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Authors: Francesca Lia Block
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wasn’t ready. I looked away.I stood up. “I’m not sure I can find my way home.”
“My boys will take you,” Sasha said. “Later. We need to talk.” She reached out her hand and I saw the long middle finger again like an accusation. She parted her lips and I saw her small, sharp white teeth.
Suddenly I was so afraid I could hardly breathe.
I stood up and went to the door. She followed me. I heard her make a sound, a soft howling noise. The night was as silvery as her hair, an almost full moon so bright that even through the thick trees it shone. I looked at the woman with the long fingers and the sharp teeth and I started to run.
I didn’t know where I was going. I kept running, though, wanting to get out of the wood; it wasn’t a safe place anymore. It held the secret to who I was and I didn’t want it now.
As I ran I heard footsteps behind me. They grew faster. The footsteps caught up and then they were all around me. Fear slammed my chest. They would take me down, these creatures. They would eat me alive. I would be the next one dead. My father would find my eviscerated body and try to solve the case. Was the moon full? It was almost full. It would be full the next night.
But then I was running with the footsteps, not away. They did not catch me. They surrounded mein a pack and led me on.
The footsteps belonged to men, seven young men with dark hair and pale golden eyes that flashed in the dark. A surge of freedom leaped in my chest as I kept pace with them. They were fast, like me, strong, like me. Sometimes one would look back and smile whitely at me with Sasha’s small, sharp teeth. I wondered if I was dreaming. I felt my heartbeat in my feet as if my center was low to the ground and the earth was guiding me.
We reached the edge of the forest. I heard soft laughter, the snap of branches. I stopped, bent over, panting, out of breath.
When I looked up the boys were standing there, watching me.
My brothers, I thought.
And I was relieved. And terrified.
I recognized them from before; I had seen them all before.
It was at the party where Carl Olaf kissed me. They were the boys I had seen on the road; I had never forgotten them. I had dreamed about them, too, especially the tallest one, the one who had looked back at me that night. About once a year I had a dream that he was in my bedroom, pawing through the diary I always kept by my bed. One morning I woke up to find it open, though I didn’t remember leaving it like that.
The tallest boy, the one who had looked back, came forward and held out his hand. When I extended mine tentatively he took it and kissed it. I could feel the heat of his lips even after he had moved his mouth away.
“This is Victor,” said one of them, a slightly smaller version of the first. “I am Sebastian.”
A thinner boy danced forward, grinning, and took my hand next. “Felix.”
“Hello,” I said.
Sebastian said, “Marcos,” and a broadly builtboy nodded his head at me.
Sebastian said, “Gregory and Frederick,” and identical boys also nodded.
The smallest boy, who looked a lot like a smiling Victor, shook my hand vigorously. “I’m Amorus.”
I smiled a little. Part of me wanted to pat his head.
Then Victor turned and the others turned with him, curving their spines around slowly until they faced the trees. He stopped and looked back at me. “I have been waiting for years to be formally introduced to you, Olivia,” he said. “You are a rare thing. We are at your service.” Then he was gone.
I had been mystified by this boy before, when he had seemed to read my mind on the road four years ago, mystified enough to continue dreaming about him, even though I had tried to forget him. Now he had found me, and he had remembered me, or at least it seemed that way, by what he had said about being formally introduced. But what did he mean— rare thing —and why was he at my service? He was beautifuland interested in me, which should have been enough to
“My boys will take you,” Sasha said. “Later. We need to talk.” She reached out her hand and I saw the long middle finger again like an accusation. She parted her lips and I saw her small, sharp white teeth.
Suddenly I was so afraid I could hardly breathe.
I stood up and went to the door. She followed me. I heard her make a sound, a soft howling noise. The night was as silvery as her hair, an almost full moon so bright that even through the thick trees it shone. I looked at the woman with the long fingers and the sharp teeth and I started to run.
I didn’t know where I was going. I kept running, though, wanting to get out of the wood; it wasn’t a safe place anymore. It held the secret to who I was and I didn’t want it now.
As I ran I heard footsteps behind me. They grew faster. The footsteps caught up and then they were all around me. Fear slammed my chest. They would take me down, these creatures. They would eat me alive. I would be the next one dead. My father would find my eviscerated body and try to solve the case. Was the moon full? It was almost full. It would be full the next night.
But then I was running with the footsteps, not away. They did not catch me. They surrounded mein a pack and led me on.
The footsteps belonged to men, seven young men with dark hair and pale golden eyes that flashed in the dark. A surge of freedom leaped in my chest as I kept pace with them. They were fast, like me, strong, like me. Sometimes one would look back and smile whitely at me with Sasha’s small, sharp teeth. I wondered if I was dreaming. I felt my heartbeat in my feet as if my center was low to the ground and the earth was guiding me.
We reached the edge of the forest. I heard soft laughter, the snap of branches. I stopped, bent over, panting, out of breath.
When I looked up the boys were standing there, watching me.
My brothers, I thought.
And I was relieved. And terrified.
I recognized them from before; I had seen them all before.
It was at the party where Carl Olaf kissed me. They were the boys I had seen on the road; I had never forgotten them. I had dreamed about them, too, especially the tallest one, the one who had looked back at me that night. About once a year I had a dream that he was in my bedroom, pawing through the diary I always kept by my bed. One morning I woke up to find it open, though I didn’t remember leaving it like that.
The tallest boy, the one who had looked back, came forward and held out his hand. When I extended mine tentatively he took it and kissed it. I could feel the heat of his lips even after he had moved his mouth away.
“This is Victor,” said one of them, a slightly smaller version of the first. “I am Sebastian.”
A thinner boy danced forward, grinning, and took my hand next. “Felix.”
“Hello,” I said.
Sebastian said, “Marcos,” and a broadly builtboy nodded his head at me.
Sebastian said, “Gregory and Frederick,” and identical boys also nodded.
The smallest boy, who looked a lot like a smiling Victor, shook my hand vigorously. “I’m Amorus.”
I smiled a little. Part of me wanted to pat his head.
Then Victor turned and the others turned with him, curving their spines around slowly until they faced the trees. He stopped and looked back at me. “I have been waiting for years to be formally introduced to you, Olivia,” he said. “You are a rare thing. We are at your service.” Then he was gone.
I had been mystified by this boy before, when he had seemed to read my mind on the road four years ago, mystified enough to continue dreaming about him, even though I had tried to forget him. Now he had found me, and he had remembered me, or at least it seemed that way, by what he had said about being formally introduced. But what did he mean— rare thing —and why was he at my service? He was beautifuland interested in me, which should have been enough to
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