by Carrie Jones
Ian leans his shoulders back against the wall, looking relaxed and happy. “That I’m a pixie?”
My jaw must have dropped or something because Ian starts laughing. “You look shocked.”
I don’t say anything, just try to adjust to this newest twist. He’s a pixie. Ian.
“Where’s the dust? I thought you all left dust?”
“Only the kings.” He sort of snarls it. Then he changes his face into something calmer, less feral. His voice matches and suddenly it’s like he’s back to being the nice guy who showed me to classes on the first day of school. “Are you cold, Zara?”
“I’m okay.”
Was Ian the one who went into my house the night before? Was he the one who pretended to be my dad? Hate spills into me, useless emotion or not.
“You’re lying. I can smell it. You’re cold,” Ian says. “I’ll go get you a blanket.”
He turns and starts toward the door. He knocks on it twice and it swings open.
“Wait!”
He looks back and smiles again at me. “Don’t worry, Zara. I’m not leaving you. Okay?”
I slump down on my mattress, trying to stay in control, to not tackle him.
“You think everybody always leaves, don’t you?” he says, his tone softer. “But pixies aren’t like that. We always come back. I promise. We never let anyone alone. Even the ones who get away we hunt down. Your mother could tell you that.”
“What about my mother?”
“Really, Zara? You haven’t figured it out?”
He steps out the door and it shuts behind him.
Shivering, I stare at the walls and the blank grayness is too much. I close my eyes and put my hands on my head. It throbs.
Ian comes back with a blanket, a glass of water, and some kind of medicine.
“If I drink this am I stuck in pixieland with you forever?” I ask as he drapes the blanket around my shoulders, tucking it in.
He laughs. “I wish it were that easy.”
“I thought I read that somewhere.”
“That’s fairies. This is just regular bottled water and an aspirin. Your head hurts, right?”
I nod slowly.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Was that you? Did you drag me here?”
He keeps tucking the blanket around me. “It had to be done. Sorry about the rock, though.”
I stand up, throwing off the blanket. The movement was too quick and the world sways. Ian catches me by the elbow and steadies me. I yank my arm away, humiliated and furious. God, why can’t I even stand by myself?
I turn my anger on him. “Did you hurt Nick?”
“No, he’s a snug little doggy in a nice little doggy net.”
I raise my fist. Rage curls inside my chest. I can’t control it any more. “If you hurt him—”
“What would you do? Beat me up?” Ian fake shudders. “Oh, I’m scared. No offense, Zara, but you aren’t that intimidating.”
He moves toward me and smiles. “But I’m not going to hurt him. We don’t need to hurt him, Zara. We already have what we want.”
His words sicken me. I swallow the nausea and hold on to the rage.
“And what you want is me?” I deliberately raise my eyebrows, trying to show no fear. “That’s a cliché.”
“Clichés are clichés for a reason,” he says.
“What about Betty?”
He shrugs. “I have no idea where your grandmother is. Look at this place. Do you know what it is? It used to store furniture. It’s a concrete room, perfect for holding prisoners, kind of like that Amnesty International crap you’re always going on about. Trying to save the world, that’s you, Zara. But you never thought about who would save you, did you?”
“I don’t need saving.”
“No, you don’t. You’re perfectly safe here.” He comes closer and sniffs the air. He’s just a foot or so away from me. I try to back up farther, but I’m already against the wall. He smiles but there is sadness in it. “As safe as any of us can be when we aren’t in control, when we aren’t in power.”
“Did you have to mess up Betty’s house?” I ask.
He laughs. “That wasn’t us. That was the king. He has a temper, you know, kind of like you. It runs in the blood, no matter how hard you try to keep it down, and I think you have quite the temper simmering under the surface, boiling to get out.”
“So he’s changed tactics. Made you kidnap me.”
“No. He has nothing to do with this. This is all me.” He pushes his hand through his hair ultra-casual, and then pulls a Swiss Army knife out of his pants pocket. He takes a pick out of it and starts cleaning his nails.
“Nice intimidation tactic,” I say. “Very textbook. I’d expect something more original from pixies.”
He doesn’t respond, but he blinks. His jaw gets all rigid. After a couple seconds, he puts the pick back in place.
“You are so sweet, Zara, and so innocent and likeable. But no one can ever save someone else, you know? We can only save ourselves. You know that, don’t you?”
He reaches out and his fingertips graze my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw bone.
I refuse to move. “Did you need to be saved once, Ian?”
His fingers stop. His eyes bore into mine and he whispers, “Maybe.”
“You weren’t always a pixie. They turned you.” I swallow and his eyes flash with the truth. I keep talking. “You aren’t the pixie who has been chasing me in the woods. I know that. You feel different somehow.”
His fingers move again, slowly. I turn my head, but his fingers keep moving.
“No,” he says. “That wasn’t me.”
I make myself look at him then, his pale skin. His too-deep eyes that aren’t human, not really. How come I never noticed that? I was too busy being sad, too busy noticing Nick, too busy being flattered that somebody liked me, I guess.
“Who was it?”
“The king. He wants you. And believe me, you do not want him to have you. It’s much better for everyone if you go with us. He’s gotten weak and we’re having a turf war, really, and you’re the key to ending it all.” He shakes his head. “Who would know, that someone so short and so sad would be the one we were waiting for. We all want you or hate you.”
“Why?”
“It’s destiny. You’re the one. Zara. Princess. Didn’t you ever wonder about what your name means?”
I don’t get it. “My mother named me.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you mean, exactly?”
“You’re the continuation of the blood line. Whoever claims you claims the kingdom.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No it’s not.”
He grabs my face with his cold hands. “Do you know what it is to be pixie kissed, Zara?”
I know.
“It turns you,” he continues. “It’s painful, but if done correctly, the human doesn’t die, but she grows. She becomes like us. Some humans, humans like you, already have pixie in your blood. I did.”
“Right.” It’s hard not to be sarcastic. Sarcastic is so much better than scared, anyway. And the thought of having pixie genes terrifies me, God. Is my mom a pixie?
“It makes you more powerful when you turn, and more desirable throughout.” Ian’s fingers tighten on my chin.
“And you’re the one who is supposed to turn me?” I ask, trying not to shudder.
“I had to fight Megan for it.” He shrugs. “I didn’t think she’d let you survive.”
I freeze.
“That’s right, Megan’s a pixie too, and she has her eyes set on the kingdom. You’re the only thing in her way, at least, that’s what she thinks.”
“And the man in the forest . . . ,” I whisper.
“He wants to turn you, of course. He must. He’s the one who found you, but it’s not all finders keepers all the time, is it?”
I swallow hard. “Is he my father?” He can’t be my father. My father is some rando
m guy my mom hooked up with in a “foolish moment.” My father is not a pixie because that would mean . . .
Ian laughs. “No one’s told you anything, have they? Wolves’ cognitive processing is a bit slow. Eagles and tigers aren’t that much better.”
“But you guys go to school. You . . . how can you be a pixie? Is everyone in this town inhuman?”
“No. There are plenty of humans here. And there are the weres of course, unfortunately. But we hide our pixieness with a glamour. That’s just how it is.”
“Are there more of you? In other places?”
“Of course. Shhh . . .” His other hand cups the back of my head. I can’t move. It’s like my body just gave up. I try to lift my hands to push Ian away, but they won’t go.
“You are such a jerk.”
He leans in closer. His mouth is just an inch, the tiniest inch, away from my mouth.
“I love the way you smell.” His sentence touches my skin with his breath, and the wound on my hand tingles and I snap out of it somehow. Somehow I can move again. My hands shove him away hard. His face registers his shock. I bash past him and run for the door, throwing myself against it and yanking at it.
“Megan! Let me out! Megan!”
The door won’t budge and Ian is next to me in an instant. He throws me across the room and I smash against the wall. A sickening sound echoes throughout the space as something in my arm breaks.
The lower part of my arm dangles at a funky angle. It doesn’t hurt. Shock does that for a second so the body can try to save itself, try to run and fight. I power myself back up and dive for the opening door. I yank off my bracelet and throw it at him. It hits his chest and burns through his shirt.
Megan opens the door, smiling. “You having a hard time, Ian?”
He ignores her.
I plead with my eyes.
She ignores me.
“Zara,” he says, his voice higher. “Don’t make this hard. Now you’re hurt. That lowers your chances of surviving. You need to survive.”
I race by him, but he’s fast. Ian is always so fast. I should have known he isn’t human. He grabs me around the waist. Another bone in my arm cracks and my knees buckle. The shock is wearing off and pain slashes through my arm and into my shoulder. I try to grab my arm with my good hand, but he holds on so tightly that I can’t move.
“Just let me kiss you, Zara,” he says in a lovely convincing voice, like he’s asking for an order of french fries at a diner.
“Just do it, Ian,” Megan orders.
He hugs me tighter. A scream breaks through the room. It’s my scream. The bone sticking out of my arm sends warm, wet blood down my arm. Ian’s eyes turn wild. He licks my blood. It covers his lips.
“You don’t have to say yes,” he hisses. “It’s just easier that way. It’s like when you’re at the dentist. The more you fuss, the harder things are, the longer it takes, the more likely you are to get hurt.”
“I hate dentists,” I say, trying to twist away. My hand, the one that’s scraped like a rune, glows. I press it against his face. He screams but doesn’t let go.
A growling noise seems to come from somewhere. Maybe me? Ian moves closer. I stare at his blood-covered lips. They are full and cold. I know they’re cold.
“No,” I say, sobbing from the pain but still trying to wiggle free somehow.
We both fall. The floor smacks against us. Ian’s eyes fill with need.
“I need this, Zara,” he says. “I need . . . Please, help me, Zara. I need you to . . . I can’t stand it, just being regular, just being a minion.”
Megan yells, “Ian!”
His lips come closer to mine. I push at him, woozy, dizzy. I’ve lost too much blood. I can barely keep my eyes open.
“No,” I whisper. “Please . . . no.”
But his arms are tight and his lips are close and he has this need. And me? I can’t do it anymore. Ducking my head down against his chest to avoid his lips, I fall toward darkness.
Nosocomephobia
fear of hospitals
The growls aren’t human.
I know that.
Even though I can’t open my eyes, can’t make my mouth form one dumb word, I know that the growls aren’t human or pixie.
“She’ll be okay, she’ll be okay,” a voice says. A girl’s voice.
The world makes no sense. Snow covers it. I am beneath the snow. That’s it. Right? The snow covers me, heavy, blank, white.
A man’s voice: “I’ll kill him.”
The girl again: “She already did.”
Something wet touches my cheeks. A washcloth? A tear?
The man again: “This is my fault, all my fault. I didn’t protect her.”
Nick?
Betty’s voice: “Yes, you did. I have to splint her arm. She’s lost so much blood.”
Betty! Gram!
Someone touches my arm and the pressure startles me back, out of the snow, back into the concrete room. I scream.
“Zara!”
The girl: “She has a massive lump on her head. And her arm’s so broken.”
The world fades away again. I hear another voice, my dad’s voice.
“Zara, hold on,” he urges me. “Hold on.”
“Daddy?” someone says. I reach out, looking for something to grab on to, but someone holds my arm down.
“She’s hallucinating.”
The snow comes down inside me, above me, all around me.
“It’s cold,” a voice says. “I’m so cold.”
The snow falls and falls and falls and I let it bury me. There is nothing else to do. It is so cold.
They won’t let me go.
“Zara,” one of the voices insists. “Zara, we need to get you out of here. Can you sit up?”
I try to swim through the snow, back up to someplace warm. And I do, but pain hits me, shoots through my arm, pounds in my head. I flutter my eyes and open them, but I can’t focus.
“Nick?”
“I’m right here, sweetie.”
“My mother calls me sweetie,” I croak out. Why is my voice so faint and funny, hoarse yet whisper thin? Where’s my mother?
I gasp as someone puts something on my arm. I try to open my eyes again. “I can’t see.”
“Did he kiss her?” a girl asks.
It’s Issie. Issie? Why is Issie here?
“I don’t think so, not for long anyway. I came right in,” Betty answers. “Nick, did you see him kiss her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It hurts,” I manage to say. “Please make it stop hurting.”
“Okay. Okay, sweetie. It’s okay,” Nick’s voice comes again, close to my ear. I grab his shoulder with my free hand. It’s naked. A naked shoulder. “We have to get you out of here, get you to a doctor. Okay?”
I nod. My hand presses against his skin like it wants to burrow in and hide. “You’re so warm.”
Issie’s voice soothes me. “We’ll take care of you, Zara. Don’t worry.”
My eyes start to focus on Nick’s face. His eyes—perfect, brown, and human—stare at me, blending into the walls, into my unconsciousness.
“Don’t leave me.” My hand drops from Nick’s shoulder. I can’t keep it up.
Cold. Ice. Frozen. Death.
Novercaphobia, fear of your stepmother.
Nucleomituphobia, fear of nuclear weapons.
Nudophobia, fear of nudity.
Numerophobia, fear of numbers.
Nyctohylophobia, fear of dark wooded areas or of forests at night.
Everybody always leaves.
“Don’t worry,” Issie says. “We won’t leave.”
Everybody always leaves.
“Don’t let Ian . . .”
Gram growls. “You don’t have to worry about Ian anymore.”
Nick pulls me against him. He is so warm, burning warm, and it hurts to be moved. I scream. Even as he holds me, the cold and the darkness comes, waiting to take me again.
I wake up
in the hospital. My arm is hoisted above my head and encased in white plaster.
“Nick?” I whisper.
Gram jumps up and grabs my good hand. Her face cracks into a half smile and there are tears in her eyes. “Zara?”
I blink. The light hurts my head.
“It’s bright in here,” I try to say.
She lets go of my hand.
Fear cramps my stomach. “Don’t go.”
“I’m just shutting off the lights,” she says, flicking it off. She hustles back and takes my hand again. “You had me some worried, little one.”
“Am I okay?” My voice starts to sound a little better.
“You have a nasty break. Two bones in your arm. You have a concussion, a serious one to add to your minor one. You also have bruised ribs.”
I would shrug if I could. Instead, I try to smile. “That’s all?”
She laughs and squeezes my hand a little bit. Then her face twists into something serious. “Do you remember what happened?”
I lie to my grandmother. “No.”
She bites her bottom lip a little and watches me. “Nick said that you—”
I try to sit up, but it’s too hard. “Nick? Is he here?”
“I sent him home. He’s been here all night. That Issie girl too, and Devyn. They were wiped out. I don’t know how many phone calls I had to make to their parents saying they were okay. Finally, they just had to go.”
My heart drops.
“They didn’t want to leave, especially Nick.”
Gram wiggles her eyebrows. I can feel myself blush.
“He’s a cute boy, that one,” Betty says. She lets go of my hand and smoothes the hair off my forehead. “I’ve called your mother, who is hysterical, blaming herself for sending you up here. She’s trying to find a flight in, but the whole East Coast is one big mess. There’s a massive storm front. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s not even officially winter yet.”
She holds a glass of water to my mouth. I swallow. It tastes like metal.
“She doesn’t need to come.”
“I told her that.” She settles the water on the side table. “But maybe she does. I haven’t exactly done a good job taking care of you.”
“Sure you have.”
She chokes a little laugh out. “Right. That’s why you’re here in the hospital with another concussion and a broken arm.”
