The Year's Best Dark Fantasy & Horror, 2015 Edition

by Paula Guran

  Con artists. That explained a lot. Rose was conning the elders right now, telling them stories about him. Trying to con him, too, into not wanting powers. He did. He wanted them more than anything. And he was going to find a way to get them.

  He spent months researching how to steal powers and learned nothing useful. It did not seem as if it could be done, and the more he failed to find an answer, the more the jealousy gnawed at him, and the harder it was to focus on keeping the dragons fed and happy. He had to do worse and worse things, and it made him feel even guiltier about them. Together with the jealousy, it was like his stomach was on fire all the time. He couldn’t eat. He started losing weight.

  He had to go back to Cainsville. At the very least, the visit would calm the gnawing in his stomach and let him eat. He would talk his mother into a special trip to Cainsville and he would go see Hannah. Not the elders. Not Mrs. Yates. Certainly not Rose. No, he’d visit Hannah. She’d help him set things right.

  His plan worked so beautifully that he felt as if the success was a sign. His luck was turning. He asked his mother to go and off they went that Sunday. He arrived to hear that Rose was in the city, and he found Hannah in the playground, tending to an injured baby owl.

  “Did a cat get it?” he asked as he walked over.

  She’d started at the sound of a voice, and he expected that when she saw it was him, she’d smile. She didn’t. She scooped up the owl and stood.

  “Bobby,” she said. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

  “Surprise.” He grinned, but she didn’t grin back. Didn’t even fake it. Just watched him as he opened the gate and walked in. “Is the owl all right?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “Something got him. Maybe a cat. He’s dying.” Another pause. “That’s the worst part. When they’re hurt and I can’t help.”

  “You can put it out of its misery.”

  She almost dropped the fledgling. “What?”

  “I can do it. Mercifully. Then you won’t need to feel bad because you can’t help.”

  She stared at him like he’d suggested murdering her mother for pocket change. One of the dragons roared, a white-hot burst of flame that blazed through him.

  “I’m thinking of you,” he said, glowering at her.

  “And I’m not. That isn’t how it works. Rose said you . . . ” she trailed off.

  “Rose said what?” He stepped forward.

  Hannah shrank, but only a little, before straightening. “That you don’t understand about the powers. You think they’re this great gift. There are good parts, sure, but bad, too. Lots of bad. I woke up in the middle of the night last week because a dog had been hit by a car. I ran out of the house and my mom helped me take it to the vet’s, but there was nothing we could do. It was horrible. Just horrible. And I felt it—all of it. But the only thing that made that dog feel better was having me there through the whole thing, no matter how hard it was. So I did it. Because that’s my responsibility.”

  Then you’re a fool, he thought. The dog wouldn’t have helped you. It would have left you by the road to die. He didn’t say that, because when he looked at her, getting worked up, all he could think was how pretty she’d gotten. Prettier than any girl in his class, and he wanted to reach out and touch her, and when the impulse came, it was like throwing open a locked door. This was how he could steal her power. Touch her, kiss her . . .

  He bit his lip and rocked back on his heels. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I wasn’t thinking. My dad always said a quick death is better than suffering, and that’s what I meant. Help you and help the baby owl.” He met her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “It’s all right. I’m just feeling bad about it.” She set the fledgling back on the ground.

  “I know.” He stepped closer. “I wish I could make you feel better.”

  Another nod, and in a blink, he was there, his arms going around her, his lips to hers. It wasn’t the first time he kissed a girl. He’d done more than kiss them, too. Sometimes that was him being wicked, but most times, he didn’t need to be—he knew how to say the right things. A little charmer, that’s what his mother called him, obviously relieved that her sullen boy had turned out so well.

  So he kissed Hannah. It was a good kiss. A sweet and gentle one, for a sweet and gentle girl. But she jerked back and pushed him away hard, as if he’d jumped on her.

  “I-I’m sorry, Bobby,” she said. “I have a boyfriend.”

  He was about to say “Who?” when he saw her expression.

  Liar.

  The dragon whipped its tail inside him, lighting his gut on fire. He forced it to settle. He wouldn’t be wicked with Hannah. He just wouldn’t. Not unless he had to.

  “It’s Rose, isn’t it?” he said, stepping back, looking down at his sneakers. “She doesn’t like me. She has dreams about me—about a dragon. She told me that, but I don’t understand what it means.”

  “She doesn’t either. What did she tell you?”

  He shrugged and continued the lie. “Something about a dragon. That’s all I know.”

  “It’s two dragons. She dreams they’re fighting over you and screaming awful screams. Then one wins and it . . . it . . . ”

  “It what?”

  “Devours you,” she blurted. “We don’t know what it means.”

  “What do the elders say?”

  “Elders?” She frowned at him. “We wouldn’t tell the elders. Rose looked it up in books. She has lots of books from her Nana. Some talk about the sight and dreams, but she can’t figure this one out.”

  “So she’s never told the elders? About me?”

  “Of course not. What’s there to tell?”

  He bit his lip. “I get the feeling Rose doesn’t like me very much anymore.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “I get the feeling you don’t either.”

  “I . . . ” She swallowed. “I’m fine, Bobby, I just—”

  He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her again. This time when she struggled he held on, kept kissing her, and the more she fought, the more certain he was that this was the answer. She had the power. Touch her. Kiss her—

  She kneed him between the legs.

  He gasped and fell back. “You little—”

  “What’s happened to you, Bobby?” she said as she scooped up the bird and backed away. “You never used to be like this.”

  “I just wanted to kiss you. You didn’t need to—”

  “That wasn’t kissing me. That was hurting me. You want to know why I don’t like you as much?” She held up the owl. “Because they don’t. The animals. You scare them and you scare me.”

  She cradled the fledgling against her chest and ran off, leaving him there, gasping for breath in the playground.

  He started walking, not knowing where he was going, spurred by the fire in his gut, a fire that seeped into his brain, blinding him. When the rage-fog cleared, he found himself on Hannah’s street. And there, crossing the road, was what he’d come to find, though he only knew as he saw it.

  The black cat. Hannah’s matagot kitten. A middle-aged cat now, slinking arrogantly across the street without even bothering to look, as if no car would dare mow it down.

  He followed the beast, waiting for it to get to a secluded spot. In Cainsville, though, there weren’t any secluded spots. When he’d been young, he’d felt as if he was being merely observed, someone always watching over him, keeping him safe, and he’d loved that. Now it felt as if he was being spied on, judgmental eyes tracking his every move. They weren’t, of course. As he moved, he’d sometimes see someone peek out from a house, but they’d only smile and nod. He might be thirteen, but here he was still a child, innocently out playing hide-and-seek or tag with his friends. He could cut through yards and steal behind garages and no one would ever come out to warn him off as they would in the city.

  Eventually, the cat stopped prowling, and did so in one of the rare secluded spots around—the yard of an empty house. Cainsville had a few of t
hem, not abandoned but empty. This one was surrounded by a rare solid fence for privacy, and once Bobby was in that yard, he was hidden. That is where the beast stopped to clean itself, proving that whatever airs cats might put on, they were very stupid beasts.

  As he crept up behind the cat, his hands flexed at his sides. He had to grab it just right or it would yowl. Pounce and snatch. That was the trick. Scoop it up by the neck, away from scrabbling claws and then squeeze. It was simpler than one might think, particularly when the beast was so preoccupied that it didn’t turn even when his foot accidentally scraped a paving stone.

  He got as close as he dared. Then he sprang.

  The cat whipped around and leaped at him. The shock of seeing that stopped him for a split second, and before he could recover, the cat was on him, scratching and biting, and it was like Rose and Hannah all over again, fighting like wild animals, only this animal had razor claws and fangs, and when he finally threw the beast off, blood dripped from his arms and his face.

  He ran at the cat, but it bounded away, leaped onto the fence and turned to hiss at him, almost halfheartedly, as if he wasn’t worth the effort. He glowered at the beast then stomped toward the gate. When he swung it open, someone was standing there. Three someones. Mrs. Yates and two of the other elders.

  “What have you done, Bobby?” Mrs. Yates said, her voice low.

  “Me?” He lifted his blood-streaked hands. “Ask that damned cat. I was trying to rescue it for Hannah.”

  “No,” she said. “That isn’t what you were doing at all.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. If Hannah told you—”

  “Hannah told us nothing. She doesn’t need to. We know.”

  He looked at her, and then at the other two elders, and he knew, too. Knew the truth he hadn’t dared admit. The girls weren’t tattling on him. It was the elders, burrowing into his head, reading all his most wicked thoughts, seeing all his most wicked deeds.

  He managed to pull himself up straight and say, “You’re all crazy.” Then he pushed past them and raced back to his mother.

  It was the old story. The one where he’d first heard about the screams of dragons. It was coming true. All of it. First the dragons. Then his stomach, twisting and hurting so much these days that he couldn’t eat—just like the king couldn’t eat because his food went missing. Now the people who could hear everything. The elders and Rose. They knew what he was doing even when he didn’t speak a word. He could not escape them, again like the king in the story.

  That’s why he used to dream of castles. He wasn’t a changeling child. He was a king—or he had been—and the old story was replaying itself, consuming him and his life.

  After that last trip to Cainsville, the elders were no longer content with the occasional call to check on him. Twice they’d shown up at his house. His house. Mrs. Yates had taken him aside and tried to talk to him, prodding him hard now with her questions, telling him she was worried, so worried. If only he’d talk to them, they might be able to help.

  Liar.

  They didn’t care about him. They came as a warning. Letting him know they were in his head, watching and judging. Letting him know they were going to win. He was just a little boy. He would be consumed by them—the dragons—as Rose’s dreams predicted. It all made sense now, or it did, the more he thought about it, obsessed on it, dreamed of it. It was like a puzzle where the pieces don’t seem to fit, but you just had to be smart and twist them around until they did.

  He went to the library and dug until he found the story in an old book of legends. He’d vaguely recalled that the king had stopped his enemies—those who could hear everything—by feeding them something. Apparently, he’d fed them food made from very special insects. Bobby read that, and he went home to sleep on it, and when he woke, he knew exactly what he had to do.

  It was May Day again. This year, the Gnat had decided not to come. She’d been at a friend’s place and called to say she was spending the night and skipping the trip. He’d given the news to his parents when they returned from a bridge party.

  The next morning, his mother started fussing, worrying that the Gnat would change her mind as soon as they’d left for Cainsville.

  “She’d call before that,” his father said. “She’s a big girl.”

  “I can phone and ask if you want,” Bobby said.

  “Would you? That’s sweet.” She patted his back as he walked past. “Whose house did you say she was at again?”

  He answered from the next room, his reply garbled, but his mother only said, “Oh, that’s right. Now, does anyone know where we left the tanning lotion? I want to get started early this year. Wait, I think Natalie had it . . . ”

  A few minutes later he found her in his sister’s room. “She’s not there. I remember her saying something about going to the roller rink.”

  His mother sighed. “I wish she wouldn’t. Those places seem so unhealthy for girls, with the lights all off and so many boys . . . ”

  “I can talk to her about it tomorrow if you’re worried.”

  Another pat as she zoomed past, tanning lotion in hand. “Thank you, dear. You’re a good brother, even if she doesn’t always appreciate you. Did you pack that pie you made?”

  “Pie?” His father appeared in the doorway. “Bobby made pie? Apple, I hope.”

  “Shepherd’s pie,” his mother said. “He made it last night while we were out. Didn’t you notice the mess when we got home?” She glanced over. “So you did find hamburger meat in the freezer.”

  “One last package, like I said.”

  “I was so certain we’d run out.” She headed for the hall. “All right. Time to go.”

  The waitresses at the new diner let him warm his casserole in the oven. He was sitting in the back, watching the timer, when the door swung open and Rose burst in, Hannah at her heels.

  “That smells good,” Hannah said. “Is it true? You made pie?”

  “Shepherd’s pie. I hope you’re not still mad at me. I’m . . . ” He lowered his voice as he walked toward her. “Sorry about the last time. That’s why I made the pie. For you and Rose. To say I’m sorry. For the elders, too. I don’t want anyone to be mad at me.” He gazed into her eyes. “I hope you’ll have some.”

  She seemed nervous, but forced a smile. “Sure, Bobby. And I’m sorry, if I overreacted. You scared me and—”

  “What have you done?”

  It was Rose. She hadn’t spoken since she’d entered. He hadn’t even glanced her way, seeing only Hannah. Now he looked over to see her standing in front of the oven, staring at it. When she turned to him, her face was even paler than usual, her blue eyes bulging.

  “What have you done, Bobby?” she whispered.

  “Done? What—”

  “I had a dream,” she said. “Last night.”

  “More dragons,” he scoffed. “Dreams of me and screaming dragons.”

  “No.” Her horrified gaze never left his. “It wasn’t dragons I heard screaming.”

  “Whatever.” He turned away. “You’re crazy. Your whole family is crazy.”

  “Where’s your sister, Bobby?”

  He shrugged, his back still to Rose. “She stayed home.”

  “Where is your sister?” she said each word slowly, carefully, and he was about to reply when the door opened again. He turned as Mrs. Yates and two of the elders walked in. They seemed concerned. Only that. Then they stopped, mid-stride. They inhaled, nostrils flaring, and when they turned to him again, horror filled their eyes, the same horror that crackled from Rose’s wide-eyed stare.

  “Bobby,” Mrs. Yates said. “What have you done?”

  He wheeled and raced out the back door.

  Before he knew it, he found himself back where he’d been the last time, in the backyard of the empty house. He looked around wildly, saw a break in the lattice work under the deck, and crawled through, wood snapping as he pushed his way in, splinters digging in, blood welling up.

  When he got inside,
he turned around and huddled there, hugging knees that stank of dirt, his arms striped with blood.

  Blood.

  He remembered the blood.

  He shot forward, gagging, stomach clenching, head pounding, the images slamming against his skull. He kept gagging until he threw up. Then he sat there, hugging his legs again as the tears rolled down his face.

  Gran was right.

  I am a monster.

  And I don’t even know how it happened.

  “Bobby?”

  It was Mrs. Yates. He scuttled backward, but she walked straight to the hole and bent to peer in. She smiled, but it was such a terribly sad smile that he wished she’d scowl instead, scowl and rage and call him the monster he was.

  “I am so sorry, Bobby,” she said. “I don’t know . . . ” She inhaled. “I won’t make excuses. We could tell things weren’t . . . We had no idea how bad . . . ” Another inhalation, breath whistling. “I’m so, so sorry. I wish I’d known. I wish I could have helped.”

  He said nothing, just kept clutching his knees.

  “I can’t stop what’s going to happen now, Bobby. I wish I could. I would give anything to fix this. But I can’t. I can only make it easier.”

  He started to shake, holding his legs so tight his arms hurt.

  “I read those newspaper articles,” she said. “About your grandmother. What she said. Your dreams. We should have talked about that. Perhaps if we’d talked . . . ” She shook her head, then peered in at him. “You dreamed of golden castles, didn’t you? Castles and meadows and streams.”

  “And dragons,” he whispered.

  She went still. Completely, unnaturally still. “Dragons?”

  He nodded. “I dream of dragons screaming. And then I wasn’t dreaming and they still screamed.”

  “You should have told—” She cut herself short, chin dipping. “Let’s not talk about the dragons. You won’t hear them anymore. I promise. But the castles. You liked the castles?”

  He nodded.

  “Would you like to see them?”

  “They’re gone. They went away.”