Other (24 page)

I try not to think of all the victims, but their faces drift through my dreams.

Megan brings a huge bouquet of wildflowers for me in the morning. She keeps saying how brave I must have been, until I actually feel somewhat proud for what I did. A nurse pops in to say that Tavian's awake.

“Really?” I say, my heart swelling.

“You can visit him,” the nurse says. “Would you like to?”

“You didn't need to ask.” I smile, then wince.

Megan grabs a handful of poppies from my bouquet. “Come on. Let's bring these.”

Tavian's lying in bed, propped up by pillows and flipping through TV channels. When he sees me, he mutes the TV and tosses aside the remote.

“Tavian,” I say, and run to hug him. Even though it still hurts to move.

He exhales into my hair. “Gwen.”

“I'm so glad you're all right.”

When I pull back, he sees Megan in the doorway with the poppies. He smiles. “For me?”

Megan nods and rather timidly approaches his bedside. She crams the poppies into one of the vases already cluttering a table.

“Thank you,” Tavian says.

Megan nods and smiles.

“What happened to you, Gwen?” he asks. “I've only heard bits and pieces.”

I sigh and sit in a chair. “Megan, help me. I can't talk much.”

Megan eagerly takes over the job of telling the story. She makes it sound exciting and heroic, which is what I want Tavian to hear. I don't want him to know how terrified I was, or the thrill I got from attacking Ben.

Finally, she peters out, and we're all quiet.

“Look!” Megan unmutes the TV.

On the local news, it's Randall, being freed from prison. He's even shaggier and more stubbly, but he has a dazzling smile. I bite the inside of my cheek.
I'm sorry, Chloe. You were right, and I shouldn't have doubted you.

“He's really quite brave,” Megan muses. I detect a crush coming on.

I roll my eyes. “Didn't you just think he was a serial killer?”

“I was wrong,” Megan says blithely.

Tavian turns off the TV and glances at me. I glance at my sister, who gets the hint.

“I'm going to go look for a vending machine,” she says. “See you.” She leaves the room. You know, Megan's growing on me as she grows up. I hope.

Tavian meets my gaze, his eyes sharp. “Gwen, not everybody could have done what you did. That took real balls.”

“Pfff.” I toss my hand. “I don't need balls. Wasn't born with them.”

He laughs, then clutches his ribs. “Don't make me laugh.”

“Don't make me smile,” I say. “It hurts just as bad.”

“We're hopeless,” he teases. “Two invalids.”

I sigh, shake my head, and lean on the pillow next to him.

“Gwen?”

“What?”

Tavian blushes, a rare occurrence. “This is going to sound really cheesy.”

I smile despite myself. “What? Say it.”

“I hope you know,” he whispers, “that I love you, too.”

I'll admit, I'm scared of shapeshifting again. Months after leaving the hospital, I still haven't tried it. I lie on my bed one afternoon and watch the last flame-colored leaves drop from the trees. My pooka side remains silent.

A fox hops onto the bed and curls beside me. Tavian.

“Hey,” I joke. “No animals on the bed.”

He smirks at me in a way only foxes can.

“I'm going to pet you,” I say. “You look so cuddly.”

Tavian bares his teeth, and I grin. He shapeshifts into a boy and pins me to the bed.

“Take it back,” he says, trying not to laugh. “I'm not cuddly.”

“Of course not,” I say.

I'm very aware of him being naked on my bed, even though it's not the first time. We lie close, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, and I revel in the warmth and safety of his touch. I run my hands over his chest and touch the scar below his heart. He curls his fingers around my hand—he doesn't like me lingering over his scars.

“Why don't you join me?” he murmurs. “We can both be animals on the bed.”

I blush red-hot—yes, I still do, even after all this time. “Maybe.”

He cocks his head. “You still don't want to shapeshift?”

“I don't know.”

I've already told him how I lost control, how I'm afraid of doing it again.

“Gwen,” he says, “you were angry. Everybody loses it once in a while.”

I sigh. He's told me that before, too.

“I'll tell you when I feel like it,” I say.

He shapeshifts back into a fox and rests his head on his paws.

I get out of bed and walk to the bookcase. I glimpse my reflection in the mirror above it—calm, a bit tired, with faint scars at the corners of my lips. My eyes look hazel. Normal. They don't glow like they used to.

“What if that drug Ben gave me ruined me? What if I'll never be the same?”

Tavian's behind me, human again. He curves his hands around my shoulders. “Gwen.”

I have nothing more to say. I look down at the folio of botanical prints on the top of the bookcase—the one Chloe bought at Slightly Foxed Books, a long yet short time ago. A quiver of sadness touches me, but I'm okay.

I leaf through the book, Tavian standing by my shoulder.

“We should go outside,” he says.

“Yes,” I murmur. “I want to visit Chloe.”

We both bundle up and head for the car. I drive silently to the old church in Klikamuks. We head for Chloe's tombstone. I planted a little tree here, a vine maple seedling. Its reddening leaves shiver in the wind.

“Chloe Amabilis,” I whisper. “Dryad.”

That's what it says on her tombstone now. I'm not sure who asked to have it added.

“I wonder what happens to kitsune when they die, anyway,” Tavian muses. “Reincarnation? Or kitsune heaven?”

“A land of tofu and soymilk,” I say.

“Oh yeah!” He laughs. “And vixens.”

A couple carrying a picnic basket glances at us as if we shouldn't be laughing in a graveyard. I think people who picnic in graveyards are the creepy ones. I take Tavian's hand and meander away. The couple stops at Chloe's headstone.

“Dryad?” the man says. “I thought they died out.”

“This one's dead,” the woman says, and she laughs quietly, nervously.

“If she really was Other. I thought dryads are immortal.”

I frown, turn around, and walk up to them. They glance at me, surprised.

“Yes,” I say. “She was Other. I am, too.”

I feel no shame in telling them this. They look more than a little sheepish now, though not afraid. Before they can say anything to ruin the moment, I walk back to Tavian. He raises his eyebrows but makes no comment.

I hold my hand sideways so it slices the wind. “It's a perfect day,” I say, “for flying.”

Tavian's lips curve into a smile.

We race each other to the forest. He wins, as usual. Laughing, panting, I tug off my clothes and hand them to him.

“Your eyes,” he says. “They're glowing again.”

“Good. I want them to. I want this.”

Clouds flee in the face of the sun, and blue sky reveals itself, bright as hope. With a deep breath, I stretch my arms skyward. As I exhale, they change into wings. I love the sweet ache in my muscles, the swift plunge into the shape of a crow. I love Tavian watching me with wonder on his face. I pump my wings and swing my legs, not sure I'm going to escape gravity's grip, but then I break away and catch a wind under my wings. I flap hard, ascending into the sky, and watch how small everything beneath me becomes.

I feel powerful. Free.

With a caw, I swoop among curlicuing leaves, while Tavian runs beneath me and smiles.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to …

My family, for being my first beta readers. They patiently suffered through all my crummy early drafts and cheered me on when they hit the good stuff. I even got some bad-ass fan art from my sisters.

My amazing agent, Sara Crowe, for her savvy championing of all my writing endeavors, and for taking the time to mentor me in my publishing career; my exceptional editor, Brian Farrey, for his wonderful humor, patience with even my oddest questions, and ability to dream about my characters even when I'm not; and everyone else at Flux, for their bountiful insights, beautiful cover design, and the best help I could ask for. I love the work we have done together.

Finally, the Tenners, the Blueboarders, and my blogging friends, for being truly made of awesome. In particular, I would like to single out Jaclyn Dolamore, Jackson Pearce, Robin Prehn, and Marjorie Watkins for making me the writer I am today. Enormous thanks to all the others who helped! You know who you are.