"Big leap there, Zare." Nick cracks up. He shakes with laughter.
I pout. "She'd be a good bunny."
"True. But it's not her. It's Devyn."
"Devyn? Devyn is cute and normal."
He scrapes at the bottom of the hash pan. His voice comes out dead calm. "He's an eagle."
"Oh. Okay. I am not going to freak out about this, but let me say that I am surprised."
"Because he's in a wheelchair?"
"No! Because he's a bird."
Agateophobia fear of insanity The wind rallies the house, makes the flames dance in the woodstove. I'm eating a bizarre combination of meat and diced potato with a guy who is actually hotter than the fire and what do I say?
I say, "We need to figure out how to keep the pixie from kissing me, from making me his queen."
"I know," Nick says.
"I don't suppose just saying no would work." I give a nervous laugh.
Nick starts scraping at the brown, crunchy hash that clings to the bottom of the pan. He mixes it into the softer hash parts, clumping it into a big brown, red, and white mess.
Still, it smells good, almost good enough to make me not think about pixies. Almost. Or that the only cool people in school are weres.
"Seriously, Zara," he says, moving on to his egg scrambling.
"First off, I can't believe pixies have kings and queens. That's so old school. I don't care if they are Shining Ones. It's just lame. Are they some sort of totalitarian dictatorship based on a monarchial ideal of superiority, because those are some of the worst governments possible. I mean, the human rights violations in governments like that-" He puts his free hand over my mouth just like Devyn did to Issie once. But I don't do an Issie and giggle or lick his fingers. I just glare. Nick keeps scrambling the eggs with his free hand as if nothing is going on, nothing at all, as if this is a normal conversation for people to be having.
"Zara, these arepixies and when it comes to human rights violations, pixies don't really care," he explains. "One, they aren't human. Two, torture is part of their M.O."
I try to stomp on his foot, but he just pivots it away in some super quick werewolf maneuver and never stops scrambling the eggs, which are holding together now, almost finished. He doesn't move his hand off my mouth and his eyes twinkle like he thinks I am so amusing. l am not amusing.
"I'm going to move my hand now. Okay?"
"I am not queen material," I sputter.
He wipes his hand on his shirt.
"What? Did I drool on you?"
"A little," "You're a wolf. You should be used to drool."
"That's low."
He takes the egg pan off the top of the woodstove and places it on the brick hearth that surrounds it.
I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't care."
We stay silent for a minute while he scrapes at the hash in the pan again. The windows seem like empty white blanks because of all the snow that keeps tumbling down. Some of the flakes splatter against the house like they are trying to escape the wintry reality.
"This isn't their normal behavior, obviously. I mean, the pixies haven't been killing everyone all this time.
There's a gap," I say. Nick starts to interrupt but I hold up my hand to stop him. "I know we know that.
I'm just thinking out loud, trying to process it. It's got to all be connected to my dad's letter."
"And they've been without a queen for a quarter of a century. There's got to be a rule about that." He points the scraping spoon at me. "Zara, I know you're a little freaked out by all this and that's normal, but I think that-" "Normal? What's normal about any of this? You, possibly the best-looking guy in the universe, actually like me, but you're a werewolf." I can hear the hysteria in my voice but can't stop it. "Two of my favorite people at this crazy school are a werewolf and a were-eagle. Did I get that right? Werewolf and were-eagle? And of course, my grandmother is a weretiger."
He nods and lets me spew. I pace back and forth in the living room.
"And don't let me forget, pixie man has trashed my living room, and pixies want me to be their queen.
And to accomplish this, instead of being nice and asking or bringing me flowers or something, some guy whispers my name when I'm in the woods trying to make me lost and then barges into my house the moment my gram isn't here." I stop for a second. "Wait. Why did they wait until Betty wasn't here?"
Nick spoons some hash onto a plate, then starts on the eggs. "I have no idea. They're probably afraid of her. Weretigers are tough."
He shrugs and starts scooping food onto his plate.
"Maybe they got tired of waiting," he offers, sitting down on the floor in front of the fire. I sit with him.
The heat laps against us and it feels so good.
"Maybe they realized that I wouldn't let you get taken by them in the woods, so they decided a direct attack was best," he says. "Wolves fight better outside. We aren't house pets. Do you like your hash?"
I stir my eggs around my plate a little bit and then fork up some hash. It warms my mouth. "This is good."
He smiles. "Thanks."
"So you can cook, too?" I ask. "You're perfect, aren't you?"
"Iam a werewolf," he says between bites. He bends his head.
"That just gives you a totally good excuse for your pathetic temper."
He wiggles his eyebrows. "True."
"If I become the pixie queen, you'll have to call me your majesty," I tease.
"Never."
"You'll never call me your majesty? That's mean. You are just a common ol' werewolf, you know, and I'd be royalty."
The fire crackles and a log moves. I jump but Nick doesn't move at all. I guess it's hard to faze a werewolf.
"You'll never become the pixie queen. I won't let you." He locks eyes with me.
He does have the alpha-dog thing going for him. I can't look away. Even if I did, I'd still feel them. Eyes.
His eyes.
"Ugh. I hate this. I feel stuck."
I thought I was moving forward finally. I mean, I thought I was stuck in Maine, but really slowly I was edging closer to the future, a future without my dad… but my future still, mine. Issie and Devyn are my friends. Nick is here. All that could just vanish. I wince. I don't want to die.
Nick puts his plate down on the bricks. It wobbles a little on the unevenness. Free of things, he leans forward, hands flat on the floor, like the downward-dog yoga position.
"Zara?" His voice mellows out against me, but I decide to study my eggs. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"You can't promise that. People can't keep other people from getting hurt or killed." Swallowing, I face him. His mouth is so close to mine. His eyes seem hungry and calm and strong, so I tell him, "A couple of weeks ago, I wouldn't have cared. If I died. You know?"
He nods.
He waits.
My lips wiggle because I can't find the right words.
"I just missed my dad so much."
I swallow again. Why is it so hard to swallow? "But now," I move forward. "I don't want to die. I don't want to be scared. I just want to live."
He lets my words settle and then he asks, "What changed?"
"I don't know. You, maybe? Or maybe it was watching Issie being so happy and brave all the time?
Or…," I move closer so my forehead touches his. "Maybe it was just being so scared. I knew. I just knew that I didn't want to die."
He kisses my nose. His lips trail to my cheek and then down to my lips, where he whispers, "I'll keep you safe, Zara."
I grab his shoulders in my hands. "But what about you? Who will keep you safe?"
"I'll be fine."
His lips brush against mine, pushing themselves into me. I push back. My hands leave his shoulders and move into his hair.
Gently I tug his face away.
"Do you promise?" I breathe against him. "Do you swear?" "I swear."
"We have to leave," he says.