“They call them the corncobs,” Jason said, pointing to those twin, curvy towers that were full of parked cars.
“They look like it,” I agreed, neck stretched upward as I watched them pass.
“Here, lean back against me,” he whispered, rearranging himself so that his body supported mine. I leaned back, my head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and we floated down the Chicago River, the world around us. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. Secure, like even if the world was full of ghosts and monsters and evil motivations, they couldn’t get to me. Not now. Not while we floated on inky blue water, the riveted steel of bridges above us, orangey red against the bright blue sky.
“I was thinking about the Sneak,” he whispered. “I think we should go together.”
My stomach felt like tiny birds had taken flight, and I was glad he couldn’t see the silly grin on my face. “Yeah,” I said. “That sounds good.”
He squeezed me tighter. “Life is good.”
For once, in that moment, it simply was.
But moments like that don’t last forever, do they?
We were back on land, walking toward St. Sophia’s when he pulled me toward the alley and the garden of thorns. I figured he wanted a quiet place to talk. I hadn’t expected him to unbutton his shirt. Blushing, I looked away, but I got enough of a view to see that he had the body of an athlete.
“You can look,” he said with a chuckle. “I need to show you something.”
I glanced back, my eyebrow arched suspiciously.
He held up two fingers. “Completely PG. I promise.”
I looked . . . then gaped. Across his chest were three foot-long scratches. They were well-healed now, three ripples of pinkish skin, the scars of an attack.
Instinctively, I reached out my hand to touch him, before curling my fingers back into a fist. “What happened?”
“Initiation,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if he meant it was a badge of honor for joining the werewolves, or it was a mark of how he’d become one. But then I remembered that he’d told me being a wolf was hereditary.
“When a wolf is old enough, he or she spends a night on a kind of journey. Like a vision quest. He—I—went into the woods. Some of the night is gone—the hours passed, but I don’t remember what I did. Some of it I remember, but a lot of those memories are just random sounds and images.”
“What sounds and images do you remember?”
He shook his head. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Seriously?”
His expression was grim. “It’s one of the rules. My parents don’t even know what went on. Just me and”—he looked down at the scars on his chest—“me and the wolf who did this.”
“Initiation,” I repeated. “That seems kinda harsh.”
“You’re thinking like a human. Think about puppies. They learn by play fighting, biting, clawing. That’s different from the way humans learn.” He shrugged. “Same goes for werewolves. The world is a violent place.”
“Did you”—I paused, trying to figure out how to ask the question—“did you learn anything while you were out there? Have a vision, I mean? See part of your future or whatever?”
“I guess you could say I understood what it meant to be who I am.” His eyes seemed to cloud, like whatever he’d learned, he wasn’t thrilled about it.
“Is it magic?” I wondered. “I mean, they call you an Adept, and you’re a member of Enclave Three . . .”
His expression darkened. “I’m an Adept because I’m something else, something other, and something powerful. Not because I have a talent.” He looked away. I could tell that something was bothering him—something about being a werewolf—but I still wasn’t sure what it was.
What had he wanted to show me? The scars?
“What is it?” I asked.
“I need to tell you something. And it may mean something to you. It might not—but I need to tell you.”
My stomach rolled. Scout had tried to warn me about Jason; she hadn’t been specific, though. Now I wondered if I was about to get all the gory details. Did he have a girlfriend? Was he a Reaper in disguise? Had he seen me talking to Sebastian? I gnawed the edge of my lip. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“It’s a curse,” he said.
We were quiet for a moment.
“I don’t know what you mean about a ‘curse.’ ”
He shook his head, and he wouldn’t make eye contact. “It means it’s not a gift, or magic. I’m not some kind of romantic mutant. I’m not a superhero.” He looked up at me, and his eyes shifted in color—from sky blue to chartreuse—just like those of an animal in the night. His voice dropped, became a little growlier.
“There was an ancient king named Lycaon. He was cruel to gods and men alike, and he was punished by both. The gods punished him by turning him into a wolf—but only halfway. So he wasn’t really a wolf, and he wasn’t really a man. He had to live in between the two worlds, never really a part of either. Humans punished him for that.”
I reached out and took his hand, slipping my fingers into his. “So that’s where it all started?”
Jason nodded. “With Lycaon and his sons. They were my ancestors and the cause of it all. I bear the curse every day, Lily, of someone else’s guilt.”
“They look like it,” I agreed, neck stretched upward as I watched them pass.
“Here, lean back against me,” he whispered, rearranging himself so that his body supported mine. I leaned back, my head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and we floated down the Chicago River, the world around us. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe. Secure, like even if the world was full of ghosts and monsters and evil motivations, they couldn’t get to me. Not now. Not while we floated on inky blue water, the riveted steel of bridges above us, orangey red against the bright blue sky.
“I was thinking about the Sneak,” he whispered. “I think we should go together.”
My stomach felt like tiny birds had taken flight, and I was glad he couldn’t see the silly grin on my face. “Yeah,” I said. “That sounds good.”
He squeezed me tighter. “Life is good.”
For once, in that moment, it simply was.
But moments like that don’t last forever, do they?
We were back on land, walking toward St. Sophia’s when he pulled me toward the alley and the garden of thorns. I figured he wanted a quiet place to talk. I hadn’t expected him to unbutton his shirt. Blushing, I looked away, but I got enough of a view to see that he had the body of an athlete.
“You can look,” he said with a chuckle. “I need to show you something.”
I glanced back, my eyebrow arched suspiciously.
He held up two fingers. “Completely PG. I promise.”
I looked . . . then gaped. Across his chest were three foot-long scratches. They were well-healed now, three ripples of pinkish skin, the scars of an attack.
Instinctively, I reached out my hand to touch him, before curling my fingers back into a fist. “What happened?”
“Initiation,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if he meant it was a badge of honor for joining the werewolves, or it was a mark of how he’d become one. But then I remembered that he’d told me being a wolf was hereditary.
“When a wolf is old enough, he or she spends a night on a kind of journey. Like a vision quest. He—I—went into the woods. Some of the night is gone—the hours passed, but I don’t remember what I did. Some of it I remember, but a lot of those memories are just random sounds and images.”
“What sounds and images do you remember?”
He shook his head. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Seriously?”
His expression was grim. “It’s one of the rules. My parents don’t even know what went on. Just me and”—he looked down at the scars on his chest—“me and the wolf who did this.”
“Initiation,” I repeated. “That seems kinda harsh.”
“You’re thinking like a human. Think about puppies. They learn by play fighting, biting, clawing. That’s different from the way humans learn.” He shrugged. “Same goes for werewolves. The world is a violent place.”
“Did you”—I paused, trying to figure out how to ask the question—“did you learn anything while you were out there? Have a vision, I mean? See part of your future or whatever?”
“I guess you could say I understood what it meant to be who I am.” His eyes seemed to cloud, like whatever he’d learned, he wasn’t thrilled about it.
“Is it magic?” I wondered. “I mean, they call you an Adept, and you’re a member of Enclave Three . . .”
His expression darkened. “I’m an Adept because I’m something else, something other, and something powerful. Not because I have a talent.” He looked away. I could tell that something was bothering him—something about being a werewolf—but I still wasn’t sure what it was.
What had he wanted to show me? The scars?
“What is it?” I asked.
“I need to tell you something. And it may mean something to you. It might not—but I need to tell you.”
My stomach rolled. Scout had tried to warn me about Jason; she hadn’t been specific, though. Now I wondered if I was about to get all the gory details. Did he have a girlfriend? Was he a Reaper in disguise? Had he seen me talking to Sebastian? I gnawed the edge of my lip. “Okay. Go ahead.”
“It’s a curse,” he said.
We were quiet for a moment.
“I don’t know what you mean about a ‘curse.’ ”
He shook his head, and he wouldn’t make eye contact. “It means it’s not a gift, or magic. I’m not some kind of romantic mutant. I’m not a superhero.” He looked up at me, and his eyes shifted in color—from sky blue to chartreuse—just like those of an animal in the night. His voice dropped, became a little growlier.
“There was an ancient king named Lycaon. He was cruel to gods and men alike, and he was punished by both. The gods punished him by turning him into a wolf—but only halfway. So he wasn’t really a wolf, and he wasn’t really a man. He had to live in between the two worlds, never really a part of either. Humans punished him for that.”
I reached out and took his hand, slipping my fingers into his. “So that’s where it all started?”
Jason nodded. “With Lycaon and his sons. They were my ancestors and the cause of it all. I bear the curse every day, Lily, of someone else’s guilt.”
