Jackson Pearce - Cold Spell

“I heard,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And she doesn’t think she’s strong….” Callum laughs aloud.

There’s a toast going on for Keelin’s parents; Callum and I lift our glasses, take obligatory sips, and then fall back to silence for a few moments.

“Truth is,” he says, “nothing good can happen from going after monsters. They don’t live in our world; they don’t play by our rules. I don’t mean Traveller rules— human rules. You’re going after your boy, Ginny, but even if you find him… he’s not going to be the same boy. You can’t live with a monster and walk out a person.”

“Maybe,” I say, nodding slowly. “But maybe it’s just no one’s done it yet.”

Callum frowns, but before he gets a chance to respond, Flannery is behind me. I’m not sure if she says anything, or if it’s the daggers in her eyes that make me turn around and look at her.

“You okay, Sherlock?” Callum asks. Her hands are in fists and her hair is even more of a knotted mess than usual. She stares at Callum for a moment; her hands relax and it looks as if she’s going to reach for him. Instead, she exhales and turns away.

“I’m fine. Let’s go,” she says to me.

“Where?”

“To sleep. Does it matter, for fuck’s sake? Come on,” she snaps, and spins on her heel. I rise, slowly; Callum looks at me and raises his eyebrows, but I shrug.

“All right. Night, Flannery,” he calls across the few yards between us. “See you tomorrow, Ginny.”

I open my mouth to answer him, but he’s already turned back to the fire. I hurry to catch up to Flannery.

“Are you all right?”

“Don’t talk to me,” she says.

“Okay—”

“Don’t talk, period,” she says. “I just want to go to bed, all right?”

I nod. We reach the RV door, which she flings open. She goes into the bathroom for a moment, leaving me in the kitchen. I absently open up Grandma Dalia’s cookbook, still on the table with my other things and Flannery-slash-Ella’s heels. My fingers drift along the pages—

“Stop looking at that,” Flannery snarls, and I look up—she’s standing in the doorway, face red.

“Why?” I ask.

Her hands are shaking. I don’t understand why she’s so angry. “Because there’s no point. You’re not leaving. So you can stop acting like some lovesick little girl. Better to stop looking at it, and stop talking about him, and stop thinking about him. He left you , Ginny.”

My eyes widen. “You think I don’t know that?” I snap. “But I don’t love him just because he loved me back, so I can’t hate him just because he’s stopped. And besides, she’s not a goddess, Flannery—the Fenris are chasing her down. She’s running from them, not leading them.”

“Don’t be stupid, Ginny. Just because there’s a bigger monster chasing Grohkta-Nap doesn’t mean you’re like her. Doesn’t mean you can beat her. You think the fact that you love Kai means you’ll win?”

“No,” I say slowly. “I think the fact that I love Kai means I’ll fight for him.”

Flannery balls her hands into fists, and for a moment, I’m certain she’s going to punch me. But no—she storms into her bedroom and flops down on her bed, pulling the mismatched flannel blankets up to her face even though it’s stuffy in here. I’m not tired, but I climb into my sleeping bag and stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the spark that Flannery’s words caused to leap up within me. He left me. Our love wasn’t strong enough. What makes me think any part of me is?

“You didn’t congratulate me,” Flannery says after a half hour, her voice flat.

“On what?” I ask, spitting the words. I’m angry at her, even angrier with myself for letting her stir up doubt in my chest.

She inhales, and I can practically see the eye roll in her words. “On my engagement.”

Flannery and Callum are getting married.

“There’s nothing at all wrong with him—besides, everyone knows you two want each other. Will you stop slouching like that? We’ll never get it fit,” Brigit says as Flannery stands in her tent, staring at herself in a mirror. Flannery is wearing a wedding gown, a big, sparkly sort of thing that looks like a high school prom dress on steroids. Other Traveller girls hover around Flannery, offering suggestions as to how she should wear her hair, or who among them should be her bridesmaids. They brag about the dresses they own, how they’re sparkly but “not so much that it’ll overwhelm yours, Flannery.”

Flannery doesn’t seem to care. Not about them, or the dress, or the engagement, or anything. She won’t make eye contact with me, instead staring at her own reflection as if she loathes it. I pull my knees up on the loveseat, the same place I sat when I first arrived, and watch, mesmerized, horrified, next to the pile of her regular clothes that have been discarded in lieu of the gown. She’s wearing the red heels, standing stiff-legged in them.

“Is Sal really gonna be able to take it in fast enough? It’s just that it’s about four sizes too big in the waist. Though it fits just right up top—god, Flannery, when did you grow these tits?”

“I wonder what Callum’s doing right now.”

“Probably getting drunk. All grooms get drunk before the wedding.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to switch and marry Ardan? I saw him naked once….”

“I hope he cleans his house a little. I wouldn’t want to spend my wedding night in Callum’s place as is.”

Flannery’s hair looks stupid in the weird updo one of the girls is tying it into. I want to say something, but I don’t. Besides, this’ll make it easier. If she has to stay with Callum tonight, I’ll be able to run for it since Flannery won’t be guarding me. Just as I’m thinking this, Flannery finds my eyes; she doesn’t say anything before looking away. I reach across the loveseat and slowly, carefully pull Flannery’s knife and Wallace’s key from her discarded jeans’ pocket. It takes me only seconds to tuck them into the back of my bra strap. It takes me even less time than that to be certain that if I need to use the knife—against a werewolf or a human—I will.

Kai and I first heard the story of Emperor Nero from his third violin teacher. He went through them quickly, getting a new one each time he surpassed the previous’s skill. Kai was ambivalent, but I loved the story. A man, standing amid flames, playing the violin. Fearless, so enamored with his music that he didn’t care about the danger.

Of course, then we were told that some suspect he set the fire. He let Rome burn so he could tear down the charred shells of homes to build a new palace. Nero lit the stadium where they held chariot races on fire first, but the rest of Rome was quick to follow. The fire burned for days. I wondered if Nero played the violin the entire time. I wondered if he played it because he didn’t care, of if he didn’t set the fire and played it because it was the only thing that kept him from going mad, watching his empire become ash.

Kai didn’t wonder anything like that. To him, it was just a story—and a likely untrue one at that. He got hung up on the fact that violins weren’t even around in ancient Rome, so Nero couldn’t have played one. It was a detail that didn’t matter much to me, so while Kai practiced and I sat in Grandma Dalia’s mauve recliner, I thought about Nero. I thought about him as a villain, as a hero, but mostly as a man.

Maybe all you can do, when your world is burning, is hold on to the thing you love the most.

The bonfire is huge, the crowd feasting on fresh bread and a few whole chickens. Flannery and Callum sit in throne-like chairs a few dozen yards from the bonfire, where people run up to give them gifts and advice, or to make lewd jokes to Callum. His face looks as contorted and uncomfortable as hers; they clasp hands tightly, as if they’re afraid to let go. Callum is wearing a dress shirt, though the collar buttons are missing and he has the sleeves rolled up, and I have to admit, Flannery looks beautiful. Awkward, but beautiful.