Captivate (13 page)

“That is because he is your father. It would be like—um—being attracted to him, that way.” He says this awkwardly with none of his earlier assurance. “I think something in my blood calls out to yours. We attract each other.”

I shake my head. “I’m not attracted to you. I love Nick.”

“Nick,” he mutters. The wolf’s name is Nick.”

“Do not hurt him.” I groan from the movement. “I will kill you if you hurt him.”

He stops walking for a moment. “I shall only do what I have to do, Zara.” He’s silent for a moment. I let him think. Then he says, “What is important right now is you, your skin.

Your eyes are unfocused.”

“Am I turning?” I whisper. “Am I turning into one of you?”

He strides through the woods, turning sideways when the trees are too close. He is graceful and strong. “No. I do not believe so. You have to be kissed. And you still smell very human and nice. I am not certain, though. I shall try to find out.”

My mind flashes to when Ian tried to kiss me. He’s kidnapped me, tried to turn me, so he could defeat my father, take his power.

“You won’t kiss me,” I say, pounding on his chest for emphasis. “You promise. Promise you won’t kiss me.”

His mouth goes up to that same smile, half mischief, no teeth, crinkling his face into something almost happy, something not so sad. “I cannot promise that, but I will promise that I will not kiss you unless you want me to.”

“That will never happen,” I say, pointing at him. “And no hurting Nick.”

“Right.” He laughs and I turn my head away, looking at my hands. My hands are almost totally blue. They spread across the dark wool material of his jacket. They clench into balls and shake. That’s the last thing I see: my blue skin, shaking.

I wake up in Issie’s car. He’s opened the back door, laid me down on the rear seat. My hand touches one of Issie’s old French tests, folded over, muddy, like it’s been stepped on and discarded.

The pixie guy shudders. He’s standing just outside the door. He puts his hand gently on my arm. “Do not attempt to get up yet. You fainted. I believe I am a little much for you to handle in your present human state.” He winks like a total jerk, like some kind of pixie player. “I was not about to bring you inside, because I am not in the mood for a bloodbath. You should go in a minute when you are not quite so azure.”

He reaches out and touches my face, just one fingertip against my cheek. I shiver.

“I hate cars too. We all do.” He says.

“That’s not why I shivered,” I insist, sitting up, swinging my legs out and trying not to shake. “I suppose I should thank you for bringing me here and not turning me or eating me or anything.”

His broad face droops a little bit. His jaw clenches. “That is not how I play.”

“Play?” My hand drags across the upholstery in the back of the car, hits the old test paper, rips it a little more.

“I do not play at all, really. Not like that. We are not all like that.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like your father.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep not believing me.”

His face shifts again and I can glimpse the blue tint beneath his skin. I grab the test, try to smooth it out into something not so crumpled and worn looking. I fold it into squares, deliberately matching the edges of paper up before I fold, just to have something to do with my hands. Finally I say, “I don’t understand what you mean.”

His hands twitch next to my knees. He makes me think of one of those old-time boxers, all power underneath skin and words. “If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead already.”

My head whips up and my fingers grab his wrists. The test falls out of the car and into an icy mud puddle. “You don’t hurt anyone. Got it? Not even my father. You don’t hurt him.”

“I am not who you should be worried about.”

I shake my head. “What? What do you mean? Of course you’re who I should worry about.”

He moves just a little bit and my fingers fall off of his wrists. He stands up and just walks away, shoulders straight, but different than before. There’s something humble about them almost. I don’t know. I don’t understand anything.

“Hey! Do you have a name?” I call after him. My voice is weak but it stops him.

He turns around. This time he gives a full smile, revealing perfect teeth, white and even.

His whole face transforms into something beautiful, the same way Nick’s face changes.

“Astley.”

I touch my feet to the ground, repeat it, “Astley?”

He lifts his shoulders and smiles. “We do not have the opportunity to choose our own names, unfortunately.”

“What does it mean? Does it mean something?”

“Star.” He turns and disappears into the woods like he was never there at all.

“Wait! Can you tell me about Valkyries?” I yell after him. There’s no answer. I collapse onto the car upholstery and watch my skin gradually turn back to pale again, almost like nothing happened. Almost.

“I will never kiss you,” I whisper. “I will never kiss anyone except Nick.”

Of course, nobody hears.

**

Pixies do not just eat pollen and honey. Not by a long shot.

I have had friends back in Charleston who were totally anuptaphobic. You know, they are terrified, absolutely one hundred percent terrified, of not being part of a “couple”.

They are so frightened of singledom that they will go out with anyone with a pulse or anything breathing just to make sure that they aren’t single and alone. I didn’t get it. I wanted to slap them in a non-violent way and tell them that going out with the soccer player who sniffs glue with his mother and is also completely laying down with the band girl who picks elbow scabs is not better than being alone, especially when his breath always, always smells like blue cheese salad dressing.

I’ve never been like that. But now that I’ve met Nick, I can kind of understand the fear.

The thought that you might never kiss someone again, that you might never be wrapped up in solid arms and breathe in the smell of soap and strength and trees, that you might never hear the words “I love you” and have someone really, truly mean it.

I get up out of Issie’s car. My feet find sturdy places to stand but I still wobble a tiny bit.

I steady myself and dirt gets on my fingertips. Issie’s car needs a bath. I soldier myself up and slip back toward the station. The door flies open just as I’m about to grab for the handle.

Nick looks at me. I can’t figure out his facial expression at all and I hate that. His pupils seem to shift a little—become more oval—like a wolf’s. His voice is gruff. “You okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry I was a drama queen.”

“It’s okay. You—you—you’ve got a lot to deal with.”

He reaches out his hand but Issie pushes past him, sidles up to me, and says in her singsong voice, “She’s embarrassed. It’s okay to be embarrassed, Zara, but your emotions are normal, perfectly normal. It’s okay to be upset by this, honestly, but you have to affirm yourself for the positive traits you have, not the heebie-jeebie pixie stuff.”

I just stare at her.

“Psych 101,” she says. “You should have taken it. It’s such an easy A.”

She jostles me around, and Dev comes out too and explains, “Betty had a call.”

It’s the first time I’ve noticed that the ambulance is missing.

“Oh,” I manage. “Okay.”

Issie pivots me toward the car. “We’re going to go to your house. No fussing. We still love you. Right, Nick?”

Nick reaches out to put his arm around me again and stops. His voice is like a big piece of hurt. “Zara?”

I swallow.

His nostrils twitch. Dev gets closer. “Crap”

“What? What is it?” Issie asks.

“She smells,” Nick says. He’s frozen, not sure whether to come closer or back away.

Issie still doesn’t get it.

“Duh. We all smell. It’s call pheromones or perfume.” She sniffs at my hair. “Zara smells exactly like the Body Shop Honey Almond Conditioner with a little mango body butter lotion mixed in. Am I right?”

I barely manage to nod.

“Issie, she smells like a pixie,” Dev explains.

“Oh!” Issie says. She clutches me even closer, though, which is why I love Issie. “Oh.

Does that mean she’s turning?”

Nick doesn’t ever look at her. Those brown eyes of his just star into me. “She smells like the guy in the woods.”

“Zara! What is wrong with you?” Devyn asks. “Are you hanging out with pixies?”

His words hit me I the gut like bullets, like a torturer’s fist. But he’s not a torturer. He’s just Dev, and I am the one who is holding back information. It’s me. Not him.

“No,” I say, “and how come you never smelled Ian or Megan? They were pixies.”

Nick glares at me.

“What? I’m just wondering.”

“Because I didn’t know what to smell for then,” Nick explains. He pulls in a breath. It’s obvious he’s trying to calm himself down. “Now I know. It smells like Dove soap.”

“The problem.” Devyn says, “is that a lot of non -pixies use Dove soap. The smell isn’t a sure bet. It’s ridiculous, actually. Dove soap….”

I gently extract myself from Issie and open the passenger side doors of the car. “Why don’t we get out of the cold and then I’ll tell you what happened, okay?”

Dev’s and Nick’s eyes meet. I wish I knew what they were thinking, but finally Nick nods and at least his hand trusts me enough to brush the hair out of my face. “Okay.”

Nick speeds so fast that the trees just blur by us and I tell them what happened with me and Astley.

“Astley?” That means ‗star’,” devyn announces from the front seat.

“How do you know that?” Issie leans forward, then thinks better of it and comes back.

“He’s a genius. Devyn, my man, you are a genius,” Nick says. He reaches over and ruffles Dev’s hair. It is the first hint that Nick might not explode.

“I’m not a genius. I just retain things, mostly useless things,” Dev says, but he’s smiling and not bothering to fix his hair.

“So, what do you think this all means?” Nick asks as he yanks the car around a hairpin corner. Is and I sway in the backseat.

“Me? I don’t know,” Dev says.

“Well, he’s the king Zara’s father talked about,” Issie says, trying not to slam into my by hanging on to the seat back. “Gold dust. Spidery feelings…..”

“What I’m wondering is why was he so insistent that he wasn’t like Zara’s father?”

Devyn asks. His words come out slowly. “You know? Why he’s so….Does it seem to you like he was trying to say something but not saying it? Did you tell us everything, Zara?”

He turns so our eyes meet. I am annoyed. “Of course I told you everything.”

“Okay, okay! But you and Is weren’t exactly forthcoming about the little excursion with your dad,” he replies somewhat snidely. Issie seems to fold into herself.

Nick snorts. “Forthcoming?”

“Shut up.” Dev punches Nick in the arm. “I aced my Critical Reading SATs. It is nothing to feel humiliated about.”

“Be proud, Linguistic Acuity Man,” Is fake cheers. Her words fall into emptiness.

“Linguistic Acuity Man?” I echo, trying to make it better.

“Oh, Is…..”Devyn turns to look at her.

“It can be your superhero name,” I say.

We drive along in awkward silence. The tension from Issie is pretty thick. I know it’s hard for her to be in the car with Devyn because she wants him to invite her to the dance and she feels weird about the whole Cassidy situation. We drive past trees and logging trucks. We drive up hills and around curves and then Nick slams on the brakes. My head pounds into the head rest.

“What is it?” Issie yells.

“Holly—”Nick jumps out of the car. He’s looking up at the sky. We bail out of the car too. I crane my head up. There is something funny flying up high. It looks like two figures pushed together, with giant wings.

“It’s the Valkyrie,” I whisper. “She’s got someone.”

We stand there staring for a second and then I bark out, “Devyn? Can you change?”

He nods. “I think so.”

“Well, try. Follow her. See where she goes,” I order.

Devyn ducks down low. Issie comes to my side of the car and Devyn starts throwing his clothes over it. It doesn’t take long and he’s a bird. He takes off, super large eagle wings flapping hard and strong into the cold white sky. The clouds are high and storm looking.

“Stay safe!” Issie yells. “Do not get hurt, Linguistic Acuity Man!”

He just soars up and away. Issie leans against me and I hustle her into the car. Nick grab’s Devyn’s clothes and comes inside too. We blast the heater and wait. None of us talk about anything; not about pixies or dances, not about love or science tests or blue skin.

Luckily, it’s not long before Devyn’s back. He turns human by the side of the car, gets dressed, and shudders from the cold. Putting his hands in front of the heat duct, he tells us what he saw: a woman with swan wings. She held a female pixie in her arms.

“I lost her. She went into the clouds and then she was just gone.” He runs a shaking hand over his head. “I can’t believe I lost her.”

Devyn and Nick theorize that it’s a good thing the Valkyrie is here because if she’s taking pixies, then there are fewer pixies for us to deal with. They think she might be why we haven’t seen so many in the last week. But me? I’ve seen her up close, and I am not so sure.

Pixies are stronger at night. Stay inside. Nighttime is not the right time for pixie hunting.

“Easily the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Issie says.

We’re back at my house and I am showing them the book I found upstairs and what my dad wrote in it.

“Leave Risk Sixty? Baa Ebbed Fly Tight Vigor Trolls? Those aren’t the best clues,”

Nick says playfully. “Sorry, baby.”

I poke him right above his belt loop and hand the book to Devyn. “I think they are anagrams.”

Devyn takes it. “You’re probably right. Let me think. The only one I can get off the top of my head is A Evil Sexy Skirt, which isn’t grammatically correct. It should be: An Evil Sexy Skirt.”