by Carrie Jones
“You do not need to explain, Zara.”
I stop fiddling and look at him, really look at him. He’s still so young. He’s handsome as a human. He looks like the kind of guy who would be a hero in a war movie, some sort of captain. He’s this weird mix of wounded and confident, kind and bossy. But right now the vibe he’s giving out is wounded, and I’m so worried that it isn’t just about our mothers, that it isn’t even about our kiss, but that it’s something more.
I eye Astley. “They didn’t just tell you how for free, did they?”
“I did not have to pay them with money.” He breathes slow and deep. His knuckles are scraped.
“But you did have to pay them? With what?”
He doesn’t answer. He refuses to answer and I doubt I will ever get him to answer, ever get him to tell me what he’s done. Something in my heart cracks a little bit, another sliver of pain. “You do so much for me, Astley. I—I don’t know how to thank you.”
He smiles this sad, sweet smile. “I am aware of that and you do not need to thank me.”
I touch his sleeve quickly and then rub my hands together. “So, tell me what we have to do.”
After he tells me everything he knows about the ceremony, Astley and I escape out my window again. Someday I hope we can just use the door. He brings me to Issie’s house as we discuss the preparations.
The moment we get there I realize that I don’t want him to go, that I want him to come inside with me, that I’m scared and it’s easier to be surrounded by people that you know have your back.
“I’ll wait for you. It will all be ready,” he says. His hand touches my cheek for the briefest of seconds. “Be careful.”
“You too.”
He shoots into the sky before I can thank him again or worry with him or make him wait. So I turn around and I ring the front doorbell. Issie’s mom comes to the door. She’s a short, hyper woman who dresses in swishy skirts and men’s dress socks that are pulled up to her knees. They sometimes fall down at grocery stores, according to Issie. Anyway, she throws the door open, steak knife in hand. “Zara! Come in! Come in! Get out of the cold! Did you see anyone out there? Anyone lurking? I can’t believe Betty lets you out alone like this!”
She hustles me into the house, which smells like gingerbread and chocolate cookies.
“I am baking for the holidays,” she explains, stashing her knife and brushing flour off of her too-large navy blue cashmere V-neck sweater, which looks like it belongs to Issie’s dad. There’s an ax by the door. “Issie and Devyn are upstairs in her room—with the door open, I might add, so don’t worry! Just go on up.”
She shoves a cookie at me. It’s chocolate chip and delicious. Nick used to make me cookies.
“It’s so good. Thanks!” I say, chomping down.
“Oh, I’m so glad you like it,” she says as I slip off my wet shoes and head up the stairs. I’ve made it up two before she calls my name. I stop, half turn. In a much quieter voice she says, “Do you think Issie is okay?”
I cock my head, feign ignorance. “Why?”
“The past few days, she’s barely been talking. She’s getting better now, but…” Her face is a scrunched-up ball of worry.
“She’s upset about all the people who have gone missing,” I say, telling a part of the truth. “She’s so sensitive and she’s so worried about everyone, you know? And she has a hard time being grounded.”
“I know, but it’s for her own protection.” Her lips turn inward the way mine do when I try not to cry. “She’s such a good girl.”
“She is,” I say. “She is made of awesome sauce.”
“Awesome sauce … Zara White, you are so silly.” She slaps her thigh. “You come down if you need another cookie. They have a plate up there, but if you need more…”
“Thanks,” I say and hustle up the stairs as quickly as I can without being rude—I really like Issie’s mom and she’s like Issie: nobody should ever be rude to her.
Issie’s room is crowded with stuffed animals and lit by one of those electric window candles. It takes me a second to see her and Devyn cuddled on the bed, totally making out.
I clear my throat. They both jump.
“Oh my gosh! I thought you were my mom.” Issie smooths her hair. “Sorry.”
She makes room for me on the bed by moving some stuffed animals around.
Devyn lifts an eyebrow. “Something happened?”
Issie gasps and clutches his arm. “Not Cassidy? Something hasn’t happened to her? Or Callie?”
I shake my head and sit on the cleared-off bed space by Devyn’s feet. His socks smell pretty rank actually. I try to focus on the other smells. “No, it’s good. I mean, I think it’s good. You guys…? I don’t know.”
Devyn cocks his head slightly. “You have another lead on Valhalla.”
“It’s not just a lead,” I say, and then I gush out all the information I have: how Astley appealed to the pixie council people, how we need to have one of each species of fae and human there, how I need my friends to help but only if they want to, because I can’t possibly put them in danger again—not after what happened with Mrs. Nix.
“Do you really trust him, Zara?” Issie finally asks when I’m done.
I think about all we’ve been through: Iceland, gunshot wounds, Mrs. Nix, our kiss…“I do. If it’s another trap, he’s not the one setting it.”
Devyn is silent, staring out the window. Finally, he turns and says to Issie, his voice crusting over with emotion, “What do you think, Is?”
She sniffs and stands up, clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest. “Nick would never give up on us.”
“No,” I say, my chest tightening. “He wouldn’t.”
“Then we don’t give up on him, and I honestly think that Mrs. Nix wouldn’t want us to give up on him either,” she says. “But no dying, Zara. No explosions, no gunshots or injuries or stab wounds. Okay?”
Her lips tremble a little; she’s trying so hard to be brave. It’s the most words she’s said in a long time.
“I’ll do my best,” I promise her.
I hug her and her bunny as Devyn leans back against the wall, shaking his head. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and ask what’s been bothering me since my father died in Iceland. “Do you think it’s selfish of me?”
“What?” Devyn asks.
I let go of Issie and cross my arms over my chest. “To keep trying to get Nick back.”
“If there’s a chance that we can, I think we have a moral obligation to rescue him, not just because he’s our friend and not even because he’ll help us deal with the pixies, but because he is a person. How can we not try to rescue a person?” Devyn asks honestly. “You’re the one who fights for people all around the world. Would you call off a rescue mission for a tortured monk because military personnel might die?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But they chose the risk. They know they might die.”
“And so do we,” Issie says. Her eyes are big and scared but solid tough.
“If you’re selfish, then we all are,” Devyn says, standing up straight. “Okay?”
When I nod, he reaches out and grabs my hand, shaking it the way he used to shake Nick’s, some kind of guy bonding thing. He smiles and says, “Let’s go.”
21
Dude, sometimes I think my whole town is a horror movie set. I heard screams in the woods. #Bedford, less than 5 seconds ago
We say good-bye to Issie’s mom and make up an excuse about going to a study session at the high school, which is allowable under the grounding rules, especially since we’re traveling as a group. We grab some cookies and steak knives to go. Once we’re out the door there’s no time for talking. Danger waits in the trees; I can smell it. I push Devyn and Issie ahead of me and whip out a knife, ready to strike, trying to provide them cover if any bad pixies attack.
“Issie,” something whispers from the woods. “Come to me.”
“Ignore it. It’s not the king.”
The whisper comes again. “Issie.”
“Leave my girlfriend alone!” Devyn yells, stiffening up as tall as he can. His hands are fists. It’s really sweet, actually, but I am in charge here now.
“Get in the car, guys,” I order.
“I think being a pixie brings out a previously suppressed controlling aspect of your personality,” Devyn mutters as he crawls into the back of the car.
We head to our prearranged meeting place, the Brown House, which is this old brick Georgian manor built by some log magnate guy back in the early 1800s. It’s up on this great sledding hill. There’s a museum inside and a trail for running behind it. A couple other cars are here, including Astley’s. Relief and nervous excitement flood through me.
Issie parks in the little rectangular dirt parking lot behind a big barn that used to hold horses. The paint peels from the sides.
She’s shaking still. “You can’t die, Zara.”
“I won’t.”
She keeps nodding. Her fingers squeeze mine. “Zare. It’s just— First Nick, then Mrs. Nix, and you all pixified and Betty missing. It’s all so much to handle. I’m just human, remember?”
“Adorably human,” I correct her. “Strongly and smartly human.”
We let go of each other’s hands. I open the door just as Astley strides over to us. Glitter sparkles in the snow.
Devyn flies out of the car. He perches on the roof and gives an angry eagle screech. “Devyn, be good,” I order.
“Take this sword,” Astley says to me, sounding terribly formal and regal. He fastens it on my belt with the giant peace buckle, which just seems wildly inappropriate. “The ceremony will be in the woods.”
He starts walking on the snow that’s been trampled down by cross-country skiers and dogs and runners like me.
Issie doesn’t follow. “Is it safe?” she asks me. “Are there bad pixies here?”
“Not at the moment,” Astley answers. “We will protect you with our lives, Issie. I promise you.”
Issie looks up at me out of the corner of her eyes and grabs my hand again. Just then Cassidy’s car comes screaming into the parking lot. She flings herself out of it and runs to us. Vaulting into Issie and me, she wraps us both in a hug.
“I’m so scared,” she says. “Are you scared? Don’t answer that.”
We walk together following Astley, with Devyn swooping above. We follow him into the woods. The knots in the tree trunks look like wide, stunned eyes blackened with pain. Boulders hunch on the side of the trail, waiting for whatever will happen.
“There is only one way to cross from the realm of man to the realm of the gods. This is called BiForst. It is a bridge made of a rainbow. It is not a pixie,” Astley tells us. “We’ll be opening it up here during the ceremony. It is hard magic. According to the council, only kings and queens can do it, and only rarely.”
“Like your mother,” I prompt.
“Yes. She came for her brother, the council said.”
“She has a brother?”
“I never knew, but yes. She has a brother. A pixie named Frank. He has other names, but that is the one he currently uses.”
We stop walking. Astley’s eyes move back and forth, surveying the land as he hustles back to us and takes my other hand. “I know. It is a lot to comprehend. I swear to you I did not know before now. It kills me that he is my uncle, that my mother—that she did all this to you, to us, that they are aligned somehow.”
I swallow hard and squeeze his hand. It’s so different from Issie’s, broad and solid. “It doesn’t matter now.”
All five of us seem more connected than ever. Issie says, “You can’t blame yourself for your relatives. We’d all hate Zara if you could, but we love her. It’s okay, Astley. Zara trusts you. Cassidy trusts you. And I trust you. You’re one of us now.”
For a moment Astley seems like he might break. His lip wobbles a little and when he speaks his voice is a humble whisper. “Thank you for that, Issie. You really are outstanding.”
She smiles and lightens the mood, tugging us along. “Come on. Tell us what else you learned.”
“No matter what, do not step on the red. It’s fire, an insanely hot fire,” Astley commands. He drops my hand and starts long power-striding across the snow again. “And just follow my lead during the ceremony. All of you.”
Cass leans in. “I like him, but he’s even bossier than Nick.”
“I know!” I whisper back. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
He calls over his shoulder, amusement in his voice, “I can hear you.”
Devyn squawks unhappily as we step into a patch of woods surrounded by giant hemlock trees. There are seven other people there. All wear long brown robes with hoods that cover their faces. The sky seems low, heavy, weighed down with snow, touching the tops of the trees. The people stand motionless as we come toward them. I grip Issie’s hand fiercely, like I can somehow hold on enough to keep them safe, to make this all go right.
“They look like monks,” Issie whispers. “The robes are so brown and I can’t see anyone’s face.”
“Stand here.” Astley points to a spot in the middle of the trees. “Issie, please stand near the back with the others.”
Issie squeezes my hand. It is one of the hardest things I’ll ever do, but I manage to let go of her fingers, and she moves to a position where she makes a circle with the robed people. One of them hands Issie a robe, and when she moves, I can see that it’s Becca. Her face glows brightly. The one on the other side of Issie nods as she and Cass put on the robes. He is tall, slim. His ears are slightly pointed, but he looks human. He must be some sort of fae too.
At the perimeter of the woods are my pixies. They step into the light so I can see them. They are tall and short, strong every one. They bow as I glance at them. I want to promise them that we will make it through this and be stronger for it.
“Zara, I need you in the center,” Astley reminds me.
I look back over my shoulder at Issie. She’s shivering and her eyes are wide open, which is how she looks when she’s scared. Devyn perches on a tree branch just above her head. He’s a big bird, but he looks so small, dwarfed by the trees and the events. I want to protect them both somehow, but if Mrs. Nix taught me anything, it’s that I can never totally protect anyone. Danger can just explode without warning and take us away.
Astley hands me a spear that’s longer than my body. “It’s iron tipped,” he says. “Hold it in your right hand. Let the butt rest on the ground.”
We wait. I count my heartbeats. I get to thirty. Astley lifts his arms out in some sort of salute. The others do the same. His eyes get deadly serious. He stands in front of me and starts chanting. “With this ceremony we position our traveler one footstep nearer to Odin.”
The robed fae and Issie join hands and move in closer. I shudder nervously. They circle around us, hands clasped, and are chanting words that I can’t quite make out, but I don’t think it’s the same thing that Astley’s saying. I look up at Astley. He nods at me like he’s trying to be reassuring, but it’s not really working. I flash back to Mrs. Nix climbing that silver bridge, exploding. I tucked the charred piece of her sweatshirt I had recovered into the back pocket of my jeans. I am glad she is with me now. Nick’s anklet touches my skin. He is here too.
“One heartbeat nearer to Valhalla,” Astley chants. “One march nearer to all that is accepted.”
The earth seems to shake a little. Glitter swirls up out of his hands and around us. At the same time a funky force-field type thing forms around Astley and me. Opaque and massive, it buffers out the noise, the shiver of the trees, the murmurs of the pixies, the frantic breaths of Is. I cannot believe this. The force field curves around us, reaching high into the sky. A shield.
I catch Issie’s eye. She makes herself smile. It’s pretty obvious that it’s hard for her. She’s probably remembering Mrs. Nix too. The glitter swirls around Astley and me. It’s like we’re in a snow globe, and it’s so stran
ge but so beautiful. I reach out my fingers to touch the glitter. There is the faint sound of softness and magic whirling in the air, and Astley’s voice, but that is all I can hear.
“And we plait her into fortune,” he says, all focused power. Then he starts the chant over. “With this ceremony we position our traveler one footstep—”
Something captures his attention and he falters. The swirling glitter slows. I turn my head to look behind me. More pixies have arrived and it’s clear from their look of kill and lack of robes that they aren’t ours. They thunder out of the woods, rush-run from between the trunks, claws extended, mouths open.
“Issie!” I turn and rush toward her, hitting the translucent dome that’s around us. I bounce off. I whirl around. “Astley!”
He’s chanting fast and furious. His hands bend into a cup shape. His fingers open. He motions for me to do the same.
I shake my head. “Issie! Cassidy!”
An arrow hits one of our pixies. She falls to the ground in a clump. The others grab hands and fill up her space. Another death … another death because of me … I fold in half, crumpling as a ball of light appears within Astley’s hands. His eyes implore me. I straighten again, copy his motions, and the ball is within mine. It’s warm and glows gold like the glitter, like him.
“So if our essence is worthy,” he shouts as the wind starts to blow. “If our essence is worthy, allow this traveling queen to reach your mighty halls, open the BiForst Bridge, and let our queen trod to the noble lands.”
The balls of light whirl in our hands as our eyes meet. The balls leave our fingertips, join, then circle each other. I feel a little shallower somehow, like something is missing from deep inside me.
Another one of our pixies falls. A third is trying to fend off an attack without letting go of Cassidy’s hand. I can tell from her mouth shape that she is shrieking and screaming, but I can’t hear her. Devyn crashes into the bad pixie’s face, talons outstretched.
“We have to get out of here and help!” I yell.
