She’s human now, and she finally looks it. In the creases on her forehead. In the tiny lines edging her eyes. Those lines are perpetual. Not just when she’s worried anymore.
I stand at the table with three dinner plates in my hands, watching as Tamra waves her flyer, deftly avoiding Mom’s question. “Come on, Mom. It looks great on college applications.”
I lower my head. Center a plate on the placemat. Hide rolling my eyes.
This is what Tamra wants. I should try to support her. Try not to choke on the image of Tamra hanging out with Brooklyn and her sisters of cheer.
“It’s a lot of money, Tamra.”
“Money we don’t have,” I can’t resist adding. Because I see how hard Mom works. Stale cigarette smoke from the casino clings to her, even after she showers and washes her hair.
It’s there. Deep in her pores.
Tamra glares at me. I stare back, undaunted. Doesn’t she see the shadows under Mom’s eyes? Doesn’t she hear her come in at five in the morning?
“I can get a part-time job. Please, Mom. Just sign the form. We don’t even know if I’ll make the team. We only have to pay if I do.” The desperation in Tamra’s voice is something new. Before, with the pride, I had only ever seen it in her eyes. Never heard it in her voice. Back home she wanted a lot of things, but she was resigned to life the way it was. I wonder why she wants this so badly?
I blurt the question out without thinking.
Tamra looks at me, her eyes hard chips of amber. “It’s something I never even hoped for—and now it’s possible.”
And I get it. She can have it now. Normal. Acceptance. For however long we last in Chaparral. I feel the burden of that. I know it’s largely up to me whether things work out here.
This is a piece of her fantasy. The fantasy of being a normal girl with a normal life. For Tamra, cheerleading is the piece of ordinary she wants.
Mom stares at the permission form, the grooves around her mouth deepening. If she signs, Tamra can try out, and if she makes the squad, we’ll have to come up with the money for uniforms and supplies.
I have no doubt Tamra will make the squad. I watch, curious to see what Mom will do, if she will surrender to at least one daughter. I know this is different, but I can’t help thinking, Why doesn’t she care what I want?
Mom nods, the motion weary, defeated. “Okay.”
And in that moment, I feel defeated, too.
My life has fallen into a quiet pattern since Will left. School, dinner with Mom, homework, listening to music and watching TV with Tamra.
I walk the halls like a coldly functioning robot. My draki continues its slow descent.
Suffering in silence, that part of me fades into dark. Like a healing wound, it throbs less, hurts less, feels less. Wildly, I want to tear it open, rip wide the jagged edges…make it bleed. Make it remember.
By Friday I wonder if something hasn’t happened to Will. Almost every moment I wonder where he is, where he hunts. My pride isn’t the only one out there, but we don’t interact with others so I don’t know where they are—where Will might be.
It’s wrong of me, but I hope his family is hunting another pride. Just not mine. I want those I left behind safe—Az, Nidia…even Cassian.
When it comes to Will, my feelings are terrible and confusing. To want him safely back one moment, but pray that whatever draki he hunts is safe and free in the next. The two wishes conflict.
I convince myself my pride is safe. We aren’t a weak species. We have our talents. Our strengths. When innocent hikers stumble past Nidia’s mists, she shades their memories and guides them back out. But hunters?
I cringe. It’s one of those things never discussed, but always understood. The pride must be protected. Even if Nidia shaded a hunter’s memory, he could return to hunt our kind.
He would forever be a predator.
A predator that needed destroying.
Before now, I never thought anything wrong with the practice. Especially after Dad. But now…
I see only Will’s face. At the thought of him dead, my throat aches. For the boy who spared me. The boy whose beauty seems an impossible dream, unreal to me now, so many days since I’ve had my last glimpse of him.
“Hey, Jacinda.”
I look up, startled. The face is familiar. I think she’s in my English class.
“Hi.” I nod at her. Don’t remember her name.
I try to wake up as I move down the hall. Switch off the autopilot. I’ve become like the desert that surrounds me on every side. Dry and barren. Accustomed to living in a state of nothing.
It is this. The quiet pattern that worries me. The lulling tide of acceptance threatening to pull me under. Mom’s right. Nothing like a barren environment to kill off one’s draki.
I can’t stay like this. I can’t remain here. I have to find a way out. I have to fly—have to keep trying.
Before I enter study hall, I take a deep breath. We didn’t see the boys in PE today. They worked in the weight room while we scrimmaged in the gym. I don’t know if Will’s back, but I tell myself it shouldn’t matter either way. I can’t go out with him, can’t let myself rely on him. I won’t.
Big words. I feel like such a fake. Because despite my vow to forget him, I haven’t. I remember everything about him. I feel his absence. Like the loss of shaded skies, mists, and pulsing earth.
He cannot possibly be all that I remember, all that I crave to see again. Even as I know it’s wrong. Even as I know that I must avoid him.
Walking into study hall, my steps falter when I spot Xander and Angus in the back of the room. Cold prickles down my neck.
They’re back.
Immediately, I search for Will. See him nowhere.
My treacherous heart sinks. Xander watches me, his tar black eyes impenetrable. He sends me a hello nod. Angus talks to the girls at the table beside them, his big crushing hands moving the air. He doesn’t notice me.
Only one desperate thought echoes through my mind. No Will. No Will.
I sink onto my stool. Face forward. Catherine hasn’t made it to study hall yet. She has a long trek from the art building.
I rub my hands over my jeans. Everyone begins lining up at the front of the room, eager for a pass, looking for escape. I feel Xander’s stare on my back and consider joining them in line.
He’s just returned from the hunt. Does draki blood, purple and iridescent, stain his hands?
Does he, like a bloodhound, have a nose for prey? For draki? For me? That would explain the avid way he watches me.
The warning bell rings its ear-bleeding screech. I’ve grown accustomed to the sound.
Hardly jerk where I sit. Bleakness swirls through me. I blink once, hard, squeezing my eyes tight. I don’t want to get used to any of this.