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  Their options were limited. They couldn't go to the cops—any police involvement would be more dangerous to Ani than Dylan could ever be. They couldn't go to Dylan's mom. They couldn't just make him disappear—her mom broached the topic, and Ani vetoed it—and he wasn't going to disappear on his own. Sometimes "not good enough" was all you had.

  * * *

  Monday, third period, she opened her locker and a dozen dead roses fell out, scattering brittle petals across the floor.

  "Where'd those come from?" Fey asked.

  Ani looked around. No one there. "I have no idea." She pulled a cigarette out of her band folder and handed it to Fey, who tucked it into her cleavage.

  "You're a doll, Ani." Fey kicked the roses over to the garbage can and left them on the floor. "See ya."

  When she was gone, Ani closed her eyes. "What do you want, Dylan?"

  Dylan stepped out of Mrs. Weller's doorway, all in black. "How did you know I was here?"

  "Who else would it be?" And of course you'd be watching.

  He walked up to her with his crazy smile. "You're right. Nobody else knows your secret. Our secret."

  "I told you if you talked to me again I'd kill you."

  "Would you?" he asked. Insane eyes, insane smile. He put his hands at his side and tilted his head back, baring his bruised throat. He sighed. "Do it. Like the dog. I am a dog. Your dog. Do it, and we can be together, forever."

  She shut her locker and walked away.

  * * *

  Dylan stared at her through band. And lunch. And art. His car followed her bus home. When she left the Lair—thank God he was still banned—his car was in the CVS parking lot across the street. Her mom drove her home, and if he followed, they couldn't tell.

  Her mom wired up a private security system in the house. It's not like we could get a dog. Ani was forbidden from walking to or from anywhere. Her mom watched from the house as she got on the bus, and drove her home every day.

  A week passed, then two, in near-normalcy. She found more creepy gifts in her locker—more dead flowers; an ankh; a desiccated bat, shriveled and sad; a bow of human hair, dyed black—and Dylan stared at her three periods a day. Quiet in the first place, he stopped speaking to anyone. He'd answer questions in class if asked, but that was all. He didn't defend himself when the bullies found him an easy target, didn't even react, and they got bored of trying. Already lean, he lost weight, and his eyes developed sunken, black rings that were not makeup.

  But he never spoke to her, and he never broke into her house. If he did, we could shoot him. Even her mom agreed with that thought, whether it got the police involved or not.

  In the end, he became one more reason for people to avoid Ani. Nobody wanted to be subject to that vacant, haunted gaze. Nobody but Fey and Jake—they claimed not to care.

  * * *

  Her first quarter grades sucked—only band and art were A's, and everything else C's. Her mother let it go.

  Chapter 13

  The skating party on the fourteenth was Christmas-themed, festive with red, white and green decorations. Jingle Bell Rock made the mix, as did Santa Baby. The energy was high, the kids had a blast, and if Dylan sat in the corner, staring at her from the darkness, so what?

  The new serum was fantastic, now that she was more used to it. She felt more normal with every passing day and she didn't have to cut, not even with all the kids around her. She doled out candy and soda, and something she hadn't been able to do for over a year—hugs. She half-expected to start breathing again.

  Ani and her mom walked out of the gym to the parking lot, singing Feliz Navidad at inappropriate volumes. Her mom frowned at their car, and Ani looked. The decapitated head of a lawn Rudolph sat propped on the windshield wipers, red nose dull under the yellow halogen lights. Ani clutched the ever-present pepper spray in her pocket.

  Her mom tsk-ed and knocked the head off the car. "That boy needs a mental examination, but I'll be damned if I'm recommending one." They got in and headed home, Rudolph's dead eyes gazed after them from the parking lot.

  * * *

  That Friday afternoon was the Winter Carnival, and Ani was again painting faces. Little kids got snowflakes, polar bears, Santa hats, and presents. One precocious little boy got a teddy bear with fangs by request, proudly showed it to his mother, and was ushered crying to the bathroom to wash it off. Ho, ho, freakin’ ho, lady.

  Ani was in the bathroom scrubbing paint off her hands when Devon walked in. Ani watched her sidelong through the mirror but said nothing. Devon didn't go to a stall; instead, she walked up next to Ani and started futzing with her makeup. She looked almost flawless.

  "Can I ask you something?" Devon asked. Her voice was neutral, without a hint of spite or false friendship.

  Ani snorted. "Only if you call me Cutter."

  Devon put her mascara away and turned to face her. "Seriously."

  Ani turned off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. "Sure, Devon, ask me whatever you want."

  She twirled a lock of light brown hair around her index finger, then licked her lips. "What does Mike see in you?" Devon might as well have slapped her.

  "In me?" She thought about it for a moment. Compared to you? Actual thoughts. A personality. A brain. "I don't know. We grew up on the same street, spent a lot of time together in elementary school. We were friends for a long time."

  "Were," Devon said.

  Ani sighed. "Yes. Were. I talk to him maybe once a week, sometimes twice, and then for maybe a minute or two. Jocks don't hang with emo kids."

  "Fey was with Keegan last summer."

  "For a weekend," Ani said. "Then she regained her sanity."

  "What's wrong with Keegan?" Devon asked.

  "Nothing. Everything. It's the wrong question."

  Devon leaned against the sink and waited for her to continue.

  "What's right with Keegan? For her I mean. Keeg's an okay guy, but what do they have in common besides hormones?"

  Devon's face darkened. Maybe I hit a nerve. Devon fixed her hair in the mirror, plastered a fake smile on her face, and walked out the door. "See you at school, Cutter."

  Fey rushed in an instant later. "What the hell was that?" she asked.

  "I have no idea," Ani said, staring out the door. She shook it off and looked at Fey's shirt, a dead tree clawing at a gray sky. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a Winter Carnival type. What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you."

  Ani smiled. "You found me. What's up?"

  "I think you need another job. The Dragon's Lair is gone."

  "What do you mean, gone?"

  She flicked her hands at Ani. "Poof. Fire."

  "Bullshit. What the hell are you talking about?" Ani asked.

  "No, I'm serious. Heard it on my step-dad's scanner. Drove by on my way here. Leveled, there's nothing left but foundation. I thought you might want to swing by, check it out before the concert."

  "Travis?" Ani asked.

  "He was outside, covered in black. Stan said the whole place stank like gas. They think it's arson."

  "Dylan," Ani said.

  Fey rolled her eyes. "That kid's a nutcase, but he wouldn't do something like that."

  Oh yes he would. "He burned down that bike shed last year. To impress you."

  Fey smiled. "Lot of good it did him. And still, it's a big step from an abandoned shed to a store. He's all show."

  "It was him," Ani said. "I'm sure of it."

  "You got Dylan on the brain, Miss CSI. Travis probably did it for insurance money or something. Happened all the time back home."

  "Fey, you've lived here for eight years. This is back home."

  "Well, shit."

  * * *

  Fey's rusty El Camino smelled like vanilla and cigarettes. Mercifully, the radio didn't work, so they rode in relative silence to check out the remains of the Dragon's Lair. By the time they got there, the fire trucks were gone, and the area was sectioned off with 'DO NOT CROSS' tape.

&nb
sp; The Lair was a ruin. A few black timbers smoldered in the falling snow above a congealed pool of soggy ashes. The siding on the diner next door had melted, exposing primed plywood beneath, but other than that, the fire appeared to have been contained to the one building.

  "Is that cool or what?" Fey asked.

  "Man..." Ani replied. What is wrong with your demented little brain? "Any idea where Travis is staying?"

  Fey shrugged. "I don't keep tabs on the guy. Hope he had insurance."

  I hope there's enough evidence to land Dylan in jail.

  * * *

  Ani sat at the grand piano in a full-sleeved black dress that covered her from neck to ankle. Thank God I don't have to wear a costume. Two years ago her mother had forged a diagnosis of erythropoietic protoporphyria—extreme sensitivity to sunlight. It got her out of outdoor activities in Phys Ed, it explained the discoloration of her skin, and it had the side benefit that Mr. Bariteau let her wear whatever she wanted to concerts, as long as it was "classy." How a man concerned with class could require elf costumes she would never know. Mr. Classy was, of course, dressed as Santa, complete with a fake beard and bushy eyebrows.

  Devon was first flute, and, while she had given Ani a look when she walked in, it was more appraising than hostile. Mike sat with the baritones on the chorus risers, and her mom sat in the back of the auditorium, as usual. Fey didn't come—too cheery—and Jake wouldn't be caught dead there. There was no sign of Dylan, who should have been sitting with the tenor saxophones.

  The band was first. They played several pop standards—Winter Wonderland, White Christmas, Sleigh Bells—as well as some lesser-known works such as James Curnow's Christmas Troika. As an interlude between the band and the chorus, Ani got to show off a little with Tchaikovsky's The Seasons: December-Christmas. It was the only thing on the docket that required any real skill, and it was light and upbeat and happy.

  She closed her eyes and launched into it, her fingers frolicking across the keys. The acoustics in the auditorium were acceptable but not great. She thought of sledding and cozy fires and happy children, concentrating on getting the emotion of the piece correct. The notes would take care of themselves.

  She was two-thirds through and proud of her performance when someone shrieked. Her eyes came open as her mother screamed her name. Mike sprinted at her from the left, his face twisted in hate. She cringed over the keys as he dove, arms wide in a grapple. As he flew over her, his foot caught her shoulder, spinning her from her seat.

  She fell to the floor, too stunned to move. Dylan scrambled from under Mike and bolted for the front exit, sobbing. People scattered out of his way. Mr. Clark blocked the door, then raised his hands and stepped out of the way. Dylan swung a pistol toward the crowd, backing them up, and then bolted out of the auditorium. Children wailed.

  Ani crawled over to Mike, who lay on his side. She saw the blood pooling on the floor, and screamed, "MOM!" He reached for her face. She slapped his hand away and tore his shirt, exposing a deep gash on his abdomen. A kitchen knife lay under him.

  His voice was thick, confused. "Ani?"

  Devon knelt next to her as she pressed her hands over the wound, Mike's hot blood flowing through her fingers. It smelled like iron and steak, and she felt her salivary glands pump what little fluid existed into her mouth. She looked down at him, hungry for the first time in weeks, and drowned in his eyes.

  "Ani… I thought he was… I couldn't let..."

  She heard Mr. Bariteau on the phone with 911.

  "Shhh..." she said. "You'll be okay, Mike."

  Her mother body-checked her out of the way, latex gloves already on her hands. Ani almost face-planted on the stage floor as her hands slipped in the blood. "Go wash up," her mother said. She looked at Ani, her brow streaked with worry. "Now."

  She was escorted to the bathroom by a throng of concerned adults and students on nervous lookout for Dylan. As she scrubbed the blood from her hands, careful to get every trace from under her fingernails, she got them to back off as they told her what happened. The hunger faded to an ember's glow, lingering in the background but under control.

  Dylan had come from nowhere. He leaped out of the orchestra pit with a knife in his hand, raised over his head, point down, ready to do... something. Kill her. Kill himself. Nobody was sure.

  At last the water in the drain ran clear, and she returned to the stage. The sight of blood spiked her hunger, but it was a distant thing, lurking without strength in her gut. Mike was on a stretcher from the nurse's office, his side wrapped in bandages. Devon covered his face with soft kisses as he murmured to her, and Ani strangled a spike of jealousy. Her mom finished setting up a saline drip, then turned to Ani.

  "It's superficial," she said, drawing Ani's gaze from Mike, her face in full-on doctor mode. "Painful, but a few stitches and he'll be fine." She lifted Ani's hands one at a time, examined them, and then let them go. "How are you?"

  "I'm okay, Mom. Just a little shaken up." Her mom held her gaze. "I'm fine. Really."

  "Okay," she said, and pulled Ani to her chest, squeezing tight. Ani's stomach lurched at the proximity, but she held strong. "We'll get him, Ani. The police will find him, and they'll lock him in a padded room forever."

  Chapter 14

  They stitched up Mike, held him for observation, and released him the next morning with a prescription for painkillers and bed-rest. Whatever connection Ani thought she might have made with Devon had disappeared, killed and eaten by psychotic, hormone-crazed jealousy. Ani avoided her when she could and used Fey for cover when she couldn't.

  That night the phone rang, interrupting her mom's dinner. Ani didn't recognize the number, but it was local. Her mom was mid-chew, so Ani hit 'Send' and put it to her ear.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, Sarah?" The voice was female but she didn't recognize it.

  "It's Ani. Let me get—"

  "Oh, Ani, thank God you're alright! This is Mrs. Johnson. Dylan's mom." Ani’s bugged out eyes glared at her mom, who was eavesdropping. "I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what came over my little boy." She started to sob.

  Ani held the phone and waited, with no idea what to say. It's okay? I hope the cops catch him soon?

  "Are you there?"

  "Yeah, I'm here," Ani said.

  Mrs. Johnson sniffled. "Well I just wanted to say I'm sorry for everything."

  "Okay," Ani said. "Thank you for calling." She hit 'End' and set the phone down. Her mom took another bite of mashed potatoes. "That was weird."

  Mrs. Johnson called again the next day, and the day after that she stopped by with a plate of cookies.

  * * *

  Aside from nervous waiting for some word from the police, the only excitement was when Ani's five-week grades came out on the 23rd—and it wasn't the good kind of excitement. Even though she had done all of her work, her test scores were a shambles. It was hard to concentrate with the thought of Dylan appearing behind her, knife in hand. Even moving her seat to the back of the classroom, where she had a full view of the door and windows, didn't help. Her mother remained firm—she was grounded. Not that she had a job or a life, or was allowed to go see anyone in the first place. Like grounding a houseplant.

  Still, come Christmas Eve the house smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg and the pine wreath over the mantle, Bing Crosby crooned on the stereo, and their fake plastic tree twinkled with colored lights and ornaments. Things could be a lot worse.

  The doorbell rang.

  Ani looked at her mom. "I got it," she said. "Maybe it's the police." Her mom moved over to the couch as Ani checked the peep-hole. "It's Mike!"

  Her mom tsk-ed and moved back to her desk. Ani schooled her face blank, then undid the double deadbolts and opened the door.

  "Merry Christmas," she said. "Come on in."

  She stepped aside so he could do just that, shut the door behind him, and re-set the locks.

  "Merry Christmas, Ani." He handed her a small box wrapped in gold paper. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Romer
o."

  "Miss. Or Doctor." She smiled at him. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Make yourself at home."

  Ani set the gift on the piano while Mike removed his boots. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked. He shook his head.

  "No, I'm good," he said. She sat on the couch, and he sat next to her, then glanced at the present.

  "I didn't get you anything," she said. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  "That's okay," he replied. "I wasn't expecting anything." Neither was I, but I should have gotten you something anyway.

  They sat in awkward silence, thighs touching, him staring at the floor while she stared at the shuttered window. Her mom scribbled in a notebook, and the pencil scratching across the paper was the loudest thing in the room.

  Mike cleared his throat. "Hey, I got my mom a keyboard, a Yamaha DGX-530. Got it used on Craigslist."

  Ani smiled, trying not to stare at him. "Wow. That's a nice machine." Expensive. "I didn't know she plays."

  Mike returned her smile. Why is it so hard to breathe when I don't even have to? "She doesn't, but she's always wanted to. I was hoping you'd give her some lessons."

  "Uh..." Ani said. Her mom frowned at her from across the room. "Um..." Her mom shook her head. She looked at Mike. I can't say no to those eyes. She held up a finger. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

  She rushed to the study, pulled a Christmas card from the file, and wrote in it. This card good for ten hours of lessons at Ani's house. She popped it into an envelope, sealed it, walked back to the couch and held it out to Mike. "Give her that."

  He took the envelope, looked at it, then looked at Ani. "Okay, thanks." She stood in front of him, and they stared at each other. He looked at his knees. "Um, I got to get going." She took a step back as he stood. She noticed him wince as he got to his feet.