Jackson Pearce

“No importa si no te entienden, lo que importa es que tengas el valor de decirlo.”

“This is why Caliban was a punishment. I realize it now -- it's a beautiful, perfect world of nothingness. No connection, no longing, no . . . love. A world we're trapped in until we're needed here, a world we're condemned to while everyone we might care about forgets us.”

“I don't care anymore. Even if she never speaks to me again because of the press, she's worth it. She makes me a person, not just a wish granter.”

“Packing to leave Atlanta is a lot easier than packing to come here. We bundle most everything up in our bedsheets and cram clothing into duffel bags, leaving the rugs and thrift store findings to whoever the next tenant may be. We leave the next morning, Scarlett waving a sarcastic farewell to the junkie downstairs before we take of in the hatchback, pop music blaring and me leaning toward Silas, both to avoid the door of death and to rest my head against his biceps.Ellison hasn’t changed, unsurprisingly. Buildings here are yellow and pale gold instead of harsh steel and silver. Trees dapple the sunlight across the car. The air is warmer, like loving arms that swirl around me for comfort. It’s so good to be home.”

“You understand,” Silas says quietly—the words are just for me, but I know Scarlett hears—“I’m . . . when I’m twenty-eight, Rosie. You know what this means. I’m dangerous, Rosie.”“You plan on loving me when you’re twenty-eight?” I interrupt, uncertain if my question is serious or not.Silas’s eyes widen in surprise. He turns to look out the taxi window for a moment, and when his eyes meet mine again, there’s a beautiful sincerity glistening in the gray-blue irises. “Rosie . . . I love you. Now, when I’m twenty-eight, when I’m thirty-five . . . I love you.”I exhale. “Okay, then.”“But I’m—”I put a finger against his soft, bow-shaped lips. “Okay, then.”

“Scarlett doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Not surprising, really, since we have to come up with an elaborate story about how we all got so severely wounded.“Dogfight. We broke one up,” my sister answers for us as a horrified emergency room receptionist looks at Scarlett’s raw, bleeding shoulders.“Dogs dislike us.” Silas shrugs, clutching the wound on his chest. He glances down at the burn wounds on my legs. I think they might scar, but it’s hard to say. The receptionist speaks into a walkie-talkie, then lets her eyes travel from the fresh wounds to the ancient scars on Scarlett’s body.“Dogs pretty much hate me,” Scarlett says testily. The poor receptionist looks relieved when the ER doctors appear and usher us down the hall.”

“I love her!” he shouts, slamming his hands against the kitchen table. “You know I love her, Lett. You know I can’t just stay here.”I don’t know that. I don’t know what it’s like to be in love. But I can’t possibly deny the fire in Silas’s eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the knowledge that I’ll never be able to keep him from going to her.”

“I stop crying for a moment when light from the street steals into my bedroom as Silas gently pushes the curtain aside. He leans against the wall, arms folded across his bare chest and hair falling in front of his eyes. Almost silently, he moves to the tiny space between my bed and the wall and lowers himself to the floor. Raising his knees to his chest, he drops his head and reaches for my hand, running his thumb across my knuckles silently.I slide off the bed, sheets wrapped around my legs, and ease into his lap, tucking my face against his neck. He cradles me against him like he’s afraid to let me go. I know I should shy away, that I should climb back into my bed out of loyalty to my sister. But there’s something that locks me in place, something that won’t let me stray from the gentle rise and fall of his chest or from his arms, supporting me like I’m something precious as his lips brush across my forehead.Without speaking, we finally fall asleep.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t have done this. She’s my sister.”“Don’t say that,” Silas murmurs into my hair, voice genuinely pleading. “Please don’t ever say that.”“We’re hunters,” I choke.“Yes. Of course we are. We’re . . . we’re more . . . but . . .” He shakes his head and pushes me out to arm’s length, lowering his head to look me in the eyes. “I didn’t mean for us to hurt her, Rosie, but I wouldn’t take any of it back. I couldn’t take any of it back—I love you too much.”

“Rosie laughs. She reaches around Silas’s neck—he looks taller, older than normal—and twirls the hair at the nape of his neck around her fingers. His arms circle her waist protectively, one hand half hidden beneath her silk shirt as it rests on the tiny, smooth small of her back. Everything about them is silky and gleaming, all smooth skin and shiny hair and languid voices.”

“I can’t pinpoint what exactly it is until Silas steps behind my sister and delicately runs his fingers through her hair, his handle gentle as if he’s touching a priceless jewel. Rosie blushes as he leans into her and whispers something in her ear that makes her lips curve up in an elegant smile. I recognize the look in Silas’s eyes—adoration.”

“Do you suppose that’s it? That’s all there is to it?” Scarlett whispers, collapsing backward onto the couch.“Even if it isn’t, how many seventh sons of seventh sons can there be in this city?” Silas says. He takes my hand, and even though Scarlett is watching, I can’t bring myself to pull it away. “We . . . we have it. We just need to find him.”We don’t speak. I squeeze Silas’s hand and he smiles at me as Scarlett stands and beings pacing, deep in thought.“Good job, love,” Silas whispers to me. When Scarlett’s back is turned, he pulls me toward him and kisses my forehead adoringly.”

“Oh god. Screwtape, I hate you.” I cry and laugh in the same breath as I trudge toward them. My clothes are covered in dirt as I trudge toward them. My clothes are covered in dirt and my hair is matted, but I don’t care. I peer through the basket bars at Screwtape, who looks at me as though I’ve betrayed his trust. I rise and meet Silas’s gaze. “Thank you, Silas,” I say, though the words are quieter than I mean. Something buzzes within me, stirs around in my chest enticingly.“Of course,” he murmurs. His eyes are heavy on mine, his gaze pulling me in. He licks his lips nervously and runs a hand through his hair. Screwtape howls out as the rain increases, droplets clinging to Silas’s lashes and running over his lips. Why am I noticing his lips? I brush my hair behind my ears as the heavy rain drowns out the sounds of the city on the other side of the fence.“Rosie,” he says, or maybe he just mouths the word. He takes hold of my fingertips, and this time I move my hand and interlace my fingers with his. Silas inhales, as if he’s going to say something else, like he wants to say something else, but instead he pulls me to him, closing the distance between us until his chest brushes mine with every breath. His body is warm, and the feeling of being against him and feeling heat from his skin makes me light-headed.“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but doesn’t break away from me.“Why?”“Because there’s something I have to do,” he says, voice velvety soft. Silas unwinds his fingers from mine and reaches up, wiping the raindrops off my face with the palm of his hand as the stirring in my chest spreads through my whole body, pounds in my veins, begs to be released. I put my hands against his chest as if I know what I’m doing, and he finally leans forward and tilts my chin upward gently.His lips meet mine, tentatively at first, then hungrily, and I clutch at his shirt as if holding on to him will keep me from floating away into the thunderhead above. His hands run down my back, and one rests on my hip while the other tugs me closer, until I think I could melt into him because nothing has ever, ever felt so right.”

“Rosie flicks out her second knife and takes aim. It spins out of her hand like a star, straight at the Alpha’s chest. But the Alpha knocks it away easily. He raises a clawed hand at my sister and I feel a scream erupting in my throat, recognizing the motion from seven years ago. The swing will take my sister’s eye. I storm through the still-transforming Fenris, swinging my hatchet as if I’m hacking at tree limbs. Rosie’s eyes widen in horror as the Alpha’s claws being to descend. I grit my teeth and force my body forward, now ignoring the other wolves, desperate to reach her.A roaring scream, all human but as fierce as any Fenris howl, echoes through the parking lot. My head snaps to see its source: Silas is running toward Rosie, hunting knives in one hand, axe aloft in the other. His eyes burn brighter than any hellfire. He swings out just as the Alpha’s claws are about to reach Rosie’s face, knocking the monster out of the way.”

“I don’t know how to bowl.”“Right, that’s a problem, since this place really screams ‘professional bowling,’” Silas snips back, rolling his eyes.”

“I hurry back to the apartment, wondering how long I’ve been gone. I push the door open, then promptly drop the frozen peas.Silas grins at me, shirtless, slightly toned chest glimmering in the sunlight pouring in through the dirty windows. His pants are slung wantonly low on his hips, and I can’t help thinking about the drawings I left behind, the way non-Silas’s abs looked nearly identical to real Silas’s, and therefore everything might look identical . . . My face flushes and I exhale shakily.”

“Two men enter the room, one old and mustached and the other young and tawny-headed, wearing sweats and a worn T-shirt. He looks like Silas, actually—god, what am I, obsessed? But there really is something of the woodsman in the younger man’s face, with his full lips, his slightly curled hair that turns like tendrils around his ears . . . I look away before studying him too closely.“All right, ladies, are we ready?” the older man says enthusiastically. There’s a loud rustling of paper as well flip the enormous sketchbooks on our easels until we find blank sheets. I draw a few soft lines on my page, unsure what— Non-Silas rips off his T-shirt, revealing lightly defined muscles on his pale chest. I raise an eyebrow just as he tugs at the waist of the sweatpants. They drop to the floor in a fluid, sweeping motion.There’s nothing underneath them. At all.My charcoal slips through my suddenly sweaty fingers.Non-Silas steps out of the puddle of his clothes and moves to the center of the room, fluorescent lights reflecting off his slick abdomen. He’s smiling as though he isn’t naked, smiling as though I didn’t somehow manage to get the seat closest to him. As if I can’t see . . . um . . . everything only a few feet from my face, making my mind clumsily spiral. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment; he looks like Silas in the face, and because of that I keep wondering if he looks akin to Silas everywhere else.“All right, ladies, this will be a seven-minute pose. Ready?” the older man says, positioning himself behind the other empty easel. The roomful of housewives nod in one hungry motion. I quiver. “Go!” the older man says, starting the stopwatch. Non-Silas poses, something reminiscent of Michelangelo’s David, only instead of marble eyes looking into nothingness, non-Silas is staring almost straight at me.Draw. I’m supposed to be drawing. I grab a new piece of charcoal from the bottom of the easel and begin hastily making lines in my sketchbook. I can’t not look at him, or he’ll think I’m not drawing him. I glance hurriedly, trying to avoid the region my eyes continuously return to. I start to feel fluttery. How long has it been? Surely it’s been seven minutes. I try to add some tone to my drawing’s chest. I wonder what Silas’s chest looks like . . . Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop—”“Right, then!” the older man says as his stopwatch beeps loudly and the scratchy sound of charcoal on paper ends. Thank you, sir, thank you—”“Annnnd next pose!”Non-Silas turns his head away, till all I can see is his wren-colored hair and his side, including a side view of . . . how many times am I going to have to draw this man’s area? What’s worse is that he looks even more like Silas now that I can’t see his eyes. Just like Silas, I bet. My eyes linger longer than necessary now that non-Silas isn’t staring straight at me.By the end of class, I’ve drawn eight mediocre pictures of him, each one with a large white void in the crotch area. The housewives compare drawings with ravenous looks in their eyes as non-Silas tugs his pants back on and leaves the room, nodding politely. I picture him naked again.I sprint from the class, abandoning my sketches—how could I explain them to Scarlett or Silas? Stop thinking of Silas, stop thinking of Silas.”

“Well I’m sixteen, close enough. Scarlett is eighteen, which makes Silas . . . wow. What does someone Silas’s age want with a kid like me?”

“I’m sorry, Rosie,” Silas says when he sees the sadness in my eyes. I shake my head, trying to brush the look away, but Silas isn’t easily deterred. He hesitates, then leans on the counter beside me, moving slowly as if he needs verification that each move is acceptable, wanted.“Hey,” he says, resting two fingers on my arm. It starts as a friendly gesture. I press my lips together as he slides his palm up my arm and around his shoulders. Silas paused, and though I’m not certain, I think he realizes that the touch is far more friendly as well—a thought that makes me dizzy but practically forces me to move my own hand to the small of his back. I close my eyes and inhale, and I feel Silas’s breath on my forehead, hear his relaxed heartbeats. His lips are so close to me, I could easily tilt my head back and kiss him if I were braver. It’s hard to not sigh, like the exhausted breath is building up in my chest and I’m holding it back, though more than anything I want to release it, to truly hold myself against him—Scarlett’s shower cuts off. Silas snatches his arm away and I lean back up, head swirling from the quick change.“Um . . . right,” Silas says, looking startled. He looks at me. “Okay, back to studying Potentials, wolves, important stuff . . .” He shakes his head as if he’s casting away a mental fog.I bite my lip. I want to get out of here—I need to get out of here, or the thumping desire for Silas is going to consume me. There’s no way Scarlett won’t figure it out if I can’t escape and get my mind off him. It’s just for a little while—I can go get groceries or something. Silas will help her research. We can’t keep paying for Chinese food. I meet Silas’s eyes, dashes of sky color in the monotone apartment.“I’ll be back,” I say, then dart for the door.“Wait!” he whispers sharply. He lunges toward the couch and tosses me the belt with my knives on it. “Just in case.” I catch it with one hand and swing it around my waist. Silas gives me a sly smile—does he know the affect that smile has on me?”

“I look back at Silas, who is adding more sugar to his coffee. “Okay. Fine. One class, but only because I might not get another chance once we’re back in Ellison. And you have to promise not to tell Scarlett.”“Only if you let me pay for it,” he counters.“Silas,” I say threateningly.He shrugs. “You and Lett are broke. And besides, if you pay for it, Scarlett will know the money is missing.”“Fine,” I say dismissively.“Great. Let’s go get you signed up, then,” he says, rising and dropping a few crumbled dollars onto the tabletop. I remain seated, mouth open.“Now?”“No time like the present. I suppose I’ve taken Operation Rosie-Gets-a-Life as a personal mission. It’s too similar to Operation Silas-Gets-a-Life for me to ignore.” He extends a hand to me, and, without thinking, I take it. My heart rate quickens and I want to pull him toward me.Oh god. What am I thinking? I pull my hand away again and smile nervously. Silas smiles almost sheepishly. Did he feel the same stirring sensation?”

“So, did you see that community center I was talking about?”“What? Where?”“We walked right past it, just before that grocery store. I mentioned it on the way to the city? You just drop in and take classes. They’ve got all sorts of stuff. I bet you can get a student rate, even.”“But I’m not a student—”“You’re young enough that they’ll assume—”“—and how am I supposed to find the time to take dance classes, now that I’m the dessert?”“I’m starting to really regret using that metaphor,” Silas says, grinning. “And let me explain something, Rosie.” He takes a swig of the coffee and presses his lips together, searching for words. “I’m from a long, long, long, long line of woodsmen. My brothers are all supertalented. They all built their own rooms. For god’s sake, Lucas built a freaking wooden hot tub in his bedroom with wooden monkeys pouring water into it.”“Monkeys?”“Don’t ask. Anyway, I can do some woodworking. I know my way around the forest, I can handle an ax better than most, I can make a tree grow where nothing else will, I can live off berries and hunt for my food, and I’ve known about the Fenris since I could crawl. I’m a woodsman, for all intents and purposes. But that doesn’t mean I live for it any more than the fact that you’re good at hunting means you have to live for that. So maybe breaking out of the hunting lifestyle for a few hours here and there will help you figure out if it’s really for you or not.”I shake my head, confused as to why he’d even think that was possible. “I can’t just not hunt, Silas. So yeah, I take a few random classes, and what if I decide that I hate hunting and want to quit? That doesn’t mean I can. I owe Scarlett my life, and if she wants to cash in by having me spend my life hunting beside her, so be it. It’d kill her if she ever thought I wanted to quit.”“Rosie,” Silas says quietly. “I’m not suggesting you drop your sister like a bad habit and take up intense ballet training.”

“Come on. Let’s go get coffee, get your mind off it,” Silas says soothingly as I begin to take my frustration out on the bag of bread, violently twisting the end of the plastic into a knot.“I don’t like coffee,” I grumble without looking at him. Silas reaches forward and puts his hands over mine. Goose bumps erupt on my arms.He raises his eyebrows, voice gentle. “You can get chocolate milk, then. But let’s get out of here before you bend the entire loaf in half.” I sigh and look at him. Funny how he can go from being “just Silas” to Silas in a matter of seconds. I release the bread and follow him out the door, my frustration and the flutter feeling fighting for control of me.The diner Silas takes me to is just a few blocks away, a dingy but classic-looking place with black and white tile and red neon signs blinking things such as “Apple Pie!” and “Specialty Hash Browns!” We slide into a booth, and a waitress who is missing several teeth grins at us and asks us for our order.“Just a cup of coffee for me. You, Rosie?”“Chocolate milk,” I reply with a snide look at Silas. He laughs and the waitress hurries away. Then, silence. Silas rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, and I pretend to read a piece of paper outlining the history of the diner. Right.“So,” I blurt out, a little louder than I meant to, “I guess you didn’t get much time at home, did you? Back from California and now stuck here with us?” Is my voice shaking? I think my voice is shaking.”

“Do you . . .” I begin, then turn around to make sure Scarlett is really asleep, not just faking it—her chest rises and falls a different way when it’s genuine. Satisfied, I look back to Silas and choose my words carefully. “Do you think I’m a good hunter?”Silas looks confused. “Of course. You and Lett are the best hunters I—”“No, not me and Scarlett. Just me,” I say.Silas slows the car a tad to look at me. “Yes. Yes, of course. You’re—pardon my language—you’re fucking deadly with a knife, Rosie.”I smile and shake my head, remembering all the times Silas scolded his older brothers for throwing language around in front of my “virgin ears.” It’s sort of satisfying to know that his perspective has changed. “Right,” I say. “I mean, we hunt together. But Scarlett . . . it’s like a part of her soul.”“Dramatic much?” Silas teases, but he frowns when I don’t laugh.“You know what I mean. It drives her.”“But not you?”“I don’t know. I mean, maybe. It doesn’t matter. I owe Scarlett my life, you know?”“Yeah, but . . . like I told your sister, that doesn’t mean she’s got you locked in a cage forever. Unless you want to be locked in a cage, I mean. Wait, that sounds weird.” Silas shakes his head and sighs. “I’m forever tripping on words with you, Rosie.”“I have that effect on people,” I joke, but Silas’s face stays serious as he nods slightly. I grin nervously.”

“Silas nods and turns to back the car up, accidently brushing a hand against my shoulders as he does so.“Sorry,” he says under his breath, like he’s whispering in church. I shake my head as Scarlett settles her long arms and legs in the backseat and uses her cloak as a blanket.Still trying to lean somewhere between the door of death and Silas’s shoulder, I stare out the window as we lumber out of town. The road is smooth, hypnotic, with the dotted lines vanishing rhythmically before us. I glance back at my sister. She’s fallen asleep, and Screwtape is casting her dark looks, as if she’s to blame for his predicament.I looked toward Silas, trying to appear as if I’m just glancing out his window. Really, I want to study him intensely. He’s wearing one of his many nearly threadbare T-shirts, jeans that are soft from washing, wavy hair . . . Everything about him begs to be touched . . .“You’re nervous,” Silas says suddenly.“What? No!” I answer sharply. Am I that obvious?Silas raises an eyebrow and laughs.“It makes sense. I mean, you and Lett have lived in Ellison forever.” Right . . . right. He’s talking about the trip, not my resisting the temptation to fall on him. We’re silent for a moment, nearly tangible awkwardness floating around the front seats. Silas drums his fingers on the steering wheel.”

“Silas refuses to help us cage Screwtape, who hisses loudly, having long suspected something is up. I go to pick him up, trying to act like everything is normal, but Screwtape darts away. It’d probably be easier to crate a Fenris than it is to crate Screwtape. The dance repeats until Scarlett and I are red in the face and Silas is laughing at us. We finally run the cat down, and Scarlett manages to toss the laundry basket over him when he’s too busy anticipating his next dash.“We could still leave him,” Silas jokes—I think he’s joking, anyway—as we load the howling backseat of his car. Scarlett looks as though she might feel the same way as she nurses a batch of claw marks on top of the thicker Fenris scars. She climbs into the backseat of the car as Silas and I slide into the front. Silas hot-wires the ignition of the hatchback and pounds on the radio for a few minutes before it buzzes to life.“We can’t change the station, by the way,” he says. “Because you really like pop music?” I ask, wrinkling my nose as a bubbly song blares at us.“Not hardly,” Silas says. “I hate it. But last time I changed it, the car stopped. Oh, and lean away from your door—sometimes it opens randomly.“Um . . . great,” I say, leaning as far away from the door as possible. But this feels even more dangerous, because I’m leaning incredibly close to Silas, so close that I’m hyperaware of the fact that my sister is right behind me. My stomach twists as it fights my body’s urge to fall against him. I shudder and try to shake the desire off.”

“How about we go through the festival once before picking a spot?”“Why?” I ask.“Because I enjoy apples,” he replies. Rosie giggles. “Because then we can go if there’s a spot that would be particularly easy to grab a girl from,” he answers again, voice serious this time.”

“We’ll go out tomorrow morning, then. First thing,” she ventures, more to Silas than me. “Though how the hell are we supposed to hunt? The Fenris certainly can’t see my face, and he’ll recognize Rosie. We’ve got no bait, unless you think you’ll look pretty in a dress, Silas.”“Okay, one, I would look great in a dress,” Silas begins. He turns to lean against the bathroom door, seemingly forgetting that I’m still in a towel. When he sees me, he averts his eyes and flushes a little. “And two,” he continues in a forced voice, “you’ve been luring Fenris on your own for pages, Scarlett. The Apple Time Festival is tomorrow. Perfect place for a Fenris to hang out, even if you don’t take into account all the red people will be wearing. We’ll go there.”Scarlett nods curtly. No one moves for a few minutes as water continues to trickle off my back and onto the shower floor. Finally, Scarlett gives me another cold look, turns on her heel, and storms down the hall.“Sorry I got you in trouble,” Silas whispers guiltily, his voice the only sound other than the steady pattering of water hitting the tile floor. “I was worried about you when you took off, and then I realized it was probably your first solo . . .”I shake my head. “I had to tell her eventually.”“For what it’s worth,” he says, eyes still averted respectfully, “I thought you did great.”“Thanks, Silas.” He finally meets my eyes, keeping his gaze firmly on my face. I tug the towel a little tighter.“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry for barging in. I didn’t . . . um, see anything. I promise.”

“Rosie!” Scarlett shouts. There’s fear in her voice, mixed with fury. I grit my teeth. My sister flings the bathroom door open, a hazy form behind the white shower curtain. “What happened? Are you okay?” she demands, voice dark enough to intimidate a wolf.“I . . .” Scarlet,” I say, cutting the water off. I sigh and reach for a towel.A voice interrupts my movement. “Look, Scarlett, come on, it was an accident—”Silas rounds the corner. I freeze, arm outstretched and still a few inches from the towel, body half exposed around the curtain. His mouth drops, cheeks flush, and he immediately whirls around to face the hallway.“Sorry, Rosie,” he said quickly. He puts his hands into his pockets and bounces on his heels. My face turns bright red, goose bumps scattering across my arms from both the cold and the shivery feeling Silas is giving me.”

“Silas nods toward the green crosswalk sign and lightly places his hand on the small of my back to urge me forward. The touch sends shivers up my spine and the woozy feeling takes over. Walk, Rosie, walk. Don’t be stupid.Silas points several blocks away as we arrive on the opposite curb. “I can give you a ride home, if you don’t mind waiting for a few hours. I’ve got to go see the power company getting my lights turned back on.”“I, um . . .” Sit with Silas for a few hours in the power company office? And then for another half hour on the ride home? I want to. I really, really want to. But what will we talk about? How long will it take me to start giggling like a moron? I can lure a Fenris—sway my hips, giggle lustily, bat my eyelashes—but I have no idea how not to look like a bumbling idiot in front of Silas Reynolds.”

“Those girls have nothing on the March sisters,” Silas says, leaning in so close that I can feel his breath on my shoulder. A strange shiny feeling ripples through me and I wheel toward him, accidently ramming my shopping basket into Silas’s side. A few Ace bandages toppled to the floor and the girls looked up from their polish dilemma to snicker at me. Nice one, Rosie. I can feel the blush starting as I duck to grab the bandages, and when my hand brushes against Silas’s leg, the heat spreads down my neck. Calm down. It’s just Silas. I rise and force a smile that I hope doesn’t look as goofy as I suspect.”

“Silas talks about San Francisco, so avidly that I think he’s trying to fill the air with words before it can be consumed with awkward silences. I don’t know why I feel those silences lurking all around us, but every time Silas and I make eye contact, I can sense them there, waiting to slip in and make me blush. I try to avoid his eyes, stealing glances at his arched brows and bow-shaped lips whenever he’s looking away.”

“I wonder if he still hates me,” Silas says as the cat edges out from the couch, pale green eyes like little limes in the dark. As if to answer Silas’s question, Screwtape takes a flying leap onto his lap and begins to purr wildly.“I’m not falling for this anymore,” Silas says firmly. He moves to push Screwtape away, but as soon as his palms are within a few inches of Screwtape’s wild fur, the cat extends his claws into Silas’s thighs. Silas winces and muffles a yelp.“Need some help?” I say, trying to hide my laughter. “That’d be great,” he answered tensely. I hurry over and scoop Screwtape into my arms. The cat instantly melts against me and rubs his face against mine, the scent of catnip on his breath. I crinkle my nose.“Thanks.” Silas sighs in relief. “I can hunt wolves, but it’s a cat I can’t handle. Not terrible manly of me, is it?”“I won’t tell anyone,” I answer with a soft smile that he returns.”

“I didn’t know you’d grown to love hunting so much,” Silas notes, sounding genuinely surprised.I backpedal. “I . . . I mean, it’s not about liking hunting. It’s about the fact that I spend hours training every day for solo hunts she won’t let me do. If I have to live the life of a hunter, I’d like to actually, you know, hunt.”“Ah,” Silas says, though I’m pretty sure I didn’t make any sense. “Well, not that I’m in favor of her stealing hunts from you, but I’ll confess it’s hard to think about Rosie March on her own, killing wolves, and not get overprotective.” He paused, and he seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Even if you aren’t exactly ‘little Rosie March’ anymore.”My eyes find his, trying to analyze the meaning of his words, of the change in his tone. But just as I finally take a breath and will myself to speak, the pipes from the upstairs shower rattle above us. I turn back to the oven, out of my trance. I’m overanalyzing things, as usual.“What are you making, then?” Silas asks, voice back to normal.“Um . . . meatloaf.” The sexiest of foods.”

“You need some help, Rosie?” His footsteps quicken behind me, and before I can respond, I feel his calloused hands on my waist. I accidently slide back against his chest and inhale the scent that has always clung to his whole family—something like forests, damp leaves, and sunshine. I suppose when your father is a woodsman you’re bound to carry the scent of oak in your veins. One breath is all I get the chance for, though; he kicks the door open and sets me down on the front stoop, then takes a step back. I turn to face him, hoping to thank him for the help and in the same sentence admonish him for carrying me like a little girl.Instead, I smile. He’s still Silas—Silas who left a year ago, the boy just a little older than my sister. His eyes are still sparkling and expressive, hair still the brown-black color of pine bark, body broad-shouldered and a little too willowy for his features. He’s still there, but it’s as if someone new has been layered on top of him. Someone older and stronger who isn’t looking a me as if I’m Scarlett’s kid sister . . . someone who makes me feel dizzy and quivery. How did this happen?Calm down. It’s just Silas. Sort of.“You’re staring,” he says cautiously, looking worried.“Oh. Um, sorry,” I say, shaking my head. Silas shoves his hands into his pockets with a familiar sway. “It’s just been a while, that’s all.”“Yeah, no kidding. You’re heavier than I remember.”I frown, mortified.“Oh, no, wait. I didn’t mean it like that, just that you’ve gotten older. Wait, that doesn’t sound much better . . .” Silas runs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath.“No, I get it.” I let him off the hook, grinning. Something about seeing him nervous thaws some of my shyness.”

“Wow,” Silas says softly as he kills the ignition. I follow his stare out the windshield—Rosie is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded and eyes sparkling in anger. “Rosie looks . . . different.”

“Scarlet . . .” Silas begins in a serious tone. He started using “the tone” when we were kids to remind me that he’s older than I am. It annoys me just as much now as it did then, only now it’s less acceptable for me to push him into the mud for it.”

“And I have to admit that there is something undeniably fulfilling about hunting with Rosie. Somehow, it makes me feel as if the long list of differences between us doesn't exist. We're dressed the same, we fight the same enemy, we win together ... It's as though for that moment I get to be her, the one who isn't covered in thick scars, and she gets to understand what it is to be me. It's different than hunting with Silas--he and I are partners, not part of the same heart.”

“Here I am, saving your lives, bitten and scarred and wounded for you, and you don't even know it.”

“I like libraries. It's a comfort that knowledge can be save for so long. That what we learn can be passed on.”

“Un pájaro y un pez puede que quieran estar juntos, pero ¿dónde vivirían?”

“The cruelest thing, hope, the way it strings you along, the way it makes you believe.”

“It is beautiful, it is endless, it is full and yet seems empty. It hurts us.”

“-Creo que siempre estamos buscando nuevas piezas. Siempre estamos enteros, más enteros. Entonces, cuando una pieza se va, se rompe. Pero no nos quedamos menos enteros que al principio...—Pero sí con la sensación de que estamos rotos... —añado, con las palabras pegadas a la garganta.Agradezco que Viola me interrumpa.—Es horrible. Doloroso —termina—. Pero cuando menos te lo esperas, aparecen nuevas piezas y de repente... encajan.”

“No me había dado cuenta de la vida tan insatisfecha que tenía hasta que tuve más. Hasta que tuve la pieza que no sabía que me faltaba.”

“Todo lo que he aprendido hoy en la clase sobre Shakespeare es que a veces tienes que enamorarte de la persona equivocada para encontrar a la correcta. Una lección más útil hubiera sido que a veces la persona adecuada no te corresponde. O que a veces la persona adecuada es gay. O que a veces tú mismo no eres la persona adecuada.Gracias por nada, Shakespeare.”

“I shouldn't be jealous because it's not real--she's like a math problem, the kind where you got the right answer but didn't show any of your work. She is the right answer, but she didn't get there by going through anything difficult, by questioning, by doubting. She landed there by playing a part, but she's never done the work. I'm still jealous.”

“¿Cuántos momentos de mi vida he desperdiciado para siempre por la culpa de esto?”

“A los mortales os hace falta compañía porque tenéis tristeza, deseos y un tiempo limitado de vida.”

“-Me has dicho que no dura, que desear ser feliz nunca dura. Así que lo que me haría sentir completa es formar parte de algo en vez de ser invisible, pero no quiero desear eso. No puede que sea tan patética para desear algo así –su voz se apaga. –No sé qué hacer.Me río. No quiero, pero no puedo evitarlo. No me extraña que no pueda saber lo que quiere, puesto que no es un auténtico deseo. Los ojos de Viola brillan de ira.-Me alegro de que te haga gracia.Suelto otra carcajada.-Bueno, es que es imposible ser una persona rota por completo. No eres más que una persona. Solo puedes existir. Solo formas parte de ti misma, tú eres la única responsable de tu felicidad o de lo que sea. Ese sentimiento de estar rota o completa no es más que un truco de la mente mortal. Los tres deseos no te harán sentir más completa de lo que eres ahora. Al menos no por mucho tiempo.”

“No se trata de ser buena. Se trata de ponerle pasión.”