“You are not well,” he says.
“How can I be well?” I hiccup. I struggle against him. “I can stand up by myself, though.”
He ignores me and sweeps me into his arms. “You should stop lying to yourself.”
I struggle for a second and then give up. The snowflakes curl their paths to the ground, waiting for something to come, for explanations, for meanings. They land, one after another, piling up, covering things. They don’t give me answers. Nobody just gives me answers. I always have to reach for them. “What do you mean, lying to myself?”
He sniffs the air. He cocks his head and listens to the wind and the woods the same way Nick used to. Astley’s eyes shift.
“What is it?” I ask. “Do you smell something?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead his arms tighten around me.
“Tell me. What is it?”
“Death,” he says more softly. He jostles me against his chest. His fingers adjust to where they hold the side of my knee. His voice is heavy with sadness. “Oh, Zara. I can smell his death. You’ve had a shock, a tragedy. Come on. Let’s go somewhere safe.”
I don’t answer. I can’t answer. Having someone know about Nick makes it even more real and I don’t want it to be more real. My throat closes up. He drops my knees and presses me against him, both arms around my waist, and we lift into the air. His words are soft in my ear. “Don’t be scared.”
The world beneath us blurs. Trees meld into each other, just a mass of white. We travel over the woods—so fast. The wind whips against my cheek. My eyes water from the cold force of it.
Finally I find my voice. “This isn’t my first time flying.”
“Your father?”
“Yeah. When he kidnapped me. He smelled like mushrooms when it happened. You do too. Why is that?”
“It’s the earth calling us back. Won’t be long,” he says. “Close your eyes if you need to.”
I don’t. I want to see. In the distance, over on Route 3, I think, there are the flashing lights of rescue vehicles. Gram’s there. That must be the accident. There’s a big bus tilted on its side, but before I can focus we’re past it.
Images of Nick and the other pixie force their way into my head. Blood. Teeth flashing. Skin ripping. The pixie’s evil low voice and his smile. Shuddering, I ask Astley, “Are you stronger than the other one?”
His arms tighten. “I hope so. Someday I’ll need to be. I can’t believe he found the house first. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I got too—distracted.”
I swallow hard. A sob threatens to reach my throat. I push it back and say, “I think it’s my fault too.”
He doesn’t answer for a minute and then says, “You know, that is what I thought too, when I first met you and when I found out about the—situation—but now . . . You didn’t have many choices, did you? We haven’t handled things well. Your father should have been dealt with by his own kind long ago.”
I don’t know how to answer. Even though the cold stings I tilt up my head and scan the sky looking for Nick as we start to get lower. We’re by my house. The house where Nick and I slept and kissed and made breakfast. It wasn’t long ago. It feels like forever.
Astley’s hands shift. “Hold on, we are landing. I am not the best at landings.”
He thuds to a landing and flops on his butt. I land half on top of him. He blushes and then smiles.
“Oh.” I roll off of him. “You really aren’t.”
“We all have our weaknesses,” he explains, hopping up to his feet. I stare at the house. It looks so calm and normal. It looks like nothing has happened. It looks good and fine and safe, but nothing is good and fine and safe.
I walk slowly up the porch stairs. Astley follows me to the door. He keeps his arms out around me, but not touching, ready to catch me if I fall, I guess. I fumble with the doorknob.
“Here, let me.” He inserts my key and turns it for me. I step inside. He inclines his head.
“I can’t let you in.” My words come out slowly.
He closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “You don’t trust me.”
I don’t answer. I am too tired, too sad to answer. The sun pokes out from behind a cloud. The light sparkles off the snow. I shield my eyes with my hand. It’s too bright. Nothing should be bright. I start to step inside.
Astley’s hand grabs my arm. “I can’t just leave you like this. You’re barely capable of communicating.”
“You have to.”
For a second neither of us moves. For a second the world seems to stop dead still. His hand slides up my arm and he holds me by my shoulders. I don’t have the energy to shrug him off. “Do not let anyone in here. It’s dangerous now.”
I almost laugh, that’s such an understatement. Behind him, the MINI’s tire tracks are gone, covered up by snow. He lets go of my shoulders and pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. He writes a number on it and puts it in my hand. He closes my fingers around it.
“My cell. Call it if you need me,” he says.
“I won’t need you,” I tell him, looking at the paper—a receipt from Holiday Inn—and stepping inside, “but thanks.”
“Zara—” His voice stops me. I turn around. “You might.”
I close the door behind me but don’t lock it because there’s no point. The only pixie who can get in here is the one that’s already been invited and that’s my father. It’s a weird pixie rule, one of many. All of the pixies must be rampaging since they are finally free. They are probably searching for food, for revenge. The desire must be pounding through their weakened bodies. I know how that feels. It pounds through mine, too. Vengeance: that’s the kind of feeling that belongs in a safe, shut off from the rest of the world, away from mothers cuddling babies, away from children on swings, away from humanity.
I fall on the couch, press my face against the red fabric, and breathe deeply, trying to catch the smell of Nick somewhere, something left over from last night, but I can’t smell anything. My nose isn’t that good. I smoosh a pillow into my face, but still nothing. There is no Nick: not on the couch I’m sitting on, not in his MINI still parked on the side of the road, not working at the hospital, not hunting in the woods, not anywhere at all. He’s not here, even though I want to tangle my fingers into his dark hair, breathe into the depths of him, let him breathe into the depths of me, even though I want him here with me right now, all the time, forever. Even though, he’s not here.