The truth slams into me: I didn't imagine that man at the airport.
I didn't imagine the way my skin felt each time I saw him.
I didn't imagine that dust or make up the words in that book.
The sound of large wings slashing through the air makes me look up. An eagle flies over my head and then ducks into the trees. Its white head gleams.
"Stupid," I say. "I'm so stupid. I probably just heard the eagle."
If my dad were here he'd laugh at what a wimp I'm being. I laugh at what a wimp I'm being and I keep running. My breath comes out in ragged puffs. I push it in and out, focus on my feet.
"Zara!"
I stop. Anger fills me. To hell with wimp. To hell with Booker T. quotes.
"What?"
I plant my feet and wait.
The cold air chills me. I shiver. My hands turn into fists.
"What do you want?" I yell. "Why arc you following me?"
I force my eyes wide open and look for something, Hashing my light around. What am I looking for?
Maybe a man? Maybe a man in a dark European suit? Maybe the kind of man who points at planes and makes your skin feel like it has become a spider parade route?
The forest seems to look with me. Each tree branch reaches out as if trying to sense what is there in the road with me. Then something in the woods moves. I grab a stick from the side of the road, hold it in front of me, and turn to face the noise. The light swings with me and I keep searching. It isn't a real noise, more like a sense, a feeling of movement.
"I'm not scared," I say, staring into the side of the road. "Just come out and talk to me. I've been reading about you. I found a book."
My voice shakes when I speak. The hand holding the stick is not too steady either.
"Zara," the voice says. "Come to me."
"Right."
"Please."
"No," I say. "You want to talk, you come out here."
The eagle screams out a warning.
Something snaps in the woods behind me, the opposite direction of the voice and the first noise. I twist around, ready for anything-crazy men, wolves, bears, dinosaurs.
"I know you're a freaking pixie, and if you think that scares me, you're stupid!" I yell. "And I know that you're following me."
The woods are silent. The spider feeling goes away.
"What? You just leave? You're toying with me? That is so lame."
Nothing.
"If you want me to be your stupid queen you should stop hiding. But I've got to tell you something, Mr.
Pixie Guy, there will be no more torturing boys while I'm here! Got it?" Anger hits me in the gut and I roar, really, I just roar like some sort of crazy actor in a wrestling match. I scream out my rage in some steroidal guttural way. I came out here because I want to findhim, because I want to know what's real, because I want to stop it.
Blinding light flashes into my eyes and a MINI Cooper engine roars as it rounds the curve in the road. A horn blares and I jump sideways out of the way and into the ditch. A rock scrapes my cheek. It takes me a second to figure out what happened. I stand up. I've dropped the stick. The world waves in front of me, hazy and unfocused. The light falls off my head and I can't find it.
"Zara!" Nick slams the door of his now parked car. He rushes to me and stands in front of me. I can't see his features because of the headlights shining behind him. He is just a massive silhouette, but I'd know that silhouette anywhere.
"What are you doing out here?" His voice comes out angry.
My voice is whisper weak. "I wanted to find him."
"What?" His hands ball into fists and his whole body quakes. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
I shrink back. Nobody has ever yelled at me like that. Never.
He's so mad, I almost expect him to hit me. I must have swayed because he grabs me, puts an arm around my waist, and leads me toward the MINI.
"I just wanted to stop it. I wanted to save someone like I couldn't save my…"
"I'll take you home," he says, a lot more quietly.
The inside of his car smells like him, like pine wood and the sea. I touch my face. Blood covers my fingers.
Nick grabs a wad of tissues and presses them against my cheek.
"It's okay," I say.
His eyes tell a different story.
"Don't be mad at me." I move my fingers up to the tissue against my cheek. My fingers graze his fingers.
Something electric-good and shocky-surges through me. Maybe he feels it too, because he pulls away.
He stares at the blood on his fingers and his jaw hardens.
"Lock your door," he orders.
I do.
He puts the car in drive and takes me to Betty's. It doesn't take long, but he doesn't say anything the entire way and the silence presses against me.
Everything inside of me tingles and waits and dreads.