Home > Need (Need #1)(67)

Need (Need #1)(67)
Author: Carrie Jones

Everyone nods. Nick perches on the arm of the couch, and Mrs. Nix sits in the other green chair as I pace across the braided rug.

“So, my theory is that the pixies can’t cross iron,” I say. “My iron bracelet burned Ian. Plus, it says on the Web site that they hate iron, even stick to rural areas just to avoid it.”

Issie asks, “Why iron?”

Devyn goes into full geek mode and answers before I can, “Iron is one of the last elements that is created by stellar nucleo-synthesis.”

I have no idea what he just said.

Neither does anyone else.

“English, Devyn,” Nick commands.

Devyn’s exasperation shows in the way he pulls his hand through his hair. “It’s really heavy. It’s really dense. And its nuclei have these ridiculously high levels of binding energy. It’s strong, really strong.”

“But why don’t pixies like it?” I ask.

Devyn shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Mrs. Nix clears her throat. “That’s one part of the folklore that has stayed consistent about pixies. It always says that they can be killed with iron, that they avoid it.”

“Well,” I say. “Let’s hope that’s true.”

“What’s your plan?” Nick asks.

“To make them prisoners,” I lock eyes with Nick, and then indicate that I’m thinking about the basement. “We have these big metal railroad ties from train tracks. And some wire. Mrs. Nix, you brought some more with you, right?”

“Right,” she says.

“We have duct tape and stainless steel forks,” I check them off.

“This is a weird idea, Zara,” Devyn says. “I mean . . . yeah. Wow. Forks?”

“It is the best I can come up with.” I wipe my hands together, try not to think about my mother trapped in there, try not to think about Jay Dahlberg’s wounds, and try not to think about the possible moral implications of what we’re about to do. “Everybody set?”

Everybody is set.

“Good,” I say. “Let’s get going.”

“You think this will work, Zara?” Issie asks.

We are hiding behind a tree trunk. We’ve got a massive stash of barbed wire and railroad ties behind us.

I grab her hand and squeeze it. “I hope so.”

She squeezes back. “Me too.”

“You don’t have to help, you know,” I whisper.

“Oh, shut up,” she says, blowing warm air onto her hands. “Friends help friends fight pixies.”

“Right,” I say. “Right.”

I glance over at the other trees. Betty is behind one. Devyn and Nick are behind another. Devyn’s in eagle form, and Mrs. Nix is a bear. Everyone else seems human. The end of some barbed wire dangles from Devyn’s beak.

Mrs. Nix lumbers toward the house. She sniffs the air. Her bear paws pad heavily against the earth. She wiggles her ears forward. That’s our signal that no pixies are outside.

Nick gives me the thumbs-up. We haven’t talked much about me being the daughter of a pixie. We haven’t had time. My mom’s more important now. But I’m still afraid of what it might mean for us, for me.

Not important now.

I give the second signal and we go. We sprint toward the house, carrying ties and stabbing them into the earth. One after another, we shove them down. Is and I work together because neither of us are super strong and my arm holds me back. Devyn’s yellow beak glistens in the twilight. Wire hangs from it. He wheels the barbed wire around, connecting the ties. We have to hurry before the pixies notice that something is happening.

Issie shoves a tie into the snow. “You’re sure there’s a house there.”

“I swear,” I say, laying out another tie. My muscles burn from the weight. “I can see it. I promise.”

“Sometimes it sucks being human,” Issie says. We both lean in, slamming down another tie.

“No, Is. No, it doesn’t.”

We hauled all of the iron stuff over here in carts hitched behind snowmobiles that belong to Issie’s parents and Mrs. Nix. I didn’t realize how heavy the ties were then, but they are. It’s adrenalin that keeps us moving. Gram dumps some more. Devyn grabs more barbed wire. His giant wings flap through the air. The circle is almost complete. We only need a few more.

Nick rushes past me, his arms full of ties. He cuts across the front lawn. The front door of the house opens. Mrs. Nix roars out a warning.

I throw down another tie.

“Nick!” I yell. He looks up. “They’re coming out!”

A pixie rushes toward Nick. His teeth are fanged and deadly. He lunges for Nick. Nick lashes out with the barbed wire. It hits the pixie in the face. Steam rises from a burn mark on the pixie’s skin. He stumbles to the ground, hand to his cheek. Nick stands there, waiting.

“Get back, Nick!” Gram yells.

Nick hesitates. His muscles seem to bunch up and shake. He wants to turn wolf. I know it.

“Now!” Gram orders.

He rushes back toward her, leaping over the wire and tires, outside our almost circle.

More pixies leave the house. They are all dressed up for some sort of party. The velvet and satin gowns flap in the wind. The tuxedos all seem perfectly tailored. They should be beautiful, but I know what they are. They are not beautiful, because beauty is about grace and love and hope. They are all about need.

Mrs. Nix takes the last bit of barbed wire out of Devyn’s mouth and wraps it around. The circle is complete.

“Change,” Gram orders Nick. “Now.”

A railroad tie falls over. I rush to grab it. My hands try to push it deeper into the cold hard earth. It wobbles, pulling at the pressure of the wires, destabilizing the whole thing.

“Gram!” I yell. “A little help here.”

She runs to my side. We both force the tie down, using all our body weight to stabilize it. The pixies start chanting, some crazy monotonous words that my head doesn’t understand, but my body shudders, chilled and terrified.

Nick appears at my side, wolf again. His hackles raise. He growls, teeth showing. The muscles in his back tense.

I press my hand on his side. “No. Stay outside the circle. With me.”

The pixies are still funneling out the door, ignoring the injured one by the steps.

My mother appears at the doorway. She’s wearing a long white gown that has way too much lace on it. She starts across the snow, one foot in front of the other. She slips along the side of the house, while the rest come forward, one horrible mass of them.

   
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