Entice

  Her hands twitch beneath my fingers. “You used to be so human, Zara, but now … but now …”

  I pull out of her grasp easily. Then I slowly and methodically continue working on her burns. Nobody else says anything. They look away like nothing has happened, but something has happened, something big. I feel it inside of me, and that knowledge aches, bitter and hard like death.

  20

  Recent sightings of large cat prints have stumped local officials, but some residents are now wondering if the cause of the missing youths isn’t a human predator at all.

  —NEWS CHANNEL 8

  Astley makes phone calls and some of his pixies come to dispose of BiForst’s body. Betty hasn’t come back. Two days pass and we all mourn. It’s a double mourning, for both Mrs. Nix and Nick, because it seems like we’ve lost all chance of finding him. It’s a triple mourning almost, because it feels like Betty will never return. To make it worse, she isn’t being careful. There are news sightings of big cats, and one television report showed a man pointing at Betty’s massive paw prints in the snow.

  The days stretch into grayness, bleak and horrible. Mrs. Nix was one of the kindest people in the universe and now she’s gone. Mrs. Nix’s disappearance does not go unnoticed at school, nor does Betty’s. My mom substitutes for Mrs. Nix, but there’s nobody to fill Betty’s shoes. On Friday an FBI agent stops me and Cassidy in the school parking lot and asks us questions. We answer the best we can: We don’t know about Mrs. Nix. Betty went to visit a sick friend in New Hampshire. We give him Betty’s cell phone number.

  “Aren’t you worried about things?” he asks us. “So many missing. I’d think you kids wouldn’t even be walking in parking lots alone.”

  Cassidy pulls her arm through mine. “We aren’t alone.”

  “Oh, you have each other, right?” he snarks.

  “You’re alone,” I say.

  “Yes, but I have this.” He pats the side of his belt where his gun is. That’s not tacky or over-the-top macho or anything.

  Later the same day, Astley and I meet at the grocery store since my mother refuses to allow him anywhere near the house. We roam up and down the aisles, carrying little baskets but not really buying anything. Eventually, I grab some mushroom ravioli just as an excuse to actually be here.

  He walks me to the car. My hat is lopsided, so I fix it. Astley tucks my scarf more securely around my neck, then asks, “You have given up hope, haven’t you?”

  I shrug, even though I know it’s a pathetic body gesture.

  His hands go to the side of my face. “It hurts me to see you like this.”

  “I am okay,” I say. “I—I’ve dealt with loss before.”

  He leans closer. The smell of him overwhelms everything else, makes the snow falling behind him in the white sea of the parking lot vanish. It’s just him and me here, just us with our grief.

  “I would take it all away if I could,” he says.

  “Why?”

  It’s his turn to shrug. “I just would.”

  My butt rests against the MINI. I reach out and wipe the snow off his shoulders. “I wish you could.”

  His fingers curl around my wrists, wrapping the ends of my mittens with warmth.

  “Zara?” His voice is hoarse and aching.

  I tilt my head and before I know it I’m clinging on to him, like he’s some magic tether that keeps me from sinking under with grief and pain and loss. His head dips down and our lips touch just the faintest of whispers, and then they mold right into each other, aching for life and comfort, longing to know that we aren’t alone. The world shimmers. He clutches me closer, and it’s just the two of us standing in the snowflakes, air swirling around us, the world spinning on its axis, time slowly clicking forward. It’s like the world has wrapped us up in old blankets, warming us with passion and need and …

  I break away first. My hand flutters to cover my lips. “Oh … Oh …”

  Someone starts a car in the next aisle and pulls out of the space. I try to figure out what to say, what to feel. Astley kissed me. And it was nice. It was more than nice. I can’t—

  Astley interrupts my thoughts. His face is suddenly hard, lined. “It was all a trap. My mother set us up. She hoped to kill you at the bar, but she had a backup plan. Vander must have been beholden to her, in league with her. It’s rare, but it can happen, because she was the queen and I am not as strong as I should be.”

  Shock ripples through me. “Why? Why would she want to kill me?”

  “She is the widow of a king. If I died, she could choose her own king and rule through him, but now that you’re alive, you have that power instead of her.”

  I try to process that. If Astley died, I’d have to find another king. And if we both died, she’d get to rule again. “That’s horrible. She meant to kill me? And you?”

  “She killed my last queen, I think, through treachery. And Iceland— She— It was her. I am sure of it.”

  Concentrating on his face, I try to push the anger out of my gut and focus on him and his hurt, his loss. I don’t know what it could possibly be like to have a mother like that. How alone he must feel. As I watch his lips, my stomach hitches up. I kissed him. We kissed each other. We …

  He swallows so hard that I can hear it. “I shall find him.”

  “What?” Shaking my head, I try to clear my brain. “What do you mean?”

  “I will find your wolf. I want you to want me because you want me, not because of grief, not because he is not here. I want you to love me for me. I want you to kiss me first and not because you need me to help you, but because you need to kiss me.” He lifts his eyebrows just a little bit and his lips open. I drop my hand, reach for him, but he steps back and whisks away, dodging behind cars, before I have a chance to say that I don’t want to lose him too.

  I see Astley the next day after school. He meets me in the parking lot and we stand by the MINI. His eyes are soft but wary—he’s watching the perimeter of the woods while we talk instead of making eye contact, which I understand because I do it too. We can’t let our guard down.

  “I need to ask a favor of you, Zara,” he says.

  I nod. I’m cool with that.

  “I have arranged a meeting of our pixies so that—”

  “In the graveyard again?” I interrupt.

  “No. I think that was a bit—”

  “Emo? Melodramatic?” I suggest.

  Tilting his head, he smirks at me and makes eye contact. “As a species we have a weakness for drama. Thank you for reminding me,” he teases. “But no. It is actually in a conference room at a hotel. Many of our pixies are posing as reporters and are at the Holiday Inn. We’ve rented a room and pumped in a feed so that everyone in the kingdom, even those who are not here, can watch.”

  That’s smart. But then I think, why?

  “I want to tell them all about what happened in Iceland and with Mrs. Nix. I need to reveal my mother’s treachery.” His Adam’s apple moves down in his throat and he rubs a hand through his hair. “It will not be fun.”

  It isn’t. We spend an hour in the conference room with its puke pink walls and old coffee smell. The whole time I remember how I ran at the cemetery, and the shame of it burns my cheeks. They’ve made such sacrifices being here, to protect the town, the people, my friends, me. They deserve more. Throughout the meeting, Astley stands at a podium and talks and talks, fielding questions from the two hundred or so pixies sitting at tables. The questions are respectful, and from the way that Amelie glares at anyone who asks anything, I’m sure everyone is afraid she’d rip their head off if they were even the slightest bit rude. Astley explains how his mother is basically trying to assassinate us. He also mentions that we saw Fenrir, the wolf who heralds the Ragnarok, the end of our world.

  Finally Becca, a pixie who has chewed gum the entire time, raises her hand and asks, “So, you’ve been trying to find Valhalla to rescue the were who at one point tied you to a tree?”

  “Yes,” Astley says.


  Amelie paces along the perimeter of the room, feral almost. I try to imagine how hard it must be for her, having killed her sister and now having to see me as Astley’s new queen.

  Becca ignores Amelie and continues on. “And he is the boyfriend of the queen?”

  Astley nods.

  “And the queen has killed others because of this wish? Exploited it?”

  “Yes,” Astley says, looking at me. I think we’re both hoping that Becca will get to the point.

  “Look,” Becca continues, “I’m cool with trying to save anyone who can help us kick Frank’s ass, but what I’m wondering is, why don’t you just ask the council how to get to Valhalla?” She stares me down, but her eyes aren’t unkind, just tough.

  “I have via phone and I am going there to ask personally after the meeting. As of yet they have not responded,” Astley says. He looks around the room to see if there are any more questions.

  “Does the queen have anything to say?” Becca asks. She smiles at me. She’s so pretty when she smiles. Her parents are from Hong Kong, Amelie told me. “She has been so quiet.”

  The energy in the room changes. I know they’re all remembering how I ran off, how I was weak and scared. That’s not what they need right now. I can tell from the feeling in the room that all of them are nervous, on edge about the treachery and the attacks they’ve been dealing with here.

  “This is not about Zara,” Astley says, but then he looks at me and adds, “but if you would like to say something, you most certainly can.”

  My knees shake a tiny bit as I stand up and move toward the podium. I adjust the microphone down. It’s beyond awkward up here. Wishing that I’d taken speech or debate or something, I force a slow deep breath through my lungs and out.

  “I am honored to be your queen. Every day I become more and more honored by what you all risk just by being here. You know what Frank’s pixies do: they torment, they torture innocent people, they drain their souls, rip their skin, ravage their minds. They do this as pixies. When they do this they ruin who we are. Show the world, show me, show your king, and most importantly show yourselves that you are better than that, that you are not that. Continue to protect the people of this town. Use your power for good. Be proud to be on the side of good. Be proud of your king and yourselves. I know that I am, and I am so thankful for all of you.”

  Sitting back down, I start smiling, because I know—without the smallest of doubts—that if my dad—the one who raised me, my stepdad—were here, he’d be really, really proud.

  After the meeting, Astley drives me home and we stand on the front porch talking for a minute.

  “You did a very good job,” he says.

  “Was it too rah-rah?” I ask.

  “No, not at all.”

  “You did a good job too,” I say, deliberately avoiding looking at his lips. We have said nothing more about the kiss.

  As soon as we are out of the car, my mother opens the house door and snaps, “What are you doing here?”

  “Discussing,” Astley says.

  She raises her eyebrows and tells us in no uncertain terms that Astley needs to leave.

  “Give us a minute, Mom,” I beg.

  She crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t budge, except for her foot, which is tapping her anger into the floorboards of the porch.

  “A minute alone,” I add.

  “Lovely. Love pixies. Love ’em.” She moves toward the door.

  “Mom, I’m a pixie.”

  “You don’t count.” She says this, but I know I do.

  When I turn back to him, Astley gives me sympathetic eyes but kindly doesn’t say anything about the exchange. “I should go,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  As we stand there another minute, everything becomes quiet and awkward between us. Finally I clear my throat and say, “Stay safe, okay?”

  He reaches up his hand, touches my arm. “You as well.”

  And then he goes.

  The rest of us, the ones left behind, spend the days trying to carry on, remembering goofy things about Mrs. Nix, planning how to defend people from Frank and his pixies, trying to figure out how to keep people from killing me, trying to figure out a way to get Betty to come home. None of it seems good enough. None of it seems to avenge the deaths, the injuries. I do homework and go to track, even though I can’t run. Only four people show up for our Key Club meeting; only five show up for AFS.

  Cassidy works on all of us and we heal much more quickly than we would normally. All the exertion tires her out. Blue smudges rim her eyes. Her hair gets so limp that no amount of teasing or conditioner gives her braids bounce. Her hands shake from simple tasks.

  Issie doesn’t talk for three days. When she finally does, it is only to Devyn, but then she slowly starts talking to all of us again. First, it’s just a word or two, and then it’s whole sentences.

  I don’t even tell Issie about what happened between Astley and me. People are dying. I can’t think about kisses.

  And then Astley comes back one night when I’ve just finished patrolling with Devyn. My mom and I are sitting on the couch watching bad reality television when he knocks on the front door. When I open it, he smiles at me. It’s a small, hesitant smile. The cold air rushes inside our warm house. He smells of wool and outside. My heart freezes midbeat.

  “May I come in?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I say as my mother spits out, “No.”

  He had started to step inside, but he pauses. I grab his arm and yank him in, shutting the door behind him, ignoring my mom’s protests. He stomps the snow off his boots on the plastic pad Betty put by the door.

  My mother harrumphs.

  “What did they say?” I try to take his coat, but he won’t let me. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”

  “No, but thank you.” Astley clears his throat awkwardly. His eyes are shiny, excited. “I found out how to get there, Zara. I went to the council. I made our case. I cited my mother’s deception, Frank’s renegade thwarting of all our rules, and his attacks on this kingdom. I explained that I could not create stability in the region without my queen’s happiness, which is dependent upon the return of her wolf.”

  A silence pulls at both of us until I finally say, “He’s not my possession.”

  “Yes. Right,” he sputters. He doesn’t unbutton his coat or take off his boots. “Anyway, it is a ceremony. It requires a lot of magic and some special guests, but we can do it.”

  For a moment I let that register. We can do it.

  “Really?” My voice is a tiny squeak. I study his face.

  He nods and I fling myself at him. His arms wrap around me in a super hug. We can do it.

  “How do you know it’s not a trick?” I ask into his coat.

  “The council itself told me, Zara. It is no deception. I just wish they could have told us earlier and saved all this heartbreak, but the way is a much-guarded secret.”

  He steps backward, breaks the hug, but keeps his hands on my arms. His smile lights up the entire room. I bet I have a smile that almost matches it.

  “Can all of us go?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Just one.”

  My mother’s voice comes from behind me. She’s gotten off the couch and stands near the white leather chair, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. “Nobody is going anywhere.”

  “What?” I step toward her. “How can you say that? We can get Nick.”

  “Nobody is going and that’s final.” She shakes her head at me. “You are being unbearably selfish, Zara. How many people are you willing to lose? How many people are you going to let die just so you can get back this one boy?”

  “That’s not how it is,” I say.

  “That’s exactly how it is.” She points her finger at me. I back up and accidentally bump Astley with my hip. “You are willing to sacrifice all of us to get Nick back.”

  “That’s not true.” Rage and guilt and sorrow hiccup inside my throat, makin
g it hard to breathe. “That’s not true. Mrs. Nix insisted. You all insisted that I not go.”

  “We had no choice. You would have died even if it hadn’t been a trap; you were so weak.” Her face is a mixture of sorrow and rage.

  I stagger backward away from her. Astley steadies me.

  “You need to stop.” He directs this to my mother and speaks with utter calm mixed with absolute authority.

  She whirls on him. “How dare you say that to me! How dare you?”

  She raises her hand to strike him, but he doesn’t move, even though I know he could. Instead I jump between them. Her hand hits the top of my head, I guess because she’d been aiming for his face. Her mouth drops into a shocked O. For a second there’s hesitation, or regret, but then it’s gone and she says, “Get out, pixie. Zara, to your room.”

  “No,” I say.

  “I should leave,” Astley says calmly. He opens the door and gives me a look that is easy for me to understand.

  I head up the stairs as he shuts the door.

  My mother’s voice calls up after me. “You will thank me for this someday, young lady.”

  Yeah. Right.

  Less than a minute later I’m opening up my window and Astley is climbing through. His long legs bend at the knee and remind me of a grasshopper. He shuts the window behind him. I sit on the floor, back against my bed, and pat the space beside me. He pretty much collapses into it. I’ve never seen him so tired. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and then asks, “Her slap did not hurt you, did it?”

  “Not physically. Not really.” We are whispering so she doesn’t hear us over the music.

  “Good. It was intended for me.”

  “I know.”

  He sighs out for a second, then unzips his jacket. “My boots are leaking on your carpet.”

  “Not a problem.”

  There’s another pause. It’s all I can do not to beg him for details about the meeting, all I can do not to ask him about our kiss, but I am trying to learn patience. After a second he says, “Mothers do not seem to like me.”

  “It’s the circumstances with mine. I’m sure she would if you weren’t a pixie.” Now it’s my turn to sigh. I pull my leg up close to me and fiddle with my slipper. “My father didn’t treat her well and—”