Carrie Jones - Entice

“Yes, but-” Something in my chest hitches. “He’s Nick.”

“And there’s only one Nick?” he asks kindly.

I nod hard my agreement because I can’t trust my voice.

“Do you vow that you are not a minion of the Frost Giants or their like, that you do not enter Asgard in an attempt to do harm to Odin or the rest of us old gods?” His voice booms. He towers above me, with shoulders that are easily three times as big as mine. He leans forward so that his nose is an inch away from mine.

“I promise,” I say.

He cocks his head. His lips part. His teeth? They gleam. “Are your promises good, Zara White, new queen of pixies?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I hope they are. I promised Nick I would take care of him. He didn’t actually hear me because he was unconscious at the time, but-”

His voice stops my sentence as he stands up straight, hands on his hips. “You will have to convince Odin, young queen, but they keep the pixie warriors at Freya’s, and that is to the-”

“Oh, he’s not a pixie. He’s a wolf,” I interrupt.

Those massive hairy eyebrows rise up again. “Oh. A pixie and a were in love.” Something shifts again in his eyes and his whole body changes. He suddenly seems to respect me more. A peacock struts across the lawn, followed by three little gray peahens.

“Is that-” I stop myself midquestion. Maybe I don’t want to know.

“Impossible? It is unusual.” He reaches out a hand and ruffles up my hair. I resist the urge to woof like a puppy. “But love makes all possible.”

My stomach settles a little. It’s still possible.

“Still, it seems your heart is divided, Zara. Is there another?”

My mouth opens, but no words come out.

“No matter… No matter… Would you like to come inside? Are you hungry? You must be-I have been watching you run.” He smiles at me. His smile is dazzling and congenial. The air here is warm, so I pull off my jacket and tie it around my waist. Sweat has wet the back of my neck. My throat is parched and longs for water.

“I’m starving, but I really have to go. I’m sorry. I mean, if I am allowed to go.” I look up the hill. There are other amber-colored halls beyond us. The sunlight makes rainbows that gleam off the windows, off his sword, off everything. Birds sing in the distance. Trees in full bloom are scattered along the landscape. Everything looks so inviting. I rub my hands along my hair and fix my ponytail.

“I believe your quest is worthy, Zara White, new queen of pixies.” He opens his arms. “It is love which made all this. War which protects it. With love comes responsibility and possibility, fear and hope, quests and suffering. I am not talking merely of romantic love, but the love of warriors and friends and family. You understand this?”

“I think so.” I swallow hard. “And me getting him back? And bringing him home? Do you think that is possible?”

“You will have to convince Odin,” he says. His hand stops rustling and rests simply on my head. “Odin can be a hard man to convince, but only sometimes, and your wolf must want to return. Many come here and have no desire to go back to the realm of man.”

“It’s so beautiful and peaceful it’s easy to see why,” I say.

“Your sigh smells like sorrow.” He takes his hand off my head and puts it beneath my chin so I lift my head up. Our eyes meet. He reminds me of Santa Claus, all ho-ho-ho kindness, only with no pillow belly and gold teeth instead of cookie breath.

“I’m a little afraid,” I admit.

“All warriors are afraid.”

The peacock twitters and spreads his tail feathers, which is what they do when they want to mate. The peahen activity gets a little frantic. They start pacing back and forth in little movements, changing directions every few seconds.

Heimdall laughs, amused at the birds, I think, and says, “You are not like the peahen.”

“I’m not?”

“No. You know where you need to go.” He points to the left at a large hall that peeks out above the canopy of lush green trees. “You have a direction. Odin’s hall, Valhalla. It is a quick ride. I shall get a horse. Have you ridden before?”

“A little. At camp.”

“An easy mare then.” He whistles and a golden horse trots from around the edge of the building.

“She’s so beautiful.” I sigh the words out, press my hand against the horse’s soft, strong flank.

“Yes, she is.” He laughs again and puts his hands out for me to step up. I could probably just jump, now that I’m all super pixie, but I take the hand up. The horse doesn’t even stir as I fix my sword and make myself comfortable. He rubs his hand across her side and says appreciatively, “Good girl.”

I bite my lip.

“You are very nice,” I say, because he is. Now that I’m on the horse, I’m more at his level. I have to resist the urge to look away. Who am I to be talking to him? Who am I to be in this crazy, weird place? I clear my throat. “Thank you. Do you think…?”

His hand slides across the horse’s flank and he simply smiles.

“I owe you,” I say quietly, but he hears me.

He taps the horse with his hand. There are scars crisscrossing the skin. “Then fight on our side when I blow my horn and the war comes.”

War.

“I promise.”

“Good!” Heimdall laughs. “And go get your wolf, Queen. Bring him home.”

B edford police responded to reports of screaming at the Brown House tonight. Eyewitnesses stated there were howls and moans, shrill inhuman cries, and a giant rainbow that reached into the sky. While police do say that evidence in the area pointed to a crime, no bodies or body parts were found. They are investigating. -N EWS C HANNEL 8

Philophobia is the fear of being in love. I’ve never had this fear, not really, but right now I am scared not only of failing to get Nick out of here, but also that he might not want to leave, might not want to come home with me, not want to love me anymore because I’m no longer Human Zara. Human Zara wouldn’t even have been able to be here. I doubt Human Zara would have ever kissed Astley a second time. It’s got me wondering if I’m even the same soul that Nick used to love. I already know people can still love me. Issie does. Betty does. And I also know that some people can’t see beyond the pixie, people like my mom. Which will Nick be?

I keep blinking as I ride through the woods. It’s so different from home. The trees are lush and in full bloom. Everything feels enchanted and full of possibility. The air is sweet with the smell of growth and moisture and warmth. The horse exudes a happy heat as she gallops through the spruce and pine trees. Every one of them looks like a Christmas tree waiting to happen.

I am heading to Nick.

I am heading to Nick!

My little flame of hope has become an action. My little want might become a have. Everything inside of me shivers in a good way, grows like a bunch of secret black-capped mushrooms in a fern grove. I can feel all my darkest worries fade away and become something cool, something real, something good.

I may be a pixie now, but I can still feel love and hope. I can still worry and care. I was so afraid that I would lose those things I think of as “human” that I wouldn’t even let myself contemplate it before I changed. I just rushed in and did it. I won’t regret my decision no matter the consequences, not if I can get Nick back. I won’t regret it at all, not even if it means my own mother can’t bear to look at me.

The thought of Astley and all my friends and my pixies fighting back behind the Brown House worries my stomach, erodes my happiness. So I turn my face up toward the sunlight shafting through the green tree leaves. I focus on remembering Nick’s face, its angles and crinkles.