Текст книги "Slow Twitch"
Автор книги: Лиз Реинхардт
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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
The box on my seat shifts. It’s quiet, but it shifts microscopically, and I can sense it. I wonder if the ‘it’ inside the box needs food, water, to pee. But I’m too scared to open the box. As upset as I would be if it were a puppy or kitten, my stomach lurches when I imagine the possible coils of a snake or the whip-like tail of a huge lizard. I’ll wait until I’m home with Neveah and Bestemor. And Zivalus, possibly armed, even if his weapon of choice would probably be a trumpet case.
Jonas heads out with some tools gripped in his huge, oil-smeared hands. He stops by the driver-side window and peers in with polite regard. “You need a drink or something?”
My mouth is Gobi-desert dry. “I’m good,” I lie.
He nods, points to the tire, and gets to work. I can see him in my rearview mirror, his huge frame bent over the tire. He has long muscles, not like the football players have. These are the kind of muscles that I imagine rowers would have. Only I don’t know any rowers, so I could be wrong. He has light brown hair, gold in some spots, shiny and a little too long. His jaw is a square, his mouth a line, his nose a hook, his eyes two bright blue slits. He’s all geometry and square, guyish symmetry. Stunningly handsome, but standoffish. No girlfriend, or boyfriend for that matter.
Sometimes, waiting in line for my Salisbury steak at our school cafeteria, I catch myself looking him over and I feel like he’s not supposed to be here, in northwest New Jersey in the twenty-first century. It seems like he was dropped out of the wild Celtic heather or just stepped off one of those Viking ships with the dragon prows, like the kilted, sword-wielding guys on the glossy romance novel covers in the grocery store book aisle.
He works quickly, and I see him grin at my sad little spare and shrug his wide shoulders before he puts it on, then tightens the lug-nuts and double-checks everything with slow, meticulous attention. My heart gallops like a stallion herd as he walks to the window.
“Thank you so much, Jonas. If there’s ever something I can do for you…”
“I need a ride.” He cuts in smooth as a hot knife through butter. “My ride left at shift’s end. I don’t live far.”
I slice my eyes to the mystery box, check the spare he just put on in my rearview and nod. “I’d be happy to.”
He points to a rusty gas pump. “Pull up there. I’ll fill her up for you.”
I inch up to the pump and try not to stare as he works with such grace it seems like he should be carving ivory or drawing a bow, not filling my gas-tank.
He catches my eye in the mirror and smiles, a glint of hard teeth with prominent canines; predators’ teeth.
When he gets to the passenger side of the truck, he looks in at the box, and turns his head to the side with calm thoughtfulness. “Your little friend chewed through the side of the box.”
Chapter Two
“Chewed?” I squeal. I’m beyond caring if I sound like a vacuous twit! This thing has teeth and chewed through a box! I’m terrified!
“Maybe it needs to go to the bathroom?” Jonas’s suggestion is made in a smooth, even voice. It helps me calm down. It helps me forget the incisors, fangs, or claws that could be waiting to bite, snap, or scratch me.
I veer to the side of the road and cut the engine, then sneak over to the passenger side and stand behind the opened door. Jonas worked a bigger hole in the box, and a little head poked through the cardboard shards.
A little red head with sleek fur and pointed ears pops up and looks at Jonas, then cranes its neck to see me. Like it’s looking for me. Its eyes melt somewhere between gold and amber, and it has a soft white expanse of fur under its jaw. It’s beautiful, and has a strangely human expression. I imagine I know what it’s thinking when it looks at me, and I think the fox is sizing me up.
Jonas moves away to give me access to the box, but I recoil. There’s nothing to indicate that this fox is anything but a gentle, intelligent animal. But it still has a mouthful of glinting ivory teeth, and I don’t need stitches. Jonas is wearing a thick, heavy coat, definitely fox-bite resistant.
“Can you lift it down? Do you mind?” I ask.
Wordlessly, Jonas lifts the fox and lowers it to the ground. It sniffs and snuffs, then trots into the dense woods a few hundred feet away and disappears as quickly as it sprang out of the box.
“Fox!” I yell, practically falling out of the truck and jogging towards the still-shivering weeds. “Fox! Shit! What am I going to do now?”
Jonas is already behind me, his big body blocking the wind.
“It’ll come back.” He moves closer until our shoulders touch. “Come and wait in the truck. It’s freezing and you don’t even have a coat on.” His voice minces the words with displeasure.
“I don’t have a coat that I like.” We trudge back to the truck and climb in with a solid bang of the doors.
“Like?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Does it fit?” I nod. “Is it warm?” I nod again. “So, what’s not to like?”
“It’s ugly.” I shiver, jam the key in the ignition, start the engine and flick the heat on, even though I hate burning gas.
“You should wear your coat.” He shrugs his long arms out of his coat, pulls it off of his shoulders and passes it to me.
I think of something smart to say to him, but the gas gauge catches my eye. I can keep my pride, or have enough gas to get us home. I cut the engine and take his coat. “Thanks.” It’s still toasty warm from his body heat, and it stinks like motor oil and gas. The smell makes my eyes burn, but the warmth is worth it.
The sun sinks behind the trees and Jonas leans his head back on the headrest.
“Sorry for making you late getting home.” I sneak a glance over at him, all sharp features and grease-tinged skin.
“It’s okay. I like the company.” He rolls his head towards me and smiles such a slow, lazy smile, his face transforms. He looks warm instead of cool, touchable instead of infuriatingly standoffish.
My fingers itch to run over the smooth skin of his neck, right where it meets his shoulder.
“We should go in a few minutes if it doesn’t come back.” My gut clenches tight at the thought, but I can’t stay parked on the side of the highway all night.
“Let’s go and look.” He elbows his door open and I take a deep breath and follow through the scratchy weeds and into the forest so dark and silhouetted, it could be the cover of a Grimm’s collection.
Before the tall, dead grass turns into rough tree trunks, Jonas holds one hand down and out and waits. For me.
My fingers tug up on the freezing zipper of his coat, then my hand grabs his in the dark and our fingers curl together. My hands are as rough as his, chapped from washing them a hundred times a day when I’m on shift at the diner where I work. We both have short nails, the right length to keep reasonably clean no matter how dirty our jobs get. His fingers are long and knobby with jutting knuckles. Mine are smooth and stubby, barely fitting around his hand. His skin is warm and dry, mine cool and clammy. We’re different and the same, but together, there’s a warmth and safety that gives me a shot of bravery.
We crunch through a foot of carpeted dead leaves that swish past our ankles. Jonas sticks a hand out and pushes aside brambles that would rip at my skin and ducks under the sticky woven spider webs I never see until they’re netted over my face, making me feel suffocated with panic. The sun is gone, I can smell the dense gray smoke of a leaf fire somewhere nearby.
His voice breaks through the hush of the twilit forest all of a sudden. “Last term during debate, I didn’t agree with the issue, Wren. I was on the opposition side for reparations.” He lifts a tree branch over his head so I can pass under unscathed. “I hated Mrs. McKenna for assigning that debate.”
The moon is big and bright as a silver dollar through the reaching branches of the old trees. In the pale glow, his face is tense, his mouth a slash of frustration.
“I shouldn’t have overreacted.” My overloud voice echoes around us. I tone it down. “McKenna was fair. You and I were slotted to debate.”
“But reparations? It was insensitive of her. I mean, for you.” His hand tightens slightly around mine.
“She made Nevaeh debate affirmative action that year. And she gave her con, so it’s alright. She wanted us to break out of our little comfort zones. Or whatever.” Something that had a strong hold on my heart loosens, and everything feels lighter; the air swooping in and out of my lungs, my feet crunching the leaves, our hands, linked and warm. “But I appreciate it. I mean, that you apologized. You didn’t need to, but it means a lot to me to know for sure that you were just doing the assignment.”
He tugs at my hand. “I know I can be a jerk sometimes, but I don’t actually think it was fair for the government to screw an entire group of people just because of their background. If you thought otherwise, you don’t have much faith in me.”
“I don’t know you that well.”
When he flashes me a smile, the moonlight glints brightly off of his sharp teeth. “We should remedy that.”
We stop walking and huddle for warmth. His face is close to mine. I take in the dark curve of his eyebrows, the hook of his nose, the gold prickle of five o’clock shadow that covers his sharp jaw. Suddenly his features blur and my eyes close.
I expect warmth, but there’s only the cool brush of the wind, and when I let my eye slit open, he’s looking at a dark collection of trees far off. They’re black against a navy sky, bordered by a moon-silvered edge of leaves; it would be a scene devoid of any color, but a red ball bounces toward us. The fox darts straight to my feet and drops something on the toe of my heels.
I close my eyes again and swallow hard. “Jonas? Did that fox just drop a mouse on my foot?”
He kneels down and picks it up. “No.”
The word is flat and harsh. I doubt he’s holding a mouse on his palm.
When I lean closer, there’s a roll of money, secured with a rubber band. I poke it to make sure it’s real, then pick it up. The dense weight tells me it’s probably a good amount. I peel back a few bills and my mouth goes dry.
“Thousands,” I say when Jonas gives me a questioning look. The fox twitches its tail, then dashes back towards the truck. I make a move to chase it, but Jonas grabs my arm.
“Wren, where did it get that money?”
Suddenly the moonlight doesn’t feel so romantic and the hush of the forest has distinctly sinister undertones. Where did all of this money come from?
“I have no clue. What do you think?”
Jonas looks around. “Someone must be out here.”
“Shhh!” I shush him and glance around anticipating some mob of meth heads to jump out of the bushes or a guy in a sharkskin suit with a gunshot wound to fire a few rounds in our direction. “Whoever lost that money is not someone we want to get involved with.”
“You don’t know that.” Jonas refuses to whisper. “There could be a logical explanation for this money being here.”
“Like?”
“Someone could have dropped it while they were…hiking.” The last word pulls long and weak like warm taffy.
“Hikers? You think a hikerwas carrying a small fortune in cash wrapped with a rubber band?” I hiss. “Let’s leave the money here and go. Now.”
I let the wad of money hit the ground and stomp away without a glance back. But I’m not positive what direction I should head in. I followed Jonas blindly into the woods, and nothing looks familiar to me. Maybe I should have paid less attention to his big hands and chiseled jaw and looked for some damn landmarks.
“Wren! Wait!” He crashes through the forest, making more noise than an elephant would. “You’re headed the wrong way! Let’s just look around, okay?”
“Why? Don’t you understand that if we find the livingowner of this money, chances are they will hurt us? Badly! And if they’re not alive anymore, then they’re a corpse? I don’t want to get killed and I don’t want to find a dead body. Drop the money and let’s go!” By now I’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be quiet, and I’m yelling. Whoever might be looking for us will be able to find us now. On the bright side, at least if they’re following my voice, they’ll realize that I don’t want to steal their money.
But no one comes. The forest waits in silence. Clouds eclipse the moon, and I move closer to Jonas in the encompassing dark.
He presses the solid roll of paper in my hand. “It’s for you, Wren. Take it.”
I flex my fingers, squeeze tight and feel the edges of the paper bite into my palm. This isn’t play money. This could pay for a live-in nurse to stop by for Bestemor a few times a week. The dishwasher needs repair. The roof leaks in at least eight different places. Normally I try not to think about any of those things because I can’t help. What little money I make goes to groceries, gas, and a tiny bit of fun.
I need this.
I nod and Jonas takes my hand, grabs the keychain hanging from his belt loop and shines a beam of bright white light into the dark. After a few silent minutes of walking, we’re back at the truck. The fox is curled next to the tire, and I feel a glow of relief.
“There it is.” I sigh and head towards it at a run. I’m so happy the fox is safe and sound, I drop my hand and bury my fingers in the silky layers of fur at its neck without a second thought for the tiny mouth armed with barbs of razor teeth.
“Do you have AAA?” Jonas’s voice trips through my greeting.
“No. Or maybe my grandma does. I don’t know. Why?” I follow his pointed finger and see a new tire leaning on the side of my truck.
Jonas paces towards it, kicks it with the toe of his boot, leans over and squints, then narrows his eyes at me.
“This is exactly the right tire for your truck.”
One hand is deep in fox fur, one grasps the mysterious roll of money. My eyes strain in their sockets.
“Leave it.” My voice shakes, and every hair on my body stands on end.
Jonas picks it up and tosses it in the bed, then shoots me a warning look. “That spare is a piece of crap, Wren. I don’t care who left it or why, but you need it. I’ll change it when we get to my house.”
“No!” I head to the bed, grab the tire with one hand and make a futile attempt to yank it out. I try again, then give up in disgust and head back to the driver’s side. “Fine, it can stay back there, but it’s not going on this truck. Okay? It’s not. Something freaky is going on, and I don’t want any trouble.”
I pass the warm circle of fox across the seat and Jonas places it on his lap. I shrug his coat off and shove it at him. Nothing makes sense, and I’m unreasonably annoyed with Jonas and his calm, logical refusal to see the insanity of the situation.
“At least put your coat on,” he says, watching me shiver stubbornly.
“I told you, I don’t have a coat,” I snarl.
“Then what’s on the back of the seat?”
I crane my neck and my cheek brushes against rich, warm velvet. I swivel my head and see that it’s not just any black velvet; it’s the vintage black velvet coat with a pink satin lining that I saw on Etsy for a couple hundred more than I’d ever dare to spend on a coat. Especially when I owned a perfectly serviceable pea-green parka purchased during my unfortunate military-inspired phase last year.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this isn’t what I think?
“Jonas, can you see the buttons on this coat?” I ask. They’re folded away from me.
“Yeah.”
“What do they look like?” My voice is a nervous squeak.
“Little silver owls.”
I drop my head on the steering wheel and shake for a few minutes. What the hell is going on?
