by TJ Klune
He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sun.
“HOW COULD you?” I heard her say, voice tight and harsh. “Why would you do this to me? To us?”
“I didn’t ask for this,” my father said. “I never asked for any of this. I didn’t know she would get—”
“I could tell her. I could tell everyone. What you are. What they are.”
“No one would believe you. And how would that look for you? They would think you’re crazy. And it would be used against you. You would never see Gordo again. I’d make sure of it.”
“I know you’ve done something to me,” my mother said. “I know you’ve messed with my mind. I know you’ve altered my memories. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe none of this is real. It’s a dream, an awful dream from which I can’t awake. Please. Please, Robert. Please let me wake up.”
“Catherine, you’re—this is unnecessary. All of this is. She’ll leave. I promise. Until it’s done. You can’t go on like this. You just can’t. It’s killing you. It’s killing me.”
“Like you care,” she said harshly. “Like you give a damn about anything that isn’t her—”
“Lower your voice.”
“I won’t. I won’t be—”
“Catherine.”
The voices fell away as I pulled the comforter over my head.
“YOUR MOTHER isn’t feeling well,” Father said. “She’s resting.”
I stared at their closed bedroom door for a long time.
SHE SMILED at me. “I’m fine. Honey, of course I’m fine. How could anything be wrong when the sun is shining and the sky is blue? Let’s have a picnic. Doesn’t that sound lovely? Just you and me, Gordo. I’ll make little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. There’s potato salad and oatmeal cookies. We’ll take a blanket and watch the clouds. Gordo, it’ll be just you and me and I’ll be the happiest I’ve ever been.”
I thought she was lying.
“GET YOUR ass in gear!” Marty hollered at me from across the garage. “I don’t pay you nothing to have you just standing there with your dick hanging out. Move, Gordo. Move.”
“HOW DID you know?” I asked Thomas when I was twelve. It was a Sunday, and as was tradition, the pack had gathered for dinner. Tables had been set up behind the Bennett house. Lacy white cloths had been spread out over them. There were vases filled with wildflowers, green and blue and purple and orange. Abel was at the grill, smiling at the noise and bustle that rose around him. Children laughed. The adults smiled. Music played from a record player.
And Elizabeth was dancing. She looked beautiful. She wore a pretty summer dress, her fingertips streaked with paint. Most of the day she’d been in her studio, a place where only Thomas was allowed, and only when she invited him in. I didn’t understand her art, the slashes of color on canvas, but it was wild and vital and reminded me of running with wolves underneath a full moon.
But here she was now, swaying with the music, her dress flaring around her knees as she spun in a slow circle. Her arms were outstretched, her head tilted back and eyes closed. She looked peaceful and happy, and it caused a bittersweet pang in my chest.
“I knew from the moment I saw her,” Thomas said, eyes never leaving Elizabeth. “I knew because no one I’d ever met before had made me feel the way I did then. She’s the loveliest person I’ve ever seen, and even back then, I knew I was going to love her. I knew I was going to give her anything she could ever ask for.”
“Wow,” I breathed.
Thomas laughed. “Do you know what the first thing she said to me was?”
I shook my head.
“She told me to stop sniffing her.”
I gaped at him.
He shrugged easily. “I wasn’t very subtle.”
“You were smelling her?” I asked, aghast.
“I couldn’t help it. It was… do you know that moment right before a thunderstorm hits? The sky is black and gray, and everything feels electric? Your skin is humming and your hairs are standing on end?”
I nodded.
“That’s what she smelled like to me. Like an approaching storm.”
“Yeah,” I said, still unsure. “But—like, you were sniffing her.”
“You’ll learn,” Thomas told me. “One day. Maybe sooner than you might think. Oh, would you look at that. My brother approaches. What auspicious timing that is, given our discussion.”
I turned my head. Mark Bennett was walking toward us, a determined expression on his face. Ever since the day he’d followed me into Marty’s, things had been… less weird. He was still a little creepy, and I told him over and over again that I didn’t need him to protect me, but he wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d been. He was… nice. And he seemed to like me a whole hell of a lot for reasons I didn’t quite understand.
“Thomas,” Mark said, sounding slightly strangled.
“Mark,” Thomas replied, sounding amused. “Nice tie. Isn’t it a little warm for that?”
He blushed, the red crawling up his neck to his cheeks. “It’s not—I’m trying—god, would you just—”
“I think I’ll go dance with Elizabeth,” Thomas said, patting me on the shoulder. “It’d be a shame to let a moment go to waste. Don’t you think, brother?”
“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked him. He was wearing a red tie over a white dress shirt and slacks. He was barefoot, and I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen his toes before. They curled into the grass, the green bright against his skin.
“I’m not, it’s just—” He shook his head. “I wanted to, okay?”
I frowned. “O-kay. But aren’t you hot?”
“No.”
“You’re sweating.”
“It’s not because I’m hot.”
“Oh. Are you nervous?”
“What? No. No. I’m not nervous. Why would I be nervous?”
I squinted at him. “Are you sick?”
He growled at me.
I grinned at him.
“Look,” he said gruffly. “I wanted to. Okay. Can I….”
“Can you….”
He looked like he was about to explode. “Do you know how to dance?” he blurted out.
I stared at him.
“Because if you did, and if you wanted to, we could—I mean, it’s fine, right? It’s fine. We can just stand here. Or whatever. That’s fine too.” He fidgeted, tugging at the end of his tie. He looked at me, then away, then back at me.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I admitted.
He sighed. “I know. I’m just….”
“Sweating.”
“Would you stop saying that?”
“But. You are.”
“God, you’re such a dick.”
I laughed at him. “Hey, I’m just pointing out—”
“Gordo!”
I turned.
My mother. She beckoned me toward her. Father had said she’d been sick again, that she wouldn’t be coming. He’d dropped me off, saying he’d return later, that he had business to attend to before he would return. I didn’t ask what that business was.
And now she was here, and she had a frail smile on her face. Her hair looked unkempt, and she was wringing her hands.
“Is she okay?” Mark asked. “She’s—”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She wasn’t feeling well earlier and—I’ll go see what she wants. Hold on, okay? I’ll be right back. And maybe you can tell me why you’re in a tie.”
Before I could walk away, he grabbed my hand. I looked back at him. “Be careful, okay?”
“It’s just my mom.”
He let me go.
“Hi,” she said when I reached her. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi, baby. Come here. Can I talk to you? Come here.”
I went, because she was my mother, and I would do anything for her.
She took me by the hand and pulled me around the house. “Where are we—”
“Quiet,” she said. “Hold on. They’ll hear.”
The w
olves. “But—”
“Gordo. Please. Trust me.”
She’d never said that to me before.
I did as she asked.
We went around the house to the driveway. I saw her car parked behind all the others. She led me to it and opened the passenger door, motioning for me to get in. I hesitated, glancing back over my shoulder. Mark was there, standing next to the house, watching us. He took a step toward me, but my mother pushed me into the car.
She was around the front and inside before I could turn myself over in the seat.
There were two suitcases in the back seat.
I said, “What’s happening?”
She said, “It’s time.”
Dirt flew up as she reversed in the driveway, nearly hitting another car.
I said, “Why are you—”
She put the car in drive and we flew down the lane. I looked in the side mirror at the houses behind us. Mark was gone.
ON MY twelfth birthday, there was a party.
Many people came.
Most were wolves.
Some were not.
Tanner and Chris and Rico got dropped off by their parents. It was the first time they’d been to the houses at the end of the lane, and their eyes were wide.
“Dios mío,” Rico breathed. “You didn’t say you were rich, papi.”
“This isn’t my house,” I reminded him. “You’ve been to my house.”
“It’s pretty much the same thing,” Rico said.
“Oh man,” Chris said, looking down at the badly wrapped gift in his hand. “I got you a gift at the dollar store.”
“I didn’t even get you a gift,” Tanner said, staring at the streamers and balloons and the tables filled with food.
“You can go in on mine,” Chris told him. “It was only a dollar.”
“How many bathrooms does that house have?” Rico demanded. “Three? Four?”
“Six,” I muttered.
“Whoa,” Chris and Tanner and Rico whispered.
“It’s not my house!”
“We only have one,” Rico said. “And everyone has to share.”
I loved them, but they were a pain in my ass. “I only have one at my house—”
“You don’t even have to wait to shit,” Tanner said.
“I hate when I have to wait to shit,” Chris said.
They looked at me expectantly.
I sighed. “I don’t even know why I invited you.”
“Are there three cakes?” Rico said, voice high-pitched.
“It’s a pop gun,” Chris said, shoving the present into my hands.
“It’s from the both of us,” Tanner said.
“You owe me fifty cents,” Chris told him.
“You have burgers and hot dogs and lasagna?” Rico asked. “Mierda. What kind of white nonsense is this?”
The Bennetts had gone overboard. They always did. They were powerful and rich, and people respected them. Green Creek survived because of them. They donated money and time, and even though townies still sometimes whispered cult, they were an oddity beloved.
And I was part of their pack. I heard their songs in my head, the voices connecting me to the wolves. I had ink driven into my skin, binding me to them. I was them and they were me.
So of course they did this for me.
Yes, there were three cakes. And burgers and hot dogs and lasagna. There was also a pile of presents almost as tall as I was, and the wolves would touch my shoulder and hair and cheeks, covering me in their scent. I was ingrained in them, in the earth around us. The sky above was blue, but I could feel the hidden moon calling for the sun. There was a clearing far off in the woods where I had run with beasts as large as horses.
Happy birthday, they sang to me, a chorus washing over me.
My mother didn’t sing.
My father didn’t either.
They watched.
Thomas said, “You’re almost a man now.”
Elizabeth said, “He loves you, you know. Thomas. He can’t wait for you to be his witch.”
Abel said, “This is your family. These are your people. You are one of us.”
Mark said, “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
I looked up, mouth full of white cake with raspberry filling.
Mark stood next to the table, shuffling his feet. He was fifteen, and gangly. His wolf was a deep chestnut brown that I liked to run my fingers over. Sometimes he would nip at my hand. Other times he would growl deep in his throat, his head near my feet. And one day, weeks from this moment, he’d stand before me, sweating in a tie.
He still insisted I smelled like dirt and leaves and rain.
It didn’t bother me much anymore.
He had nice shoulders. He had a nice face. His eyebrows were bushy, and when he laughed, it was rusty and sounded like he was gargling gravel. I liked the way it crawled deep from his belly.
“You should probably keep chewing,” Rico whispered to me. “Because you have cake in your mouth.”
Chris squinted at me. “It’s also on his chin.”
Tanner laughed. “You have frosting on your nose.”
I choked the cake down, glaring at them.
They smiled at me.
I used a napkin to wipe my face. “Yeah,” I said. “You can talk to me.”
He nodded. He was sweating. It made me nervous.
He took me into the trees. Birds called. The leaves twisted on the branches. Pinecones littered the ground around us.
He didn’t speak for a long time.
Then, “I have a present for you.”
“Okay.”
He turned to look at me. His eyes went from ice to orange, then back again. “It’s not the one I want to give you.”
I waited.
“Do you understand?”
I shook my head slowly.
He looked frustrated. “Dad says I have to wait before—I just want you to be my—argh. One day I’m going to give you another present, okay? It’s going to be the best thing I could ever give you. And I hope you’ll like it. More than anything.”
“Why can’t you give it to me now?”
He scowled. “Because apparently it’s not the right time. Thomas could do it, and he—” Mark shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. One day. I promise.”
I wondered at them sometimes. Thomas and Mark. If Mark was jealous. If he ever wanted what Thomas would become. If he had wanted to be Thomas’s second instead of Richard Collins. Mark’s mother had died giving birth to him. One moment everything was fine, and the next she was just… gone. Only he remained.
Sometimes I thought it was a fair trade. I wanted him here. I had never known her.
I never told anyone that. It felt wrong to say the words out loud.
Mark said, “I brought this for you instead.”
In his hand was a little piece of wood. It had been carved by a clumsy hand. It took a moment for me to see what it had been shaped into.
The left wing was smaller than the one on the right. The beak was squarer than anything else. The bird had talons, but they were blocky.
A raven.
He’d carved me a raven.
It looked nothing like the one on my arm. My father had been meticulous, his magic being forced into my skin, burning its way underneath and into my blood. It had been the last thing and had hurt the worst. I had screamed until my voice broke, Abel holding my shoulders down, his eyes on fire.
Somehow, I thought this meant more.
I reached out and traced a finger along a wing. “You made this.”
“Do you like it?” he asked quietly.
I said “yes” and “how” and “why, why, why would you do this for me?”
He said, “Because I couldn’t give you what I wanted. Not yet. So I want you to have this in its place.”
I picked it up, and how Mark smiled.
“WHERE ARE we going?” I asked Mom again as we passed a sign that said YOU’RE LEAVING GREEN CREEK PLEASE COME BACK SOON! �
��I have to—”
“Away,” my mother said. “Away, we’re going away. While there’s still time.”
“But it’s Sunday. It’s tradition. They’re going to wonder where—”
“Gordo.”
She never yelled. Not really. Not at me. I flinched.
She gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white. The sun was in our faces. It was bright, and I blinked against it.
I could feel the territory pulling at me, the earth around us pulsing along the tattoos. The raven was agitated. Sometimes I thought it would one day just fly from my skin into the sky and never return. I never wanted it to leave.
I pushed my hips up so I could reach into my pocket.
I pulled out a little wooden statue and clutched it in my hands.
Up ahead, a covered bridge led out of Green Creek and into the world beyond. I didn’t like to go out into the world very much. It was too big. Abel told me that one day I would have to, because of what I was to Thomas, but that was far away.
We didn’t make it to the bridge.
“No,” my mother said. “No, no, no, not like this, not like this—”
The car fishtailed slightly to the right as she slammed on the brakes. Dirt kicked up around us, the seat belt pulling at my chest. My neck snapped forward, and I clutched at the wooden raven in my hand. I stared at her with wide eyes. “What happened—”
I looked out the windshield.
Wolves stood on the road. Abel. Thomas. Richard Collins.
My father was there too. He looked furious.
“Listen to me,” my mother said, voice low and quick. “They are going to tell you things. Things you shouldn’t believe. Things that are lies. You can’t trust them, Gordo. You can never trust a wolf. They don’t love you. They need you. They use you. The magic in you is a lie, and you can’t—”
My door jerked open. Thomas reached in and unbuckled my seat belt, then pulled me out of the car as neat as you please. I was shaking as he held me, my legs wrapped around his waist. His big hand was on my back, and he was murmuring in my ear that I was safe, you’re safe, Gordo, I’ve got you, I’ve got you and no one can take you away again, I promise.