by Carrie Jones
“And she’s a fast runner,” Devyn adds.
“But not supernaturally fast,” Gram explains as Nick stomps around the room. “Nick Colt, would you just calm down? Steam is coming out your ears.”
“Zara’s part pixie!” he yells. His eyes flash, full of menace. “She can’t be part pixie.”
“Are you listening to a thing I’m saying?” Gram asks, and her face is far from happy or patient. “Her father is a pixie. That does not mean that she exhibits any pixie tendencies.”
“She’s a freaking pixie!” Nick yells. He looks at me like he’s never seen me before and he doesn’t like what he sees at all. “Jesus!”
He storms across the room and slams the door. It sends shock waves through my heart.
“Nick!” Issie yells, leaping up after him.
“He’s such a wolf sometimes.” Gram shakes her head. “Leave him be.”
The tires of the MINI squeal. Something inside me scrunches up and heavies.
“We have to go after him,” Devyn says. “He’s dangerous when he’s like this. Sometimes he turns.”
He starts wheeling across the living room floor. Issie starts after him and then runs back to me. She throws her tiny arms around my shoulder, jostling my broken arm. “It’s okay, Zara. Even if you were a hundred percent pixie, you’d still be Zara.”
Tears spring out of my eyes. My throat closes up.
“He won’t be stubborn forever,” she says and then lets go of me, running out the door after Devyn.
Gram and I sit there for a while. I’m on the couch. She’s sprawled across the big red chair.
“So much for the plan,” I say. I lower my voice to a whisper, “How are we going to catch the king without Devyn and Nick?”
I’m supposed to be the bait. He’s supposed to think I’m alone. Then when he brings me outside Betty and Nick will attack. They’re at an advantage outside. Devyn will be the lookout. Then we’ll force him to tell us where Jay is. We know he’s going to come for me because he wants to use me for bait: bait to get my mom back.
“You want to bail?” Gram eyes me. I eye her.
“No. You’re tough enough to take down a pixie king all by yourself, aren’t you?”
“I’m tough enough to take down an entire army of those damn kings. You okay?” she asks.
I shrug and wipe at my eyes with the back of my good hand.
“I wish someone had told me all this a little earlier,” I manage. “Like when I was nine or something.”
She strides over and sits on the couch with me. “Ah, c’mon. We’ve only made a couple hundred mistakes. But you’re in charge now. I think things’ll get better.”
She gives me a tiny fake punch on my thigh and then gives in to the grammy in her and hugs me close. She smells like the forest and wood fires. She smells safe. I lean in and cry.
“You think he’ll hate me forever?”
“He’s a fool if he does.”
I sniff. “That doesn’t help.”
“You should have seen your father when he found out about your mother,” she says. “He was out of his mind.”
“So why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d she do it?”
“She was trying to save the boys.”
“Huh?”
“Your mom’s a little like Nick. She has a hero complex. She just hides it better. Do you know what turned Nick on to the pixies in the first place? Not that he knew exactly what they were.”
I don’t answer.
“Well, Devyn was out crashing around the woods, running cross-country, when an arrow hit him, right in the spine. He screamed and fell. It hit him in the perfect place to paralyze him. Nick heard him scream and raced to where he was. He carried him to the road, but neither of them had figured out what it was that did that. It wasn’t until you got here and saw the king outside the cafeteria that they all started putting it together.”
“Oh my God. What did the police do?”
“They figured it was a hunter going after a coyote. They saw Nick’s tracks, but pixies don’t leave footprints.”
“Yep.” I swallow hard. “That’s so weird. This is all so weird.”
“So, anyway, that’s what turned him on to the fact that something was happening. All of a sudden he wanted to be this were knight, protecting the world. He’s always out patrolling, every lunch break, every study hall, every cross-country practice. The fact that they’ve taken two more boys . . . It’s killing him.”
I nod. “But what about my mom?”
“The only thing that stops the pixie king’s need is his queen. He’s been too long without her. It’s flaring up again.”
The fire crackles. We both jump. Jumping is not part of the plan.
“So she had sex with him to get him to stop taking the boys.”
Betty just squeezes her arm around my shoulders a little tighter. “Yep.”
“Oh my God. So I’m basically the child of a rape?”
“She was willing. She consented.”
“Because she had to!”
“She chose to save those boys, Zara. She was brave. Maybe stupid, but brave.”
“But now it’s starting all over again.”
“His need has returned.”
I think about it. “When is she going to get here?”
“Tonight. Around seven probably.”
“And he wants her back because he needs to turn her, so he can be powerful again.” It’s not a question, it’s just me trying to get the truth into my brain, trying to understand it all.
She doesn’t answer, just stands up and says, “I’m going to see what we have for supper.”
I slowly move my head. “You want help?”
“Nah, you just sit there and let things settle. You’ve got a lot to think about.”
It’s time for the plan. I say my lines really slowly, the lines we planned back at the hospital. “I guess you’d better be getting a call soon, huh?”
She stares back at me. We talk like the house is bugged. Neither of us know about pixie hearing, but we aren’t going to chance it.
“You still think I should go in if I get a call?” she says. She lowers her voice. “I’m not sure if we can just leave you here without Nick close by.”
What she means is: can we do the plan without Nick?
“Yeah,” I say. “You can. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
“I’d rather he came.” She shuffles over and kisses the top of my head. “It’s good to have my granddaughter back.”
“It’s good to be back,” I say, because it is.
So I sit there. I sit and sit and sit, but I do not think at all about our plan or how Nick’s sudden departure makes us down one were. I just remember how it felt to have Nick’s lips moving against my lips. I just remember how warm he is.
A couple minutes later my grandmother’s beeper goes off. She eyes me, man-strides over, and takes my pulse, which is ridiculous. I broke my arm, not my heart. Then she checks my head for fever. I must pass because she straightens up and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“They’ve got a big accident on the way to Acadia. Life Flight might have to fly in. They’ve called me on,” she says really slowly. “I think I have to go. That okay with you?”
“Yep.” I grab my Norton Anthology of British Literature. I have so much homework to catch up on. I’ve missed two days of school. It’s plausible for me to grab it.
She pulls on the coat that hangs from a peg by the front door. “I’ve called Nick. He should be here in ten minutes.”
“He’s coming here? He didn’t go all wolf and attack some sheep or something?”
She smiles. “He’s a hothead, but he’s not a fool.”
I don’t say anything.
“You’re blushing,” she teases.
“You are not a nice grandmother.”
She opens the door. Cold air bursts in and the fire in the woodstove seems to grow taller. “But you still l
ove me?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Good. You take it easy. I’ll be back soon, but not too soon, if you know what I mean.”
Then she mouths the words, “Stay safe.”
She winks and is gone.
Grandmothers.
He arrives about five minutes after Betty leaves.
He knocks on the door, which I know Betty left unlocked so I wouldn’t have to get off the couch.
I don’t invite him in. He just walks on through. Obviously he’s been here before. Obviously he is the one who pretended to be my dad.
He’s still wearing the black cloak that he had on when I saw him at the airport in Charleston and outside the cafeteria doors. He is tall and pale, like me. His hair shines dark and wavy and well cut. He has deep eyes that are beautiful, like the trunks of big trees.
I freeze.
“Zara.”
He lets my name dangle there. Then, as casual as anything, he shuts the door behind him. The cold air stays in the room. I shiver.
“You’re cold? I’ll put another log on the fire.”
He strides across the room, opens the stove door, and puts another log in. Sparks fly up. He catches one in his hand and crushes it, then lets go. He isn’t burned.
I find my voice. “What are you?”
He cocks his head at me and wipes his hands together like he is getting rid of dirt. “You don’t know?”
“I have no clue.” I am almost telling the truth, because I know the basic facts of what he is, but not the essence. I am far, far away from the essence.
I pull myself up straighter on the couch.
“You saw me at the airport, and I called to you in the woods,” he says. “And when your surrogate father died I was there.”
“At the window.”
He nods.
We let this news settle over us for a minute. Surrogate father? Only father is more like it. “Did you kill him?”
“Of course not.”
“Really?”
He fiddles with the fire, tossing an ember back and forth between his palms. It would be cool if it wasn’t so freaky.
“You’re following me,” I finally say. “Why?”
“Because I’m trying to reclaim what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
“You are. You always have been. You always will be.”
“That’s crap.”
“Is it? Look inside yourself, Zara. I think you’ll find what’s true.”
“I don’t know what’s true anymore. But I know you’re starting to sound like a bad ripoff of Darth Vader in an old Star Wars movie. And I know you’re trying to hurt me.”
He shakes his head and listens to the air. “Never.”
“Which part? The Darth thing or the hurting thing?”
“Both.”
I roll my eyes. I look around for a weapon. There’s the fireplace poker, but it’s pretty far away. There’s the lamp, but can I really do any damage one-handed? I just need to get him outside.
He moves closer, voice smooth. “Why don’t you come back with me? I won’t hurt you.”
“Come back where?”
“My house.”
“You have a house?”
“Of course I do.”
“Is it a magical faerie house with gingerbread walls and a candy roof? Or maybe Tinker Bell is flitting inside, ready to grant me three wishes.”
He cracks a smile. “No. It’s a big house in the woods. It’s surrounded by a glamour . People don’t bother us.”
“Glamours hide the truth of you.”
“You’ve been researching.”
“A little.”
“So, come back with me.”
“Why? So you can bait my mom into a rescue?”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes.”
“Zara.” He sighs. The wind bellows outside. “How can I make you understand this? I need your mom. If I don’t get her, more boys will die.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s just how it is.”
I think for a second. “If that’s true, then why did Ian try to turn me?”
He loses his composure. His face shifts into something worried, something almost human. “Did he kiss you?”
“Almost. Betty killed him first.”
He almost smiles. He pulls his hand through his hair. “Betty is fierce.”
“Is that why you stay away when she’s here?”
“Not even a pixie wants to tangle with a tiger.”
He blows on the ember in his hand. It turns to dust.
“You seem like you could handle almost anything,” I say.
“This?” He smirks. “Parlor tricks.”
We stare at each other.
“Ian tried to turn you because he knew you would be a powerful queen. A queen with my blood would make him into a king. Ian tried to turn you because he thought I would take you as my own.”
“That’s disgusting.” I move my cast arm onto my lap. The weight of it is heavy.
“I agree.”
“Are there lots of them? Renegade pixies like Ian and Megan?”
He nods. “Too many now that I’m weak. They can sense it. They come from all over to try to conquer me, take my territory. We aren’t the easiest race.”
“Obviously.”
“You have a choice here, Zara.” He moves his lean frame and sits next to me on the couch. He puts his hand over my good one. His is still hot from the fire, almost burning, and it feels good compared to the coldness of Maine, the coldness of me. “We can go back to my house where I will answer your questions and we will wait for your mother there. Or we can wait here for the wolf boy to show up. One of these things is not a good idea.”
“Why is that?” I ask, even though I don’t want to.
“Because I have this need. And your wolf? He looks appetizing.”
Kinetophobia or Kinesophobia
fear of movement or motion
I agree to go. He smiles, triumphant, like he knew he’d win.
“I’m delighted,” he says like a real gentleman, like he didn’t just threaten Nick. He guides me out of the house. I shrug off his arm and he laughs, amused. “I won’t hurt you, Zara.”
“Right. You won’t hurt me as long as I’m cooperating,” I say as he opens the door. Cold air bursts in. He helps me on with my coat. I can only get one arm in because of the cast. I look out at the nothingness of snow and woods. I look for signs of Betty or Nick. “Are we taking the Subaru?”
“No. We’ll run.”
Running is not part of my plan. Stopping right here is my plan.
“I’m not actually supposed to run,” I try to say. “The arm and everything.”
“I’m sorry about your arm.”
“Really?”
He swoops me up as if I weigh nothing, leans me against his chest, and carries me the way grooms are supposed to carry brides over thresholds. He is cold now, away from the fire. He smells of mushrooms. “Are you afraid of heights?”
He keeps my good arm against him, and doesn’t even jostle my cast arm. It’s smooth and quick and I don’t have time to protest or even to say anything. Then he flies. Literally.
Over his shoulder a dark shape on all fours emerges from the woods and roars.
Betty’s missed us. My heart screeches in my chest.
The trees blur as we smooth-smash past them. They become dark shadowy shapes. He zips over the snow. The wind whips my hair back against his chest. Snow falls, covering our faces, covering us as we fly, faster and faster. This speed is what I always wanted when I was running, this unbelievable quickness. It is amazing and beautiful and I can barely describe it, barely experience it, and then we stop.
Betty will never find me. There’s no trail.
He sets me down on the rolling ground in a large clearing in the middle of tall pine trees. My breath whooshes out like I’d been holding it.
“Oh, that was amazing,” I say be
fore I realize it.
“You’re glowing. I thought you hated me.”
“I do. But flying? I don’t hate flying. I read this book once where—”
“You read?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I like philosophy myself. It’s good to have a daughter who reads.”
I swallow, shift my weight on my feet. They won’t be able to follow us here; we left no tracks. I can’t believe we flew. “Can all pixies fly? Because I was totally unprepared for that. I mean, I didn’t read that.”
“Only ones with royal blood. You can.”
“If I turn pixie.”
“Of course.” He points at the clearing. “Here is my home.”
“The clearing?”
“You don’t see the house?”
“No.”
His face shifts like I’ve disappointed him. “There is a glamour surrounding it, but because you’re my daughter you should be able to see through it.”
“Uh-huh.” I shiver. Snowflakes land on his hair, whitening it.
“Humans see what they believe is there, not what actually is. It doesn’t take much effort to hide ourselves and our natures from them.”
“Oh, thanks. Pixie Lesson 112, right?”
“Sarcastic. You aren’t at all like your mother. When she’s scared she becomes quiet.”
I stop biting my lip. “No, I’m not. I’m not like her at all.”
He sighs. “Just try to see what’s really there, Zara. Then we’ll go inside, out of the cold.”
“Fine.”
I stare at the clearing and it shifts, shimmers almost. A snowflake lands on my eyelash. I close my eyes as it melts. Then I open them again.
“Crud,” I mutter.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “You can see it?”
“I don’t know how I missed it.”
“The glamour.”
The house isn’t a house. It’s a mansion—huge with large-paned windows on each of its three floors. It’s clapboard sided and painted a creamy yellow, like old houses on the Battery in Charleston. Its stately straight lines seem to soar up toward the sky. It’s not ostentatious, but it’s large, screaming of old money and tea in the parlor and croquet in the backyard.
I turn my head to tell him that but my mouth drops open and my tongue seems to bail on being an active participant in the conversation.
“You see me as I am.” He smiles.
