by Hal Schrieve
“We had a notification that an unauthorized person disabled the security spell on the Censored Materials Division door,” the guard said. “You’re the only non-faculty personnel in the area. Hands above your head, sir.”
“You have the wrong person,” Mr. Weber said. He looked to and fro as if he was seeking out Z, but he could not place where they were. Z tapped their foot twice, as loud as they dared. Mr. Weber jerked his head toward the elevators and nodded in their direction. The guard pressing him into the wall didn’t notice.
“We’re going to have to take you to the campus police station and conduct an inventory of the room, unfortunately,” the guard said. “Willamette staff takes the security of their federally protected censored materials very seriously. I need you to remain still and not perform any magic. Any failure to comply will be interpreted as assault of Willamette faculty.”
“I swear I was just down here to look for a volume I need on lizards,” Mr. Weber said. “I can’t find the oversize books in the public library, and this university has such a fine collection.”
“I’m going to need you to remain silent,” the guard said.
“Well, get a move on, whatever you’re going to do,” Mr. Weber said. He nodded again in Z’s general direction.
Z ran for the elevators, and then at the last moment decided to use the stairs instead. They hauled the door open. Racing up the stairs, they stumbled, and began to feel the sticky spiderweb feeling lifting from their face and limbs. Z grabbed the railing to right themselves and scrambled up to the ground floor. They tried not to run for the exit when they left the stairwell and limped as carefully as possible toward the door.
Out in the foggy morning, Z threw themselves down on a bench across the quad from the library and held onto the wood on both sides of their legs as tightly as they could. Their heart was not pounding and they were not breathing, but the muscles that remained were pulled as tight as a string about to snap. Z didn’t know how long they sat motionless under a drooping bare black tree and the shadow of a square concrete lecture hall. As they sat and tried to think about what to do next, they heard a wail of police sirens approaching. Z did not want to run or move more than they already had, and so hesitated, frozen, watching a black-and-white cruiser pull slowly down the wide footpath to the library. They did not wait to see the people inside get out.
When Z told Mrs. Dunnigan that Mr. Weber had been arrested, and that Z had opened the door to the Censored Materials Division only to find the books on necromancy gone, Mrs. Dunnigan did not say anything at first, and then stepped forward and enveloped Z in a bony embrace.
“At least he turned out to be brave,” she said finally. “He did the right thing. And at least you’re all right.”
“Will he be all right?” Z asked. “I feel like I did the wrong thing, asking too much of him or something. He’s been arrested. He’s so nice.”
“We’ll check up on him,” Mrs. Dunnigan said. “But you didn’t do the wrong thing. You were protecting yourself. And he’s a grown man. He chose to help you.” There was such a tone of conviction in her voice that Z almost believed her for a moment, until they remembered the stance of the security guard and the thing pressed into Mr. Weber’s neck.
Z felt a deep ugly sensation in the pit of their stomach, and pushed Mrs. Dunnigan away.
A story appeared in the Sunday paper. Local Man Apprehended; Materials on Necromancy Found Missing from Willamette, the headline read.
“The books really were missing, then,” Z said. “Not just in a different place. But then someone else must have stolen them. Why didn’t the people notice before we showed up?”
Mrs. Dunnigan, who was in the living room, did not seem to hear Z.
Before school on Monday, Z told Aysel what had happened. They sat outside together with Aysel underneath the awning. It wasn’t raining, but there was mist. They watched people trudge into school, looking weird and eerie under the yellow lamps that were turned on before sunrise. Aysel was already eating her lunch because she had forgotten to eat her breakfast.
“I can’t believe that he went through that and you didn’t even get the books,” Aysel said. “I read the story. I had a sinking feeling.”
“I know,” Z said. “He could have stayed home and then they would have got me instead, which would be fair anyway.”
“They won’t let him go,” Aysel said.
“How do you know?” Z asked.
“My mom is a paralegal,” Aysel said. “She went to law school. I know about this stuff. If someone is suspected of holding censored materials they can be held indefinitely, especially when they have known exceptional magical abilities. And Mr. Weber’s a sorcerer.”
“Not indefinitely,” Z said. “That’s against the rules. And he doesn’t have anything. Even if they search his house.”
“Maybe he’ll get out of it. He’s kind of a genius.”
“Yeah,” Z said. They felt like Aysel was judging them. They wondered what they could do to make her understand that they felt guilty. “Aysel?” Z asked. “This is all my fault, isn’t it?”
“I mean, yeah. He was going there for you. And it’s because of him that you didn’t get caught while he did.”
Z swayed weakly in the morning breeze.
The second bell rang. Aysel turned around and walked off to class.
At lunch, a rumor had started that Mr. Weber was the one suspected of having the stolen books. It spread very fast. Aysel wasn’t anywhere to be found. Z had to walk around alone. They wondered where Aysel was.
Tommy Wodewose was being harassed again because he had worn a long black cloak to school. It had silver clasps and billowed out behind him as he walked. He had worn his hair loose and long today, and it must have hurt when Charley Salt reached out and yanked it as Tommy sat reading and eating alone at a table in the cafeteria.
“Ouch,” Tommy said. His voice was reedy and high.
“What are you doing today, Tommy?” Charley asked.
“Nothing,” Tommy replied.
“What are you reading, Tommy?”
“It’s a book on ancient druids. It’s very interesting.”
“Do you want to be a druid, Tommy?” Everyone laughed again. “Make friends with the feys who change shape into monsters?”
Tommy just got up and wandered vaguely away down the hall. Z wondered if he even knew it had been a real insult. He must know, they thought. He was thrown off the roof.
Charley and his friends just turned around and began making fun of Danny Xu’s glasses. Danny Xu took it in stride and pretended he was in on the joke.
Z went looking for Aysel after school. They looked by the dumpsters, which were deserted, before making a slow circuit of the rest of the school. Finally they found her. Aysel was sitting on the floor of the girls’ bathroom near the entrance to the school, her backpack and coat on the floor next to her. Her face was turned away toward the wall, and she looked like she was crying.
“What’s wrong?” Z asked. “Have you been here all day?”
“You don’t understand,” Aysel said. “You just don’t get it.”
“I get it, Aysel. I’m sorry. But I don’t think they’ll burn Mr. Weber or whatever. They will figure out that he’s innocent and they’ll let him go.”
“You’ve never thought about this. You just think police protect people.”
“Well, not all the time. It was scary to see the guard—”
“Or you don’t care. He was just someone for you to use to stay alive. A black guy the cops would pounce on so they wouldn’t look at the fucking zombie stealing government secrets.”
“No, Aysel.”
“No, Aysel,” Aysel said, imitating Z’s voice. She looked angrily up at Z. “You’re dead, don’t you get it? They hate you. You can get burned in a big furnace now as easy as anyone else, easy as any of the rest of us monsters. You’re not a person anymore in their eyes, just a thing. Mr. Weber protected you and they’re going to hurt him and you don�
��t even seem to think you’re responsible!”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Z said. They felt scared and also angry. “Who’s them? Who’s ‘us monsters’? I’m the only monster here.”
Aysel only made a gurgling sound.
Z felt angrier and they felt their voice get meaner. “I don’t understand what you think you’re talking about. I know people hate me. My whole family is dead! My mother is dead! I lost my friends. My uncle hates me and I’d be homeless if it wasn’t for Mrs. Dunnigan.” Z paused. “And you have a mom and a house and you feel like a monster, but really it’s just that people don’t like you. My hair’s falling out. You just have pimples and are sad because people call you a lesbian. Well, you are a lesbian, so what does it matter anyway? You’re going to get out of this stupid town someday and I’m going to be rotting somewhere with my eyes open.”
“Go away,” Aysel cried out. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
Z scowled. “Aysel, I thought you were on my side.”
Sobs shook Aysel and made her face red and blotchy. She looked dangerous, even crying, Z thought. They sat down on the bathroom floor with her. Eventually Aysel’s crying stopped. She began to make little hiccupping noises and then sat up. Z wasn’t sure what they should do.
“Do you want any water?” Z asked.
Aysel shook her head, then nodded. Z went to the sink and emptied out the thermos Mrs. Dunnigan had filled with soup. The bits of beef got stuck in the drain. Z rinsed out the container and filled it with water and gave it to Aysel, who drank deeply.
Z felt like they had run their mouth off, but they didn’t want to say anything else, even if it was to apologize.
They got up together without talking and left the bathroom. Both of them looked really awful, Z realized. They wandered out of the school and went out into the parking lot. There were still cars there, because of various sports practices happening. Aysel dropped her bag on the cement so she could put on her coat.
“I hope we’re not enemies,” Z said.
“No,” Aysel said. “I’m mad at you because you’re dumb, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry.” Z paused. “I know it’s my fault Mr. Weber’s in jail. But that doesn’t mean the police are after you.”
“It gets to me more than most people. All this stuff with the werewolves and then the Pagan thing and now Mr. Weber getting arrested.”
“Why?” Z asked. They walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus. It was a long time before Aysel answered.
“I guess I should trust you,” Aysel said, but then she didn’t say anything else. Z didn’t want her to cry again so they didn’t press her. The bus came.
“I have to go home alone today, I think,” Aysel said.
“Okay,” Z said. They were sure that Aysel was never going to speak to them again.
But then Aysel scribbled something on a piece of paper against the wall of the bus stop and handed it to Z. Then, unexpectedly, she lurched forward and hugged Z hard. Z was sure they felt one of their ribs crack, but they didn’t want to spoil the moment, so they hugged Aysel back.
After Aysel was gone, they looked at the note.
I’m a werewolf, the note said. Sorry and stuff.
Obviously not.
“What day is it?” someone asked the old man across from Aysel. Aysel glanced over. The person talking was an anxious-looking teenager with a huge backpack and greasy hair. The old man ignored him.
“Hey man,” the boy repeated. He had an awkward, greasy mustache. “What’s the date?”
The man looked up. “Please don’t bother me,” he said. But he wasn’t doing anything, like reading or listening to music. He had just been staring uncomfortably at Aysel before the boy spoke to him.
“I just asked the day.” The boy started to move toward a seat near the front of the bus.
“It’s the eighteenth of February,” Aysel said loudly.
“Thanks,” the teenager said. He laughed nervously. “There’s going to be a supermoon on the eleventh of March.” He paused, as if waiting for someone to ask what it was. “It’s when the moon gets closer to Earth than other times. It gets really big in the sky. It’s going to be intense.”
Aysel looked at him with interest. “Oh, you know about it too?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, looking surprised. “I’m really into that stuff. Really into like, the uh, the energy.”
Aysel smirked, feeling very hollow. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Nice eye makeup,” the boy said, smiling. “You look like you’re too cool for this town.” Aysel wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic.
“I was crying all afternoon because someone I know is dead and someone else might die soon,” she said.
“I know how that is,” the boy said. “I’m sorry.”
When Aysel got home she made herself a cup of tea and watched the pigment diffuse through the hot water and refused to watch the news. She painted her fingernails black instead. She wanted to cut her hair. She touched the split ends and curled them around her fingers. Aysel took a pair of scissors and held them near her hair, hesitated, and put them back. She felt like it wasn’t the right time for some reason.
She lay in her bed and wished she had a cat.
“What’s wrong?” Azra asked when she got home.
“Mr. Weber is suspected of stealing from the Censored Materials Division of the Willamette University library. He didn’t do it. He’s in jail.”
Azra’s hands shook a little but she went to Aysel and tried to comfort her. Aysel felt like clinging to her mother but didn’t because she knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything. She sat up and moved away instead.
“I think it’ll be okay,” Aysel lied.
“I heard about that case today. It sounds like the police take it very seriously. They’ve even put the search of Archie Pagan’s house on hold.”
“I know,” Aysel said. “Mr. Weber’s the only good person at my school. He was going to help me enter the robotics competition.”
“It just shows what a racist mess this place is.”
“I want to leave Salem,” Aysel moaned.
“The place I mean isn’t Salem. It’s the whole country. Maybe Earth.”
At seven, Aysel heard her mother turning on the stove top with a click and a hiss and setting down the heavy pot onto the grange. After a few minutes, the smell of onions frying filled the air.
“Can you go get some kale from the yard?” Azra called from the kitchen. “I’m making Karalahana çorbası.”
“Couldn’t you make the chicken dish?” Aysel yelled back. “We have that chicken in the fridge.”
“I know what I’m doing with the chicken. I’m going to make it this Friday. We have to use the kale.”
Aysel went to put on her shoes. She braced herself against the cold and tripped down into the dark garden with the big colander and a pair of scissors. The porch light came on as she moved down the steps into the mud. She cut the leaves from kale plants until the bowl was full. When she went back inside, Azra had added the tomato paste and peppers to the onions.
“I got the kale,” Aysel said.
“Now chop it up. Remember, fine little strips.”
“I still wish we were having the chicken,” Aysel said, but she pulled the cutting board out from behind the dish drainer and took a knife from the drawer.
Azra shrugged. “I cook for you and I make sure you eat good things. It’s a stew night. Pretend you’re in Trabzon with my family. Pretend you’re going to cook this to impress your anneanne. She would like it if she knew you could cook so well.”
Aysel almost started to cry then, but she managed to stop herself. She felt the tears stinging her eyes.
Azra frowned. “Your eyes are all red.” She brushed her hair out of her eye and reached out with a smooth soft dry hand and did the same with Aysel’s hair. Aysel swallowed hard to keep from sobbing.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
They ate dinner on
the couch, Aysel trying not to drip onto the red fabric upholstery. They rarely used the table, except on weekends. They usually watched TV, but Azra didn’t want to, so they just looked at each other. Aysel ate slowly.
“How is school going?” Azra asked Aysel. “Besides Mr. Weber.”
“I got an A on the Spanish test.”
“That’s good. I still wish you had taken French. It would be so much more useful if we ever visited my parents.”
“Well, I’m taking Spanish and I’m getting A’s. I don’t know what you have to complain about.”
“So school is good? You’re doing well in everything?”
“I’m doing well, but everyone hates me,” Aysel said.
Azra looked upset. “Does your friend Zee hate you? She seemed nice.”
Aysel began to cry into her dinner.
Azra looked distressed. “Oh no, Aysel. Aysel,” she said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Oh dear.” Her hands fluttered. “Be strong, Aysel. Stop crying.”
Aysel sniffed loudly and blinked hard. “Mom, I did something really stupid. I—I’m really sorry, Mom. I’m really, really sorry, but I did something really stupid.”
Azra settled back like a cat into the pillows on her end of the couch. She set her bowl on the table behind her. “What is it?” She looked tense and nervous suddenly.
“I told Z.” Aysel made an odd snuffly noise in her throat.
“Told her what?” But Azra had already guessed, Aysel could see.
Aysel sobbed loudly, for a long time. Her wail crested up toward the ceiling.
“Aysel, what did you tell her?”
“I told Z I’m a werewolf.”
Azra’s eyes went wide. She sat frozen on the couch.
“I told—I’m sorry, Mom. I just thought I should. They’re my friend. They needed to know why I was upset today, and I was upset because Z didn’t understand how I felt like a monster.”