by Sarah Fine
Aden and Ian snickered, but Malachi gave her a polite smile. “I am enjoying the classes very much, and particularly literature. I had only read Rilke in the original German, so I am happy to have the opportunity to read it in English as well.”
Laney’s eyes went all dreamy, and her tongue traced her bottom lip. “Wow. You speak beautiful English,” she said breathlessly. And then she made this weird, little yipping noise and glared across the table at Tegan. “It’s true,” she said, all pouty as she reached under the table to rub her shin.
I reached for my fork, not sure whether I wanted stab Laney with it or use it to eat my salad. I was still trying to decide when Ian’s elbow collided with my arm. “Oh, jeez, sorry,” he said, giving me a surprisingly sweet, apologetic smile that revealed deep dimples. His shaggy brown hair hung over his forehead as he looked down at me. “I’m a lefty. No one should ever have to sit on that side of me.” He tucked his elbow against his body.
“You should see him in the batter’s box,” said Greg, obviously trying to make nice. “Pitchers don’t know what to do with him. It’s one of the reasons we’re gonna take state this year.” He lifted his chin at Malachi. “You must have played some sports in school, right?” He looked like he was ready to recruit Malachi on the spot.
Malachi shook his head. “I never had much opportunity to play sports.”
Aden looked completely baffled, probably because he’d seen Malachi’s abs in the locker room. Tegan, who had been poking at her plateful of iceberg lettuce, set her fork down and put her arm around Aden’s waist. “What are we doing tonight?” she asked him.
Aden leaned in to kiss her cheek. “We were actually planning a guy thing, Teg. Sorry.”
Tegan flushed, but she smiled up at him anyway. “Maybe Saturday.”
He raised and lowered his eyebrows a few times. “Definitely Saturday.” He turned to Malachi again. “You want to come out with us tonight? We could show you how we have fun around here.”
Ian, Greg, and Levi smiled while the girls looked sullen.
Malachi wiped his mouth with his napkin. Under the table, the fingers of his other hand brushed against my thigh. “Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another time. Lela and I have plans tonight.”
Now my cheeks were pink, for sure. It had been such a soft-spoken, casual statement, but he might as well have shouted it. Everyone’s eyes were on me, conveying everything from resentment to curiosity to admiration. Greg stared at me like he’d never before realized that I was a girl. Laney looked like she wanted to flee to the bathroom and burst into tears. And Ian … I was stunned to see the glint of interest in his green eyes. For a year now, most of these guys hadn’t even thought to glance in my direction, and I definitely hadn’t looked in theirs. Apparently, all it took was for one hot guy to like me, and the rest of them were suddenly taking notice.
Aden shrugged. “Maybe we’ll hang out after the volunteer thing that our women are dragging us to. Ow!” He rubbed his arm, which had been on the receiving end of one of Tegan’s sharp little elbows.
“Stick to the left side,” instructed Greg. “His throwing arm is school property.”
Tegan smiled at him sweetly, but her dislike for Greg was one thing we had in common. “I’ll remember that,” she said icily. Then she looked at me and Malachi. “You two are coming tomorrow, right? The rest of these losers turned me down.”
I forced myself not to roll my eyes. “Yep, wouldn’t miss it.”
“You’re such a good friend, Lela,” she said. “Oh, and can you drive me? My dad would kill me if someone snatched the emblems and rims off my Beamer.”
Malachi’s hand closed over mine and squeezed. It was enough to keep me from telling her where she could shove her BMW emblems, but not enough to keep me from wondering if I’d added one more thing—a friendship with Tegan—to my impossible to-do list.
FIVE
I WENT HOME AFTER school, tried to catch up on my homework, and ate dinner with Diane. She grilled me about the movie and whether Malachi had been a gentleman, and I told lies about the former and the absolute truth about the latter. Well, except for the part about how he nearly killed some muggers.
After dinner, we watched the news, and I listened to Diane freak out about the new sightings of the Animal Guy … and at least one sighting of an Animal Gal. Equally unnerving were reports of vigilantes on the streets, determined to capture Animal Guy, either on camera or for real. The city had announced it was upping patrols to the East Side and southern Pawtucket. Police had issued statements reiterating that anyone with a weapon had better have a permit to carry it, and that they would have zero tolerance for rule breakers. It seemed like they were less worried about the Animal Guy and more concerned about regular citizens getting their crazy on. Part of me was relieved, and part of me was cursing. The more people were on guard, the less likely someone was to be dragged away. On the other hand, some people were going in search of the Mazikin. The whole thing had the potential to get seriously out of control.
After Diane left for her night shift at the prison, I picked up my motley crew of Guards and drove us through Providence, along the narrow streets of the East Side, toward the area where several of the Mazikin sightings had taken place. It was less than a mile from the place where we’d be tomorrow morning, helping Tegan serve up soup to the homeless, which made me both eager to find the nest—and hopeful that it wasn’t anywhere near this part of town.
Jim looked vaguely sick as we got out of the car, and I had to wonder if, like Malachi, he didn’t have much experience riding in one. Either that or he was hungover. Henry claimed he didn’t know where Jim had gotten the bottle, but while we were at school, the younger Guard had been getting trashed. Malachi had returned home to find him vomiting into the bathtub. Judging by the stony silence on the ride over, the last several hours had been rough for all three of them.
Jim was freshly showered and dressed in new clothes that made him look like an all-American high school kid. Like the rest of us, he was armed, but not obviously so. He carried a baton in the backpack slung over his shoulder and had a knife in his pocket. “Now what?” he asked, sounding like he’d rather be at home sleeping it off.
“Now you wait for your orders,” Malachi barked, making Jim wince and rub his temples.
I touched Malachi’s arm, but pulled my hand away when I realized Henry was watching us closely. “Jim and I will patrol north and west. Malachi and Henry, head south and east, toward some of the homeless camps along the Blackstone River. We can meet back here at midnight.”
Malachi looked like he wanted to argue, and I couldn’t blame him. I would so much rather patrol by his side, but I’d already thought this through. Henry and Jim didn’t even know how to spot a Mazikin, and I suspected Malachi would end up throttling Jim if I paired them up. “What is our course of action if we discover a Mazikin?” Malachi asked.
“Unless it attacks you, I want you to stay out of sight. Text me your location, and follow it. We need to find the nest, and that’s more important than eliminating a single Mazikin.”
Malachi smiled. “I think those are excellent orders, Captain.”
His words brought warmth to my chest that I badly needed—because I could tell he meant them. “Thank you. Be careful, okay?” I said it to him, but then shifted my gaze to Henry, who eyed me for a second before nodding.
Jim and I trudged up the block and turned left onto a smaller side road. It was about nine, still early, but already dark enough to make me grateful for every streetlamp. We zigzagged through the neighborhood for over an hour, but saw nothing more suspicious than a group of teenagers heading into a duplex that was practically shaking from the bass pumping inside. I was about to suggest that we return to the street where our car was parked when I heard running footsteps and male laughter. I sniffed at the air, trying to detect a hint of incense that might tell me whether they were Mazikin, but all I smelled was the garlic and spices coming from someone’s kitchen nearby.
“Let’s get a little closer and see what’s happening,” I said to Jim as the laughter was punctuated by shouts and crashes.
“Sounds like someone’s having a good time. That’s a crime around here?” Jim asked.
I ignored him, tensing when I heard a familiar voice say, “Dude, don’t point that at me. Aden, I’m serious!”
It was Ian Moseley, our classmate. My stomach churned as four guys rounded the corner several yards ahead of us. Aden, Ian, Greg, and Levi. Dressed in jackets, with beanies pulled low over their ears, they had the loose-limbed grace of privileged boys who thought the world was a giant amusement park. Aden was in the lead and holding what looked like a paintball gun, with a long, narrow tube for a barrel.
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” he slurred to the others, shaking the thing and sending several pellets splattering onto the concrete in front of him. “Oops.”
Ian, his hair concealed by his cap, was reaching out to take the gun away from his friend when he noticed Jim and me watching them. He squinted at us like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Lela?”
“Hey.” I waved spastically, realizing in that moment how awkward these next few minutes would be.
His eyebrows shot up as he zeroed in on Jim and then looked back at me. “Didn’t Malachi say you two had plans?”
“Uh …”
“Those plans changed,” said Jim, throwing his arm around my shoulders and yanking me close.
I elbowed him in the side before I could stop myself, and he grunted and stepped away as Levi, Greg, and Aden guffawed. Ian, who appeared to be the only sober one among them, stepped forward like he thought I needed protecting, so I tried to smile. “I’m catching up with Malachi later,” I said.
Aden was laughing so hard that he could barely stand up straight. “You’re a busy girl,” he said, but barely got the words out before Ian shoved him. He lost his balance and staggered into a mailbox, which he draped himself over, still chuckling.
“Sorry about that,” Ian said. “He’s an idiot, obviously.”
“What are you guys doing out here?” I asked, eyeing the paintball gun.
Greg held up another weapon, one I sincerely hoped fired pellets or paintballs and not bullets. “We’re hunting the Animal Guy!”
“Huh,” said Jim. “So are we.”
Ian’s eyes grew wide. “You are?”
“He’s just kidding,” I snapped, wanting to punch Jim in the throat. “We’re visiting some of my friends in the neighborhood.”
Aden raised his head from the mailbox. “In this neighborhood? What are they, Kings or MS-13? Come on, Lela. You can tell us.” He rested his head on his arms and continued to giggle.
“Are you serious?” groaned Ian. “Dude. Shut. Up.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “You guys really think you’re going to find one of those Animal Guys around here?”
Ian rolled his eyes, but the others nodded.
“And you’re going to … what? Bring it down with a paintball gun?”
While the other three shouted things like “Fuck, yeah,” Ian dropped his face into his hands, his fingers tugging the front of his beanie down like he wanted to hide inside it.
“Listen,” I said to Ian. “Aden’s right about one thing: this isn’t a great area if you don’t know it well, and right now you guys are drawing a lot of attention to yourselves. The cops are out looking for vigilantes, too, so maybe you could go hunt somewhere else. Like back in Warwick.”
His hands fell away from his face. “She’s right, guys. This was a dumb idea. Come on. Car’s this way.” He grabbed the back of Aden’s coat and hauled him off the mailbox. As he herded his drunk friends back toward the corner, he looked over his shoulder at me. “Are you going to be okay?” His gaze flicked to Jim.
I forced myself to step closer to my Guard partner. “Yeah, totally. See you on Monday.”
He sighed. “See you.”
As soon as he turned his back, I grabbed Jim’s sleeve and marched in the opposite direction, cursing under my breath.
“You didn’t even introduce me,” said Jim, amusement in his voice. “And I think the tall guy was jealous.”
“Shut up,” I barked. “And don’t ever touch me again.”
He chuckled. “Hey, I was only trying to help.”
I clenched my teeth and kept walking, barely looking where I was going, nearly twisting my ankle as I stepped off a curb and into a cross street. Jim watched me stumble with a smirk, and I was about to snap at him again when he said in a low voice, “There’s someone in that park up ahead,” pointing toward the end of the street.
We quickened our pace and headed for the park. Once again, I sniffed deeply, and this time, I caught the faintest scent of incense, so faint I thought maybe I was imagining it. “Where did you see—” I started to ask but then heard hooting laughter coming from a stand of trees about ten yards away. The sound made everything inside me tense; I’d never heard any human make a noise like that. It sounded more like a hyena … and exactly like a Mazikin. I touched Jim’s shoulder and held my finger to my lips.
We crept toward the laughter, which was intermixed with the sound of crinkling and thuds. I pressed myself against a tree and tried to catch sight of the creature, but all I could see was a pair of legs surrounded by debris. I leaned forward as much as I dared and caught the slope of a spine, with a long braid trailing down its center. Someone was squatting next to the legs. Hooting and grunting as she rummaged, tossing dented cans and paper packages over her shoulder.
Jim moved in close behind me, making me want to elbow him again. “Is that one of them?” he whispered.
“I think so,” I breathed.
“How do we find out?”
“We wait and watch.”
The creature continued to paw through the junk. Jim sighed impatiently. “Or we could just ask.” He stepped away from me before I could grab him. “Hey!” he called. “Are you a Mazikin?”
The woman with the braided hair pivoted sharply as she heard that last word, bringing her into full view. Her face was streaked with dirt, and her chin was smeared with blood. She growled as Jim jogged forward. “Mazikin,” she said in a harsh voice.
“Jim, stop!” I yelled. He ignored me.
Before I could decide which of them I’d rather kill, they both took off, Jim sprinting after the woman.
“I’ll get her!” Jim shouted.
“No!” I yelled, running after them. The woman was headed for an intersection with a traffic light. Well lit. Full of witnesses if Jim tried to take her down, witnesses who would only see a woman being attacked. Just past that intersection was a gas station, with a few cars filling up. The female Mazikin looked over her shoulder and smiled a gap-toothed, chilling smile.
“Jim!” I cried out, right as the Mazikin screamed, in a very human voice, “Help me! Don’t let him hurt me!”
A middle-aged bald guy and an older guy in a red scarf, who had both been standing by their cars beneath the gas station overhang, looked up and noticed our little drama unfolding in front of them. The Mazikin darted into the intersection as both men started forward.
Jim slowed enough for me to tackle him from behind. It didn’t knock him off his feet, but he finally stopped running when I landed on his back. “You idiot,” I said into his ear. “Come on. We have to—”
“Get off me.” He shoved me away so hard that I nearly fell on my ass. “I almost had her!” He began to run again. Stunned at his complete disregard of my orders, I followed but couldn’t close the distance before he made it across the street.
“Hey!” shouted the bald guy as the Mazikin sprinted toward the older man who protectively opened his arms to receive her. She sobbed loudly while he examined her bloody mouth and wiped at it with his scarf.
“Did you hit her?” he barked at Jim.
“No,” he replied, stopping a few feet away, “but I’m about to.”
“No, you won’t!” I shouted, finally catchin
g up. The bald guy was dialing his cell phone. This was so far out of control that my head was spinning.
“Miss, I’ve got this handled. You should probably stay away from him,” the old man said to me. “I’m going to take this young woman inside and help her get cleaned up.”
“The police are on the way,” called the bald guy, waving his phone at Jim.
Jim paid no attention. He lunged, clearly intending to attack the Mazikin. I threw myself in front of him, planted both hands on his chest, and pushed him backward. He made a move to shove me off again, and I lost it. I looped my hand around the back of his neck and jumped up, kneeing him in the stomach. “Stand down!” I yelled.
He let out a grunt and grabbed his abdomen, but straightened quickly. A siren wailed. Jim startled, looking around, and I slapped him across the face, desperately needing his attention. When his eyes locked on mine, I said in a low voice, “Jim, we have to go, unless you want to spend the night in a tiny holding cell.”
“Where you belong,” snapped the bald guy, still gripping his phone and watching us warily.
The violence in Jim’s eyes evaporated, replaced by fear. “A cell?”
Knowing the cops would arrive in mere seconds, I said clearly and slowly, “That’s what I said. Unless you run as fast as you can back to the car.”
It was the first order of the night that he actually followed.
As the bald guy shouted after us, we sprinted across the road, back through the scraggly trees and leaf-strewn brittle grass, past the pile of cans and packages the Mazikin had been going through. I slowed when I saw a homeless guy motionless on the ground. His hands and neck had been severely bitten, probably as he tried to keep the Mazikin from stealing all his worldly possessions and dragging him back to the nest. His cheeks were striped with claw marks, and his eyes were wide and fixed. He was dead.
I took off running again, catching up to Jim, and we fled through the side streets, block after block, until we made it back to the car. I pulled Jim down as a cop car streaked by, headed north, lights flashing and sirens blazing. Then I unlocked the doors and dove into the front while Jim climbed into the back. I caught my breath for a second and then fumbled with my phone, texting Malachi a rendezvous point several blocks south of our location. I trusted him to have a map of the area memorized already—at least I could depend on him.