Love Me, Love Me Not Page 6

  Even Pierce stared, stumbling out of the woods after his brother. It was one thing to know girls could theoretically turn into swans, and another thing entirely to see it for yourself. He shifted his stare to me. I smiled weakly.

  Jackson half laughed, startled. But he didn’t look surprised enough, only smug. And that scared me most of all.

  Sonnet had an arrow nocked, but she couldn’t shoot it, not with Pierce in the way. Actually, she’d have shot them both, but I stepped in front of him. Mei Lin and Story stepped closer. Rosalita had already stepped back into the trees.

  “I know what you are now, Rosalita!” Jackson shouted triumphantly. Spit flecked his lips. “You have to go out with me now or I’ll tell everyone! Everyone!”

  There was nothing else I could do for him now. No cupcake spell could fix this. Pierce had sworn to keep my secret until he died. His brother had just sworn the opposite. And we’d never offer Rosalita up as a sacrifice to appease him, not anymore. Not since the end of the Middle Ages.

  Instead he’d have to be the sacrifice.

  I shifted, grabbing Mei Lin’s bow and quiver. Everyone else was too far away. And everyone else might shoot Pierce for good measure. Especially the aunts, if they came. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not ever.

  My arrow hit Jackson in the chest. He jerked violently, as if he’d been shot with a regular arrow. There was a bit of blood, looked like a lot of pain. He wouldn’t remember it. The strand of Mei Lin’s hair around the shaft glittered faintly, like gold, and then the arrow dissolved into dust and drifted away. Pierce stared at me with a look I couldn’t decipher. God, I’d just shot his brother. He’d hate me now.

  Jackson crumpled to his knees but didn’t fall over. He blinked, as if he was just waking up. “What happened?”

  Pierce grabbed his shoulder. “You were drunk again,” he said flatly.

  “Again? Why?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  He blinked again. “I feel funny.”

  Pierce helped him up. “Let’s get you home.”

  What could I say? I’m sorry I shot your brother? I hope he won’t go totally crazy? And by the way, are you still picking me up for school in the morning?

  I just wanted this whole day to have never happened.

  I watched him walk away, feeling like the swan egg I’d found by the house pond once: cracked and fragile. Empty.

  Chapter Four

  Ana

  By Sunday afternoon, I still hadn’t heard from Pierce.

  We never went this long without talking. It made me feel sick. Apparently, I looked as awful as I felt because Aunt Felicity kept giving me herbal teas and telling me I might have consumption. Or a megrim. Basically, a bunch of Victorian words for “you look like hell.”

  Even Aunt Aisha remarked on it, which wasn’t a good sign. “Are you pining?”

  “No,” I replied, affronted.

  We’d told them what had happened with Jackson, of course, but there was nothing to do about it now but wait. I’d never shot anyone before. I had no idea if I’d left him befuddled or downright stupid. It wasn’t like cupcakes; you couldn’t measure that kind of magic. You couldn’t undo it. And you always paid a price. Usually, it was feeling like you had the worst flu ever, but for me it was the gnawing fear that I’d damaged something between Pierce and me. The thought of losing him made me feel unreasonable. Panicked. Basically I was freaking out.

  Because Pierce’s brothers might drive him nuts, but they were family and I wasn’t. And I knew exactly how far people would go for family.

  I burrowed deeper in my nest of blankets and stared at my mother’s painting of Cygnet House. It hung across from my bed, a riot of dripping paints and smears. The sky was filled with white feathers, some forming snowflakes. It had a dark, uncomfortable quality. Pierce never could figure out why I liked it so much. Mostly, it was because the brushstrokes were so bold and noticeable, concrete proof that my mother had lived here once, had affected something, even if it was just a canvas. Maybe she was gone, but something still remained.

  Above the painting, a huge wicker basket hung from the ceiling. It was filled with swan feathers; tiny downy ones, long elegant and white, and everything in between. There were tail feathers for flying, chest feathers for warmth. The spines were translucent, like mother of pearl held up to the light. One day, someday, I would sew them all onto my blue cloak. I would wear the silver arrow pendant all the Vila swans wore. I would lift up into the sky and finally be a proper part of family tradition. And the space between my shoulder blades would stop feeling so hollow.

  “Sulking won’t change anything,” Aunt Aisha pointed out from my doorway.

  “You did what you had to do,” she reminded me, sitting on the edge of my bed. I grudgingly moved over to make space for her.

  “I guess. You’ve shot people before, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will Jackson be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “It was your first arrow, and it wasn’t wrapped in your own hair. That can affect the magic. And he’s young and hormonal, which doesn’t help.”

  “How can I fix it? What do I do?”

  “You wait and see.”

  I frowned. “There has to be some spell I can use.”

  She shook her head. “Good magic after bad isn’t a solution.”

  Aisha was just so hopeful and helpful. “How many people have you shot?” I asked.

  “Enough. My first was a Renard, of course. I was fourteen and he was trying to steal my mother’s feather cloak. I almost shot your dad once, too,” she added with forced lightness.

  “You did?”

  “He was pissing me off.” She grinned. “He kept following me around, trying to sketch me.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, too. “He still does that.”

  “I know, it was just last week.”

  “Just because you have no appreciation for art!” my dad yelled from his studio next door. Aisha and I grinned at each other as he continued to mutter to himself.

  “Does it always feel like this?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied bluntly.

  “What if I never get my wings?”

  “You will,” she assured me. She paused. “Or you won’t. Either way, you’ll get through it.”

  “I don’t want to end up like Aunt Felicity.”

  “Good. She ordered seventeen cloche hats online yesterday. We can’t afford another one of her.”

  “You know what I mean.” The only wings I felt was the panic fluttering inside my chest.

  “I do, and worrying about it won’t change anything. Now, come on.” She slapped my ankle. “Training will do you more good than sitting around here.”

  I groaned but followed her outside to the training field. I’d shot my best friend’s brother with an arrow; I deserved to run laps.

  After dinner, I texted Pierce for the hundredth time. I’m coming over.

  He finally replied.

  Don’t. Seriously. Don’t.

  Pierce

  I wasn’t ignoring Ana so much as trying to keep my family from imploding.

  Jackson fell asleep as soon as I got him home. When Eric asked, I told him he’d been drinking and whining about Rosalita. Stick to as much of the truth as possible. Then I went to my room and stared out of the window until the sun rose.

  When I first found out that my best friend was part bird, I didn’t sleep for three days. Instead, I read everything I could find on swan maidens, most of which ended with the swan girl flying away forever. Sometimes I worried that Ana would do the same once she got her swan cloak. But for now, at least, she was anchored. She was still Ana, only slightly quirkier, like I’d discovered she would only eat peas on Tuesdays or thought the color yellow was bad luck. Interesting, but ultimately just another detail.

  I hadn’t been prepared for the reality of that detail. My head still spun with the way Sasha had transformed, the way she’d melted into another s
hape, the way her shadow had clung to the swan shape for just a second too long. And then Ana with the bow. I already knew she was a good shot; we used to practice together. Nana used to get so mad if I missed the target that I would sleep in the shed until she cooled off.

  Ana was the one who helped me improve.

  Ana was the one who texted me stupid jokes so I could pretend I wasn’t in the tool shed with the spiders and the rusty remains of the lawnmower.

  Ana was also the one who shot my brother.

  I didn’t blame her, not really. I was going to tell her that as soon as I got some sleep, but Eric yelling woke me up, followed by a rifle shot.

  Not good.

  I stumbled outside in my pajama bottoms. Eric was on the porch, looking freaked out. “Jackson is shooting at crows.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. He tossed the rifle and headed into the woods.”

  “Hell. Which way?”

  Eric pointed behind the rickety shed. I ran back inside for clothes and boots. Spartacus pressed against my knee, eager to run. “It’s hunting season. You have to stay here.”

  Jackson’s trail was obvious enough that it might as well have been left by a drunk bear. At least he hadn’t decided to go exploring the marshes. Or the fields around Ana’s farm. I picked up my pace. The trail petered out as the woods got thicker, which meant he must know I was following him now. Ana’s warnings were like a bell inside my skull. Did he remember being shot? Did he remember who he was? What was I supposed to do if he didn’t? How would I get him to come back home with me? I wanted to call Ana, but I’d left my phone back at the house.

  There was a tiny sound, just enough to betray that I wasn’t alone anymore. I turned around. “Jackson?”

  It was Liv.

  “Oh.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  I made a face. She was touchy, but I’d known her nearly as long as I’d known Ana. I knew she’d help if I needed it. I’d saved her from a fox trap once when she was twelve years old.

  “I’m looking for my brother. He wandered off and I think he’s…ill.” I didn’t mention the Vila or the arrow. The last thing I wanted to do was to bring the Renards into it. Except that they were excellent trackers, supernatural even. “Give me a hand?” I asked.

  “Well, since you’re so glad to see me and all.” She fell into step before I wondered if I needed to apologize again. She was prickly and held a hell of a grudge. She seemed willing enough to help me, though, combing the ground for prints. The pine needles were so thick here it was hard to tell. Her nose twitched and I wondered if she was using scent to track him, but it seemed rude to ask. I knew what she was, but hated talking about it.

  She pointed to a snapped twig. “He went that way.”

  We walked for a while in silence. Her family hunted, as did mine, so we’d both been trained to shut the hell up once you entered the forest. She always seemed to find me when I was out here. She ducked under branches, leading us through a muddy clearing. After an hour, she stopped, annoyed. “He’s going in circles.”

  “I told you he’s sick. He’s probably confused.”

  It took another three hours to find him.

  “There.”

  He was sleeping, propped up against a tree. He’d draped pine boughs over himself like a blanket. His face was pale and clammy. Fever sweat spiked his hair. I crouched beside him. “Jackson.” He didn’t respond. I grabbed his shoulder and his eyes opened so abruptly I froze. His eyes were glassy, burning like embers. “Jackson.”

  He blinked slowly. “Pierce?”

  I exhaled. Thank God, he knew who he was and who I was. “Time to go home.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know.” I helped him up, supporting his weight. “You have to try and walk, though.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I know a clean creek he can drink from,” Liv said. “This way.”

  The water was cold and clear, tumbling over rocks as it meandered deeper into the forest. Jackson dunked his whole head under then drank from his cupped hands as if he’d been lost for days instead of hours. His cheeks regained a bit of color, enough that he didn’t look like wet clay anymore.

  “He looks like shit,” Liv said bluntly.

  I smiled weakly. “He’s sick.”

  She didn’t smile back. “It’s not the flu, Pierce. It’s swan-sickness.”

  So much for keeping it quiet. “He’ll be fine.”

  “Who shot him?”

  I nudged her out of earshot. “How do you know he was shot?”

  She snorted. “Please. We know more about Vila arrows than they do. We’re the ones they’re always shooting at, remember?”

  “So what do I do?”

  “Why don’t you ask Ana?”

  “Because you’re standing right here.”

  She was still scowling, but she answered me. “Well, he knows his own name so that’s a good sign. And swan magic won’t heal him so don’t bother.”

  “What about a regular doctor?”

  “Only if he gets the regular flu.” She shrugged. “There’s not much you can do. Keep him comfortable and keep him from doing stupid things when he’s confused. If he was shot by an older swan who knows what she’s doing, he’ll be fine.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then your guess is as good as mine. They’re unpredictable before they get their wings, but they’re always vicious.” I ignored that. “It depends on whose hair was used and who shot the arrow.”

  Jackson was snoring, curled by the bank of the water. He looked better, though. “So I should let him sleep before getting him back home.”

  “May as well, it’ll take you just as long to carry him.”

  I vaulted up onto a tree branch and settled in to wait. I didn’t even have a book with me. I was annoyed all over again. “Thanks, Liv.”

  “You can’t trust her,” she said before walking away. I didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.

  Jackson didn’t stir for another few hours, by which time I was starving and bored. He sat up, running his hand through his hair. “Why did you let me sleep in the mud?”

  “Because you weigh a ton.”

  He yawned. “Was I drinking?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.” He pushed gingerly to his feet. He still looked tired, but somehow angry, too. Like he was wound too tightly. “I guess that answers my question, then, doesn’t it?”

  By the time we got home the sun was setting and I’d wasted the entire day sitting in a tree. But at least my brother wasn’t insane or an amnesiac and neither of us had been eaten by a bear.

  Yet.

  Nana stood behind the screen door, glaring furiously. “You sleep outside tonight.”

  I groaned. “Nana.”

  “You left the rifle on the ground,” she snapped at Jackson when he tried to push the door open.

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “You don’t have respect, boy.”

  “So why do I have to sleep out here?” I asked tiredly. My phone was inside, my car keys. Coffee. My books.

  “You left it there.”

  “To find him.”

  “Eight hours ago. You boys have no manners. No respect.” She narrowed her eyes. “Behave like an animal and you’ll be treated like one.”

  The door slammed shut and locked.

  Ana

  Pierce wasn’t at our meeting tree the next morning. The birch branches were thick with our tokens: blue glass beads, pop can tabs, wind chimes made of bent forks, red ribbons knotted with birthday wishes. We’d been meeting here for years, so he could drive us to school without having to contend with the magic cloaking our house. Once he’d been determined to pick me up at the front door and he circled for nearly two hours, hopelessly lost in his own neighborhood. But he wasn’t here now, and he wasn’t at his locker.

  I haunted the hallways, feeling useless and slightly pathetic. By lu
nch time, I’d worked myself up into a fit. I finally saw him coming around the corner from art class and shoved him so hard his backpack flew off his shoulder. “I said I was sorry!”

  Not exactly my best apology.

  “Ow.” Pierce rubbed his shoulder. “The hell, Vila.”

  I refused to move even as students pushed around me, called by the bell. I may have snarled at a guy who stepped on my foot. Before I could shove him, too, Pierce elbowed me into an empty classroom.

  “You’re mad at me,” I said. “I get it. I deserve it. And I’m sorry.” I’d texted him that twenty-seven times.

  He sighed, shoving his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you, Ana.”

  The emotions swirling through me dissolved so abruptly that I felt like I was deflating. I looked at my shoes. “You should be.”

  “I might be now,” he said, scowling. “You think I don’t know you saved him from your cousins and your aunts? It’s a mess, but it’s not your fault.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. I’d been saving him actually. I felt something suspiciously like tears burning the back of my throat. I needed Pierce more than he needed me, and I couldn’t let anything get in the way of our friendship. Not feuds or magic arrows or the fact that I couldn’t stop noticing his arm muscles. He kept me grounded in an upside-down world.

  “Ana, for Christ’s sake. You’re my best friend.”

  “You wouldn’t talk to me all weekend.” It sounded weak when I said it out loud.

  “Yeah, because Jackson was losing his shit. And then Nana locked us out and all I’ve had to eat is raw peas from the garden. One crisis at a time.”

  That snapped me out of it. His nana pissed me right off. I’d keyed her car once, but I never told Pierce. I rummaged through my bag and shoved a granola bar at him. “Eat this. And what about Jackson? Does he know who he is?”

  “He was sick all weekend. And weird. But now he seems totally fine. Angrier, but fine.”