by Tamar Sloan
I admire how nothing keeps Tara down for long. She would have to be the most resilient material known to man. “I hope I don’t get on a roll.”
“Oh?”
She snaps the flat iron like a crab claw. “I might do Caesar next.”
At the mention of his name, Caesar’s eyes dart to Tara then me. He must see something that concerns him because he whines then buries his head beneath his paw.
We both giggle, and I realize how unexpected life can be. It feels so normal, so natural to have Tara over here. To talk about girly things. To giggle. Even though just a few months ago I doubted this was a reality I could be part of.
Spritz. Clamp. Sizzle. Pull.
Showing how unpredictable the future can be.
It’s a full forty-five minutes before all my hair is done. Tara patiently and competently scalds each and every hair into smooth submission. When she’s finished, she steps back, critically eyeing my hair like it’s one of her artworks. I stand and turn, noting that my hair is a little bit longer, brushing my hips, but what’s more, it’s now a sleek, shiny, brown waterfall. I shake my head from side to side, and my eyes widen as the sheet of hair ripples and rolls.
Tara crosses her arms. “Well?”
“Fine, I’ll admit it. It was worth all my hard work.”
Tara sputters in indignation, spins, and grabs a cushion from my bed and throws it at my head. It bounces off my cheek, catching a few strands and separating them from the thick, glossy mass.
“Hey, careful of the hair,” I warn as I do a very Bianca-like sweep of my hair back over my shoulder, only much slower and more exaggerated.
“I knew there was a diva in there somewhere. Now, my turn.”
Uh oh. I look at the heated tongs, wishing I’d paid more attention to the fine art of hair straightening. “Sure, where do I start?”
“I don’t think so. Besides, mine will take twenty minutes, tops.”
Relieved, I could already see trusting red locks falling to the ground, smoke curling from the singed ends. I sit on the bed.
“Here”—Tara passes me the big shiny box of intimidation—“have a look at what colors you think would work.”
I flip through the palettes and polishes crammed into the box. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers through the surprisingly sleek strands down my back. Maybe makeup won’t be so bad.
“What color’s your dress?” Tara spritzes and sprays the last sections of her hair. She’s gone with a gentle curl at the bottom, the layers gently framing her face. I’m just thinking how pretty it looks when she starts pulling it up into a high ponytail. A purple ribbon is sitting on the dresser in front of her.
“Blue.”
Her eyes light up. “That’ll work great. Blue eyeshadow is so in right now.”
What? Even Caesar perks his head up when he senses my alarm. Words can’t come out of my mouth fast enough. “It’s more of a pale blue, ice blue really, actually it barely has any color at all.”
Tara bursts into a fit of laughter. “You should have seen your face!”
I look around for a pillow of my own. But Tara is quick; she jumps up and dives onto the bed, covering the cushions with her body. Caesar jumps back, unused to sharp movements from small bundles of energy.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t sic my attack dog on you.”
Caesar looks at the perky redhead clambering off the bed then me. With a very male snort, he leaves the room.
“That was close. I could have lost a leg!”
I tilt my nose up. “It barely would have made a meal.”
Another cushion hits my back, followed by a round of slumber-party giggles. It seems getting ready for parties can be a lot of fun.
Tara glances at the clock beside the bed. “Right, makeup and then we get dressed.”
Makeup, right. If I hadn’t have been so nervous at the thought of preparing for this party, I probably would have gone on the internet to research the whole makeup thing. But I didn’t. So, when Tara passes me a big brush and a pot of pale power, I take it. And just stand there.
Tara leans toward the dresser mirror, she swirls her brush around the powder, then starts brushing it on it circular strokes. Just like you see on TV.
I should be able to do that.
I dip my brush in the loose powder so I can copy what I just saw. Circular strokes start at my forehead, down over my nose, then around my cheeks. Dip, dip, and I fan the brush down my neck. Maybe, just maybe, I can succeed at being a girl.
“So, how’re the house plans going?”
“We’re in negotiations.” Tara pauses, and I look over. “We can’t decide between four or five bedrooms.”
My eyes widen a smidgen. “How many kids are you planning on having?”
Tara smiles then chuckles. “We’re still deciding. I want five. Mitch wants two.”
It appears big families beget big families.
“You’ve got plenty of time to decide.” Although judging by the chuckle, what I really mean is Tara has plenty of time to bring Mitch around to her way of thinking.
“Not really.” Tara now has a little black pencil, and with small feathery strokes her eyes are outlined, making them wider, more striking. “Weres bond young, have their kids young. One foot in the animal kingdom and all that.”
I think of Beth and how young she is. I think of the parents I see at the Phelan gatherings, and yes, they all seemed young. And happy.
“But what about college?” Elementary teaching was inevitable for Tara, thanks to her brood of younger siblings, but mostly because she has a heart that will be forever young.
Unlike me, who was old before my time.
Tara shrugs, unconcerned, before leaning back toward the mirror. A little pot of violet glitter is now in her hands. “I’ll defer, do it part time. Beth will be there to help.”
She strokes the colorful glitter across one eyelid. “Besides, we have to keep the Alpha line going.” She never drops her voice or tone, but I know she just quoted Kurt.
I flick through the metal box, pretending I’m looking for just the right shade of whatever it is I’m supposed to be getting, keeping my voice just as casual. “Do you guys, you know, ever hook up with humans?”
Tara watches me in the mirror, but I keep my head down, in the box. “Sure. It can be a pretty small Were pond otherwise.”
I shrug, picking up a compact of my own. “So, humans are more of a casual fling.”
Tara turns, eyes wide and earnest. “That’s not what Noah thinks or feels. You know what you have is special.”
It feels like it is.
“But what about the Precept…?” The one that is carved indelibly into the twists and knots of my grey matter, far deeper than it’s etched anywhere else. You shall not bond with the opposite bloodline…
“That’s nothing you need to worry about,” Tara says with the authority of her new Alpha status. As if just by saying it, she makes it so. She leans forward, focusing on painting the other eye. “You know, I broke a precept to be with Mitch.”
“Oh,” I say, wondering how I could ever ask Noah to do the same for me.
“I’ll tell you the story one day.”
“I’d like to hear it.” Hoping it might give me some reassurance. But doubting it.
“Are you actually going to do your makeup?”
I look down at the pale powder in my hand then back up to my reflection. “I thought I was.”
“You’ve got as far as foundation.”
“That fits my definition of makeup.”
Tara huffs again and pushes me back into the chair. She stands between me and the mirror, flitting, dabbing, flicking, and dusting. I stay very, very still throughout it all. When she steps back, I’m surprised at who is staring back at me in the mirror. Pale eyeshadow with a hint of sparkle has opened my eyes, pink shiny lips are slightly parted. Add that to the shiny hair and I look…good.
“See? It’s not that bad.”
Tara grabs her co
stume and disappears into the bathroom, wings whacking the doorframe on her way through. I head over to the bag hanging from the top of the wardrobe door. When Tara said we should both go as fairies, I’d spent some time online cruising for costumes. But all the tulle and glitter and short little skirts had me spending more time clicking the back button. Until I found this one. It wouldn’t show off more leg than necessary, I wouldn’t catch pneumonia, and I wouldn’t poke anyone’s eye out with a stray wing. Whilst still technically a fairy.
I’m just pulling on the matching slipper-like flats when Tara springs through the bathroom door, waving a glittery, trident-shaped wand. Purple tulle springs out like a tutu; violet wings with silver detail frame her shoulders. But after that, Tinkerbelle goes to the dark side. A black corset cinches Tara’s little waist enough to push the rest of her torso upward, and black knee-high boots with purple laces hug her legs. Tara juts out a hip, showing just how much attitude this fairy has.
I whistle. “I want you to be my fairy godmother.”
Tara curtsies, the tutu brushing the door frame. Then takes in my costume. I stand a little awkwardly, knowing it’s nothing like hers.
“I like it.” She claps her hands under her chin. “It’s totally you, and you’ve stuck with the fairy theme. We’re practically our own set of twins.”
I laugh at that one. With our opposite heights, contrasting hair, and vaguely related outfits, we’re barely in the same species.
Tara grabs my arm and pulls me to the door. “I can’t wait to see our vampires. They are going to look haaawwt!”
7
Noah
“Have you seen my teeth? Whoa, what the —”
I’m just slipping my shirt over my shoulders, hands at the collar, when Mitch walks in the room — without bothering to knock. Admittedly, we’ve never really knocked, but this time I could have used a knock.
He freezes at the door, staring at my chest.
Where a mark that shouldn’t exist is bare and exposed. I snap the two halves of my shirt closed, two seconds too late.
Because what has been seen cannot be unseen.
He points to my chest. “Interesting ink, bro.”
“Keep your voice down, will you?” I step around him and shut the door.
Mitch looks confused then disturbed, the emotions scrunching up his face. “That’s not a Were mark I’ve seen, anyplace, anytime…ever.”
“Not, it’s not.”
“What’s going on?”
“You can’t tell anyone. Not Dad, not Tara, and definitely not Eden.”
Understanding unfolds across his face, opening everything up with the dawn of understanding. “It’s hers, isn’t it?”
I deflate, my butt sinking into the end of the bed. “Yeah.”
Mitch flops next to me, eyes wide, dark brows high. “Huh.”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Months ago, but I only realized the day Dad came out of the coma.”
“How on earth is it possible?”
I throw up my hands, empty hands that have been grasping for answers for months. “It’s not supposed to be possible.”
Mitch is quiet for a while, his eyes scanning the carpet, like each pass of his eyes is turning some page over in his mind. After several seconds, whatever it is has given him nothing. “And you haven’t told anyone.”
I shake my head.
“And you haven’t told Eden.” His tone clearly says, ‘why the heck not?’
I push myself up, walking over to the desk before I turn to Mitch. My hand jams into my hair, and the shirt gapes open. Mitch’s eyes are instantly drawn to the black wolf outline, and the five-pointed star held within a circle sitting alongside it. Stupid mark is practically shouting, ‘look at me!’ I quickly close the curtains on my chest.
“Her life will never be the same again.”
His eyes narrow, blue becoming just a glimmer of suspicion. “Do you want this?”
I look at Mitch, eyes unblinking, showing him just how ready I am. This is Eden we’re talking about. “None of this would be possible without Eden.”
Eden was the one who changed me. After two years of being a freak, it was her fear that was my catalyst. And it was her connection with animals that quite probably saved my life.
“Maybe you should tell her.”
“And trap her? To a life that will never be normal, not even by Were standards? She deserves better than that.”
My head drops, and now I’m doing the scan of the carpet thing. But even on the other side of the room, no answers can be found within its woolen loops.
All I get is the emotion that is never far away, just waiting for me to acknowledge it.
I push off the desk, hands coming up to my collar. With rapid flicks of my fingers, I do up the buttons. With lightning speed, the mark is curtained again. “She deserves to choose.”
“But, how can she?”
“How can she what?”
“Choose. How can she make the right choice without knowing the full deal? You need to have all your cards on the table, so she can know what she’s getting into.” He zeroes in on me with intense blue eyes. “Otherwise you’re just gambling.”
That emotion moves again. Rising, demanding some air time.
I walk to the door quickly, hoping movement will rock it to sleep. “She needs more time.”
“Does she?”
And in those two words, Mitch demonstrates how the meaning of a sentence changes depending on which word you put emphasis on. Because the stress that gets put on ‘she’ gives his little question a sucker punch of significance.
One that shifts that awful, uncomfortable feeling, making it multiply.
I stare down at the shiny new tops of my shoes. Doing two years of growing in a few short months has practically meant a whole new wardrobe. Add that to eating to support this growth spurt and we’re all probably going to have to eat the spam from my email account.
“It’s too soon.”
Mitch grabs his set of teeth, the reason he barged into my room, and heads for the door. He points to my shoes. “You’re going to need those…now that you’ve dug your heels in.”
Call 911. I’ve forgotten how to breathe, and the absence of a heartbeat tells me I’ve gone into cardiac arrest.
The two girls walking toward us have Mitch and me stalled in the front yard. And struggling to stay alive.
Tara looks great in a bonded-mate-in-law kind of way, all sparkly purple and racy black. But if Tara is a goth-fairy of the future then Eden has stepped out of the history books. Possibly straight out of Middle Earth. Her flowing, pale blue dress is breathtaking. Shocked eyes try to absorb it all. The skirt brushing the ground, the sleeves that fan out like bells, the pale blue material hugging most of her tall, lean body. That long hair lush and shiny, those glowing evergreen eyes that grab me across the distance, her now-pink lips parted.
The heart that was trying to start again stutters when I register the belt that hugs her hips then falls down the center of her skirt. The dark blue band frames them, accentuating their gentle sway as she approaches.
She’s doing that shy, head ducked into her shoulders turtle-like thing. But then she straightens, arches her head so that hair of hers moves over her shoulder, and walks toward me.
That’s my girl.
Mitch is the first to recover the ability to speak. “We did something right in a past life.” His words flow out in a rush of gratitude, a little like a prayer.
That means I was Gandhi last time round.
I cover the last few feet, reaching out, wanting to touch. Forgetting about anyone else on the planet. “I think I flatlined there for a second.”
“At least your heart restarted. I’m still waiting. Being a vampire suits you.”
I grin, feeling those extra-long canines digging into my bottom lip. “I can certainly see the benefits,” I say as I move in to nuzzle then nibble her throat.
She giggles, and I love the br
eathless sound of it. Her hands come up to my chest, over my red velvet waistcoat, to sit on my shoulders. “I see what you mean.”
I’m plotting where to taste next when Tara taps me on the shoulder with a purple sparkly thing. “We should do presents before everyone gets here.”
Mitch claps his hands together, giving them a rub. “I’m up for that.”
“Let’s go, girlfriend.” Tara grabs Eden and they walk away with purpose.
The girls were apparently organized because they head straight for the garage. I can’t help but be mesmerized by Eden in that dress when they come out carrying two big presents and two envelopes.
“Why don’t we do it under Grandfather Douglas?” suggests Eden.
Once under the spreading arms of the old fir tree, Tara thrusts the biggest one at Mitch. It’s clearly a painting, wrapped in black shiny paper, a big sparkly bow on the front. Her toes are very obviously dancing in those thigh-high boots. Eden, now tucked under my arm, smiles a knowing smile.
Tara’s excitement is contagious because Mitch tears at the paper, shreds of black falling to the needle-covered ground. Then he stares down at the black frame in his hand.
I look over his shoulder to see Tara’s painting, the one I only saw the outline of because once Eden arrived I was no longer needed as the cheer squad. It’s amazing. Two wolves up close, one red, one black. The midnight wolf leans forward to brush the red with his tongue, her eyes closed in bliss. It captures Mitch and Tara’s love with incredible, vibrant color.
“It’s amazing.” He breathes.
Tara’s hands clasp beneath her chin, that dancing energy creeping up her legs as she does a little jig. “You like it?”
“I love it.” Mitch leans in to give her a lingering kiss. Ugh, is that what they have to watch me and Eden do? No wonder they complain. Constantly.
Tara turns to me, hazel eyes all glowing and purple sparkles. “Now for yours.”
I get a smaller, flat square, another painting, this one wrapped in white with a silver bow. She looks a little less sure about this one, and Eden looks surprised. I don’t think she knew about this one.
I undo the tape, opening the folds, and remove the sheet of wrapping paper whole. Tara rolls her eyes at my slowness.