Enthralled: Paranormal Diversions (9 page)

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then follow Jeffrey into the darkened room.

LAWRENCE

Juliet isn’t like Jinn. He was cocky, overly sure at first. He always had a plan, till Viola turned it upside down. I’m sure Juliet can take care of herself—she’s a genie, after all. Still, it makes me nervous that I can’t find her, knowing people can see her—I’m more protective than I realized, I guess. I set my wine down on the edge of a table and weave through the small crowd. I keep an eye out for Jeffrey as well, wondering if he’s looking for me.

I hope he is.

JULIET

“I have to say,” Jeffrey muses, “there is no way I would hang these things in my apartment.”

“Yeah . . . me either,” I answer honestly—we don’t really have art in my world. Certainly not art like this.

“Makes me feel sort of mean,” Jeffrey says. “Because it’s not that it isn’t good.”

“No. It’s really good,” I say. I keep watching the doorway for Lawrence, unsure what to do. Jeffrey is looking at me, eyes on mine. His gaze never drops to my body, but his hands do reach out. He grazes my arm with his fingertips. It makes me jump, makes me warm, makes me almost disappear without meaning to.

I could change him. I could change him right now, make him not want me. Make him want Lawrence, even. Maybe I should. It would make Lawrence so happy. He should have someone like Jeffrey, if that’s what he wants.

But that doesn’t seem like a very nice thing to do to someone you’re
interested
in, even if you’re only interested in a kiss.

I can’t help myself. I lean forward a little.

Jeffrey smiles softly and gently, carefully. I squeeze my hands into fists. I shouldn’t do this. Lawrence loves him, or wants to love him or plans to love him. I shouldn’t do this.

Jeffrey kisses me.

His lips brush across mine so easily that I barely know we’ve kissed at all.

Until he pulls away. Until I understand exactly what has just happened.

LAWRENCE

“Hey,” I say to Jeffrey, who is standing in the center of the darkened painting room. He looks at me, eyes confused. “Have you seen Juliet?”

“Actually . . . yes and no,” Jeffrey says. “She was here, like . . . seconds ago. And now she’s gone. I have no idea how she did that. . . .”

Was she called back to Caliban? That’s how it happens— I’ve watched them disappear before. Here one minute, gone the next. Did I somehow get her in trouble? I lick my lips, unsure what to feel—I’m surprised to find I miss her. She’s the first ifrit I’ve ever missed.

“Did she say she had to leave or anything?” I ask, walking toward him—I suppose there’s a chance she just left the party, in which case, I should keep looking. Even though I’m worried, the dryer sheet smell coming off his clothes wraps around me; I take the scent in with a deep breath.

“No . . .” Jeffrey shuffles his feet. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Lawrence. But I think I upset her.”

“How?”

“Well, she’s just . . . she’s beautiful, and I guess . . . we were in here looking at art, and everyone says I need to stop being so shy all the time.”

“I like that you’re shy,” I break in with a smile.

Jeffrey gives me a strange look before continuing. “So I . . . well . . .”

I blink, waiting.

“I kissed her,” Jeffrey finishes, deflating. “Nothing serious, just really quick, and then she was . . . gone.”

I don’t move. I can’t move. He kissed her.

Her.

And I guess she got what she wanted, and now she’s gone. She’s no different from the other ifrit after all. Just as selfish. Just as cold. I grit my teeth and try not to look at Jeffrey, try not to think of his lips on hers instead of mine. Her; he wanted her, not me. I feel sick.

“I know, it was stupid. I’m sorry,” Jeffrey says, holding up his hands.

“No. It’s fine. She’s fine, I’m sure.”

Jeffrey doesn’t seem to know what to say. Neither do I, as I’m way too busy replaying every time he’s looked at me. Every time he’s invited me somewhere. Every time I clearly interpreted a friendly gesture as a romantic one. I want to smash my forehead against the nearest painting, crush the canvas and tear it to shreds with my fingers.

“Maybe we should look for her,” I suggest flatly. I lie to myself: I don’t actually care where she is. I don’t care where Jeffrey goes looking for her.

“Okay,” Jeffrey says, and it’s obvious he knows something is wrong. He steps away from me, stealing the scent of his clothes away with him. “I’ll take the upstairs?”

“Sure.”

Jeffrey nods and walks out to look for Juliet, whom I’m sure is long gone. I look at the paintings and try to pick which one would be best for head smashing. I feel stupid. I feel used—she knew how I felt about him. I told her. I am furious, hurt, angry, stupid. I am . . .

Unloved.

I shake my head, clench my fists, and turn to leave. I’ll walk fast, get out the front door, go back to my dorm. I think about calling Viola, but to be honest, I’m not sure I want to talk to someone happily in love at the moment. I take the first angry step toward the door.

“Wait.”

Her voice is small and fragile, but it snares me easily. I whirl around and see her, lurking in a shadowy corner. Her arms are folded and her head is down. She steps toward me. I bite my tongue to keep from snapping. Juliet comes closer, and I finally see, to my surprise, that she’s crying.

JULIET

My kind don’t cry, not really. But when Jeffrey’s lips touched mine . . . I thought of Lawrence’s eyes, of the way he watched Jeffrey, of the thousands of hidden wishes that must be beneath his calm surface, so many of them the same as mine: to understand love. To be loved.

Maybe the kiss worked. Maybe it broke the spell. But maybe the spell wasn’t what I thought it was. I don’t understand love, but I understand pain, I understand regret in a way I didn’t only a few moments ago. And now I’m here, crying in front of a boy I barely know over the love that neither of us have. Our kinds are more alike than we think.

He should yell at me. I wait for it.

“Don’t . . .” Lawrence looks at the ceiling, then his voice softens, defeat still lacing his tone. “Don’t cry.” A couple enters the room; they can’t see me. Lawrence nods his head to the door and mouths, “Let’s go.” I follow him to a side door, and we slink outside into the night.

We’re in a wide brick stairwell, one on the side of the building with an iron railing. Lawrence sighs and sits down on the top step, mouth a firm line. I pause, unsure, then sit down beside him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, winding my fingers through my hair. “I didn’t see the wishes ahead of time. I’d have warned you he wasn’t
interested
in you. Not the way you were interested in him. And the kissing, it just . . . it just happened. . . . I disappeared as soon as I did it, I didn’t know it would feel like this. . . . I didn’t know kissing was like that.” I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to explain myself to him. Everything feels cheap, like a poor imitation of friendship, and I shut my mouth before any more of it escapes.

“Right,” Lawrence says, exhaling. His breath is visible in the chill, fluffy clouds by his lips. “I believe you. I just . . . I don’t know how to make you understand.”

But I do understand now, in a way: I understand that love is not kissing. Love is not movies or laughter or any of the things I so carefully studied. It is something else, and
that’s
what’s still a mystery to me. Lawrence gets it, I can tell—even if he hasn’t experienced it. He gets it in a way I don’t. I wish he would show me, let me into his mind for just a moment.

I look at him meaningfully, desperately, and Lawrence sighs. He closes his eyes, and in one swift movement, his walls collapse.

LAWRENCE

Jinn is the only one who has ever seen my wishes—really seen them. But I give in. I don’t want to fight anymore, don’t want to hold back. I feel spent, like I’m falling to my knees after a race. I’ve always held off the ifrit by keeping a single image alive in the back of my mind—a smooth, white snowscape, one that covers all of my desires.

I let it melt.

I hear Juliet gasp, see her eyes scanning me, like she’s watching too many fireworks at once. I sit still. I know what she’s seeing. I wish for the fairy-tale romance. I wish it involved Jeffrey. I wish it involved anyone, really, that would love me unconditionally, without restraint. I wish for a thousand other things that have nothing to do with love, but I’m sure that at the moment, the wish to be loved is the strongest. I can feel it all around me, like the wish might swallow me whole. I’m not sure if I’m showing her what love is. But at least she can see what wanting it feels like for me. For mortals. I wonder if she’s ever felt like this before.

Juliet reaches forward and gingerly places her fingers on my hand. I turn it, and she responds by sliding her hand down, gripping mine tightly.

“Did you get
some
research out of this, at least?” I ask. My words are supposed to be teasing, but they mostly come out defeated. I manage a weak smile at her, and she sniffles and blinks away a few last tears.

“I guess,” she says, shrugging. “I still don’t understand. But I get the impression no one does.”

“Maybe mortals and immortals aren’t as different as we thought,” I answer. I lift her hand in mine and kiss the back of it. I have to admit, of all the ifrit, she’s the only one that I’ve liked. Even if she kissed Jeffrey. She smiles at me, and for the first time I don’t think she’s analyzing anything, researching anything. She’s just smiling.

The door behind us swings open and, to my surprise, Sampson is there. He looks at me strangely, then takes off his shoe to prop the door and keep it from locking behind him.

“You talking to yourself?” Sampson asks. Juliet jumps up as Sampson sits down beside me on the top step.

“Yeah,” I say instantly. “I do it from time to time. Voices in my head, you know.”

Sampson laughs, bright and powerful. Heat from inside the gallery trickles out and flattens itself against our backs. Juliet, standing a few steps down so that we’re eye level, watches. Her cheeks are chapping in the cold.

“I’m glad you came by. How many of my sculptures are going to give you nightmares?” Sampson asks, grinning. His smile makes me smile back, like I don’t even have a choice in the matter.

“A good half,” I admit.

“Excellent,” Sampson says. “I’ll never be the classic poor, starving artist if I start creating stuff everyone wants in their bedroom.”

“He wants to sit out here with you. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you came in,” Juliet says suddenly. I see her eyes on Sampson, intent, focused, like she’s reading very faraway text. I start to shake my head at her, but her words seem to have thawed me. I lean back a little, exhale.

“I don’t know. That’s the type of stuff certain rock stars might want in their home. I bet if you added a naked girl in the shower of one of those houses, they’d pay you millions.”

“Sculptor of the stars . . .” Sampson nods, thinking it over, then grins again.

“He doesn’t know what to say to you. He wishes you’d tell him more about yourself. Or ask him more about himself. Or anything, really . . .” Juliet’s voice drifts off and she meets my eyes hopefully, almost desperately.

I mouth “thank you” at her, which makes her beam. She glances from me to Sampson a few times, and then vanishes. Emptiness sweeps over me. I turn back to Sampson, who is trying to figure out what’s in the blank space I’m staring at.

“I get distracted easily,” I say, turning my body toward his. “So, are you studying creepy-ass sculpture, or is that concentration not officially offered here?”

JULIET

Here are the things I learned about love:

It involves kissing.

It changes you.

It’s never where you expect it.

Niederwald
by Rachel Vincent

mma, wake up!” I shook her shoulder and she jerked upright, blinking, her normally golden complexion tinted green by the clock numbers blinking in the dashboard.

“Where are we?” she asked, pushing long blond hair from her face as we passed the road sign that answered her question.

NIEDERWALD, TEXAS, POPULATION
542. What the sign didn’t say was that only a dozen or so of those were human.

“We’re still about three hours from home.” After the world’s lamest extra-credit road trip to some bullshit cultural fair. I would
not
be writing the corresponding essay.

“Why are we stopping? Where’s the highway, Sabine?” Emma twisted to stare out the rear windshield, like I-35 might magically reappear.

“Took a detour. I have to do something.” A couple of things, actually. I’d only come with her in the first place because my car wasn’t running and Em’s trip would take her within shouting distance of where I needed to be. But the downside of my free trip to Neiderwald was an entire day spent with my ex’s new girlfriend’s best friend. Em and I had nothing in common other than Nash and Kaylee, and calling the two of us friends would have meant redefining the term entirely.

I turned right into the Sac-N-Pac parking lot, the only break in acres of empty farmland, other than the occasional mobile home and a few houses in clusters too small to be called neighborhoods. I parked in front of the building, a couple of spaces down from several other cars. Two sets of eyes watched me from the first vehicle, colorless reflections of light, and I could feel more from the other cars.

I hadn’t been to Neiderwald in nearly a year, but nothing had changed.

Emma frowned. “Fine, we’ll take a bathroom break. But then I’m driving. No more detours.”

I pulled the keys from the ignition and pointedly shoved them into my pocket, letting a small beat of alarm and intimidation pulse through my carefully constructed mental shields—feeding her fear, like fattening up a cow before the slaughter. A reminder that just because I
hadn’t
turned her into a quaking mass of terror and tears didn’t mean I
couldn’t
. Or wouldn’t.

There were several upsides to being a Nightmare—a
mara
, to the well-informed—but getting my own way was easily the best of them. “This isn’t a pit stop. You’ll have to hold it.”

“Why?” she demanded, and I let that pulse beat a little stronger, but she just stared back at me like she hadn’t even felt it.

“Your ignorance is truly astounding, even for a human.” I leaned toward her until she scooted back against her door, finally properly intimidated. “This is
Niederwald
. Do you know of another place name that sounds like Neiderwald?”

She blinked. Then she blinked again, and I could practically see her connecting the dots, though her confusion never quite cleared. “The Netherworld? Is that really what
Niederwald
means?”

I shrugged. “In German, it means ‘woodlands,’ or something like that. But I think that’s just a coincidence, because
they
aren’t German.” I nodded toward the line of vehicles as their doors started opening. “They aren’t human, either.”

Em glanced at the people getting out of their cars, openly watching us. “Start the car, Sabine.” Her voice was dark and even, but her tense grip on the door handle ruined the calm facade. She knew just enough about my world to know she should be scared.

“Just relax and sit still—this’ll only take a few minutes.”

“What are we
doing
here? I should never have let you come with me!” she barked through clenched teeth.

“
Now
you’re learning. . . .” I reached for the door handle, but her hand closed around my arm.

“What is this place—really?”

I considered not answering, but Emma was stubborn enough that if she thought she was alone and didn’t understand the danger, she might actually get out of the car, just to spite me.

“There are a few places where the barrier between our world and the Netherworld is very thin. Thin enough to be an easy pass-through for some things that normally can’t cross over on their own.” She started to interrupt, but I cut her off. “And before you ask, I don’t know why. That’s just the way it is.”

“Niederwald is one of those places?” Emma crossed her arms over her chest, and I could actually see the goose bumps forming. “So, hellions can . . . ?”

“No,” I said. “Hellions can’t cross over, barrier or no barrier. But a lot of other things can.” I nodded toward the small group now forming in front of the store. “They’re here to keep us on this side, and everyone else on the other side.”

“Like border patrol,” Em said.

“Yeah. I guess.” I twisted the small silver hoop in the cartilage of my right ear. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay in the car. And in case you’re tempted to do something stupid, take a look.” I nodded over her shoulder at the locals.

Tall, thin, and angular, they’d probably pass as human at a glance. Or at a distance. But up close, they were disproportionate enough to terrify someone like Emma, whose knowledge of the supernatural world included only the censored bits her
bean sidhe
best friend deemed psychologically safe.

The eyes watching us were too small and round. A woman sitting on the hood of her car—Nea—tapped fingers that were too long and pointy. Almost like claws. Her shoulders were too broad and her neck too thin. Humanity was a thin disguise on her, and one she wouldn’t mind shedding, should the need arise.

“What are they?” Emma whispered, and I had to respect the curiosity that ran almost as thick in her voice as the appetizing tremor of her fear. Some humans freak out when they realize they’re not alone in the world, but so far, she’d shown some pretty decent backbone.

“Harpies,” I said, but her blank look spoke volumes and added to my frustration. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you like Kaylee does, so pay attention. Niederwald is the largest harpy settlement in the western hemisphere. They’ve been guarding this thin spot in the barrier for a couple hundred years, and for the most part, people leave them alone, ’cause they’re creepy as hell even if you don’t know they’re not human.”

“No shit.” Emma frowned, openly staring at them now. “What do they . . . do—harpies?” she asked, sneaking another peek at them.

“Not as much as you’d think. They can cross into the Netherworld at will and they have an unfortunate affinity for raw foods.” And I wasn’t talking almonds and broccoli. “Other than that, they like to snatch things.”

Her pale brows rose in what may have been amusement. Or skepticism. “Like, kleptomania?”

“Kinda. Only they don’t hit stores. See how they’re all wearing jackets, even though it’s seventy-five degrees?” I didn’t bother trying to watch them subtly. Our stares were both open and mutual. “That’s to hide their wings.”

She studied the backs of the two girls facing away from us, but with the bulky cut of their jackets, she wouldn’t find any noticeable lumps. “Actual wings? Like, angel or butterfly?”

“Like
harpy
,” I snapped. “Think giant bats.”

“What do they snatch?”

“Whatever catches their interest,” I said, pushing back the urge to take just a
taste
of her fear. “Jewelry, coins, clothes, dolls, pewter Lord of the Rings figurines.”
Dismembered body parts
. . . “But they don’t mess with humans.” Usually. “That would draw too much attention. You should stay in the car, just in case, though.”

“I’m not staying here alone!”

“I’ll be back, and you’ll be fine. Just stay put and try not to freak out on me, okay?”

“No promises,” she whispered, as I got out of the car. When I closed the door, she leaned over the driver’s seat and slapped the lock, then sat with her purse in her lap while I rounded the front of her car toward the flock of harpies watching my approach.

“Sabine Campbell,” Nea said, stepping to the front of the group.

“Yeah. My name hasn’t changed.”

“Neither has anything else. . . .” Nea’s brother, Troy, eyed me up and down, like he’d just invented the whole visual invasion thing. Troy hadn’t changed either.

“Including my standards.” I flipped him off with both hands, then turned back to Nea. “I’m here to see Syrie. I need to ask her something.”

“You still looking for that guy? That
bean sidhe
?” Troy said, but his grin was more malicious than amused. “Don’t give up easy, do you?”

“I
never
give up. But I already found him.”

“Then what’s this about?”

“That’s none of your business,” Nea said, glaring up at her brother, and I was pretty sure that if male harpies weren’t rare to the point of mythological obscurity, she and her flock would have eaten the jackass alive years ago.

Desi, the skinnier girl harpy, tossed long brown hair over her shoulder to reveal a wickedly pointed ear, pierced with a tiny bone—she’d once told me it was a human fingertip—near the top of the cartilage. “Can you pay?”

“If not, I know how you could work off your debt,” Troy suggested, ever eager to flaunt his utter lack of originality.

“What, they’re paying people to neuter harpies now?” I said, both brows raised in challenge, and he hissed, an oddly feline sound coming from someone with wings. “Relax, your balls are safe for the moment.” I slid one hand into my hip pocket and pulled out a plastic test tube I’d taken from the school’s chemistry lab. I held it up to the light flickering overhead, and the harpies leaned forward for a better look at the dark, greenish liquid.

“What is that?” Nea reached for the tube, and I pulled it away.

“Nothing you wanna touch. At least, not at full strength.” I’d kept it in a glass vial at first, until it started eating through the tube. “This is hair from Invidia, a hellion of envy.”

“Hair?” Troy frowned. “That’s a liquid.”

“Congratulations, you’ve mastered at least one state of matter.” I tilted the vial, and the residue it left on the side of the plastic looked even greener and murkier than the bulk sloshing at the bottom. “Invidia’s hair
is
liquid. Like her follicles secrete pure liquid envy—toxic, caustic, and a real bitch to scrub out of leather. I’ve asked around, and everyone says a vial this size is worth way more than a single audience with Syrie. So why don’t you scurry back there and tell her I’m here.”

Troy stared at me for a minute, then gestured for me to follow him until Nea put one arm up to stop us both. “Where did you get hair from a hellion? How do we know that’s not just river water and food coloring?”

“You want a sample?” I gripped the stopper, like I was ready to pull it out. “Fine. But I gotta warn you, this shit sizzles like acid. Plastic is the only thing I’ve found that’ll hold it.”

Nea frowned, a sharp look of frustration on her angular features, but the others all seemed interested. I’d just dangled a very fat carrot—an exotic addition to their collection of . . . stuff—in front of several hungry rabbits. Rabbits with claws, and wings, and teeth that could strip flesh to the bone, no matter what they looked like on this side of the world barrier. I’d seen them on the other side, and without that mask of humanity, harpies were a very scary—and ugly—species.

I slid the vial carefully into my pocket and backed toward the corner of the convenience store, shooting a glance at Emma as I passed her car. “Are you going to take me to Syrie, or do I get to wander back there on my own?”

“That wouldn’t be very smart,” Nea warned.

“Yeah, well, I’m not known for my brains.” I stepped past the corner of the building and could see the house behind it, a hulking outline against the darker patch of woods beyond.

“What’s this you brought with you?” Troy asked, and I looked up to find him running the long, sharp nails of his left hand over the hood, eyeing Emma through her windshield while she stared boldly back at him. “Food or plaything? Or both?”

“Neither. She’s a friend.” For lack of a more accurate description. “And she’s human.” Which meant she was off limits for the harpies. At least, for those playing by the rules. They got to live on our side of the divide on the condition that they only hunt on the other side, to keep from decimating the local population. Or drawing the attention of the human authorities.