Ann Aguirre - Mortal Danger

My mom noticed my expression, and her eyes crinkled into an answering smile. “You seem happier this year. I’m glad.”

Considering what I had to contend with, that was messed up in so many ways.

Monday morning, I got up at five thirty and went for a run. The sky was still dark, but I stayed off the side streets; there were other fitness buffs out, and they nodded at me as we passed, though most of them had pedometers and special music players strapped to their arms, along with more expensive shoes and spandex pants. I ran in Converse, sweats, and a hoodie, feet pounding out my confusion and dismay against the sidewalk.

I wanted to trust Kian, but my nature wouldn’t let me take him on faith. Maybe I could take a field trip to Cross Point, Pennsylvania, and look for proof. If I saw his “before” picture, I could at least believe he was who he claimed. Sure, he could produce ID, but given the resources at his disposal, that wouldn’t prove anything conclusively. But I couldn’t keep up the back-and-forth dance, where I drew closer and then I pulled away. It wasn’t fair to either of us, and if he was being straight with me, if, then he deserved better.

Everyone needs one true thing. I want him to be mine.

As I ran, I heard the scrape of footsteps behind me, not running shoes, more like hobnail boots, heavy and uneven. When I turned, I saw nothing but the smoky shadows cast in the final hour before sunrise, only thin fingers of light clutching at the horizon. The street was empty, but still the footsteps drew closer, and as I spun, I caught the flicker of movement in my peripheral vision. My flight reaction kicked in, so I raced toward the apartment, listening to my heart thump out a warning.

Danger. Danger.

With pure relief, I tore around the corner onto my street and within screaming range of fifty families in the identical brownstones. If something happened, if I called out, someone would hear me. Still, I didn’t slow down, sprinting the last fifty feet to my front stoop. I was bathed in cold sweat when I bounded up the steps and into the foyer. The door shut behind me, meager protection from the forces arrayed against me. I skimmed the dark street one last time and just as I was about to write off the incident as my imagination, a stooped figure shuffled into view beneath a streetlight. He looked like an elderly man, dressed in garb more suited to the World War I era, right down to the hobnailed boots I’d heard. His mouth was sunken from loss of teeth and he had whiskers growing all over his face, not a beard, more like a human cactus. Over his left shoulder, he carried an empty burlap sack.

He stood across from my house, staring back at me with eyes like drowning, big and wet, and somehow hungry. Two children stepped out of the shadows behind him, flanking the old man, close enough to touch, but separate. They, too, were dressed in old-fashioned clothing; the boy in knee pants and socks pulled up high, the girl in a pinafore with a dirty ribbon in her hair. And their eyes were black as pitch. The little girl-thing stepped forward.

I whirled to retreat to my apartment and nearly slammed into Mr. Lewis. He peered at me with a somber expression. “Is it you they’ve come for?”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak. “Who?”

“The old ones.”

“Probably.” I couldn’t remember ever talking to Mr. Lewis before, but it seemed like he could see the creepy things. I wasn’t sure what that said about him. Surreptitiously, I glanced at his wrists, but they were unmarked.

“Do you hear the ringing?”

I gaped at him. The perspicacity of his question shocked all of mine right out of my head. “What, how did you know?”

“Means you’ve come into close contact with a powerful old one. My mum crossed paths with them, told me a story or two before she passed.”

Come to think of it, the tinnitus started after I met Wedderburn. Did that mean I had some kind of detection system for immortals now? That might be useful.

Mr. Lewis went on, “Be careful, missy. I’ll hang a horseshoe above the front door, but you should say your good-byes. It won’t stay them long.” With that dire pronouncement, he went into his apartment.

My legs were shaky as I ran up the flight of stairs, partly from the run and partly from the weirdness stalking me. Inside the apartment, I took a quick shower and got ready for school. My homework was done, but I had no extra credit so far this year. I imagined my teachers checking my assignments and saying, It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.

At school, people were gleeful, whispering wild rumors about Brittany. “I heard it was mono.”

“No way, it’s worse. She has VD or something, only she was giving somebody gross a BJ and the infection spread all over her face.”

Damn. I tried to ignore them and I avoided the Teflon crew while moving from class to class across campus. It seemed like Mr. “Call me Colin” Love was always watching me, lurking in doorways and corridors with an inscrutable expression, and when I made eye contact, he offered a charming smile.

I’m not buying it. You’re one of them. But he hadn’t set off my tinnitus. So maybe I’m just paranoid.

The one notable thing that happened—I had a meeting with my guidance counselor to talk about college; she also gave me some material about the SAT. At this point, I could register late and take it for the first time in early October. If that didn’t go well, there were other test dates spaced throughout the year.

“Thanks,” I told her. “We’ll talk after I get my scores back.”

“You should also consider some extracurricular activities, Edie. Your grades are Ivy League, but the rest of your school life is rather…” She trailed off, trying to find a nice way to say I hadn’t done anything but skulk and study.

“I’ll work on it,” I said, though I had no idea how.

In relief I darted out of her office and went to lunch. The others were already at the table, but nobody stopped me when I joined them. Part of me wanted to go sit with some random people and forget about the Teflon crew, but I didn’t want Allison to think she’d won. Today, she was practically sitting in Cameron’s lap, petting his head to “comfort” him through his sadness about Brittany.

“Did anyone go see her this weekend?” I asked, when the conversation hit a lull.

Silence. Nobody met my eyes and they shook their heads, mumbling excuses. I ate my lunch and pretended to listen to Russ while the others changed the subject.

The Teflon crew wasn’t the same as last year; Brittany in the hospital had created a power vacuum and Allison was scrambling to fill her shoes. With their attention focused inward, they spent less time harassing random outcasts.

“I’m going to see her tonight,” I said, just before the bell. “Anyone want to come?”

Another long pause. Then Jen spoke. “I’ll go. Is it … I mean, how—”

“Bad. But she stays inside her bed curtains most of the time.”

“Okay. Should I bring something?”

I thought for a minute. “We can stop and get some magazines on the way up, something with quizzes, celebrity gossip, and bad advice.”

Jen gave a relieved smile. “That sounds good. I’m really bad at cheering people up, but I can read.”

“Doubtful,” Allison sniped.

The other girl leveled a cold look on her. “Who’s flunking basic English here?”

“There’s only one way to settle this,” Russ said. “Vat of pudding, after school.”

“I’m out.” I pushed to my feet.

“Me too.” Jen surprised me by following.

Allison glowered at us while Davina looked intimidated. Last week, Allison and Brittany kept her busy running errands, but with Brittany gone, she was sitting with the Teflon crew, though she didn’t seem sure of her place in the social hierarchy. She glanced at Allison, then the guys, while she chewed her lip.