by Carrie Jones
If I don’t, then Nick has to stay here. There’s no choice.
“Yes.” My voice is hard and strong and confident.
Beliel laughs and actually rubs his hands together.
“Fun,” he snarls. I glare at him and he laughs. “Oh … scared…”
The warriors begin to mutter and talk. It becomes a massive roar in two seconds. Still, I can pick out individual words and sentences in the din.
“She won’t last thirty seconds.”
“One minute tops.”
“I don’t think I want to witness this. It is not sport.”
Odin raises his hand. Everyone is instantly quiet.
“Move the tables,” he orders.
Giant men and a few women leap up and move the tables to the sides. The tables look like they weigh two hundred pounds apiece, but they make easy work of it. Some Valkyries roll out a red mat on the open area. Then the warriors tip the long wooden tables on their sides, making the center matted area more like a pen.
Nerves clench up in my stomach. I am glad Nick is not here. I wouldn’t want him to see me get trounced or witness me screwing up his one chance to get back home. No, I will not get trounced. I do not have the luxury of being trounced.
I glance at the pixie king. He smiles. I finally understand the meaning of the expression “wicked grin.” It grows larger as Thor tosses him a blade. He catches it in his hand by instinct, it seems, because his eyes never stop staring at me.
“Do you need one or do you want to use your own?” Thor asks.
“My own,” I answer.
This gets appreciative muttering. I hope that means I’ve chosen correctly. I unsheathe my sword, feel the weight of it in my hand. It makes me think of Astley, which braves me up a bit. We step inside the matted area. I’m wondering if this is a fight to the death or not. My head is full of questions. How do I attack the guy who overcame Nick? What kind of chance do I honestly have here?
The pixie king silently nods at me.
I silently nod back.
“You may begin,” Odin announces. “Valiant fighting to both.”
The pixie king bows and immediately rushes toward me. I wince and duck. The sword soars through the space where my head was a second ago. Crud. He’s coming at me again. I roll. A split second later the sword slams into the floor. The entire hall reverberates from the blow. I was just there. He barely missed.
I am still rolling, clutching my sword to my chest. He comes after me. His foot lands on my chest.
“You’re not making this much fun, princess,” he hisses. The weight of his boot pushes the air out of my rib cage.
“It’s queen now, thank you,” I grunt back.
“You fight like a human.”
“And that’s an insult, right?”
He grinds the boot in a little deeper. “Right.”
For a second neither of us moves. I swear he’s gloating.
Someone in the audience yells, “Do not torment her. Get it done and be quick.”
I guess that’s a supportive comment. Maybe?
He leans closer. That wicked grin spreads further. He lets his glamour go. He is all blue and wildness.
“The goody-goody king has turned you, but he has not achieved his full power, nor have you.” He says this low enough that I’m pretty sure I am the only one who can hear it.
“And you know this how?” I try not to get embarrassed, and act tough instead. Only problem? I’m no good at acting.
His nostrils flare. “I can smell it. That means you can still be taken, that your full power can be taken by another.”
I get what he means. And I do not like it. My fear, all my fear, suddenly hardens and morphs into something totally different: anger. It burns through my pixie blood. It pulls its way into my organs, feeding me. Anger. Passion. This—this monster pixie man—this so-called king is the one who let my father’s pixies loose to ravage our town, the one who killed Nick, the one whose people caused the death of that entire busload of Sumner students, the one whose people might be killing Issie and Devyn and Astley and Cassidy right now.
I smile at him, all Southern charm and sweetness.
His weight shifts. I use his split-second of confusion to thrust my hips up and out. My legs bend so I can use my feet to push up off the ground. The power of it sends him stumbling back.
The crowd roars its approval.
I whirl around, thrust my sword at him. I nick him in the arm. Blood pours out, dark and foreign. It’s my blood too, but it’s not. We may both be pixies, but we are different, totally different.
“You talk too much,” I say. “Why do the bad guys always talk too much?”
“Because we like to prolong the win,” he says, slashing his sword toward me. “It’s sexier that way.”
“Point to remember,” I say, “bad guys are never sexy.”
He is so much more skilled than I am. He attacks low with a double thrust, but I leap high, turn in midair, and land behind him.
“Nice,” he says, whipping around to meet my sword blow with his own. “But not good enough. You’re never quite good enough, are you, princess? Always trying to save people—your stepfather, your wolf—but never quite doing it.”
“Well, it seems like you aren’t either,” I huff out, trying to catch my breath. “You tried to kill Astley and me how many times? But you keep failing and failing and failing.”
“Not this time.”
He increases the speed of his attack. His sword flies high and fast. It is all I can do to parry it. I move backward from the force. I have to super-react to every move while he looks as calm as all get-out. It’s like he barely has to use his muscles to make the big sword thrust and slash. And me? I am a suck-a-saurus.
A voice fills my brain.
Fly.
It’s Astley’s voice. It’s Astley’s voice right in the middle of my brain.
Up.
It’s more than his voice, though. It’s like his essence, his power is right here. I can feel it bolding up my muscles, my brain, my heart.
Fly up.
Fly up? What is he talking about? I can’t fly. Still, I take a risk. I don’t know what else to do. I jump. My free hand grabs the banner that dangles from the ceiling. It doesn’t rip. It holds my weight. The warriors laugh below me. Frank/Beliel joins them. He pauses for a second, totally cocky, his free hand resting on his hip.
“Do you forget I am a king? I fly too!” he boasts and leaps into the air. His laughter turns into a snarl and the point of his sword plunges just above my left collarbone. As it twists I feel my flesh open, feel the blood flow out of me. I thrust my own sword up, and his sword rips up and leaves my body. I let go of the banner and drop.
Great idea there, Astley.
Landing in a crouch, I avoid two blows to the left. My gold blade flickers between us. Then I remember what Nick always told Issie and me: “Strike with your feet.” I swipe my leg beneath him. His face makes a surprised O and he topples down, dropping his sword. I lunge for him. My body slams into his. I use my knees to keep his arms down. My sword blade thrusts against his neck, but I do not pierce the skin.
I have him. One sharp move from me and his jugular will be severed.
“I defeat you,” I hiss. I don’t even recognize my voice. It is hard and low and sounds more like Astley than me.
“Then kill me,” he snarls back. Sweat glistens on his forehead. His voice is brave but his eyes fill with fear.
My hand twitches. He tries to buck away, but I’m ready for it. He doesn’t get anywhere and my sword lightly presses his neck. It’s just enough to make tiny beads of blood appear on his awful skin.
I ignore him and yell up to Odin and Thor, “Do I win?”
“Damn straight!” Thor yells, sounding more like a surfer than a god. He pounds over to us and snatches up Beliel’s sword. “You may arise,” he says to me.
I know I should, but something in me doesn’t want to. Something in me actually wants to kill the pixi
e underneath me. I swallow that something down. It is like bile. It burns.
Beliel hisses at me. I shift my weight away, take my sword from his throat, but keep it pointed.
“We have it from here, warrior,” Thor says. Three other men grab Beliel and yank him out of the hall, through the open door, and into the springtime air. The others start stomping their feet on the floor and clapping. The entire hall shakes from the vibrations and the sudden loud warrior-man cheers. I blush. They are cheering for me.
Trying to catch my breath, I stand up straight and face Odin. He smiles down upon me. Astley is next to him. I can’t catch my breath at all. He looks so alive and so beautiful. But his face … I can’t read his face. Where did he come from?
“Do I win?” I ask Odin. I know what Thor said, but Odin is the decider here.
“You win.” His one eye blinks. “You win, Zara, Queen of the Star Pixies. You win and you win with honor.”
It’s all I can do not to jump up and down and scream. My eyes meet Astley’s eyes. He smiles and everything in my body explodes in a burst of happy. Without thinking about it, I leap over the table and into his arms.
The warriors start whistling and banging the table, the strength of their fists thundering their approval and applause.
“You are amazing,” Astley yells into my ear.
I wrap my arms around him and hug him back. “You were in my head. I could hear you, and your support made me stronger, Astley. I’m so glad you’re here.”
He starts laughing. “I was so worried, but I knew it. I knew you could do it!”
I lean away to study his face. “Wait. How are you here?”
“Odin had them bring me when they brought Frank.”
I break away. “The battle? Issie and Cassidy and Dev? Our pixies?”
“We won, mostly thanks to your grandmother. Your friends and our pixies are safe,” he says as he separates from me even more. We are an arm’s length apart and the distance feels like a cavern. “Now go get your wolf, Zara. I will be waiting for you in Bedford when you return.”
25
High school officials report that all after-school activities have been canceled pending further notice. In addition, the town’s curfew has been changed from dusk to three p.m.
—NEWS CHANNEL 8
The warriors insist on dressing my wound and finally tell me I can visit Nick. As I stand up to go, Astley waves good-bye. I mouth Thank you and rush down the hall and this time I don’t hesitate—I throw open the door. The light coming out of the room is bright, clean. It seems otherworldly and not like the rest of the rugged hall at all. I peer inside. There’s just a bed with solid wood posters and white, white sheets. There’s a body in the bed. My stomach clenches. A body.
“Nick?” I whisper.
He sits up. His eyes squint like he’s just woken up and is trying to focus. I remember that squint from when he woke up at Betty’s, groggy and sleep brained on the couch. Everything inside me stops the moment I see him. There’s stubble all over his cheeks. His eyes widen.
It is him. He exists and moves and breathes and lives. He lives. His eyebrows are so beautifully messy and big and his eyes are open and he’s breathing and … I swear I can taste my happiness. This can’t be, but it is. He’s here. He really is.
I take a step into the room and get ready to vault myself into his arms. “Nick!”
“Zara?” His voice sounds strong. It sounds alive and real. He is alive and real.
My voice explodes in happiness. “Nick!”
He leaps up out of the bed growling and lands a few feet in front of me, massive and angry. The room suddenly seems much darker than it did a moment ago.
“Someone has … has turned you,” he roars. “Who? Was it the same guy who killed me?”
I crawl backward, stagger to the doorway. Moss crawls over my heart, sinking its tiny tendrils into me. I knew it—I knew he’d hate me. His face is lined with anger and maybe age. He looks older and angry and alive, really and truly alive.
“You aren’t dead,” I sputter. Tears threaten to leave my eyes. “So he didn’t kill you?”
“He did kill me. They brought me back,” he corrects. He tilts his head. His hands reach for me and then clench into fists, as if touching me is too horrible to imagine. He jerks them back to his sides. “I swear, Zara, I’ll avenge you. I’ll find some way to make this right. Maybe there’s a way to reverse it. Maybe Devyn’s parents can—”
I hold out my hand as he steps closer. “It was my decision.”
He stops. His face twists. He pivots away and stands by a massive window. He leans forward, hands outstretched on the cold wood sill. His shoulders shake with emotion. “What?”
“I chose to turn.” My words are quiet knife wounds to his heart. I know that, but I can’t change it.
“What are you saying? What…?” His hands go into his hair, rubbing it into crazy spikes.
“Our lives are bigger now,” I try to explain as my heart breaks. “We have responsibilities to protect people, to protect each other.”
“Zara? What … what are you talking about? We always have,” he insists. “That doesn’t mean you had to change. What the hell have you done?”
“But now I can help for real. Now that I’ve become a pixie—”
He shudders when I say the word, but I keep talking. “I’m much stronger; I can do so much more now. I couldn’t even get here, couldn’t come bring you back, if I stayed human. I could only come if I was fae.” And a queen, but I don’t say that.
He whirls around. “Then you should have stayed there. You should have stayed human.”
“Without you?” My stomach twists. I press my hand into it. My voice is a plea. “I had to find you. We need you. Issie and Devyn and—everyone. We need you. It’s gone crazy. There are two other kings around; my dad’s dead. The town is in total chaos. There are FBI agents there. More than twenty people are gone.”
“So you need me to fight.” He snorts. “That’s why they want me here too. Because I’m supposedly such a great warrior.”
“You are.”
“If I was, I wouldn’t have died, would I? If I was, I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t have turned pixie to save me. I’d be back in Bedford protecting you from them, and now—ah—now you are one of them.” He cringes and backs up against the wall, his arms wrapping around his trunk. “Oh God, Zara … I can’t believe you did this. You aren’t even human anymore. You aren’t you.”
“I am me. I am still me.” I step toward him. My voice is a quiet want. “I did it for you.”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes.
I give up. I rush over to him and take his forearms in my hands and try to pull them down so I can reach in and hug him, press my head against his chest like I always used to when I was human. He cringes again.
“I. Am. Still. Zara,” I insist. I wrap my arms around him, press as close to him as I can. “Please, please, believe me.”
He tightens up, but he doesn’t push me away. Every fear I’ve ever had is nothing—nothing—compared to this. This horror of him not loving me, of not hugging me back when I hug him, of not wanting me near him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper.
After a second he goes, “What?”
I don’t answer.
“What doesn’t matter, Zara?” he asks.
“That you don’t love me. That you hate me now. What matters is that you can come back home. You hating me is just—it’s just— I can be okay with that as long as you are there.” I gasp out the words and let go of him, rush-turning away, but he grabs me by the arms and pulls me back to him.
His deep brown eyes stare into mine. His lips move. “I love you.”
“What?”
I don’t think I got it.
“I still love you, Amnesty,” he says. He swallows hard. “I love you so much. It just—it just kills me that you changed to save me. I don’t know…”
For a moment I cannot speak. Wi
ping my cheeks dry, I try to push the feelings of hurt out of me, try to be the leader I’m supposed to be, and say, “I’m taking you home with me.”
A woman’s voice comes from the doorway. “Like Loki you are.”
Nick stiffens and I turn around, even though I recognize the voice. Thruth, the Valkyrie.
“Oh, not you,” I mumble.
Thruth storms into the room. “Yes, me.”
“Don’t try to intimidate her,” Nick scolds the Valkyrie.
“I don’t have to try. Even as a queen she’s puny and weak,” the Valkyrie spits out.
I stomp toward her and point. I’ve so had it with her. “That is so not nice.”
“You don’t even talk like a queen.” She glares at me.
Nick raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re a queen?”
I walk to the edge of the bed, stand just a few inches away from her. Power rolls off her. “Okay, please refrain from your insidious comments, which are obviously geared to inflict harm upon my psyche. I do not appreciate it.”
Nick cracks up. “Well, you are the same Zara.”
I turn to smile at him and reach out my hand. He takes it. His fingers in mine are easily the best, most amazing-feeling fingers ever.
“I’m taking him home,” I announce. “I have come for him and we’re leaving.”
“You cannot,” she blusters. “You can’t just leave. Nick must go through a ceremony. His memory must be purged of his stay here. There are certain rules, ways. You can’t just expect those to be ignored because of your trivial wishes, your ludicrous love.”
Nick loses his smile completely, and for a second I think he’s going to let go of my hand. Instead, he pulls me to his side and growls. “Valkyrie. You have no right.”
“Don’t tell me what rights I do and do not have, wolf.” She straightens up even more, looks like she’s ready to fight.
“Fine,” I cut in.
She taps her long blue fingernails against the bedpost. She looks at Nick. “Do you choose to leave the sacred halls of Valhalla, to renounce your rightful place as a warrior of Odin, and return with her?”
He hesitates. He closes his eyes for a moment and he actually hesitates before his voice comes out gruff and slow. “Yes, I do.”
