The forest seems to look with me. Each tree branch reaches out as if trying to sense what is there in the road with me. Then something in the woods moves. I grab a stick from the side of the road, hold it in front of me, and turn to face the noise. The light swings with me and I keep searching. It isn’t a real noise, more like a sense, a feeling of movement.
“I’m not scared,” I say, staring into the side of the road. “Just come out and talk to me. I’ve been reading about you. I found a book.”
My voice shakes when I speak. The hand holding the stick is not too steady either.
“Zara,” the voice says. “Come to me.”
“Right.”
“Please.”
“No,” I say. “You want to talk, you come out here.”
The eagle screams out a warning.
Something snaps in the woods behind me, the opposite direction of the voice and the first noise. I twist around, ready for anything—crazy men, wolves, bears, dinosaurs.
“I know you’re a freaking pixie, and if you think that scares me, you’re stupid!” I yell. “And I know that you’re following me.”
The woods are silent. The spider feeling goes away.
“What? You just leave? You’re toying with me? That is so lame.”
Nothing.
“If you want me to be your stupid queen you should stop hiding. But I’ve got to tell you something, Mr. Pixie Guy, there will be no more torturing boys while I’m here! Got it?” Anger hits me in the gut and I roar, really, I just roar like some sort of crazy actor in a wrestling match. I scream out my rage in some steroidal guttural way. I came out here because I want to find him, because I want to know what’s real, because I want to stop it.
Blinding light flashes into my eyes and a MINI Cooper engine roars as it rounds the curve in the road. A horn blares and I jump sideways out of the way and into the ditch. A rock scrapes my cheek. It takes me a second to figure out what happened. I stand up. I’ve dropped the stick. The world waves in front of me, hazy and unfocused. The light falls off my head and I can’t find it.
“Zara!” Nick slams the door of his now parked car. He rushes to me and stands in front of me. I can’t see his features because of the headlights shining behind him. He is just a massive silhouette, but I’d know that silhouette anywhere.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice comes out angry.
My voice is whisper weak. “I wanted to find him.”
“What?” His hands ball into fists and his whole body quakes. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
I shrink back. Nobody has ever yelled at me like that. Never.
He’s so mad, I almost expect him to hit me. I must have swayed because he grabs me, puts an arm around my waist, and leads me toward the MINI.
“I just wanted to stop it. I wanted to save someone like I couldn’t save my . . .”
“I’ll take you home,” he says, a lot more quietly.
The inside of his car smells like him, like pine wood and the sea. I touch my face. Blood covers my fingers.
Nick grabs a wad of tissues and presses them against my cheek.
“It’s okay,” I say.
His eyes tell a different story.
“Don’t be mad at me.” I move my fingers up to the tissue against my cheek. My fingers graze his fingers. Something electric—good and shocky—surges through me. Maybe he feels it too, because he pulls away. He stares at the blood on his fingers and his jaw hardens.
“Lock your door,” he orders.
I do.
He puts the car in drive and takes me to Betty’s. It doesn’t take long, but he doesn’t say anything the entire way and the silence presses against me.
Everything inside of me tingles and waits and dreads.
Next to me, Nick drums his fingers on the top of the steering wheel.
“You want to tell me what happened out there?” Nick asks.
I stare out at the road. The moon hangs above us, waiting maybe. The trees are dark. I touch my head where the headlamp should be.
Finally I say, “I don’t know. I think the pixie guy was out there calling my name, like in some horror movie, and then I yelled back at him, and there was an eagle, and then I yelled some more, and he was gone.”
“You scared the pixie away? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did you go out there?”
“I wanted him to take me. I don’t want you to get hurt or Devyn or anybody. So I figured . . . It sounds so stupid.”
“You were going to sacrifice yourself to save everyone else?”
I cringe. “Then I wimped out.”
Nick pulls up to Betty’s and hops out of the MINI. I unlock my door and he lifts me out, placing both of his big hands on either side of my waist like I’m a little kid or something.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to pull away. “I can walk.”
He arches an eyebrow but lets me go and watches me sway on the driveway. “I think you’ve had a shock.”
“Well, you almost ran me over.”
“You were standing in the middle of the road,” he argues, hustling me inside.
“You were speeding,” I tease.
I open the door to Betty’s house and turn.
“I was not speeding,” he says, fixing his hat. It has a big B on it for Bedford.
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I am. I lean against the door that is quiet and doesn’t complain about things or your behavior or anything like that. Doors are very good that way. Blood has seeped through the tissue. I hold it against my cheek.
He watches me and doesn’t move. So I add, “I went out in Charleston all the time.”
“This is not Charleston.”
I laugh. “That’s for sure.”
“Zara, this is serious.” He pushes me lightly into the house.
“Why, because it’s about pixies? ‘Zara, this is serious,’ ” I turn and walk toward the sofa, feeling ridiculous because I’ve totally lost my cool and acted like some diabolical dictator or something, and I’ve got to hold on to some dignity. I plunk myself onto the corner of the couch. I grab onto the armrest. He stays standing. Of course. Not like he’d want to hang out and stay awhile, maybe have some hot cocoa, talk about why everyone in this annoying town is so deranged and paranoid and can run so darn fast.