.” Candy doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m trusting you not to get eaten, Saucier. And if that trust is misplaced, so help me, I’ll tell all your worst secrets at your funeral.”

  Candy’s moved so far away I can’t tell where she is anymore. I keep my eyes on Phin and his weaving progress.

  Water spills up and over his unblinking eyes, watching me as much as I’m watching them. Nearer the bank, more of his face rises, until he’s visible to his bare chest. He’s not so completely transformed as Abigail, but he’s close. His shoulders are ridged and glossy with scales, and when he raises his hands I see that they, too, gleam with black claws, pale green webs running between his fingers. His lips are pulled tight over sharp teeth, scaled and somewhere between green and yellow. It’s a gruesome grin and not at all like Phineas. He stops two feet from the bank.

  “Phineas? Phineas, do you know who I am?”

  I watch for some sign of recognition, but I can’t make any sense of his rigid features. I take one step closer.

  “I know you do. I’m your sister and you don’t want to hurt me. You’ve never wanted to hurt me. You’ve only ever protected me, and I’m sorry I let you do it for so long.” I take another smaller step forward. “I’m so sorry.”

  Water slips over his unblinking eyes and down his cheeks like tears. In a motion so slow I’m two years older by the end of it, he reaches out with one clawed hand. He rests the tip of a single claw on the silver bracelet around my wrist. His face doesn’t move, but I think it’s because it can’t. He’s trapped inside that contorted body and this is the only way he can tell me he knows who I am.

  “Yes.” My smile comes with tears in tow. I swallow them and clench my shaking hands. “Please, let me bring you home.”

  A hollow sound starts in his throat, a wet noise that struggles to find purchase in his mouth. “Hooongh.”

  I nod. “Yes, home. Please, come home with me. Come home so you can take the Chevelle to the racetrack and get yourself to Tulane. Come home so you can live the life you’re supposed to live, Phin.”

  Around us, Shine glows in all the colors of the swamp. Little tendrils tickle my ankles and climb the side of my leg. I hear them whisper, calling me to stay, stay, stay. It’s warm and comforting, and so much of me wants to curl up in the shade of the everblooming cherry tree and go to sleep. I could stay here with Phin and we’d be as happy as we’ve ever been. Safe and protected.

  “Saucier!” Candy’s voice is a cold splash of water. She’s gotten impatient and a little freaked. “Whatever it is you’re doing, would you hurry up? This place is really starting to wig me the hell out.”

  I offer the peach to Phin. It reflects the pink of the cherry blossoms and the gold of the swamp lights hanging overhead, but it’s a dull thing and I think that’s because its magic is on the inside.

  “Eat this,” I say.

  Gingerly, he takes it with the tips of his claws. One pierces the peach and juice spills down his scaled hand. His jaws open wider than I think they possibly could, and he devours the peach in one loud bite.

  And then we wait. Long, horrible minutes tempting Fisher to return.

  Then, Phin gives a shudder. His shoulders jerk this way and that. His jaw snaps. And he sinks into the water with a horrible groan.

  I reach for him with a shout, but my feet slide on the muddy bank and I splash into the water, smashing my knee against something hard and immovable. Muck and who knows what else brushes past my shins and calves. The soft bottom of this little pond wants to pull me down inside it. I should climb to more solid earth, but instead I reach for Phineas. I must find him.
<
br />   My hands grasp only slick roots and debris. I swing them through the water again and again, becoming increasingly frantic.

  But after several minutes, I stop splashing and the water goes still.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  THE SWAMP REVEALS NOTHING.

  The water is as dull as the clouds above. Wasting Shine hangs motionless in the air. And Phin doesn’t surface again. I don’t understand how this could have gone so very wrong. The peach was meant to release Phin, not kill him. I search the water desperately for him, but the swamp reveals nothing.

  “Sterling.” Candy’s voice is soft and taut.

  I find her standing exactly where she was a minute ago, several feet from the cherry tree with the bag of peaches slung over her shoulder. She’s gone so pale she’s nothing but a shock of white and blonde against the swamp. And she’s staring at me with her mouth open wide enough to catch flies.

  “Sterling,” she says again, this time with wonder. “I—I remember. Him. Phineas. I remember.”

  Laughter swells in my chest and emerges in one loud bark. “It worked! I can’t believe it, that peach worked!”

  Candy’s laughter is baffled and more enthusiastic. Her uncertainty is plain on her face, but she gives me a faint smile.

  “Craziest shit I’ve ever . . .” She trails off, looking over my shoulder. “Well, where is he anyway?”

  There’s no time to dwell on the fact that I have no answer. The swamp begins to rumble and hiss. All the Shine begins to glow more brightly. Eagerly, it coils and uncoils, rolling through the earth and climbing through trees with such speed that more bits than usual break off into the air. And from the tall, scrubby plants at the edge of the clearing, a gatorgirl slides on her belly.

  Only one at first. She noses around the trunk of a fat cypress, crushing its straw-like knees flat beneath her, and stops with claws pressed into mud. More follow. Easily a dozen. Gatorboys and gatorgirls, all of them with jaws parted and bellies to the ground. They look primed for attack, but instead of moving, they release a discordant hiss.