Every Other Day (5 page)

“You did the right thing by calling us,” the woman said. “We’ll take care of everything now.”

Her voice was soft, but I heard it, heard every word, and in that moment, I knew two things with absolute, unerring certainty: one, the suits on their way to the nurse’s office weren’t from the CDC, and two—whether they knew it yet or not—they weren’t here for a cheerleader.

They were here for the girl with the
ouroboros
. And as of five minutes ago, that girl was me.

6

I didn’t say a word until the three of us hit the parking lot, and even then, I only opened my mouth to ask whether either of the others had a car.

“No wheels,” Skylar replied, her expression mournful. “And no driver’s license. Yet. That said, my brother Nathan knows how to hot-wire, and I might have picked up a few tricks along the way.”

“Take it easy, Grand Theft Auto.” Bethany pulled a pair of keys out of her purse. “No one is hot-wiring anything. I have wheels
and
tinted windows, which means you can help yourself to the backseat, and as long as no one sees you get in or out, I don’t have to deal with the social fallout.”

The redhead didn’t bother waiting for a response—she just pushed a button on her keys and flounced toward the silver BMW that lit up in response. Watching Bethany reverting to type, I thought that maybe cattiness was its own kind of invincibility, as much of a crutch for Bethany as my powers were for me.

Sixteen hours and nine minutes.

Sliding into the passenger seat of the BMW and closing the door behind me, I shut out the constant countdown in my mind and tried to concentrate on the here and now.

Right here, right now, I was infected.

Right here, right now, I was on the run.

Right here, right now … I had no earthly idea what I’d gotten myself into. Without meaning to, I glanced down, and my hands began gravitating toward the bottom of my shirt.

Don’t touch it
, I told myself sternly.
Don’t think about it. Don’t give in.

Unable to help myself, I pulled the bottom of my shirt upward and the band of my jeans down, rotating my hips forward in the seat to give myself a full view of the
ouroboros
etched into my skin.

The lines were thick and looked like they’d been poured onto my body as melted gold. Tentatively, I ran my hand over the surface of my skin, expecting the symbol to be raised, but felt nothing other than the muscles in my stomach and the kind of dull heat given off by a day-old sunburn.

My flesh wasn’t red.

The mark didn’t hurt.

But for a split second, maybe less, the hand touching it didn’t feel like mine.

I can do this. I can beat this.
Knowing that the parasite was already absorbing my blood and, with it, my thoughts and memories, I cut the mental pep talk off short.

I wouldn’t let myself be scared.

I wouldn’t let the thing inside me know that it was winning.

I wouldn’t think its name.

“Kali?” Skylar said my name and pulled me back down to earth. “Any chance you want to tell me what’s going on?”

I shifted so that my shirt covered the glaring beacon of obvious on my stomach and turned the tables back on Skylar. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Skylar was the one who’d known that someone was coming for us. She was the one who’d told us where to go and how to act, the one who’d given Bethany a hoodie to cover her trademark red locks.

“What’s going on?” Skylar repeated, and then, without pausing a beat, she gave her answer. “You keep touching your stomach, Bethany has accelerated through four yellow lights, both of you know something that the other one doesn’t, and I’m …”

She mumbled the last bit.

“You’re what?” I asked. Bethany looked like she was on the verge of offering up an answer of her own to that question, but she managed to restrain herself.

Skylar cleared her throat. “I’m …”

“You’re …?”

Skylar gave me a hopeful little smile and then stopped beating around the bush. “I’m a little bit psychic.”

“Psychic?” Bethany and I repeated in unison.

“Just a little bit,” Skylar said, like that made her claim significantly more feasible than it would have been had she claimed to be psychic
a lot
.

“No offense,” Bethany began—a surefire sign that she was getting ready to say something highly offensive—“but you two totally deserve each other. Mousy little Kali carries a hunting knife to high school, and my boyfriend’s social mistake of a sister thinks she’s got magical powers. If you guys can find yourselves a person who swallows swords, you can totally take this act on the road.”

“Hey,” I said, sounding only about half as put out as I felt. “Nobody asked you to be here.”

“It’s my car,” Bethany retorted. “And speaking of which, where are we going?”

Skylar leaned forward from the backseat. “Turn right here,” she said helpfully.

“Why?” Bethany’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly over the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, I could see Skylar shrug in response.

“I just kind of feel like you should turn right here.”

Bethany shot dagger eyes at her in the mirror. “Because you’re psychic.”

“Just a little.”

To everyone’s surprise—probably even her own—Bethany did turn right, but she made up for it by rolling her eyes so hard that I had doubts about whether or not she could still make out oncoming traffic. Cast in the role of mediator between two extremes, I tried rephrasing Bethany’s “no offense” statement in a way that was actually less offensive.

“Skylar, I get that maybe you have … really good intuition about people sometimes, but you know there’s no such thing as actual psychics, right?”

That was what had made Eigelmeier’s discovery of the chupacabra such an astonishing scientific find. Even with the preternatural, psychic phenomena was outside the norm. With humans, it was unheard of.

Then again, so was I.

Skylar, sensing my weakness, pressed the point. “Before Darwin, most scientists thought that kelpies and griffins weren’t real, either, but anyone who’s ever been to the San Francisco Zoo knows that they are.”

Demonic water horses that lived to drown passersby.

Flying lions with a nearly immortal life span.

Kelpies. Griffins. Hellhounds. Zombies. And … psychics?

“Sometimes,” Skylar said solemnly, “
make-believe
is just another word for rare. Turn left at the next stop sign, Bethany.”

“What am I, your chauffeur?” The question was clearly rhetorical, because Bethany didn’t wait for an answer. “Tell me where we’re going, or I’m pulling over, and you two are walking home.”

I was severely tempted to take her up on the offer. The sooner I could convince Bethany she wanted no part of this, the better off I’d be. Unfortunately, the men in suits and the woman who’d accompanied them—the one who’d promised she’d “take care of things”—had been on the lookout for a cheerleader showing signs of chupacabra possession. Without knowing exactly what the nurse had told them, I couldn’t convince myself that Bethany would be better off without me. And that meant that I couldn’t just send her on her merry way, no matter how much I didn’t want an entourage for the things to come.

Maybe I really do have a hero complex.

The thought engendered a response in my body: a knowing feeling, a tightening of the muscles in my throat, a
yes
.

“Bethany, chill. Skylar, tell us where we’re going.” Those sentences burst out of my mouth with all of the bite I wanted to direct to the thing inside my head, and I immediately wished I could take it back.

“I won’t know where we’re going until we get there.” Skylar was completely unfazed by my snapping. “And once we get there, I probably won’t know why until you guys tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re the psychic,” Bethany muttered. “Shouldn’t you be able to figure it out for yourself?”

If anything, Skylar seemed enthused by the pointed question. “Reading your minds on command would require being significantly psychic, and I’m not. I never know when I’m going to pick up something, and it comes in pieces and feelings, not in words. So who wants to clue the sophomore in?”

Not me.

I didn’t want to drag Skylar into this. There was just something about her that screamed
protect me
! Whoever the men looking for the “anemic cheerleader” were, I was fairly certain I didn’t want them anywhere near the Little Optimist That Could.

Unfortunately, Bethany had no such predilection. “Sometime in the past week, I got bitten by a chupacabra. Somehow—no idea how—Kali lured it out of my body and into hers. She’s already far enough gone that medical science can’t do a thing to save her, and she’s got some kind of plan—probably a risky, unreliable one riddled with holes—to get the bloodsucker out.” Bethany blew out a long breath and then glanced back over her shoulder at Skylar. “There. You know what I know about the current situation. So, any time now, feel free to do your whole ‘psychic’ thing and tell me where the bedazzler we’re going, or I might be forced to physically hurt you.”

Skylar made a
pfft
sound with her lips. “Five brothers,” she said, pointing to herself. Then she pointed to Bethany. “Only child. I could totally take you. Turn left.”

Bethany slammed on the brakes. “Seriously?”

“Please?” Skylar smiled winningly, and after a long moment, Bethany turned left onto an access road that dead-ended into a large parking lot. She parked and killed the engine, and for a moment, the three of us took in the sight of a large, neon-green building shaped like a figure eight.

“Skate Haven?” I asked, reading the sign on the front of the building.

“Ice-skating?” Bethany said at the exact same time.

Skylar shrugged. “This is where we’re supposed to be,” she said firmly. “I’m sure there’s a reason. Just … give me a minute.”

A look of deep concentration settled over her impish features, and Skylar’s eyes trailed downward from my face to my stomach. Though my shirt was covering the symbol that had appeared there, Skylar’s gaze was sharp and focused, like my entire torso was laid bare.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said, her voice slow and thoughtful, “how do chupacabras react to the cold?”

7

The moment we stepped into Skate Haven, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. The change was palpable, like a needle was feeding adrenaline straight into my veins. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t angry. But I was
something
, and if Skylar was right, the foreign presence inside of me was having some kind of adverse reaction to the cold.

“If ice-skating was the cure for chupacabra possession, don’t you think someone would have figured that out by now?” Bethany was making an admirable attempt at
not
throwing a hissy fit, but I could tell she found the effort taxing. “People spend their entire lives fighting for the chance to study these things. You can’t honestly believe that no one’s ever tried to see what would happen if you put one in the freezer.”

Skylar angled her palms heavenward and shrugged. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. If you have a problem with my logic, take it up with the universe at large. Now, who wants ice skates?”

Without a word to either of them, I walked toward the counter and told the guy working there my shoe size. Did I think I could just freeze out a presence that had woven itself into every fiber of my being?

No.

But unlike Bethany, I wasn’t looking for a way to get rid of the chupacabra. I was looking for a way to slow it down.

Fifteen hours and thirty-seven minutes.

The boy behind the counter handed me a pair of skates. They were faded and gray, but the blades gleamed like they’d just been polished, and I thought of the way my knife blade had looked as I’d pressed the tip into my forearm.

“This may be one of your last days on earth, and you’re going to spend it ice-skating?” Bethany’s voice was oddly hoarse. “We have no way of knowing how much time you have left. If you don’t have a plan, if we’re not actively fighting this …”

An hour before, she’d been in my shoes. This probably wasn’t the way she would have chosen to spend her last day, and I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d be doing if I didn’t think there was at least a chance I would survive.

I didn’t have an answer. Nothing on my human days made me feel the way that hunting did when I was Other. I’d never been any good at making friends, and until today, no one at Heritage had even known my name.

I didn’t have hobbies. I wasn’t part of any clubs. The idea of me playing on a sports team was ridiculous (for a variety of reasons, depending on the day), and the only family I had was my dad, who probably would have been torn between mild upset and academic fascination if he’d had any idea that I’d been bitten.

“Ice-skating sounds good,” I said.

Bethany had to literally bite her bottom lip to keep from arguing, and after a long moment, she turned to the boy behind the counter. He immediately melted into a pile of Skate Haven goo on the floor, but managed to pull it together long enough to give her a pair of pristine white skates and a ticket for a free hot chocolate from the snack bar.

Five minutes later, I waddled toward the ice. Out of habit, I scanned the rink’s perimeter and breathed in through my nose, testing the air for even the barest hint of sulfur.

Nothing
.

I breathed out, and as my breath took shape in the air, I tried to remember what it felt like to be the kind of person who didn’t get cold.

Didn’t feel pain.

Never lost a weapon—or her balance.

And then I promptly fell flat on my face. The ice was damp, and for a few seconds, instead of hating the cold, I loved it for the way it banished the heat from my cheeks.

Cold.

That single word was all it took for something deep and fathomless to begin snaking its way up my spine. It felt like losing my body to a black hole, like lying on a sandy beach and absorbing warmth from every individual grain of sand.

“Is it working?” Skylar asked from up above me. I reached for the wall and pulled myself unsteadily back to my feet.

“I don’t know.”

The beast inside of me was quiet and still, but I knew it was there, and I knew with unnatural certainty that no amount of subzero temperatures would make it leave me. It wasn’t going to jump ship and take on a new victim.

The two of us were in this until one of us died.

They—called—lonely. You.

The voice in my mind was strong and velvet-smooth, but the words were broken. I found myself wanting to listen, to fill in the blanks, but after a moment, there was silence.

“Still possessed?” Bethany asked, gliding past me and circling back with the ease of an Olympic contender.

“Still possessed,” I told her dryly, “but I think the cold is doing something.”

Goose bumps dotted the flesh on my arms, and I glanced back over my shoulder, half expecting to see someone or something standing behind me.

Lonely Ones.

The phrase was suddenly there in my mind, and it brought with it a feeling of déjà vu, like these were words that I’d always known and somewhere along the way had just forgotten.

Logically, I knew that extreme cold slowed down biological processes. Bears and yeti went into hibernation; hikers in snowstorms felt their heart rates plummet. It made sense to think that lower temperatures might delay the progression of my condition.

But that wasn’t what it felt like.

My heart rate wasn’t slowing. The voice in my head wasn’t distant. I was on edge, and it was everything I could do to keep myself from sinking into ready position and preparing my pitifully human frame to lash out.

I had no idea why.

Feel it—taste it—help—you.

“So what now?” Bethany asked, her voice barely penetrating the heady fog in my brain—the sound of his voice, the chills on my skin. “Seriously, K, we skate, and we wait, and … feel free to fill in the blank at any moment.”

This thing is killing you
, I told myself.
The chupacabra is draining your blood and absorbing your memories, and soon, there won’t be anything left of you at all.

The cold, hard truth should have snapped me out of it, but the presence in my mind seemed to wrap itself around my physical body, my wrists and ankles, my waist, my neck.

I didn’t know it would be like this.

I’d thought that I might get light-headed, that my blood pressure might plummet. I’d thought that I might have trouble remembering things, little things.

I thought I’d feel violated.

But I didn’t.

“We need a plan,” I said, just to be saying something, to prove to myself that I still could. That I was in charge, and that whatever I was feeling was
nothing
.

“What do you mean we
need
a plan?” Bethany asked. “Don’t you already have one?” She didn’t wait for me to reply. “I knew it! You’re in over your head, you’re scared, you’re
stupid
, and we’re ice-skating. That’s—”

Skylar elbowed Bethany in the stomach, and the older girl amended her words.

“—that’s not the most helpful thing in the world to point out, so I won’t.”

“I do have a plan,” I said softly. “Sort of. It’s just that my plan requires making it to sunrise, and right now …”

I couldn’t swear that I’d make it.

Once I gave in to the siren call in my subconscious, I wasn’t sure I’d want to.

“You’ll make it.” Skylar smiled and nodded, like the very act of doing so could make her words true.

“What are you going to do at sunrise?”

Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that Bethany was still asking questions, just like it probably didn’t surprise her when all she got from me was silence in response. Luckily, Skylar didn’t leave the two of us in a standoff for long.

“In the old myths, chupacabras were a variant of the whole vampire thing, and vampires turn to ash in the sun, right? I mean, myths almost never get things entirely right, but even Darwin used them to write
The Demon’s Descent.”
Skylar was in full-on babble mode, and Bethany and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “So if Kali says she has a way to get rid of a chupacabra at sunrise, I believe her.”

“Then why, pray tell, didn’t you just leave that thing in
me
?” The words burst angrily out of Bethany’s mouth, a scowl slashing its way across her face with the brutality of a disfiguring scar. “If you could have just gotten rid of it at sunrise, why couldn’t
I
have been the one who risked not living that long? When you said you could help me, I didn’t know you meant like this, and by the time I did … I couldn’t stop you. I tried, but you wouldn’t let me.” She advanced on me, Hell on Ice Skates, like a cobra descending on its prey.

What was I supposed to say? Unless I wanted to admit that my “plan” for sunrise involved letting my own monstrous nature take its course, I couldn’t answer her questions. So I said nothing, and Bethany closed the space between us, looking like she was going to burst into tears or rip out my esophagus in a fit of fury—I wasn’t sure which.

“Did it talk to you?” I asked her, stalling for time.

“Did what talk to me?”

My arms encircled my torso, and one of my sleeves drooped down over my chilled skin. “What do you think?”

I hadn’t realized that talking about this would feel like peeling back a layer of clothing, a layer of skin.

“Chupacabras don’t talk, Kali. They’re like psychic, preternatural ticks. They don’t even have brains.”

I averted my eyes, and Bethany exchanged looks with Skylar.

“Does the chupacabra talk to you?” Skylar asked, managing to keep her voice pleasantly neutral.

Yes, it does. He says his name is Zev.

Needless to say, I didn’t allow those words to exit my mouth. Now I knew for sure. The things I was feeling, the voice I’d heard—none of this was normal.

“Of course the chupacabra doesn’t talk to me,” I said, trying to work up a good scoff. “I was just messing with Bethany.”

“Hey!”

Thankful that she’d taken the bait, I asked another pointed question, one that wouldn’t make the two of them think I was a total head case. “Bethany, what do you know that I don’t?”

I wasn’t convinced that Skylar was psychic—even just a little—but anyone who could survive being the target of the high school hit squad for six months had to have a few cards up her sleeve. In the car, she’d said that Bethany knew something about our situation that I didn’t, and as long as I was opting for distraction, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“So, what?” Bethany retorted, confirming my suspicions. “You can have your secrets, but I can’t have mine?”

Feel it—coming—you.

The words rolled over me, and I could feel my pupils dilating, my back arching as the desire to hear entire sentences instead of broken, scattered words surged anew.

Bethany kept her eyes fixed on mine, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at me, wondered if my face was a tell to everything hiding just underneath.

“Believe it or not, I’m not trying to be difficult,” Bethany said, tracing the tip of one skate delicately across the ice. “I just … did you hear what the nurse said to that trio back at the school? She had orders to call them if anyone like me showed signs of being bitten, and that means that either those people knew that the cheerleading squad was at risk and did nothing to stop it, or they planned it and infected us themselves.”

The second possibility hadn’t even occurred to me, and I wondered why Bethany’s mind had hopped straight from “chupacabra” to “conspiracy.”

With a shrug, she began skating backward as she talked, her voice traveling across the ice like sound over water. “About a week ago, we had our annual drug testing. Heritage High takes its honor code very seriously, Say No to Drugs, athletes as examples and all that, which wouldn’t have been strange, except that we’d
already
done the pee in a cup thing back in August. If you do it more than once a year, it’s not annual, and this time, they took blood.”

Blood
.

An image of a needle jumped into my mind, and I wondered if the memory was mine, or Zev’s….

Don’t think his name. Don’t say it. Don’t even call that thing a he.

“You think someone injected you?” I couldn’t even believe I was saying the words, but the image of the needle was so vivid, I could feel the syringe’s razor-sharp point. “Who goes around injecting cheerleaders with bloodsucking parasites?”

Kali—you have to—look—smell.

I pushed the voice down and felt it pushing back.

“What about the other cheerleaders?” I asked through gritted teeth, steeling myself against the sound of my constant companion’s voice. “Are they—”

“They’re fine,” Bethany said tersely. “I texted. I called. Everybody but me is fine, and the only reason I never mentioned that they might not be is that it’s not
your
problem—but since evidence suggests you don’t seem to understand that distinction, like,
at all
, I didn’t want you and your hero complex to know.”

Before I could so much as reply, Bethany took off skating in earnest, her form blurring with grace and speed as she skated away from me and toward—

I blinked my eyes, hard. There was nothing on the other side of the rink. Bethany wasn’t skating toward anything, but—

Yes.

Without fully knowing why, I bent to pull my skates off, moving as quickly as I could. I tried to yell out to Bethany, but couldn’t find the words.

This isn’t right.

The surface of the ice rippled. It cracked and bulged and began to form itself into something else. My breath caught in my chest as frost-white scales took shape on the ice, each as reflective and sharp as the blade on my knife. Cavernous eyes stared directly into mine, and I realized that my unease since stepping on the ice had nothing to do with Zev.

Had never had anything to do with Zev.

Every other day, I was human, but I knew what was out there, better than anyone. I knew what to watch for, what to look for, and I
knew
that even humans had instincts. If a chill ran up your spine when you were walking down an alleyway, it was generally a good idea to get the heck out of the alley. If you felt eyes on the back of your head, there was a good chance someone was staring at you. And if something around you felt
off
…