Endure (Need)

by Carrie Jones

  “And you know he’s good how?” Jay asks.

  “He just is,” I say. “He’s been trying really hard to help.”

  “And he’s stable?” Austin asks, stepping closer.

  “Super-stable,” Issie answers. She smiles and bobs her head. “Really, really stable.”

  “So who is his queen?” I’m not sure who asked this. I didn’t see. I open my mouth to answer.

  Nick answers for me. “Zara is. Zara is a pixie now. And she is his queen.”

  There are more questions and lots of reassurances as what should have been a good training time becomes Pixie 101 and Zara interrogation. Cassidy and Is back me up and field a lot of the questions. Nick refers people to the handbook, and eventually they all head back inside the gym. I think about what both Nick and Astley have said, how I am just preparing them to be slaughtered, but I have to believe that it’s better to know. Right? It has to be.

  Standing at the door, holding it with one arm, Nick turns around and waves for me to come in and join them, to get ready for the war.

  I do.

  After a long day trying to train our friends and acquaintances, we’ve been trying to figure out why Astley’s mom attempted to poison him, other than the obvious: she wants him dead.

  “I want to understand the why,” I keep saying.

  Nick, Cassidy, Issie, and I are in the gym cleaning up. Pretty much everyone else has left. There are water bottles rolling around and paper scraps everywhere.

  “Sometimes the whys aren’t knowable,” Nick says, tossing a tissue into the garbage. “So you just have to ignore the whys, and just focus on what is and move on.”

  I wonder if he’s talking about the murder attempt or about us.

  WEEKLY REPORT: 12/14 TO 12/21

  TROOP/UNIT: Troop J

  ITEMS OF INTEREST TO LOCAL AGENCIES:

  12/16: Trooper Barnard responded to multiple reports of a tiger seen roaming in the area adjacent to Leonard Lake. Failed to locate.

  After the training, even though I’m still sore from saving Astley and feel like total crud, Issie and I do the task that everyone hates. That’s because the worst part of killing pixies isn’t actually the killing, which is what I used to think. Believe it or not, you get used to the sickening feeling of bones breaking or blood spilling onto the snow or onto your nice flats, your favorite flats. You get used to the responsibility of causing death, which seems horrible, and let’s face it: it is horrible. Still, that’s not the worst of it. The worst part of killing pixies is getting rid of the bodies.

  We head to the river and pull down the back bumper of Grandma Betty’s truck. Issie holds the legs of a now-dead pixie man. He’s heroin-user skinny and wearing dad jeans, which are pulled up way too high. It’s like a casting director got two parts confused and made a mishmash character called Heroin-Using, Minivan-Driving Dad. Although in the credits it would probably be called Dead Evil Pixie #5.

  As she stumbles beneath his weight, Issie’s hair curls out from under her rainbow hat and she is shin deep in snow.

  I hold the arms and shoulders and say, “On three. One … two … three!”

  We throw him up and into the water. His body splashes into the dark gray river and sinks. Soon he will melt away like a marshmallow that’s been sitting in hot chocolate too long. The water will take him. Astley told us that the bodies will become one with the water and the authorities won’t find them, not ever. I cross my fingers that he’s right about that as we go back to my grandmother’s truck and take another body out from under the tarp, trudging through the snow.

  “You know,” Issie says, “I wish they were vampires. In TV shows vampires always explode or disintegrate. It seems so much easier for cleanup.”

  “Even the exploding?”

  “Yep, just a little vacuuming up the dust, maybe a Clorox bleach wipe, and you’re done.”

  “That would be nice,” I admit. “This is a better workout, though. On three. One … two … three!”

  We send a pixie girl splashing into the water. I recognize her from an earlier attack at a school dance. Nick killed her this morning, tearing her throat out as she stalked Paul Rasku leaving his house for the Y. I had let her go from the dance with a warning. I’m still soft even now that I’ve turned into one of them.

  Issie’s arms shake from the exertion. It’s too much for her muscles. We’ll have to make sure she doesn’t get stuck doing this duty again, but she’s not the best fighter and it seemed safer somehow.

  The feeling comes back—cold, deathly, like someone is watching me. I pivot a full three hundred and sixty degrees, scanning the parking lot, the river, the old Community Health and Counseling building off to one side, the harbormaster’s office off to the other. Nothing. I sniff and get only the faintest smell of death mixed with vanilla bean.

  We hike back to the truck, secure the tarp with rocks so it won’t blow away, and climb into the cab. I turn the heat on full blast so Issie doesn’t freeze.

  “We just threw bodies into a river,” she says.

  “I know.” I put the truck in drive and edge it forward. I’m not too comfortable with driving it, so I take it slowly.

  She pulls off her hat, revealing crazy hair frizz. Some of it actually sticks to the roof of the cab because of all the static electricity.

  “It’s just I know that this whole keep-people-safe-from-evil-pixies thing is of ‘vital importance.’“She actually makes air quotes around the words “vital importance” and then continues, “But I would like to have a conversation without the words ‘death,’ ‘corpses,’ ‘bodies,’ or ‘end of the world’ in it, you know? And I’d like to be able to leave the house without my mom giving me pepper spray and taping knives to my forearm and acting like she’s never going to see me again.”

  I pull the truck out onto the main road. “‘End of the world’ is a phrase, Is, it’s not just a word.”

  We trundle toward Mike’s, this corner store that’s not actually on a corner. I pull into the parking lot of Mike’s Store.

  “Thank you, Miss Nitpicky,” she says, and out of nowhere goes, “Just remember at the end of the day it isn’t boys that matter. It’s your friends that matter.”

  “And whether or not you stop the apocalypse.”

  “Yeah,” she says, leaning her head back into the headrest and closing her eyes for a second. “That too.”

  Mike’s Store is small and sort of claustrophobic. It’s known for having a penny candy section where you scoop candy out of glass jars, which is very retro. The other end of the square store has a little deli, which, according to Betty, is Food Poisoning Central. There are about three rows of wooden shelving with canned goods, dog food, and tampons. That sort of thing. A lot of stuff is covered with a thin layer of dust. Someone once said that’s all people are: dust. But I can’t believe that’s true. I think we have souls and energy and that goes on even after our bodies die. Valhalla sort of proved that, actually, right? Still, the dust gives me a creepy feeling.

  “Zare?” Issie nudges me with her hip as I stand there motionless in front of the spaghetti sauce. There are two options squeezed in between diapers and boxes of macaroni and cheese. One is Ragú. Nick loves Ragú.

  “Yeah …” The word leaves my mouth super slowly. “I’m fine. Just … just tired of spaghetti, you know? And that whole draining-my-soul-energy thing last night to save Astley. I am fine.”

  She studies my face like she knows I’m lying. She throws her arm around my shoulders and gives me a one-armed bro hug since we’re both carrying things. The door to the store opens, making a jingly bell noise. I can smell it’s a pixie. Pushing Issie behind me, I stand up as straight as I can to see over the rows of flour and sugar and Maxwell House coffee. The moment I see him, I relax. I even smile.

  “Hey, Astley!” Issie says, popping out from behind me. “Long time no see.”

  He tilts his head. His blondish hair flops a bit onto his forehead. “I saw you this morning, Isabelle.”

/>   She cringes at the use of her full name.

  “It’s an expression, dude. Geesh.” She turns to me. “He is sweet but way behind the times.”

  “I know.” I smile at Issie and then at Astley.

  He’s closed the distance between us. “Spaghetti? Again?”

  I nod.

  “You could have dinner with me,” he offers.

  “I would, but …”

  His expression hardens just a little. Nobody else would notice it, but I do.

  “But you have to feed him.” Astley nods, grabs a water bottle out of the refrigeration unit, and then takes my spaghetti and sauce out of my arms. “Well, then at least let me pay.”

  I do because, since I am technically the queen to his king now, his money is half my money or something like that. I don’t know. All I know is there’s a bank account in Switzerland that has my name on it. Austin’s working at the counter, and he’s firing away eight thousand questions about training. As Astley pays, I read the flyers tacked up on the wall next to the checkout counter. There are old ones for spaghetti suppers. There are newer ones about grief.

  MISSING LOVED ONES? JOIN US. If the mystery

  and disappearances are getting you down, you aren’t

  alone. Come join others who share in your sorrow and

  long for answers. Don’t grieve alone.

  I touch the yellow piece of paper without even realizing it. It’s only when skin meets paper that I know what I’m doing.

  “Zara?” Astley’s voice is at my ear. His breath rustles softly against my hair, the skin of my earlobe.

  “Yeah?”

  “Nick isn’t dead anymore,” he whispers low, calm. His voice is like a heater rumbling to life in a car. It holds the promise of comfort and warmth. I’m not sure if that promise is because he is my king and I am pixie-bound to him in ways I don’t understand, or if it’s just because he is nice.

  Either way, he is right about Nick. I swallow hard. “I know. I know he’s not dead.”

  And then Issie says the words that I can’t say. “It just sometimes still feels like he is, right?”

  Before I can respond Astley sniffs the air. “Zara …”

  The way he says my name makes the tiny hairs on my arms bristle. I hand Issie the bag of food and step back from the wall, turning just as Frank comes in the door. He slams it open so hard that it hits the wall.

  Austin curses behind us. “Dude, you’ve got to be more careful. The glass on that thing cracks.”

  Frank glares at him. “Shut up.”

  I don’t know if there’s something in his voice or his gaze, but the very talkative Austin actually stops talking, which is too bad, because he could have distracted him. I try to move in front of Issie and Astley, protecting them, but Astley makes the same move. We bump hips.

  “Brilliant. You are so out of synch you collide,” Frank snarks.

  He starts laughing. It’s a crazy person/pixie laugh, the kind that just rumbles through his chest and splurts out into the air, uncontrolled and revealing how wild he is inside.

  “That’s one of them, isn’t it?” Austin says behind us. Austin wants to be a cop. He’s gone to the junior trooper program in Vassalboro with state troopers and everything. He’s pretty tough and calm in a crisis.

  “Yep,” Issie answers while taking a step forward.

  I direct my attention to Frank. “You could at least shut the door behind you.”

  “My apologies.” He kicks it shut with his foot and then looks Astley up and down like he’s sizing up a piece of meat. “The question truly is: should I kill you now? It’s a shame the poison didn’t work, isn’t it? Good waste of time. And time is ticking, isn’t it? As your mother would say, Astley, ‘Always ticking. Always ticking.’“ He mimics Isla’s demented singsong voice as he says it.

  “Oh, I do not think that is the question,” I say, stepping one more foot forward. “I think the question is should I kill you?”

  “Crap. She’s a badass,” Austin says pretty admiringly, while both Issie and Astley say my name in a warning voice.

  “So tough now. I miss the innocent, crying princess pining over her dead wolf.” Frank tsks at me and then leaps, showing teeth. He hits me right in the stomach with his foot, but I grab it at the ankle, pulling him down with me and then pushing him back. His body arches and hits the jars of penny candy even as my own body thumps to the ground. Glass smashes on the floor. Gummy worms and fireballs free themselves and splat or roll across the wooden floor. I feel bad about that. Poor Austin. Poor gummies.

  “Zara!” Astley roars, but instead of helping me up, he flings himself toward Frank. Frank’s already standing and ready. He moves like he’s going to rip Astley’s neck out.

  “No!” Everything that happened to Nick flashes back to me and I scream the word as I make a football-player tackle, hitting Frank midstomach. We both schlump into the edge of a row of shelves. The wood cracks and the shelf breaks, cans of corn and spinach topple onto us.

  “Zara!” Astley yanks me backward by my legs. He must overestimate the amount of force needed, because I slide all the way across the snow-puddle-wet floor to the counter, bumping into Issie’s boots.

  As I scramble back up, Astley and Frank begin to fight with fists. Astley’s obviously still weak. His blows aren’t as powerful as Frank’s. He’s faster, but not full form. If this turns out to be a battle of pixie kings, Frank is going to win. I start to rush back over there, but Issie grabs me by the arm.

  “Get out of the way, Zara,” she says.

  “But—”

  She’s holding a gun. A gun! Where did she get a freaking gun?

  Austin yells at Issie, “Aim at his head.”

  Issie says, “Dude! Evil dude! Stop now or I’ll shoot.”

  She looks at me for approval. For a second, I contemplate taking the gun out of her shaking hands. Astley roars in pain as Frank’s fist comes at him.

  “Astley, get back!” I yell.

  And he leaps away, not asking why, just trusting.

  And Issie pulls the trigger.

  The noise is deafening and the recoil of the gun thrusts Issie back against the counter. Grabbing her by the waist, I make sure she doesn’t fall over.

  “I mean it. Next one is in your head, psycho pixie guy!” she yells.

  “Just do it!” Austin’s reaching for her. “Give me the gun, I’ll do it. Issie!”

  But she hesitates, and as she does Frank stands up, wipes off the front of his long leather coat. The bullet didn’t hit him, at least not anywhere critical. He says, “The clock is ticking. Time is running out. Tick. Tock. Tick.”

  “What?” Astley starts for him again but he leaps out the now-broken window and rushes off.

  I stare at the door blankly. “I should chase him.”

  “No.” Astley shakes his head. “He was just toying with us. They do that. Try to make us afraid. It makes the death better.”

  “N-nice,” Austin says. “Oh crap. I better go erase the video. We have a video camera up there.”

  He points to a blinking red light on the ceiling and leaps over the counter, rushing off to the back wall and a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, yelling at us to watch the register.

  Issie plops the gun on the counter.

  “Where did you get that?” I ask. “And awesome job, by the way.”

  “My mom. She bought it off some guy behind the library.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  We stand there for a second. I try to let everything that happened sink in. Some woman with mall hair comes to the door, peeks in, and backs right back out. Astley has grabbed a broom and is sweeping at the glass and gummies on the floor.

  “That’s kind of sexy, man doing domestic duties,” Issie whispers. She turns and looks at me full-on. “I can’t believe I fired a gun!”

  “I can’t believe you had a gun and didn’t tell me.”

  “I know! My mom made me promise not to tell anyone. It’s c
ompletely illegal to carry a concealed weapon without a permit. Plus, she’s made me bring it to school.”

  Grabbing a dust pan so Astley can sweep the glass into it, I throw her a look, and she lifts her hands into the air in mock surrender. “I know! I know! I still should have told you, but did I or did I not rock back there? I missed his head, though. I was aiming for his head.”

  Astley has this terrified look on his face. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

  “No.” Issie starts picking up fallen cans. “But I remembered how to get the safety off and everything. Go me.”

  The door slams open again and we all stop midcleanup, but it’s just Nick, albeit Nick looking frantic and energized. He’s so focused he doesn’t even ask what we’re doing and we’re all so stunned we don’t even ask how he found us.

  “I saw the truck outside. I’ve been monitoring the police dispatches on my laptop,” he says. “There’s been another tiger sighting outside some woman’s house on Elm Street by the river. I guess it happened last night. The state police came.”

  My stomach pits into something hard and I dump the glass from the dustpan into a trash can behind the counter, beneath the lottery tickets. “Did they find her?”

  “No.”

  I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I hand Issie the dustpan for a second so I can fix my coat and I explain that to him. “It’s like if they find her we know she’s safe and out of the woods, but then you know—”

  “They might put her down because she’s an animal.” He grimaces.

  “Exactly.” I shudder. “We should go look near there. I’ll check the river through town. I’ll start at the harbor park where the boats get put in and work up to the library and the jail. Can you go up past the dam? In the more wooded areas?”

  He nods. “Of course.”

  Austin tells him what happened as I check with Astley and Issie that this is an okay plan, which it is, and Astley will come look too as soon as he’s cleaned up and gets gun-toting Issie home. Nick and I actually walk out together and he tells me that Cassidy and Dev are running a training again early this evening. Two in one day may seem like a lot, but it’s essential.