Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes) Page 4

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

  She just stares back at me.

  “About your arm,” I add.

  My gaze is drawn down to the hand that is hiding the damage I did to her. My fingers follow. Ivy doesn’t stop me from peeling her hand away and revealing the bruises. The mottled purple spikes my hunger to the point that nothing else matters. It takes all my effort to keep my hands still. Pain ripples off her arm. I can almost see it. I can taste it, warm and luscious on my tongue. The most decadent desserts have nothing on the taste of suffering for me. My tongue runs across my bottom lip, begging for a deeper draw.

  Without warning, Ivy jerks her arm out of my grasp. She stumbles back a step and bumps into her car. “I have to go,” she mumbles, turning and stepping further away from me.

  I panic. She can’t leave. “You didn’t do anything,” I blurt out.

  She stops, but doesn’t turn back around. I should let her leave, get her away from me as soon as possible and make sure she never comes near me again. Just let her walk away.

  But I don’t.

  “Earlier this afternoon, you didn’t do anything to offend me. You didn’t even say anything. It wasn’t you.”

  Ivy’s body stays turned, but her blue eyes peek back at me from over her shoulder. “It wasn’t me?”

  I shake my head, a lie, but one that will keep her from walking away from me like she should.

  “You seemed pretty upset.” She turns around to face me slowly.

  “Just having a bad day,” I say honestly.

  “Oh.”

  We stand there in awkward silence. I don’t know what to say now. The only girl I ever talk to is my sister, and that usually involves arguing. I don’t want to argue with Ivy. What do I want to do with her? No, strike that. What can I do with her that won’t involve getting arrested or locked up somewhere worse than jail? I can say goodbye, I tell myself.

  I can’t seem to get the words to leave my lips, though. Frustration spins me away from Ivy, and I stalk over to my truck without another word to her. A collection of sounds drift past me, but the blood pounding through my body doesn’t let me hear them clearly, let alone understand them. My hunger screams at me to turn back. Desperately, I want to give in. My truck door slams shut behind me and the tires squeal as I tear out of the parking lot. In my rear view mirror, I catch sight of her pink striped hair as she stands in the middle of the parking lot staring after me.

  Keeping my truck on the road consumes me. More than once, I find myself slowing down, signaling to exit the freeway, only to speed back up and get into the far left lane, away from the exit ramps. In the middle of rush hour, my fellow drivers hardly appreciate my struggle. Their honking and angry gestures roll off me. Their problems are so insignificant.

  I drive. And drive.

  I can’t understand the intensity of my attraction to Ivy. Yes, she is beautiful, and there is an edge of something captivating in her eyes I can’t quite pin down, but I know this isn’t a normal reaction to a pretty girl. It’s as if my emotions are trying in vain to beat out my hunger, pushing me to lose myself in her before I kill her. That thought sticks with me. The truth of such a simple idea wedges itself into my consciousness.

  Eventually, the traffic thins. It’s the lack of people flipping me off and blaring their horns that actually makes me notice. When I realize I’m through the never ending construction on I-25 and approaching the exit to Bernalillo, I finally let myself jet across the lanes to the exit and take it. It’s a small town on the outskirts of the Albuquerque metro area, miles away from Ivy. Instead of turning toward Bernalillo, I take a right and head past the Sandia Mountains.

  Two hours until I have to pick Van up. It’s more than enough time to give my hunger what it wants. It will take me at least that long to burn away my encounter with Ivy. A random dirt road that looks to be heading out into the plains catches my eye. I speed through the high desert in search of something that will sate the hunger still pulsing inside of me. The sight of a herd of Pronghorns moving through the scrub and grasses grabs at my hunger viciously. Seconds after sighting them, my truck is abandoned on a dirt road, my feet silently carrying me toward the herd as my hunger swells in anticipation of being fed.

  Van would launch herself straight into the thick of the deer-like creatures and let her hunger take over. I have no desire for chaos. Instead, my hunger becomes increasingly unbearable as I stalk forward silently. A deliberate noise made by me kicking a rock spooks the herd. Their black, pronged antlers perk up, bringing images of Ivy to life and fueling my hunger even more. The animals scan the area cautiously, but they don’t run. I can taste their wariness as it hovers on the verge of full out fear. The memory of Ivy’s wide eyes and racing pulse slips through my control. Any thought but fulfilling my hunger is shoved away.

  I creep forward, making enough noise to frighten the animals, but not enough to scare them away. Their quivering muscles, poised to run, drip with panic. I drink it in. Nearly close enough to touch one, I stand to my full height. The second they see me, they flinch, but remain locked in indecision. This is the ultimate moment of fear for them. The musk that fills the air is thick with terror. I crave this moment just as much as the pain that will follow.

  In an instant, the moment passes, and every Pronghorn in the herd jumps into action. Completely overtaken by my hunger, I have no ability to resist. I lunge after them in a mindless need to consume. It only takes mere seconds to reach one, to pull it down and succumb to my hunger completely.

  I don’t know how long it takes for me to shake off my hunger-induced haze. Only the sound of my phone ringing snaps me back to reality. Van’s face staring back at me from her contact picture sends my eyes to the time. Eight-fifteen. I snap the phone open as guilt piles on top of my shoulders.

  “Van, I’m sorry, I’ll be right there,” I say as soon as I get the phone to my ear.

  “What the crap, Zander? I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes. Where are you?” she asks.

  “Uh, hiking. I’ll be there in half an hour. Sit tight.”

  “Hiking? What on earth…?”

  She’s just going to rant at me, so I end the call and start booking it back to the truck. I push myself to get back to the road as fast as I can. I make it in less than fifteen minutes and jump into the truck. When I finally make it back to the dance studio, the sun is almost completely gone. My baby sister sitting in the shadows of the building looking scared and angry kills me. She knows it, too.

  Van sits there staring at me with her narrowed eyes and huddled posture for a full minute before picking herself up off the ground and stomping over to the truck. She turns to glare at me as soon as she sits down, but her fierceness falters when our eyes meet.

  “Zander,” she says quietly, “are you okay?”

  “Great,” I say. “Sorry I was late. Let’s go home.”

  I move to shift into reverse, but Van stops me. “Zander, you’re never late. And you’re sunburned.” She stops to wrinkle her nose. “And you smell weird.”

  She waits for me to say something. I opt for silence.

  “What’s wrong? Did you slip up?” she asks, her voice shaking.

  “No,” I snap. She flinches at my sharp tone and I sigh. “Almost.”

  “What happened?”

  I almost tell her. So badly, I want to tell someone. Van is the only one who will really understand what I’m going through. But I can’t. When she told me how much she wanted to kill Ivy, I passed it off, blamed it on her hunger maturing. If I admit how close I came to ending her life myself, not once but twice now, she will be furious with me. Even worse, she’ll be more convinced than ever that this singular girl holds some kind secret to our release.

  “It was nothing,” I say with a sigh. “It’s over with.”

  “Zander…”

  “Leave it alone, Van.”

  She doesn’t say anything else, so I pull out of the parking lot and drive home. Crickets fill the warm night air
as we walk up to our modest home where our grandmother waits for us. The only sound that joins their serenade is the second wooden step that creaks on our way to the porch. I have hopes of making it inside and up to my room wrapped in the same silence. That dream is dashed when Van lightly touches my shoulder as we reach the door. I freeze, fearing what she has to say.

  “It was Ivy, wasn’t it?” she asks.

  I don’t answer, but I’m sure she can feel the way my body tenses at the mere mention of that name.

  Van sighs. “Then it’s not over, Zander. You’ll see her again. You’ll have to fight off the hunger again and again.”

  “You don’t know that,” I say, hating how quiet and fearful my voice sounds.

  “Just trust me on this one,” Van says. “Ivy is here for a reason.”

  That’s the last thing she says before slipping past me and into the house. It takes me a few minutes to follow her in. My grandmother’s voice follows me, letting me know there is dinner in the kitchen. I mumble my thanks and walk past without going in. I’m not hungry. Not hungry for food, anyway. All I can think about is Ivy. I still don’t believe there is any design behind her appearance, but I do agree with Van on one thing. Today wasn’t the last time I’ll have to battle my hunger because of Ivy.

  She’s pure, unadulterated Kryptonite to me, but I want more of her. As much as I can get. No, it isn’t over yet. I won’t let it be over.

  On my way to the cafeteria, I am surprised when Zander appears beside me. I look over at him in question. “Is everything okay?”

  “That’s what I wanted to find out,” he says. “Have you seen Ivy today?”

  I shake my head, and bite back the desire to ask him the same question. If I pry, it will only inspire another argument. I decided last night that the only thing I can do to protect Zander is watch as carefully as I can and find out what Ivy is before anyone gets hurt.

  “How are you doing with everyone else?” Zander asks, the conversation becoming more normal. Checking in on each other is a regular habit.

  Grandma wanted our parents to homeschool us to limit our contact with people who elicit our hunger, but Mom and Dad knew we would need to learn to control ourselves in the real world. Outside of school, though, we tend to avoid crowds, just in case.

  “Being around Ivy seems to make everyone else a little harder to deal with,” I admit, “but I’m doing okay. It helps that Evan Conners moved last week. I don’t think I could handle having three classes with him right now.”

  Zander nods in agreement. “If you need me…”

  I wave him off. “I’ll be fine. The only class we have together is Home Ec. Being around her when I’m cooking helps. There are lots of distractions.”

  “Don’t you eat lunch together?”

  “Sure, but I don’t sit right next to her or anything, and Ketchup’s there.”

  The grunt that slips out of Zander’s mouth makes me look away.

  “It helps to have him around,” I say quietly.

  Zander shakes his head, but doesn’t argue. “Just be careful, please.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  His shoulders bunch, but he doesn’t say anything else. He turns to leave, but something makes me stop walking. A sound? I pause, trying to figure out what exactly it was. My nose wrinkles as I realize it wasn’t a sound or something I saw, it was a taste. Without making it obvious I’m scoping out the hallway, I try to figure out where it’s coming from.

  “Van, what’s wrong?” Zander asks looking very anxious. “Is it your hunger?”

  I shake my head, still scanning. “No, it’s this weird taste. I can’t figure out…”

  Turning to face my brother, the taste intensifies. Zander? Then I notice his wide eyes and tense posture. I’m about to question him, when it suddenly vanishes. I test for the taste again, but it’s gone. Maybe it was nothing. “Huh, that was weird. Has that ever happened to you?”

  “What?” Zander says, flinching at the sound of his own voice. He looks away from me as if the hallway suddenly holds something more interesting than milling teenagers. “Hey, I better get to class. See you later.”

  And then he takes off.

  I stand there for a few minutes totally confused. That seems to be happening a lot lately. Now, I am sure I didn’t imagine the strange taste, or that it was coming from Zander. He obviously knew what I was talking about, too. Why wouldn’t he tell me? As close as Zander and I are, the idea that he might be keeping a secret from me is not only surprising, it’s frightening. Keeping secrets when lives are on the line never turns out well.

  The familiar feeling of fear begins creeping up my spine as I walk toward the cafeteria. I balk at the open double doors, unsure if I can handle seeing Ivy right now. I begin to wonder if the strange taste is somehow connected with Ivy. Two oddities appearing at the same time seems more than coincidental. It’s a logical jump, but something seems wrong about the idea.

  Trust is a hard thing when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder for someone who is ready to betray your secrets. Even within my own family, trust is difficult. Grandma tries to help, but I’ve often had the impression she holds back more than what she shares. I think there are things Zander doesn’t tell me, too, in hopes of protecting me. One thing I have learned to trust are my own instincts. They are the reason I have any friends at all. If my instincts are pointing the finger at both Ivy and Zander, I’m going to listen. I’m going to find out what is hiding behind their lies.

  I plan to start with Ivy.

  That’s why when she walks up to the table with her tray of nasty cafeteria food, I don’t run. Pushing my hunger away requires putting a little distance between us, namely moving away from her and closer to Ketchup. He doesn’t object, but he does throw me a questioning look. It causes me no end of guilt to use him like this. The last thing I want to do is give him false hope, but having him near me is so mind-stealing, it makes even my hunger a little woozy.

  I have no idea what Ketchup is thinking, but he doesn’t try to further anything between us. I let his nearness distract my hunger, and try to think of something to say to Ivy as I take a bite of my pizza. I want to ask her how she ended up running into Zander yesterday, but I can't think of how to do that without sounding like I am attacking her. Laney saves me from having to figure it out.

  "So, Ivy bumped into Zander again yesterday afternoon."

  I try to look surprised. "Oh really?"

  "Yep," Laney says, obviously leaving the floor open for Ivy to finish explaining. Ketchup interrupts before she can.

  "Please don't tell me you're already chasing after Zander." He rolls his eyes at her. "I'll tell you right now, it isn't going to happen. Zander does not date. Plus, I don't know what girls see in him. He is the definition of boring. Try talking to him for more than five seconds and you'll see what I mean."

  Laney glares at him. "Shut up, Ketchup. The only reason Zander doesn't talk to you is because you're annoying and beneath his notice. He's perfectly talkative to other people, just ask Ivy. She talked to Zander yesterday for quite a while."

  That catches my attention. "Oh really?"

  "It was just a few minutes," Ivy clarifies. "I ran into him by the football field."

  "What were you doing at the football field? Did you watch practice?" I ask. It's a pretty direct question, but a reasonable one. I'm not into football a ton, but practice is pretty exciting to watch, especially when Zander is out there. It's not unusual for there to be a small crowd at the team's practices. It surprises me when Ivy stumbles over her answer.

  "No, I wasn't. I, um, wasn't there to watch anybody. I just needed to find someone. The track coach. I ran track at my last school, and I wanted to see about getting on the team here."

  I'm not sure if I believe her, but I say, "Oh, I've heard Coach Holland is pretty good. You think you'll try out?” Too many questions or doubts might spook her and make her stop talking to me. I pack her words and reaction away for later.

  “
Yeah, I think so, but training doesn’t start for a while,” Ivy says. “I’ve got a few months to get back into running shape, so I was thinking maybe I’d try out one of your dance classes.”

  “Really? Ballet or hip hop?” I ask, not exactly thrilled with the idea, or the fact that she’s distracting me from the conversation about Zander. I let my focus slide before, but not this time.

  “Ballet would be good conditioning for your legs, but hip hop would help your endurance.”

  Ivy nods, and looks like she’s about to say something, but I have one more suggestion.

  “Zander likes hip hop better, thinks ballet is too boring.”

  Ivy’s body tenses. I hadn’t noticed her unseasonably long sleeves before, but I take notice of them when she tugs them down. My fingers bite into the table. Zander said he’d almost slipped up. Just how close did he come? I suddenly want her to come to one of my classes despite the risk. For ballet she’ll need a leotard, hopefully a sleeveless one, but even for hip hop her long sleeved shirt will be too hot. She’ll have to bare her arms either way. I want to know just how close my brother came to killing her. Bruises can tell stories better than most people. Hers will tell just how much danger Zander is in. If I have to take Ivy out of the picture to protect him, I will.

  “Ooh, do the hip hop, Ivy. It’s so much fun,” Laney says. “I totally suck at it, but I still have a blast doing it. When’s your next hip hop class that’s not for your teeny weeny dancers?”

  “Tonight, actually. It starts at six.” I can’t tell whether Ivy looks eager or unhappy. Just to make sure she doesn’t try to back out, I say, “Or I’ve got ballet tomorrow at five. You’re welcome to try either.”

  Ivy looks oddly relieved. “I wouldn’t be able to come tomorrow, family thing. So I guess I’ll try hip hop tonight.”

  “Cool,” I say. “The air conditioning isn’t the best at the studio, so make sure you wear something…breathable.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Ivy says. Her eyes drop noticeably.