Endure (12 page)

Another kick knocks my breath away. I am dying. I must be. In the distance, a squirrel chatters its horror at the scene. The world smells of decay and pine, snow and blood. From somewhere far away comes the sound of a heavy animal running on the crisp snow.

I need to breathe, to live, to figure out what is happening, but I don’t know how.

The creature pulls back her foot again, then pauses. If I could focus, I would maybe know what has caught her attention. I shift my gaze sideways. She is giant sized and definitely female, the kind of female that would star on naked Web sites if half of her body wasn’t rotting like she was some sort of zombie. To make it weirder, half of her is pale and half is dark like she’s two different races.

I must gasp or recoil or something, because her expression changes.

“I know. Not very attractive,” she says.

I struggle, trying to get up while she snorts her disdain.

“You are so weak. Hardly a worthy opponent at all.”

“Just kill me then,” I mutter, and fall back into the snow, too tired to move, too tired to care.

She crouches down, stares into my face. Her eyes are a mere three inches from my own. The wind rushes by both of us, lifting a patch of skin from her cheek. “I do not want to kill you.”

I swallow hard. “Just toy with me? Nice.”

“Not toy with you. Test you.” She sniffs the air. “You are destined to be part of the end, or perhaps you can stop it. You can end up with me in Hel or with them in Valhalla. When so much rests on the fate of one girl, how can I not test you?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I manage to say.

The snow has turned to icy pellets. They hit against both of us like weapons, reminders of the pain that exists.

She smiles, revealing broken teeth and perfect teeth, half and half. “Our destinies choose us. I was not always this way, Zara of the White. Destiny shaped me into a woman, half rotting, half whole. Despite the prophecy, perhaps, we can change what we will become? Who knows? Your cavalry arrives, lucky little queen. I must go. It was nice to meet you.”

Nice to meet me?

Hope fills me even though I’m totally confused. If she goes I might be able to sit up, to smell something that isn’t rotting skin and vanilla-bean intestines, to figure out what she’s talking about, but then she leans in and whispers one last thing. “Do not let him out. No matter what they say, I want this end no more than you do.”

“Wh-what?” My head swirls with confusion and she rushes off just as I manage to sit up. My eyes focus enough to see a large tiger, stripes standing out in relief against its pale fur, howl and race after her. The world shakes beneath their running feet. She roars.

I reach out to the tiger. “Gram . . .”

But Betty is already gone.

The woods become silent, quiet and waiting, as if disappointed that the action has moved on to a different part of the world. My heart clenches. My grandmother is chasing after that thing, and I’m in no position to follow. She could die. She could get hurt.

Flipping open my cell phone, I text Astley and then I promptly collapse back into the snow, letting the air chill me as my eyes close and I wait for rescue or death. I’m a target for any of Frank’s or Isla’s gang of pixies. I’m not quite sure which I would prefer—rescue or death—which sounds awful and suicidal. I’m normally not like that, but life right now seems overwhelming with no possibilities, no hope. What did she mean that I could stop it? Why was she testing me? What doesn’t she want to end? The world?

The air smells cold and almost metallic. The freezing snow seeps through my clothes.

And what did she mean I’d end up in Valhalla or with her? Snow falls onto my face and evaporates just like my questions.

Two minutes later Astley appears, falling out of the sky and into the snow beside me. His foot flails out and hits me in the shin. That will be another bruise to add to my endless bruise collection of awesomeness.

“Sorry! I am tremendously sorry!” he apologizes, flustered as he scoots closer to me. He grabs my head in his hands, which makes me cringe and he apologizes again. “What happened?”

“A woman creature . . .” I shake my head. “She hit me from behind first. The blow must have made my vision blur.”

“How are you now? How many fingers?” he asks, gathering me in closer to him with one arm while he raises the fingers in another.

I focus. “Two.”

“How is your emotional state?” Astley asks.

His choice of words makes me laugh sometimes. “My emotional state is fine.” I think for a second about what to say. “Betty’s back and I think I may have some closure with the whole Nick thing.”

He doesn’t say anything. Astley is like that. Sometimes he’ll wait to see if you’ll add more. He gets the best information that way. He learned it, he says, from being a king, watching his dad rule. But since he’s told me this before, I’m actually onto his little trick and I wait too.

He touches my cheek. “That is wonderful news about Betty—and Nick. I apologize for this morning. I was too quick to judge your actions. It was wrong of me.”

I smile a little bit. “It was wrong of me to not tell you ahead of time, to get your input too.”

“I want you to be happy, Zara, always happy.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s what I want for you, for everyone.”

“We shall fix this—all of this ghastliness. We shall make this right.”

His teeth shine even in the dim light. His blond hair flops into his forehead as he gingerly touches the wound on the back of my head and he loses his smile, which is too bad, because his smiles are really nice. I breathe in the familiar smell of him and it gets rid of the decaying stench of that monster woman and the coppery smell of the cold. Almost against my will I lean my head against his chest, shut my eyes for a moment.

Honestly, I haven’t felt safe in a very long time, and this time it doesn’t last because the muscles in Astley’s chest stiffen. Opening my eyes, I see what has made Astley tense. Just a few trees away is a beautiful, huge wolf. He sniffs the air. His ears are back and fangs bared as he growls his anger toward us. We’re hugging in front of him, I realize, and he obviously doesn’t like it.

“Nick.” My hand reaches out to him, but he has already turned away and darted back into the trees, gone. Pain shudders through me.

Astley scoops me up into his arms. “We need to get you home.”

“Yeah,” I murmur.

“Are you hurting?” he asks, eyes staring into mine.

“Naw.”

“You lie,” he says, but he doesn’t press it, which is really kind of him, I think. I let my side settle against his chest.

The sky is dark and cold. The snow keeps falling and the only thing that has any color in it right now is Astley’s green sweater that’s peeking out from beneath his navy blue peacoat. Still, I breathe in. Still, I push the pain outside of me and solid up.

“I’ll be okay,” I protest. “We don’t have to fly. You don’t have to carry me. I promise I’ll be okay.”

“Of course you will, but right now I need to get you home and bandaged and let you have some rest.” He eyes me. “You will tell me what happened as soon as you feel well enough. Deal?”

“Deal.” I sigh as he lifts us into the cold air, brushing past the edges of pine tree branches and finally into clear unobstructed space just above the numerous treetops. “I feel well enough to talk now.”

“Good,” he says. “Tell me as we fly.”

It doesn’t take long for him to get us back to Betty’s house. Unfortunately, Astley is not the best at landings and he tumbles in the snow. He twists his back to take most of the impact and his arms clench around me tightly, trying to brace me from any more bumps and pain.

“Sorry,” he murmurs into my hair and then we stand up. I groan a little bit, but manage to stay upright. He insists on putting an arm around my waist and helping me inside my grandmother’s house. The lights are on and the heat is going full blast, which feels so nice when we walk inside.

He sits me on the couch and I text some woozy messages to Devyn, Issie, and Cassidy about what just happened. I’d text Nick too, but since he is currently in wolf form and he saw me all beaten up and just ran off anyway, I figure I don’t need to.

“I’m glad you were well enough to fly,” I call out to Astley, since he’s in the kitchen.

“Thanks to you and Cassidy.”

“It was nothing,” I lie, trying not to remember how it felt for every single cell to be drained of energy and life. I am going to repress that torture. That’s just how I have to deal with it. It was worth it to get Astley strong and whole, I think as he strides back into the living room with a dishtowel wrapped around an ice pack.

He gently places it on the back of my head. “Your stomach and ribs?”

“They’ll be okay,” I say, but my teeth are gritted so it sounds more like “Theeebeeekayyy.”

My phone starts beeping with new texts. Devyn and Cassidy are coming over. Issie can’t because she’s still under massive curfew.

Astley and I settle down on the couch, not touching or anything, but just waiting for everyone else to get here. The ice pack keeps slipping sideways and he insists on holding it on my head for me, which is so nice. He is always so nice. I shoot him a sideways glance. He looks calm and mellow. Not like me, I bet. I wish he didn’t have to see me like this, even though I know he’s seen me looking worse.

Someone scratches at the door.

“Betty,” I say. “Be careful.”

“I shall be fine,” he says as he gets off the couch and heads to the door. He opens it like there’s no danger at all from a weretiger. Her huge white body enters and she blinks at him, gives a slight hiss, then storms to the couch. She pokes her nose right at the top of my head and sniffs at my injury there, and then at the bruises on my face. After a long, pondering second, she rubs her giant head against my shoulder and cheek, marking me, just like regular cats do. Then she pounds off into her bedroom.

Two minutes later she’s back, changed and human.

“I lost it,” she groans. Her long fingers lift up the dishtowel and inspect my bump. She stares into my eyes. “Pupils are okay. No concussion, I don’t think. Or you’re already healing. Anyway, it was like the flipping thing just vanished in midair. I’ve been tracking it for days. She’s been around, almost like she was stalking you. I can’t believe she got to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask.

She sighs. Her bones crack as she stands up straight. “I was too busy being feral. And then this afternoon— Well, we didn’t have a lot of time. I’m making some tea. You both are having some too. We all need something to calm us the hell down.”

Devyn and Cassidy get to the house right after the teapot starts boiling. Devyn is all quick, intellectual energy. Snowflakes cling to his thick black hair as he squints his dark eyes at me, probably trying to get in as many details as he can. That’s how he is. Cassidy strides in right behind him, long braids swinging from her knitted wool hat. She scratches at her neck and rushes inside and out of the cold. Nick trots in behind them and heads directly up the stairs in wolf form, dripping melting snow on the carpet as he goes. He doesn’t say anything to anyone and anger rolls off of him.

“Nick is probably just changing,” Cassidy says. She’s attempting to make peace, but then she sees me and must lose that train of thought, because she pretty much flies over to the couch and reaches into her cool Tibetan-motif bag and starts taking out herbs and candles.

“It would be nice,” she says sweetly, “if I didn’t
always
have to heal you two.”

Betty sets down some tea on the coffee table next to Cassidy’s bag. “It’s like we’re their own private medics.”

“I owe you a supply of candles,” I say as Cassidy lights two big yellow pillars.

“I’ll put it on your credit line,” she jokes. “You currently owe me about $18,000.45 in candles. Matches? Those come free with the healings.”

I start to smile at her but all the happy leaves the air as Nick comes back down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a maroon Henley. His dark hair is scruffy from the turning and there are fatigue lines by his eyes.

Devyn says, “Hey!”

Nick nods in acknowledgment and slumps into a chair, glaring at Astley. Astley smiles at him, which only deepens the glare.

Devyn clears his throat and opens up his laptop. “I promised Issie that we’d Skype her in.”

Two seconds later he’s got Issie’s happy face on the screen. She’s in her pajamas, wearing ear buds to listen to us.

“I have to be quiet or my mom will kill me,” she whispers. She uses a finger to make a slicing motion across her neck. “I’m supposed to be in bed.”

Cassidy’s still murmuring some sort of elfish incantation and lighting an incense stick, and for a second I wonder how she even learned elfish—was it on the Web?—but I start talking anyway, trying really hard to ignore Nick, who is glowering in the corner. Guilt about the hug ripples through me even though I really shouldn’t feel guilty at all.

I start off, “The attack came out of nowhere. It was a woman, sort of, she was half normal and half rotting flesh.”

“Like a zombie?” Devyn interrupts, cruising through the Internet on his cell, probably because if he researched on his computer he wouldn’t be able to see Issie.