Starfall (6 page)

“Do you have to?”

Archie's voice is like a vise that comes in between Caleb and me and pries us apart. I self-consciously try to tuck my shirt into my jeans until I realize I deliberately chose this top because it just skims my low-rise jeans. Caleb acts in a similar way, but he's got reason; he's trying to wipe my lip gloss from his lips with the back of his hand. Of course he just smears the glossy stuff all around his puffed-up lips, so he looks even sexier than he did when he was holding me a few seconds ago. Not that any of our post-make-out tidying up makes any difference. Archie isn't repulsed by our canoodling; he's upset that he and Caleb won't get to platonicanoodle like they used to. This is the third time this week that Archie's been moved to tears thinking about Caleb's move to a higher educational plateau.

“Bells, I know this is a party, and I don't want to bring you down,” Archie rambles. “But I don't know if I can take another breakup.”

We all know that he and Napoleon didn't break up, but there's no way that I'm going to correct him. When Caleb wraps Archie in a bear hug, I know Caleb's not going to reinvent himself as a linguistics tutor either.

“Winter, I'm only an hour away,” Caleb says. “You can visit me any time.”

Wrestling free of Caleb's stronghold, Archie continues to whine. I know that he's being serious, but I'm finding it hard not to laugh at his dramatics. “But you're premed,” Archie whines. “You're not going to have time for me.”

Caleb got a scholarship, which is paying most of his first-year tuition, which will be renewed the following year, as long as he maintains a 3.5 grade average. It's like a scholastic Band-Aid, apply pressure and repeat. Archie's right; Caleb is going to be quite a busy freshman and probably won't have time for his friends. Or his girlfriend. Thanks a lot, Archie! I didn't think depression was contagious. Or incurable.

“Again?!”

We all turn around, expecting to find Arla mocking Archie's most recent mini-breakdown like a good friend should, but then I see that she's trying to prevent the most recent mini-break-in.

“You are like Cirque du So What!” she says. “Seriously, Nadine, when are you going to learn that you're not wanted around here?”

When perhaps the rest of the crowd learns it.

“Hi, Nadine,” Archie says. His voice is quiet, but not shy. He's not trying to make a statement, but he also doesn't care who hears him.

“Hi, Archie,” Nadine replies sweetly. “It's good to see you again.”

Then she does something so natural, yet so abhorrent that I grab Caleb's arm just for support so I don't topple over. She rubs her protruding stomach with her hand without taking her gaze off of Archie.

I don't need to look into a mirror to know that my face is almost as white as Archie's. Digging my fingers deeper into Caleb's flesh, I make a very selfish choice: If Nadine's baby's father has to be either Archie or Caleb, I pray that it's Archie. I don't know what type of person that makes me, perhaps merely an honest one, but thinking of my boyfriend being seduced by Nadine's disgusting spirit makes me sick. When she walks toward us, her actions make me feel violent.

Involuntarily, I look down at my arm, and I expect to see fur and claws and bones pointing in the wrong direction; that's how consumed with rage I am. But nothing has changed, at least not with me. When Nadine presents Caleb with a gift, beautifully wrapped in red, shiny paper and topped with a silver bow, all the venom racing through my body does some transmutation thing to pierce Caleb's flesh and make him speak to Nadine in a way I've never heard before. He doesn't raise his voice; very few people in the room can really hear what he's saying. But his words sound like the first cracklings of an uncontrollable inferno.

“You listen to me, Nadine, and you listen good,” Caleb starts. “I do not accept your gift, nor do I accept your friendship. In fact, I don't want anything from you except your promise that you will stay out of our lives forever.”

He doesn't wait for a reply, but leans in a little bit closer to her. The unruly curls on his forehead dangle in the air as they usually do, but instead of appearing harmless, they look like coiled daggers ready to expand and strike when their master gives the order.

“I would say that you're a despicable human being,” Caleb seethes. “But we all know that you're not even human.”

If Caleb's words sting, Nadine doesn't show it; her expression is impenetrable until her lips slither to the sides as if someone is forcing them apart, and she smiles. She tilts her head toward Caleb and finally speaks. “Neither is your girlfriend.”

Caleb takes a step forward, and I increase the pressure on his arm. I don't want him to start a fight here that could get someone killed.

“Only because of you and your psychotic grandmother!”

Nadine's smile remains, but her eyes are filled with hatred. Oh how I wish my body could change at will; one slice against her flesh and I would rip open her stomach and let the baby she's carrying tumble to the floor like garbage. Oh my God! What the hell am I thinking? Could I possibly be capable of such a heinous act? Are these my thoughts or is it just because I'm in Nadine's presence that I'm becoming as vicious as she is? But how can someone be vicious while she's laughing?

“Well, you have that right,” Nadine cackles. “My grandmother has been known to go a little psycho from time to time.”

Now laughter and the smile are gone, and only the real Nadine is left behind.

“Then again,” she adds, “so have I.”

Silver light rushes out of Nadine's body like a sudden fog, but seconds after it hits the air it changes color. Gone is the silver starlight born millions of miles overhead within the constellation Orion, and in its place are beams of black energy, just like the ones that pour out of Luba's diseased flesh. I don't know if Nadine has chosen this change or if the choices she's made lately—working with her family to kill Rayna, going witch-rogue and killing Napoleon herself—have made the light turn on its own, but it's clear that any goodness that was within her has fled.

No one else seems to bear witness to this energy display, but it definitely has a target: Archie. Why does she want to hurt Archie? He's the only one who's been borderline nice to her for weeks. It doesn't make sense. Neither do Caleb's actions.

In one graceful move, Caleb breaks free from my hold and stands in front of Archie just before Nadine's determined black light can wrap itself around Archie's body. Caleb isn't flinching, he isn't acting surprised in any way, but can he possibly see what I see?

Catching Nadine's stunned expression, I realize that she's as shocked as I am. I always knew that my boyfriend was gifted, but I didn't know he might possess talents of the unexplainable nature. So far he's the only one of us who hasn't been physically changed by Luba's curse in some way, but maybe his innate goodness is all that's needed to protect him from such evil. And all he needs to protect the people he loves.

“Like I said, Nadine,” Caleb repeats. “No one wants you in this town, so why don't you and your demented family just leave?”

This time when Nadine speaks, her face is devoid of emotion and sentiment and feeling. Her flat tone of voice suggests that she makes no attempt to be funny or witty or cruel. She's only being honest. And when you're dealing with a witch, honesty can be terrifying.

“Because, Prince Caleb,” Nadine replies. “We haven't finished what we came to this town to do.”

I've never loved my boyfriend more than I do right now. And if we weren't surrounded by a group of our friends, I'd show him. He'll have to settle for being told.

“I can't believe how you stood up to the unwed witch,” I say. “You really are my prince.”

“And since I do not have a bf,” Arla adds. “You're my prince too. If that's okay with you, Dominy?”

I love a friend who asks permission to borrow my boyfriend.

“Since you asked so nicely,” I say. “We can do a timeshare.”

“What about you, Winter?” Caleb asks. “Do you want a piece of the prince too?”

The way Archie is glaring at Caleb, it looks like he wants a piece of him, but not so he can worship or praise or offer thanks that Caleb's turned the party into a Nadine-free zone. It looks like Archie wants to tear off a piece of Caleb's body and let the bloodied remnants rot in the sun. Immediately, I look at his eyes and expect to see that at least one has changed color and turned black, but all I see is beautiful violet; his eyes look the way they should; it's his face that appears to being wearing a mask of evil. And the mask, unfortunately, seems to fit him really, really well.

Nadine may have left the party, but her presence is still here; she's alive and well and living inside my best friend's body. I don't know if anyone else is picking up on the signs, but Archie's changing; he's acting the same way I did before the curse kicked in. Small, barely there changes that alone don't amount to much, but when placed side by side, spell danger with a capital
O
—for Orion.

How the hell can I rip Nadine's blackened spirit out of Archie? How do I even make him aware of the truth, that he could have Nadinevil running through his veins, without completely destroying his life? Why am I suddenly holding a shot glass filled with blood?

“To my new roommate!” Jeremy howls. “And to Big Red! She's never gonna be the same!”

I look around the room, and, while I was contemplating Archie's relationship with the pregnut, my friends have formed a circle. They're all holding shot glasses like the one that someone must have placed in my hand, and I'm guessing the red liquid is some kind of alcohol laced with tomato juice in honor of the school that will become Caleb's next alma mater. Everyone is laughing and shouting, and stomping their feet in and out of rhythm—Caleb, Arla, Gwen, Jody, my brother, The Worm, The Dandruff King; the only ones not participating in this spontaneous ritual are Archie and me. We're the only unwilling members of this teenage coven.

“And to its newest victim, Caleb!”

Jeremy tosses his head back and practically throws the red liquid into his mouth. When the drink slams into the back of his throat, he shakes his head like some wild animal and grimaces; he's either enjoying the taste or he's repulsed by the sting, I can't tell which. I look around and one by one all my friends imitate Jeremy's actions. Whatever they're drinking it seems to be both foul and potent, but they're not swallowing the contents of the shot glass for its taste, but for what it represents. Rebellion, freedom, adulthood—ideals that are just out of our reach. They remind me of Archie.

I look at my friend from across the circle. He's only a few feet from me, but he might as well be a hologram; his real self could be thousands of miles away. Honestly, I don't know if I'm looking at Archie or Archie 2.0, the version that's been injected with Nadine's special brand of bee venom. His next actions only make me more confused.

Mechanically, Archie raises his glass to his waiting, parted lips. He tips his hand, and the liquid trickles onto his tongue slowly, the complete opposite of the rest of the group's violent motion. I realize I was wrong. Archie isn't like me; he isn't a reluctant participant; he's made a conscious decision to join the frenzy. What's frightening is that he isn't entering the hysteria with wild abandon, but with a quiet calm.

Some of the drink detours and slides down the side of his mouth like blood escaping the site of a wound. The rich red color against Archie's milky white complexion shines like a beacon; it's commanding and beautiful and frightening. Just like my friend.

Stopping the stray liquid with his thumb to thwart its attempt at escape, Archie pushes it back into his mouth and swallows the offering. I watch his Adam's apple expand grotesquely as the fluid travels from his gullet to his gut, and it looks like a snake gorging on a rodent. I don't know if I'm witnessing this with my own eyes or the wolf's, so I'm not sure if Archie's physical deformity is the result of his drinking a funky-looking alcohol-laced concoction or of his symbolic induction into Nadine's evil star worshipping club. But clearly Archie's salvation is not on the top of everyone's minds. My boyfriend, for instance, is preoccupied with more selfish concerns.

“What's wrong, Domgirl?” he asks. “You're not going to toast me?”

Caleb clinks his empty shot glass against my full one, and I see that I'm the only one who hasn't taken a drink in his name. Sliding my arm around his waist, I smile, and in a movement that lies somewhere in between Jeremy's delirium and Archie's deliberation, I empty the contents into my mouth. I was right; it's tomato juice spiked with something alcoholic. I've consumed less than a six-pack of beer in my lifetime, hardly a liquonnoisseur, so I have no idea what's been added to the juice, could be vodka, could be gin; but whatever the secret ingredient is, it's causing a warm sensation to spread throughout my body, and I'm terrified because it feels like I'm going to transform.

I squeeze Caleb's waist harder, my fingers digging deep into his muscular flesh, and I hear the glass shatter at my feet. The echo sounds as if it's coming from somewhere in the distance, somewhere far away and not right here. This can't be happening! I will not allow it to happen!

Instinctively I clutch onto flesh, someone's nearby arm, and when I hear a scream, I force myself to loosen my grip. I need support, not sustenance. I turn to my right, and I see Gwen looking at me nervously. Her mouth opens and closes, forming words, a question, but I can't hear her, so I don't respond. Instead I take action.

Deep within my body I tell the wolf to stop playing games. It is not his time to emerge. Could he be waking up? Has the alcohol nudged him from his slumber or am I simply reminded of what it's like to turn? It doesn't matter; I'm freaking out, and I can't let the wolf grow stronger and take over. I tear the plastic bag off of my head and with one swift slice rip it into shreds with my claw.

“I'm okay.”

The words cut through the air louder than I hoped they would, but at least they're my words, human words, not a wolf's howl. I'm just a girl who had a drink that made her feel weird. And a girl who's suddenly become a punch line.

“Talk about a cheap date!”

“What would you know about a date, Worm?” Jeremy shouts, not so much in my defense, but as a chance to mock someone else.

The laughter camouflages the concern that lingers in Caleb's eyes, but it doesn't wipe it away. Even after the party's over, after everyone else has left, it's still there.

“You kind of scared me back there,” Caleb whispers.

We're up in my bedroom sitting on the floor, our backs pressed into the footboard, our bodies snuggled together. Downstairs, Arla and Barnaby are cleaning up to make the house presentable before Louis gets home. He knew we were having a little party, and after much D2D—daughter-to-daddy—cajoling, he gave in to Arla's request and allowed us to have it unchaperoned if we promised it wouldn't get out of hand and that the house would be cleaned and back to normal by the time he came home. At least two out of three of his kids are holding up their end of the bargain.

Arla sweetly told us that we could have thirty minutes of private time while she and my brother turned into a teenage Hazmat squad to clean up the mess. Arla must have bribed Barnaby into cooperating; he's matured these past few months, but he's hardly Peace Corps–volunteer material. Especially while his big sister is upstairs behind closed doors with her boyfriend. I'm sure whatever Barnaby thinks we're doing is way more X-rated than what's actually happening.

“I scared myself more than anything,” I reply. “The alcohol reminded me of my transformation, and I didn't think my brand of show 'n' tell would be an appropriate party game.”

As he raises his eyebrows and smiles devilishly, Caleb's voice grows even huskier. “We could play my brand of show 'n' tell.”

His lips feel incredibly soft against mine, and when our tongues touch it's hot and wet and exciting. His hand grabs the back of my neck and heat jumps from his body to mine, but this time the feeling is different. I'm not scared, I'm not frightened by what's going to happen next, because I know the wolf is buried deep inside of me. It's just my boyfriend and me.

I push forward and lean into Caleb, pressing my hand on top of his chest, and I can feel his heart beat underneath his flesh; it's like someone is trapped underneath stone and trying to burst free. I smile when I feel his fingers travel up the inside of my shirt and fumble with the clasp of my bra. Gigglaughs slip out of my mouth even though I try to keep them silent, but I can't help thinking that for all Caleb's bravado he's had no practice trying to undo a girl's bra. My gigglaughs get louder when I think that I even wore my slut bra, the one with the super simple clasp in the front for easy access, and he's still having trouble.

Oh, spoke too soon.

Our eyes open at the same time, both of us surprised that Caleb's claimed victory and both hesitant to move forward. I look deep into Caleb's brown eyes, the color of rich earth, and kiss him. It isn't a deep kiss; I wouldn't classify it as a sexikiss, but more of an invitation. I'm giving him my permission to go further. He accepts.

We've done this before, touched each other, but never like this, never as a prelude to something that will become a shared memory. And usually I take charge and take off my bra or my bikini top; this is the first time I let Caleb lead the way. I sigh, and I'm not sure if it's because of the sensation of Caleb's hand moving timidly across my breast or if it's because it's so exhilarating to let someone else have control of my body. For the past two years I've been fiercely protective of maintaining control; it's liberating to be able to let go. And there's no one in this world I trust more than Caleb to give that power to.

“I love you.”

Finally, I accept his words as truth. I don't worry that he's only trying to make me feel loved because I've spent so much time feeling cursed and ugly and alone. I don't wonder if he's going to stop loving me when he goes to college and meets other girls who don't come with wolf-lined baggage. I don't debase his sentiment thinking he's only horny and giving in to lust. I believe what he says, because I feel the same way about him.

“I love you too, Caleb,” I whisper. “I always have, but I was too scared to admit it.”

My confession leaves me overwhelmed, and I have to admit that this feeling is more powerful than anything I've ever experienced. It's stronger than transforming, more frightening than facing Luba, more mind-blowing than finding out the bee and the butterfly are offspring of a distant star, because it's so simple. Only me and Caleb, nothing else. Except, of course, the occupants downstairs.

“Barnaby!”

Arla's voice invades my bedroom like a sledgehammer swatting a fly. It's inappropriate, but it does the trick.

She's quieter now, but with my ESP I can still hear her berating Barnaby for almost dropping her grandmother's crystal bowl on the kitchen floor. Defending himself in a loud whisper, Barnaby tells her that if she was worried about the punch bowl getting broken she should've washed it herself or used the dishwasher to clean it. My brother does have a point, but he's forgetting that Arla has inherited her mother's domestic skills and has no idea how to use a dishwasher. She does, however, have other skills.

“Keep up the sass and I won't cover your ass,” she says.

“You promised!” Barnaby barks.

“You want me to write your history paper on what happened in the world over summer vacation?” she bellows. “Then keep cleaning and make sure you don't break any of my family's heirlooms!”

So that's how she persuaded my brother to act all gentlemanly, with a scholarbribe. It isn't going to help Barnaby learn, but if it gives me some alone time with Caleb, I'm all for it. Problem is we're not alone, and now we both know it.

“Maybe this was a mistake.” Caleb says out loud what I'm thinking.

“But you leave tomorrow!” I say. It's a testament to the honesty of my feeling that I don't cringe at all when I hear how whiny I sound. “Like at eight a.m. to drive to college. This is our last chance.”

Why is Caleb laughing at me when I'm wearing poutface and an unclasped bra?

“It's hardly our last chance, Domgirl,” he states. “Plus, I really don't want sex as a parting gift.”

“I was, um, thinking of it as more of a going away present,” I reply.

Kissing me softly, he leans his forehead against mine. The warm sensation has now been replaced by a calm coolness. Slowly, Caleb reclasps my bra, and I don't know how, but it's an even sexier move than when he finally undid it.

“And I guess I don't want to do it with an audience downstairs,” I add.

Caleb sits up straight and takes my hands in his. “Let's wait until Christmas break,” he suggests. “That way we won't have to rush, and we won't have to worry about disturbing the cleaning staff.”

The anticipation makes a bit of the warm feeling return. “It's a date,” I say.

“Speaking of dates,” Caleb says. “We have an early one tomorrow. I should really be getting home.”