Carrie Jones - Need

"Wow, you can really wolf it down," I say.

His fork pauses in midair. "That's original."

I start giggling. "I thought so."

His dimples show. "You're sure putting it away."

"You make good pancakes."

"Thank you."

"I think you should move in with us and just make pancakes all the time."

"Is Betty that bad a cook?"

"Yeah, and I'm not that much better."

"Maybe I should stay here until, you know, things settle down or-" My stomach pierces me and I cut the pancake without looking up at him. "I'm not going back to Charleston."

"It would be safer."

"Only for me. He'd be picking off guys until he got a queen. I can't let that happen."

"It's not your battle."

"Right." I bring my fork to my mouth, let it hover there, and really look at him. He is so charged up, so strong, but he's still made of skin and muscle. He can still get hurt. "Then whose battle is it? Just yours?

Because that is not going to happen. You are not Mr. Save the World Solo Style, okay?"

He dumps some more syrup on his pancakes and then cringes, like talking is painful. "Okay. Fine. It's our battle. All of us."

"The syrup's dripping on the book." I reach out and move the syrup. That's when I see the cover.

"Skeleton Crew?"

"Stephen King."

My heart stops beating and my brain makes a connection that a good brain should have made ages ago.

"I know it's Stephen King. It's just… There's a story in here."

l flip to it and stop, just staring at the title.

"What?"

" 'Here There Be Tygers.' " He pulls his chair closer to the table, closer to me, and leans forward, waiting.

"My dad wrote that in the library book: 'Don't fear. Here there be tygers, I57.' " "I remember. I thought Devyn or Betty or someone said it was some science fiction guy's short story. He didn't say Stephen King, did he?" Nick's words fly against my neck skin with his breath. It's so hard to concentrate.

"It was Ray Bradbury, I think. And no. But two people could have used the title." I get to page I57.

"Zara?"

I twist the book around so we are both reading it at ninety degrees. "Look."

"He wrote in it," Nick says squinting. Maple syrup smell hits my cheek. "Can you read it?"

"It's faded."

"Why did he use pencil?"

"He always used pencil. He was quirky," I say. I lift the book closer to my face. "It says: Defenses: Weres, Iron. Prob-lem: If the need becomes too great, they feed in daytime. Christine. Great. Nice and cryptic, Dad. And he underlined this line in the story all about tigers looking hungry and vicious."

"Who is Christine?"

"Another Stephen King book. The one about the car, I think."

Nick slams his chair back. "Read it again. I saw that book upstairs."

I read it again, yelling it so he can hear me. He's fast, werewolf fast, and he's up and down the stairs in a couple of blinks, holding another Stephen King book in his hand.

"He says they can come in the daytime when the need gets too great," he says. "We should call Betty."

"Let me see that book first." I reach out. He gives it to me. I flip it open and a piece of paper falls to the floor.

Nick scoops it up and hands it to me before I can react. My hands shake as I unfold it. "It could be nothing, a report card or a note to my mom…"

"Read it, Zara," Nick's voice gentles out in the kitchen. It feels like even the air waits.

I read.

"If you have found this it means that the need is back. He says he doesn't want the need. He says he fights against it and I'd like to believe it, but does it even matter? When he loses control over his need he loses control over his court, and they demand blood and soul to satisfy their cravings, cravings they have when the king comes of age and needs a queen. Mom, you know why we ran. I could only let her sacrifice so much and his anger at our deal was so great. We were afraid to trust. I am so sorry it was not enough." I look up at Nick. "Do you know what this means?"

"Not really. Is that all?"

"No, there are a couple more lines," I say and keep reading. "You've got to be warned that when the desire becomes too great, nighttime does not contain him. He will prowl in the sun like the others.

Iron makes them weak. They are fast, but we are faster, and we too can kill. That's our only hope.

Other Shining Ones are our only hope."

I fold the paper back up and place it next to my fork. Then I think better of it and tuck it into my sweatshirt. "My father wrote that."

Nick nods. "They can come in the day."

"If the need is great."

"I'm not taking chances about that," he says. "I'm calling Betty."

I grab his arm, stop him. "Nick?"

He brings his face down to my level. His eyes are all concerned and sweet. "What?"

"I feel funny."

"It's okay to be scared, Zara. But I'll call Betty and we'll keep you safe. It's okay."

"No. It feels like spiders." I try to explain. Heat rushes to my face. "It's stupid. It's just this feeling I keep getting, like spiders are running over my skin. I don't know how to explain it."

His broad hands wrap around my arms and stroke them lightly. "When does this happen?"

"I don't know. Ever since I left Charleston. Every time I see that man that I saw at the airport or when I hear that voice."

'"The voice in the woods?"

I nod.

Nick lets go of my arms and rushes over to the fireplace. He grabs the poker that Betty uses to turn over the logs. He wraps my hands around it. "Take this."

"What? Why?"

He half growls. "It means he's coming. He will try to trick you into opening the door. Don't let him."

I start to argue but Nick holds up his finger. His eyes are so focused, so intent, so like a wolfs. How had I not noticed that before?

"I mean it, Zara. You cannot let anyone in. Promise me."

"Can't they just break in?" I demand. I stomp down on the floor like I'm two, but I don't care, I am so ridiculously frustrated. I want him to stop scaring me.

He doesn't answer, just starts rushing around, pulling drapes closed.

"You should grab that knife you left in the kitchen," he says, glancing up the stairs. "All the windows are locked up there, right?"

"I don't know!" I yell, waving the poker around. Fear tingles on my skin. Or is it that spider feeling? I have no idea. Mick is already racing up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

"What if they break down the door?"

"They can't!"

"How do you know they can't? That guy looked pretty strong."

He shouts down to me, "Pixies have to be invited in, like vampires, l read it on the Internet."

"Well, there you go," I mutter. "Then it must be true."

Pixiophobia a fear of pixies I made this up, but believe me it should be a word because it sure is a legitimate fear I thunder up the stairs after him.

He ignores me, rushing from one room to the oilier, checking on the windows, pulling the shades down in each one before whisking off to the next. He moves so fast he is almost a blur. No wonder he's such a good runner. He isn't human.

I shudder, but I mean, he's still Nick.

My room is the last one he goes to. I block the door so he can't race off again, but he looks a little calmer now. His hair isn't standing on end or anything.

"The windows are all locked," he says, sitting down on my bed.

I dial Betty's cell.

Her voice snaps to attention. "Zara?"

"I think the pixie guy is coming."

"What? It's daylight."

"I know! But I found a note dad left for you. He says if the need gets too great then they can come in the daytime."

"Jesus." She waits, pausing, like she's struggling with big stuff. "He left a note?"

"Uh-huh." I let her have a second because I just know she must be trying to process that. Then I go on.