by Carrie Jones
The news anchor returns. “Complicating matters is that some residents, frightened by events, are simply leaving town on extended vacations, which results in confusion over whether some people are truly missing or just not here.”
Mrs. Nix is over and Astley is still here, and we’re all crowded into the living room. Betty doesn’t ask anyone’s permission; she just pushes a button on the remote and the TV clicks off. I pause in the act of bringing my soup spoon to my mouth. My mom made it despite her minor concussion. She always likes to make soup when I’m sick, and she counts a gunshot wound as being sick. Plus, I think she liked being busy so she wouldn’t have to look at me.
“Why did you shut it off?” I ask, gesturing to the TV.
“It’s not telling us anything we don’t already know,” Betty says. She puts her hands right above her knees and pushes herself up to a standing position. My mother starts to stand too, but Betty barks at her. “You stay put. I’m just getting some tea.”
Betty strides off to the kitchen muttering about being stuck in a house with a gunshot victim, a fainter, and a pixie.
“I’ll go help,” says Mrs. Nix, smiling. She pets my shoulder. “I’ll see if I can calm her down a little bit. You know how she gets.”
As Mrs. Nix heads to the kitchen, Astley asks, “How does she get?”
“Cranky,” I explain.
Astley’s sitting in the red chair, and my mother and I are on the couch. She’s clutching one of Issie’s steak knives because she thinks he’s going to attack any second, despite the fact that only a couple hours ago he took care of her after she’d passed out. My mother has trust issues when it comes to pixie kings, and I can’t blame her, really.
“Mom …” I try to use her name as a warning, and I think it works, because she leans her head back against the couch, tilts her chin up, and closes her eyes.
Since getting back I’ve learned that Devyn and Cassidy finished building the cell in the basement for BiForst.
Right now, Issie, Cassidy, and Devyn are off at school, which I am missing thanks to the gunshot thing. Astley and I have gone through the book and even e-mailed a few details to them about what we’ve learned. Issie responded with a ton of exclamation points and squees. Devyn agreed with our take on things. Now we’re just waiting for them to come back from school so we can get on with it.
Betty and Mrs. Nix come back with tea for everyone, even Astley, which seems like a giant step forward.
“Be careful, Zara,” Betty says as she puts my mug on the coffee table. “It’s hot.”
I shoot Astley a look. They’re treating me like a baby. I swallow my temper.
“So, we’ve been talking …,” Betty begins. She fixes me with her alpha-dog stare. I swallow but stare back. Something in my stomach drops. “You aren’t well enough to go, Zara.”
My heart falls out along with my stomach. I start to protest and tell her how I am just a bit achy and that I am totally, perfectly fine to go, which I am, when she silences me with a finger. “Do not argue. We all agree. You have no chance.”
“But—”
“No buts, young lady.” My mom crosses her arms over her chest. “We’ll tie you up if we have to, but you can’t do it.”
“We can’t lose you too,” Betty explains.
“You don’t all agree. Astley doesn’t agree,” I respond. Then I close my eyes for a moment, to try to push the pain and despair down.
When I open my eyes, he’s moved right in front of me. He’s squatting on the floor. His voice is soft and serious. His hands touch the sides of my shins. “I do agree.”
The clock ticks on the wall. The refrigerator hums in the other room. All these sounds that show me life is going on, is real, that they are actually saying this to me—even Astley.
“I changed … I changed to do this. If I don’t get Nick, that means I’ve changed for nothing.” My voice sounds hysterical. I clamp my mouth shut. Tears are popping into my eyes.
“I know, sweetie.” Betty pats my arm.
“No, that is incorrect,” Astley disagrees. “It is not for nothing. Your change makes me stronger. It brings us stability. When you live with me as queen, we will—”
“Absolutely not,” Mom interrupts.
Astley’s gaze goes from one to the other of us as he stands up. “That is not the issue at this time. What is important is getting to Valhalla. Who shall go?”
Mrs. Nix puts down her mug. It rests on her big knee. “I will.”
“I thought we’d decided that I would,” Betty says.
“I am not as needed. You have a family, Betty, medical skills that I just don’t have. But I am just as good a warrior as you are and you know it.”
Betty nods. “True.”
“But you are needed,” I interrupt, staring at Mrs. Nix’s sweet round face. “And you do have a family. Everyone at school is your family. We’re your family.”
She smiles softly at me, this woman who is a bear, and she says, “You are so kind, Zara. Let me do this for you. Let me be the hero this time.”
I don’t answer. I try to solid up my argument, but I don’t know how.
“She has a better chance at success,” Betty adds. “If you do it, you’re being selfish, Zara. You are lowering the odds of us actually rescuing Nick. Is that what you want?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she retorts. “I wonder why only one can go at a time? Where do these ancient rules even come from?”
It is still snowing outside when we leave. It is the kind of snow that seems like it will never stop, maybe because it hasn’t for weeks. It isn’t too heavy, but it’s built up so that there are snow piles where sidewalks should be on Main and High Streets. City public works crews don’t seem to ever have a break. They keep hauling it off the streets and parking lots. They dump a lot in the parking lot by the harbor because it’s winter and no boaters are out. The town dock is basically a tiny park with a gazebo and a couple of floating docks that are currently hauled up on the parking lot and covered with three huge mountains of snow.
We’re all carpooling there. It took a lot of protesting for my mom and Betty to even allow me to come, but I’d gone all the way to New York with Astley, so they could hardly make like a trip across town would be too taxing. I know they are trying to protect me because they love me, but seriously? All the fussing is a little too much, and I’ve compromised a lot by letting Mrs. Nix go to Valhalla instead of me.
Betty, my mom, Mrs. Nix, and I drive to the harbor in my mom’s rental car. Betty and Mrs. Nix sit in the backseat, with Betty giving her pointers nonstop.
“Do not trust anyone,” she tells her. “Not even the gods.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Nix says.
“And if you get in a jam, use the lunge—when you rear up you expose your belly to attack.”
“Of course.”
I turn around and look at them. They are so cute together. “We’re here. Are you okay to do this? I can still go.”
Mrs. Nix smiles at me and reaches forward to touch the side of my face. “It’s my turn to be the hero, Zara. I like it. Plus, I get to reunite true lovers. It’s romantic.”
Her eyes are soft and sweet but strong too. She drops her hand from my face, and my voice chokes up as I say, “Thank you.”
Astley pulls up.
“That car does not fit in here,” Betty snarks as she gets out.
This is true. Astley, Amelie, and a tied-up BiForst exit Astley’s too-snazzy car as Mrs. Nix exits ours.
I grab the door handle, but my mom stops me. “It’s too cold out for you.”
I glare at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
But she’s not. She wants me to stay in the car, just stay here and watch. Everyone else agrees.
“Outvoted,” Betty announces, then frowns woefully. “But you have front-row seats.”
That does not make it better, but I don’t want to make a big scene. I motion for Mrs. Nix to come to the window
. She leans in. She smells like cinnamon rolls, like a stereotypical grandmother from the old days, warm and good, full of flour and sugar and love.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I whisper at her.
A snowflake sticks to her hair. “I am honored to do it.”
She starts to move away, but I reach out and grab the fabric of her light blue parka. “Tell him I love him, okay? Tell him … I wanted to be the one to save him.”
“Zara.” She pauses, straightens up. “Nick already knows that, honey. Now, no worries. I’ll bring him back soon. You take good care of your old grandma while I’m gone. She’s not as tough as she pretends to be and she worries some about you. Deal?”
“Deal.”
From my spot in the rental car, which smells of plastic and disinfectant, I watch them walk past the twenty abandoned parking spots in the lot, take a hard right by the shack that passes for a harbormaster’s office, and onto the pier, which is part metal and part wood. They are a ragtag group of strange. They stand on the end of the dock. Ice chunks fill the water, looking like tiny dirty icebergs. Mrs. Nix looks like a blue marshmallow in her parka. My mom, Cassidy, and Issie group together like they are searching for strength from one another. Astley callously pushes BiForst in front of the rest. They wear fabric and leather and wool. They wear winter hats and gloves. Some stride (Betty), some saunter (Cassidy), and some seem to waddle (Mrs. Nix), but they are all here for one thing: to get Nick back, and I love them so much for it. I love them so much that it’s almost okay that they are making me wait in the car.
What a liar I am.
It is not okay at all. They could get hurt. They could need backup. Something could go wrong.
The air starts to shimmer around them. Gasping, I lean forward onto the dashboard to get a better look. A bridge is forming over the river. It’s silver and shiny and— It’s not a rainbow. Everything I’ve read has said it would be a rainbow. Maybe “rainbow” is a word that gets lost in translation? I don’t know. I want to hope that, but it doesn’t feel right. Mrs. Nix steps on it and starts walking. The bridge arches over the river. The snow obscures the end. Mrs. Nix waddles up it, higher and higher.
Everything inside me shudders, and I freeze up. It’s not from the cold. It’s not from the wound. It’s because that BiForst guy is giving off a smell that I catch even from the car. It’s an arrogant smell. It’s like fire or death or— It’s what that Frank pixie smelled like when he killed Nick.
I shove open the car door, ignore the pain, and start to run, but I get only a few steps before the bridge just explodes.
Time stops.
The explosion is so loud it’s like it sucks the sound out of everything.
A second passes.
Another.
The smell of burning fur and sulfur rush into the air. Shards of crystals rain through the sky. Someone screams. Black smoke billows across everything, obscures everything.
“Mrs. Nix!” I yell. “Mrs. Nix!”
But I know, even as I yell it, that it’s too late.
The silence is huge and horrifying.
It should have been me.
For a moment nobody moves. Then it’s all slow motion. Cassidy is screaming. It’s inhumanly high and keening, and the air seems to echo with it. My mom moves to stand in front of her. Her hands go to Cassidy’s arms. Issie doesn’t move. She is shocked still. Devyn pulls her into a hug, protecting her head from falling debris. Astley turns to look at me. His eyes meet my eyes, even though I am still rushing toward them and there is a big distance. He half jumps, half flies to me.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His eyes do a quick once-over, checking for damage.
“Uh-huh. Are you?” I ask this but I can tell that he’s got a singed spot on his forehead, a burn mark on his coat, and a cut on his ear. I move him around so I can better inspect.
“I am uninjured,” he says. His voice softens with worry.
I blow that lie right off and I raise myself up on tiptoes. There’s a shard of a red crystal substance sticking out behind his ear. It’s not too big. “Hold still.”
Before he can say anything, I wrap my hand around it. It burns because it’s so hot. I yank it out anyway, in one quick movement, and drop it on the snowy pavement. Then I press my hand against the wound as the blood spurts.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” I whisper.
He nods. “Her essence … I cannot … She is gone.”
A big sob threatens to swallow me up, but I push it down and back. There are things to do. Mrs. Nix would want me to take care of people. Still, my heart pulses slow with loss, feeble and aching. We have lost so many.
What I’ve learned lately is that people deal with death in all sorts of different ways. Some of us fight against it, doing everything we can to make it not true. Some of us lose ourselves to grief. Some of us lose ourselves to anger.
A roar fills the air, shaking through the snowflakes, splintering away from mere sound and into something solid and fierce. Astley grabs my arm, propels me behind him. I push around to see. Betty has turned. Her tiger self stands near my mother and the others. Devyn has moved slightly in front of everyone else, protecting them, I guess, but why would he have to protect anyone from Betty? Amelie is slowly walking backward, like she’s afraid she’s about to be eaten, but the tiger’s focus isn’t on them. Then I understand. Even from over here, Betty’s anger and desire to kill form one solid, twisted force.
The tiger takes two steps and leaps up, her mouth open and ready. The front half of her torso elongates and her front two paws stretch out, claws unleashed. She swats one across BiForst, knocking him to the ground. The other paw follows, ripping into his flesh. She falls on top of him, snarling. Issie gasps. I can do nothing. It’s too late. My grip on Astley’s arm tightens as BiForst stops moving.
Done with him, the tiger turns and looks at me, blood in her mouth. Her eyes are wild with grief and rage. She takes one step toward us. Astley’s muscles tense, bracing for an attack. Then the tiger wails, turns, and bounds away across the snow, toward the gazebo in the little harbor park, then up to the trees that border between the houses and the park. And she is gone.
“She killed BiForst.” I stagger backward to Betty’s truck. The world reels.
Astley touches my cheek with the heel of his hand, and I let him. I do not jump away. There is sorrow in his eyes too, just like mine, maybe not so much for Mrs. Nix, but for his other losses.
I swallow hard, try to push that sorrow into a small place—maybe behind my appendix or something—put it somewhere contained for a while so that I can function. Then I yell for everyone to come back here, to back away from the carnage and destruction so I can take care of them and we can regroup.
Just as I do, a burned piece of fabric flutters down from the sky. It’s part of Mrs. Nix’s pine green sweatshirt. There’s the eye of a reindeer on it. She was so excited about Christmas. She’d already decorated her office with little reindeer, which may be breaking those rules about separation of church and state, but I don’t think she cared. Trembling, I scoop down, pick it up, and put it in my pocket. Why? I don’t know. Just because. Just because she was a hero and I need something to remember her by, and if that has to be a burned piece of her sweatshirt, so be it. Just so be it …
We walk to our cars, wounded and zombielike. I know we have to get out of here before the police come. Someone must have heard or smelled something. Astley and Amelie, however, put a glamour on the area, trying to make it look like it did before. They stand together and a hum fills the air. I do triage, trying to bandage up everyone’s wounds before we get out of here. I use the med kit Betty keeps in the metal locker in the bed of her truck but that she’d shoved into the car at the last minute. “Just in case,” she had said.
Issie has rips in her puffy pink coat and she’s softly crying. Devyn’s mouth is a grim line. He’s bleeding from the neck and forehead.
“Let me bandage that,” I tell him. We are barely moving. Shock num
bs us into half of our selves.
“Issie first,” he insists. They sit on the back of the truck, feet dangling.
“Issie isn’t hurt as badly,” I say.
“Issie first.”
“You okay with that, Is?” I ask.
She nods, but she doesn’t say anything. She hasn’t spoken a word the entire time. It’s like she’s lost her voice. Her eyes are hollow, full of tears. I never even asked her how she got out of her house arrest to come with us. I’m a horrible friend, putting her in danger over and over again, putting all of them in danger. The guilt of it flips my stomach. I take care of Issie quickly and move on to Devyn and then my mother, while Astley cares for Amelie despite his own injuries. Cassidy seems to be healing on her own, thanks to her special blood. She checks on Issie and Devyn, murmuring magic words, hiccupping softly with tears as she works.
“We will be okay,” my mother insists.
I work on her hands, applying burn cream. It globs out of the tube. She cringes.
“We will be okay,” she repeats.
But I don’t know how we will. I look up at Astley. He meets my gaze, and it’s then that I notice. His eyes are full of tears, and they glisten, goldish. I wonder if my eyes look like that too. I wonder if we will ever find Nick. I wonder if we will ever stop losing people we love. I wonder and wonder as I work on my mother’s hands, but I get no answers. I get nothing but the feeling of loss.
My mother uses the burned palms of her hands to grab my own, stopping me as I roll out the gauze. “We are done with this, Zara. You hear me? No more Valhalla. No more fighting. I forbid you. We are done.”
“But Nick—”
“No boy is worth this.”
Everyone stops what they are doing and watches us. My mouth has dropped open. I clamp it shut and then open it again, measuring my words, but no words come.
Her pupils flare. “I forbid you.”
That tone. It used to make me do anything she wanted. It sent me to my room when I was being a brat. It made me do dishes or get to school on time. But not anymore.
“You can’t forbid me anymore, Mom. You can’t stop me,” I say.
