Every Other Day
Page 12
Bethany had to literally bite her bottom lip to keep from arguing, and after a long moment, she turned to the boy behind the counter. He immediately melted into a pile of Skate Haven goo on the floor, but managed to pull it together long enough to give her a pair of pristine white skates and a ticket for a free hot chocolate from the snack bar.
Five minutes later, I waddled toward the ice. Out of habit, I scanned the rink’s perimeter and breathed in through my nose, testing the air for even the barest hint of sulfur.
Nothing.
I breathed out, and as my breath took shape in the air, I tried to remember what it felt like to be the kind of person who didn’t get cold.
Didn’t feel pain.
Never lost a weapon—or her balance.
And then I promptly fell flat on my face. The ice was damp, and for a few seconds, instead of hating the cold, I loved it for the way it banished the heat from my cheeks.
Cold.
That single word was all it took for something deep and fathomless to begin snaking its way up my spine. It felt like losing my body to a black hole, like lying on a sandy beach and absorbing warmth from every individual grain of sand.
“Is it working?” Skylar asked from up above me. I reached for the wall and pulled myself unsteadily back to my feet.
“I don’t know.”
The beast inside of me was quiet and still, but I knew it was there, and I knew with unnatural certainty that no amount of subzero temperatures would make it leave me. It wasn’t going to jump ship and take on a new victim.
The two of us were in this until one of us died.
They—called—lonely. You.
The voice in my mind was strong and velvet-smooth, but the words were broken. I found myself wanting to listen, to fill in the blanks, but after a moment, there was silence.
“Still possessed?” Bethany asked, gliding past me and circling back with the ease of an Olympic contender.
“Still possessed,” I told her dryly, “but I think the cold is doing something.”
Goose bumps dotted the flesh on my arms, and I glanced back over my shoulder, half expecting to see someone or something standing behind me.
Lonely Ones.
The phrase was suddenly there in my mind, and it brought with it a feeling of déjà vu, like these were words that I’d always known and somewhere along the way had just forgotten.
Logically, I knew that extreme cold slowed down biological processes. Bears and yeti went into hibernation; hikers in snowstorms felt their heart rates plummet. It made sense to think that lower temperatures might delay the progression of my condition.
But that wasn’t what it felt like.
My heart rate wasn’t slowing. The voice in my head wasn’t distant. I was on edge, and it was everything I could do to keep myself from sinking into ready position and preparing my pitifully human frame to lash out.
I had no idea why.
Feel it—taste it—help—you.
“So what now?” Bethany asked, her voice barely penetrating the heady fog in my brain—the sound of his voice, the chills on my skin. “Seriously, K, we skate, and we wait, and … feel free to fill in the blank at any moment.”
This thing is killing you, I told myself. The chupacabra is draining your blood and absorbing your memories, and soon, there won’t be anything left of you at all.
The cold, hard truth should have snapped me out of it, but the presence in my mind seemed to wrap itself around my physical body, my wrists and ankles, my waist, my neck.
I didn’t know it would be like this.
I’d thought that I might get light-headed, that my blood pressure might plummet. I’d thought that I might have trouble remembering things, little things.
I thought I’d feel violated.
But I didn’t.
“We need a plan,” I said, just to be saying something, to prove to myself that I still could. That I was in charge, and that whatever I was feeling was nothing.
“What do you mean we need a plan?” Bethany asked. “Don’t you already have one?” She didn’t wait for me to reply. “I knew it! You’re in over your head, you’re scared, you’re stupid, and we’re ice-skating. That’s—”
Skylar elbowed Bethany in the stomach, and the older girl amended her words.
“—that’s not the most helpful thing in the world to point out, so I won’t.”
“I do have a plan,” I said softly. “Sort of. It’s just that my plan requires making it to sunrise, and right now …”
I couldn’t swear that I’d make it.
Once I gave in to the siren call in my subconscious, I wasn’t sure I’d want to.
“You’ll make it.” Skylar smiled and nodded, like the very act of doing so could make her words true.
“What are you going to do at sunrise?”
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that Bethany was still asking questions, just like it probably didn’t surprise her when all she got from me was silence in response. Luckily, Skylar didn’t leave the two of us in a standoff for long.
“In the old myths, chupacabras were a variant of the whole vampire thing, and vampires turn to ash in the sun, right? I mean, myths almost never get things entirely right, but even Darwin used them to write The Demon’s Descent.” Skylar was in full-on babble mode, and Bethany and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “So if Kali says she has a way to get rid of a chupacabra at sunrise, I believe her.”
“Then why, pray tell, didn’t you just leave that thing in me?” The words burst angrily out of Bethany’s mouth, a scowl slashing its way across her face with the brutality of a disfiguring scar. “If you could have just gotten rid of it at sunrise, why couldn’t I have been the one who risked not living that long? When you said you could help me, I didn’t know you meant like this, and by the time I did … I couldn’t stop you. I tried, but you wouldn’t let me.” She advanced on me, Hell on Ice Skates, like a cobra descending on its prey.
What was I supposed to say? Unless I wanted to admit that my “plan” for sunrise involved letting my own monstrous nature take its course, I couldn’t answer her questions. So I said nothing, and Bethany closed the space between us, looking like she was going to burst into tears or rip out my esophagus in a fit of fury—I wasn’t sure which.
“Did it talk to you?” I asked her, stalling for time.
“Did what talk to me?”
My arms encircled my torso, and one of my sleeves drooped down over my chilled skin. “What do you think?”
I hadn’t realized that talking about this would feel like peeling back a layer of clothing, a layer of skin.
“Chupacabras don’t talk, Kali. They’re like psychic, preternatural ticks. They don’t even have brains.”
I averted my eyes, and Bethany exchanged looks with Skylar.
“Does the chupacabra talk to you?” Skylar asked, managing to keep her voice pleasantly neutral.
Yes, it does. He says his name is Zev.
Needless to say, I didn’t allow those words to exit my mouth. Now I knew for sure. The things I was feeling, the voice I’d heard—none of this was normal.
“Of course the chupacabra doesn’t talk to me,” I said, trying to work up a good scoff. “I was just messing with Bethany.”
“Hey!”
Thankful that she’d taken the bait, I asked another pointed question, one that wouldn’t make the two of them think I was a total head case. “Bethany, what do you know that I don’t?”
I wasn’t convinced that Skylar was psychic—even just a little—but anyone who could survive being the target of the high school hit squad for six months had to have a few cards up her sleeve. In the car, she’d said that Bethany knew something about our situation that I didn’t, and as long as I was opting for distraction, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“So, what?” Bethany retorted, confirming my suspicions. “You can have your secrets, but I can’t have mine?”
Feel it—coming—you.
The words rolled over me, and I could feel my pupils dilating, my back arching as the desire to hear entire sentences instead of broken, scattered words surged anew.
Five minutes later, I waddled toward the ice. Out of habit, I scanned the rink’s perimeter and breathed in through my nose, testing the air for even the barest hint of sulfur.
Nothing.
I breathed out, and as my breath took shape in the air, I tried to remember what it felt like to be the kind of person who didn’t get cold.
Didn’t feel pain.
Never lost a weapon—or her balance.
And then I promptly fell flat on my face. The ice was damp, and for a few seconds, instead of hating the cold, I loved it for the way it banished the heat from my cheeks.
Cold.
That single word was all it took for something deep and fathomless to begin snaking its way up my spine. It felt like losing my body to a black hole, like lying on a sandy beach and absorbing warmth from every individual grain of sand.
“Is it working?” Skylar asked from up above me. I reached for the wall and pulled myself unsteadily back to my feet.
“I don’t know.”
The beast inside of me was quiet and still, but I knew it was there, and I knew with unnatural certainty that no amount of subzero temperatures would make it leave me. It wasn’t going to jump ship and take on a new victim.
The two of us were in this until one of us died.
They—called—lonely. You.
The voice in my mind was strong and velvet-smooth, but the words were broken. I found myself wanting to listen, to fill in the blanks, but after a moment, there was silence.
“Still possessed?” Bethany asked, gliding past me and circling back with the ease of an Olympic contender.
“Still possessed,” I told her dryly, “but I think the cold is doing something.”
Goose bumps dotted the flesh on my arms, and I glanced back over my shoulder, half expecting to see someone or something standing behind me.
Lonely Ones.
The phrase was suddenly there in my mind, and it brought with it a feeling of déjà vu, like these were words that I’d always known and somewhere along the way had just forgotten.
Logically, I knew that extreme cold slowed down biological processes. Bears and yeti went into hibernation; hikers in snowstorms felt their heart rates plummet. It made sense to think that lower temperatures might delay the progression of my condition.
But that wasn’t what it felt like.
My heart rate wasn’t slowing. The voice in my head wasn’t distant. I was on edge, and it was everything I could do to keep myself from sinking into ready position and preparing my pitifully human frame to lash out.
I had no idea why.
Feel it—taste it—help—you.
“So what now?” Bethany asked, her voice barely penetrating the heady fog in my brain—the sound of his voice, the chills on my skin. “Seriously, K, we skate, and we wait, and … feel free to fill in the blank at any moment.”
This thing is killing you, I told myself. The chupacabra is draining your blood and absorbing your memories, and soon, there won’t be anything left of you at all.
The cold, hard truth should have snapped me out of it, but the presence in my mind seemed to wrap itself around my physical body, my wrists and ankles, my waist, my neck.
I didn’t know it would be like this.
I’d thought that I might get light-headed, that my blood pressure might plummet. I’d thought that I might have trouble remembering things, little things.
I thought I’d feel violated.
But I didn’t.
“We need a plan,” I said, just to be saying something, to prove to myself that I still could. That I was in charge, and that whatever I was feeling was nothing.
“What do you mean we need a plan?” Bethany asked. “Don’t you already have one?” She didn’t wait for me to reply. “I knew it! You’re in over your head, you’re scared, you’re stupid, and we’re ice-skating. That’s—”
Skylar elbowed Bethany in the stomach, and the older girl amended her words.
“—that’s not the most helpful thing in the world to point out, so I won’t.”
“I do have a plan,” I said softly. “Sort of. It’s just that my plan requires making it to sunrise, and right now …”
I couldn’t swear that I’d make it.
Once I gave in to the siren call in my subconscious, I wasn’t sure I’d want to.
“You’ll make it.” Skylar smiled and nodded, like the very act of doing so could make her words true.
“What are you going to do at sunrise?”
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that Bethany was still asking questions, just like it probably didn’t surprise her when all she got from me was silence in response. Luckily, Skylar didn’t leave the two of us in a standoff for long.
“In the old myths, chupacabras were a variant of the whole vampire thing, and vampires turn to ash in the sun, right? I mean, myths almost never get things entirely right, but even Darwin used them to write The Demon’s Descent.” Skylar was in full-on babble mode, and Bethany and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “So if Kali says she has a way to get rid of a chupacabra at sunrise, I believe her.”
“Then why, pray tell, didn’t you just leave that thing in me?” The words burst angrily out of Bethany’s mouth, a scowl slashing its way across her face with the brutality of a disfiguring scar. “If you could have just gotten rid of it at sunrise, why couldn’t I have been the one who risked not living that long? When you said you could help me, I didn’t know you meant like this, and by the time I did … I couldn’t stop you. I tried, but you wouldn’t let me.” She advanced on me, Hell on Ice Skates, like a cobra descending on its prey.
What was I supposed to say? Unless I wanted to admit that my “plan” for sunrise involved letting my own monstrous nature take its course, I couldn’t answer her questions. So I said nothing, and Bethany closed the space between us, looking like she was going to burst into tears or rip out my esophagus in a fit of fury—I wasn’t sure which.
“Did it talk to you?” I asked her, stalling for time.
“Did what talk to me?”
My arms encircled my torso, and one of my sleeves drooped down over my chilled skin. “What do you think?”
I hadn’t realized that talking about this would feel like peeling back a layer of clothing, a layer of skin.
“Chupacabras don’t talk, Kali. They’re like psychic, preternatural ticks. They don’t even have brains.”
I averted my eyes, and Bethany exchanged looks with Skylar.
“Does the chupacabra talk to you?” Skylar asked, managing to keep her voice pleasantly neutral.
Yes, it does. He says his name is Zev.
Needless to say, I didn’t allow those words to exit my mouth. Now I knew for sure. The things I was feeling, the voice I’d heard—none of this was normal.
“Of course the chupacabra doesn’t talk to me,” I said, trying to work up a good scoff. “I was just messing with Bethany.”
“Hey!”
Thankful that she’d taken the bait, I asked another pointed question, one that wouldn’t make the two of them think I was a total head case. “Bethany, what do you know that I don’t?”
I wasn’t convinced that Skylar was psychic—even just a little—but anyone who could survive being the target of the high school hit squad for six months had to have a few cards up her sleeve. In the car, she’d said that Bethany knew something about our situation that I didn’t, and as long as I was opting for distraction, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“So, what?” Bethany retorted, confirming my suspicions. “You can have your secrets, but I can’t have mine?”
Feel it—coming—you.
The words rolled over me, and I could feel my pupils dilating, my back arching as the desire to hear entire sentences instead of broken, scattered words surged anew.
