by Бри Деспейн
"No. But thanks anyway." I'd seen enough of Jude and April snuggling to last me a lifetime.
April pulled her box of pastels from her supply bucket and slid it in front of me. "You can borrow mine if you want." April gave me a small smile. "I really am glad you're better now."
"Thanks," I said. But I glanced back at Daniel. His gaze was shifted away from us, but from the look on his face it seemed like he'd been listening to our entire conversation from across the room.
That didn't make me feel better at all.
LATER THAT SAME DAY
Daniel had asked me to spend my lunch breaks and after school with him and Barlow. I doubted that offer still stood--or that he'd actually expect me to stay now--and I cleared out to the library when the lunch bell rang, refusing April's offer to join her and Jude at the cafe. I stayed until it was time to go back after lunch. When fifth period was over, I took off as quickly as I could for my next class.
"Wait up, Grace," Pete Bradshaw called as I approached my locker.
"Hey, Pete." I slowed my pace.
"You okay?" he asked. "I said your name three times before you noticed."
"Sorry. I guess I was a little distracted." I put down my backpack and turned the combination to my locker. "Did you need something?"
"Actually, I wanted to give you something." He pulled a package out of a plastic bag. "Donuts." He handed me the box. "They're a little stale, though. I brought them yesterday, but you weren't here.'"
"Thanks ... um ... What are these for?"
"Well, you still owe me a dozen from before Thanksgiving. So I thought if I got you some instead, you'd feel extra indebted to me." Insert "triple threat" smile here.
"Indebted to do what?" I asked coyly.
Pete leaned forward. His voice was low as he spoke. "Is there something really going on between you and that Kalbi guy, or are you just friends?"
Something really going on? Now I was sure people were talking about me.
"Don't worry," I said, "I don't even think we're friends."
"Good." He leaned back on his heels. "So these donuts are supposed to make you feel guilty enough to go to the Christmas dance with me."
"The Christmas dance?" The dance hadn't passed my mind in days. Did people who knew the secrets of the underworld go to dances? "Uh, yes. I would love to go," I said. "On one condition, though."
"What's that?"
"Help me eat these donuts, or I'll never fit into a dress." Pete laughed. I opened the box and he snagged three donuts.
"Can I walk you to class?" he asked as I shut the box in my locker.
I smiled. It was such a 1950s-perfect-hoyfriend thing to ask. "Sure," I said, and hugged my books to my chest and pretended I was wearing a poodle skirt and oxford shoes. Pete wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked down the hall. He nodded to more than a few quizzical-looking people as we went.
Pete seemed so confident, so normal, so good. He's just what I need, I thought as I watched him--but I couldn't help noticing there was someone else watching me.
WEDNESDAY OF THE NEXT WEEK, JUST BEFORE LUNCH
I sat next to April in the art room working on a preliminary sketch from an old snapshot for a portfolio piece. It would eventually be a painting of Jude fishing behind
Grandpa Kramer's cabin. I loved the way the fight swept in from the side of the photograph and glistened off the top of Jude's bowed head like a halo. But for the moment, I was working with pencils, sketching out the basic fines and defining the negative and positive spaces. There was more shadow in the picture than I had realized, and the graphite of my pencil was worn down to a useless nub, but I was avoiding the pencil sharpener in the back of the room because Daniel's seat was only three feet away from it.
A few minutes before the lunch bell, Mr. Barlow made his way over to Daniel's desk.
"Look at Lynn fume." April nudged me.
Lynn Bishop glared at Daniel as Mr. Barlow stood beside him, watching him paint. She looked like she was trying to burn a hole in Daniel's back with her eyes.
"Looks like Barlow's got a new favorite. Poor Lynn," April said with mock sympathy. "You're totally better than she is anyway. You should have heard Barlow going on about that sketch of your house you turned in last week." She pointed at my drawing and sighed. "I love this one, too. Jude looks so hot in that picture."
"Hmm," I said. I gathered up a couple of spent pencils and made a break for the back of the room while Daniel was occupied.
I put a pencil into the sharpener.
"Stop!" Barlow bellowed.
I jumped and looked behind me but Barlow had been speaking to Daniel.
Daniel held his brush mid stroke. He looked up at Barlow.
"Leave it the way it is," Barlow said.
T leaned sideways a bit to get a look at Daniel's painting. It was of himself as a child--a subject Barlow had assigned the rest of us earlier in the year. So far, Daniel had a simple background of red hues and the flesh tones roughed in for his face. His lips were outlined in pale pink. And since Daniel always went about things in the hardest way possible, he'd finished the eyes before any thing else. They were dark and deep and confused like I had always remembered them.
"But it isn't finished," Daniel said. "All I've perfected are the eyes."
"I know," Barlow said. "That's what makes it so right. Your eyes--your soul is there, but the rest of you is still so undefined. That's the beauty of childhood. The eyes show everything you've seen so far, but the rest of you is still so open to possibility, to whatever you might become."
Daniel held the brush tightly between his long fingers. He glanced at me. We both knew what he had become.
I turned away.
"Trust me," Barlow said. The Masonite board scraped against the table. I assumed he'd picked it up. "This will make a great portfolio piece."
"Yes, sir," Daniel mumbled.
"Are you done or what?" Lynn Bishop stood next to me with a fistful of colored pencils.
"Sorry," I said, and moved out of her way with my still-dull pencil.
"I hear Pete asked you to the Christmas dance." Lynn shoved a pink pencil into the sharpener.
"I guess word gets around."
I heard Daniel's chair sliding back over the ferocious gnawing of the sharpener.
"Yes, it does," she said in her knowing, "I've got a juicy bit of gossip" tone. "Interesting he still asked you."
"What's that supposed to mean? Pete's been friends with my brother for years."
"Hmm." Lynn removed her pencil and inspected the long, pointy pink tip. "I guess that explains it--an act of charity for your brother. Pete must be trying to bring you back to the land of the living."
I was already cranky, and I didn't need crap from the gossip queen of Holy Trinity--kind of an oxymoron if you think about it--but the lunch bell rang, stopping me from telling her what she should do with her pencil.
"Mind your own business," I said, and walked away.
April picked up her backpack as I approached. "Do you think there are Cliffs Notes to Leaves of Grass?"
"I doubt it." I put my pencils in my supply bucket.
April groaned. "Jude is going to quiz me on it after school, and I kind of told him I already read it." She crinkled her nose and put the book in her bag.
"Nuh-uh!" I teased. "You're so dead. Say good-bye to the Christmas dance. Jude hates liars."
"Oh, no. Do you think he'll be that mad?" She paused. "Wait, you said Christmas dance." She pointed at me. "Did he say something to you? He is going to ask me, right? Hey, do you want to go shopping for dresses after school?"
1 smiled, but I couldn't help wondering if should I say something to April about Jude. She seemed head over heels for him, but I couldn't help wondering if my brother's sudden interest in her was his way of rebounding--not from another relationship but from his own emotions. Or maybe it was April who was taking advantage of my brother. She sure did get over her shyness around him the second he seemed vulnerable. But th
e look on April's face was genuinely eager.
"Don't you think you should focus on studying for the English final before dress shopping?" I asked. "Didn't your mother threaten to ground you if you don't pass?"
"Ugh. Seriously, why did she have to start taking an interest in me now?"
"Hey, Grace," a raspy voice said from behind me.
April's eyebrows went up in double arches.
I turned toward the owner of the voice, already knowing whom it belonged to. I looked at his navy-blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his khaki pants, the slip of paper he held in his hands, the top of his hair that seemed to get lighter with every day that passed--I looked anywhere but his face, anywhere but his eyes. My gaze finally rested on his paint-smudged forearms.
"What do you want?" I asked. My voice came out colder than I expected.
"I need to talk to you," Daniel said.
"I ... I can't." I placed my drawing on top of my supply bucket and shoved it under my table. "Come on, April. Let's go."
"Grace, please." Daniel held his hand out to me.
I flinched. His hands reminded me of the things he'd done to my brother. Would he have tried to do the same things to me if he'd known I was the one who turned his father in? "Go away." I took April's arm for strength.
"It's important," Daniel said.
I hesitated and let go of April.
"What, are you crazy?" she whispered. "You can't stay with him. People are already talking." I stared at her. "Talking about what?" April looked at her shoes.
"Hey, you girls coming?" Pete asked from the art-room doorway. Jude stood next to him, grinning at April. "We've gotta book if we want a booth."
"Coming," April said. She gave me a pointed look and then broke into a huge smile. "Hey, guys," she said as Jude wrapped his arm around her waist.
"You coming, Grace?" Pete held his hand out to me just like Daniel.
I looked at the three of them in the doorway. April tilted her head and gestured for me to come. Jude looked at me and then glanced at Daniel; his smile faded into a thin, tight line.
"Let's go, Gracie," Jude said.
"Please stay," Daniel said from behind me.
I couldn't bring myself to glance at him. All Jude had ever asked me to do was stay away from Daniel. I failed in that promise originally, but I had to keep it now. I couldn't talk to Daniel. I couldn't be with him.
I could not choose Daniel over my brother again.
"Leave me alone," I said. "Go somewhere else. You don't belong here."
I took Pete's outstretched hand. He locked his fingers around mine and pulled me to his side, but his touch didn't make me feel the way I did when I was close to Daniel.
AT THE CAFÉ
I was six bites into my veggie burger, Pete was on reason three of his "Five Ways Hockey Could Change the World" lecture, and April was squealing with delight because Jude had just given her a blueberry muffin with an invitation to the Christmas dance when it fully hit me: I told Daniel to get out of my life. I dropped my burger and ran for the restroom. I barely made it to one of the toilets before garlic and seaweed burned up my throat.
When I came out of the stall, Lynn Bishop was standing at the sink. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her lips pursed but her eyes wide.
"Bad veggie burger," I mumbled, and stuck my hands under the faucet.
"Whatever." She chucked her paper towel into the trash and left.
Chapter Twenty
Fears
That night After dinner, I locked myself in my room. Cramming for my retake chem exam had eaten up most of my time last week, and I was still struggling to keep up with my other classes. With finals looming, I knew I was in trouble. Fd tried to study with April and Jude after school, but April had still been so giddy about Jude asking her to the dance, I realized it would be more effective if I worked on my own. But after a few hours of history and cale and a little Ralph Waldo Emerson, my weary gaze kept drifting down from my textbooks to the drawer in my desk.
I took the key out of my music box and unlocked the drawer. I removed the book from the box, curled up in my comforter and pillows, and carefully turned to the second marked page.
A little bedtime reading couldn't hurt anyone, right?
Dear Katharine, I am increasingly convinced that Alexius's stories of the death Dogs are not mere myth. I wish to document as much as I can about this phenomenon.
Father Miguel says I am obsessed. But I fear he is the one with the obsession. He has persuaded large numbers of our campaign that they must punish the Greeks for their murder and betrayal. Even many of the Templars and Hospitalars are convinced by his inflammatory words. I find Alexius's stories a welcome distraction in all this plotting and persuasion.
Alexius took me to a blind prophet who taught me more on the subject. While some Urbat, as he called them, are born with the wolf essence, others are created when bitten by an existing Urbat--much like the spreading of some terrible plague.
It may be that an Urbat created through infection, rather than birth, is more susceptible to the influences of the wolf. The curse may progress much more swiftly in the infected party if he is not vigilant in controlling his emotions
Daniel hadn't mentioned that his wolf condition was contagious. I couldn't believe that I had actually wanted to be like him, and now it made my mind spin to realize that it was as simple as a bite from his teeth---almost as simple as a kiss.
I looked at my hands and couldn't help picturing them covered in shaggy fur. My fingernails grew long into pointed claws that could rip flesh from bone. My mouth suddenly felt like it was full of razor-sharp teeth and long, tearing fangs. What would my face look like with a long snout and muzzle? What if my eyes turned black, with no inner glow--reflecting only the light around me?
What if I became a monster, too?
I shuddered and pressed my hands to my face. My skin was still smooth and hairless. I was still human.
I picked up the book, hoping to find solace--to find answers. But the letter stretched on for several more pages, and most of it documented how the Dogs of Death had come to exist--how their blessing became their curse. It confirmed what Daniel and my father had told me but didn't teach me anything new. I skimmed until I came to a portion that mentioned moonstones.
It is strange, dear Katharine, but the blind man says that the Urbat have much greater difficulty controlling the wolf possession during the night of the full moon. As if the moon itself has power over them. Because of this, think there may be a way to manage these beasts. Perhaps if an Urbat were to keep a small piece of the moon close to his body, it would act as a counteragent to the effects of the larger moon, helping him keep the wolf at bay while still retaining its mythical strength. Much like how the ancient
Greeks treated disease with the idea that like cures like.
I have heard tales of rocks that fall in fiery glory from the heavens. What if some of these rocks have fallen from the moon itself? If I were able to fashion a necklace from one of these moonstones--if finding one was possible--perhaps I could help the Death Dogs reclaim their blessings.
However, such a necklace would be no cure. It would only offer control. I fear that these Urbat have lost their souls to the clutches of the wolf, and unless they are freed of it before they die, they will be doomed to the depths of hell as demons of the dark prince.
My eyes no longer felt weary. I hadn't thought of what might happen to Daniel if he died. Would he really be doomed to live in hell as a demon forever? No wonder he was so desperate to find a cure. It would be one thing to live with a monster inside--it was a whole other thing to be damned for all eternity.
I skimmed a few pages farther, looking for anything that might tell me more.
The only things powerful enough to deliver a mortal blow to an Urbat are the teeth or hands of another demon, or if he is punctured through the heart by an object of silver. It is believed that silver is poisonous to the beasts
&nb
sp; I didn't want to think any more about death, so I turned to a new letter.
My Dear Katharine, I wish to take an expedition into the forest. The blind man says he will find me guides who can get me close enough to deserve a pack of Urbat without being discovered. The journey would cost twenty marks--all that I have.
Father Miguel says the winds are shifting in our favor. He thinks tomorrow the armada will be able to move in closer to the city walls. Perhaps the only good that might come from our forces taking the city is that I might be able to search the books of the great library for more texts on the subject of the Urbat. What jewels of knowledge must lie therein.
If not from the library, I must know more about these Hounds of Heaven. I will make preparations for the journey. My dear Alexius is reluctant to join me, but I will persuade him to go, for I need a translator. He seems to fear the Urbat more than any of the local boys. When pressed about the issue, all he utters is, The wolf seeks to kill what he loves the most
I dropped the book. It skittered across the hardwood floor. I leaned out of bed and gingerly picked it up. Little particles of yellowed paper sprinkled from the binding. I opened the book and found that the page I had just been reading and a few others had disintegrated under my absentminded handling. But my guilt for damaging the book was nothing compared to the other thought that crumpled my insides.
The wolf seeks to kill what he loves the most.
Did Daniel love me? He said I was special. He said I "did" things to him. He said he missed me--sort of. But he hadn't said he loved me.
But he'd kissed me like no one ever had. He made me want to tell him how I felt.
But I couldn't forget how he shook and the way his eyes glowed when I did. He'd lost his necklace momentarily, and he looked more frightened than I'd felt. Had I been in danger then? Had the wolf wanted to kill me? If Daniel didn't have that necklace, would I already be dead? Or would he have just turned me into a beast like him?
I put the book away. I could not handle any more questions--or answers--for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-one
Hopeless