Beware the Wild Read online

  Every memory is a wound.

  “I don’t care,” I say, seeking a memory of Phin singing the wrong words to “You Are Mine” to make me laugh. “Get out.”

  “All right. I’ll go as soon as you tell me what you’ve done with my car.”

  “I didn’t do anything with your car.” This, at least, is so satisfying I can barely keep the grin from my face.

  “Oh, Sterling, what did I do to upset you?” she asks with a sigh, draping both dresses across her arm.

  I nearly choke on my answer. “Stop pretending! We both know you don’t belong here. You’re not my sister no matter what anyone says. I remember my brother and I’m not the only one.”

  I let the challenge lie between us. I’m not so afraid, so bewildered as I was last night. Maybe she’s an all-powerful swamp demon capable of changing hundreds of minds to suit her purposes. Maybe I’m just a small girl from a small town with no chance of saving my brother. Or maybe not.

  If I can remember Nathan, and Heath can remember Phin, then I’m convinced whatever has happened isn’t permanent. We can change things. We only have to figure out how.

  “I’m going to save him from whatever it is you’ve done and there’s nothing you can do to change that so stop pretending you and I are anything more than strangers.”

  There’s a shift in her then. She pulls her arms close to her belly and her mouth falls into a gentle frown. She looks smaller, surrounded by her dark curls.

  “Okay, Sterling,” she says, moving to the door. “I’ll stop.”

  She’s not my sister, I remind myself as the door whispers shut. Then, I hunt the floor for my pj’s and try to banish the false guilt swelling in my chest.

  She’s so convincing. No matter how I rationalize, there’s still a piece of me that wants to race after her and apologize, to tell her she should wear the red dress because it makes her look powerful and composed and because Mama would say yellow. Every time she speaks, my mind betrays me a little more, force-feeding me counterfeit memories of loving and hating my sister, and it’s only because I’m as stubborn as my dad was mean that she hasn’t erased Phin entirely. But how long will that last?

  Settling into bed, I gaze through the open window. The swamp chitters and snaps, alive with more danger than I know how to name. I remind myself I’m not alone. I have Heath. And Abigail saw someone tonight. A boy. Maybe Phin. But having allies isn’t the same as having answers, and there’s only one surefire way to get those.

  I fall asleep with one dreadful thought in my mind: if I want to save my brother, I’ll have to follow him inside the swamp.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  IN THE MORNING, THERE’S A note taped to the mirror of my dresser. The script is so pretentious and cursive, I can barely read it:

  Need a ride?—L M

  I overslept and everyone’s up with something to say. Mama holds my face between her palms while I reassure her I’m fine, fine, fine. Darold heard I was driving around with “that Durham boy,” and exerts parental authority under the guise of the law.

  “You know that boy’s troubled. I may not have had cause to pick him up in a while, but that doesn’t mean he’s changed his ways.” He doesn’t leave it there. “Drugs. Alcohol. Raving about the swamp. I don’t like the thought of you getting mixed up with him.”

  “He just gave me a ride home,” I say.

  “That’s not what I heard,” Lenora May sings as she packs her bag. She’s acting for Mama and Darold, pretending to needle at her little sister. I glare and she adds, “But who listens to rumors?”

  “Rumors about Heath might not be far from the truth.” Thankfully, Darold either missed Lenora May’s point entirely or ignored it. He speaks in a way that leaves no room for argument, on the edge of condescension and caring. It’s a trick all men of the South have to learn before they’re accepted as one of the good ol’ boys. “I think it’s best if you find other ways home from now on.”

  I’m about to share exactly what I think is best for me when Lenora May cuts in, “Ready, Sterling? I’m leaving now, if you want a ride.”

  Some things are better left unsaid.

  The Chevelle’s parked exactly where it always is, wet with dew and streaked yellow with pollen.

  “How’d you find it?” I ask, disappointed, but not surprised.

  Lenora May casts a furtive glance at the swamp before answering. “I remember things the way you do, Sterling. I remember Dad—well, the Lillard House seemed like the only likely place. It’s where I’d have taken it.”

  I’m startled by her honesty. And I can’t help but be grateful that she stopped herself before intruding on my most painful memories of the man responsible for starting my life. This is becoming an all too familiar dance: treading lightly through the minefield of my memories, grasping at some, sidestepping others, and fleeing the ones that stick to me like burs.

  Lenora May unlocks the doors and has the engine revving in two seconds. I hesitate, but I’d rather get answers from her than the swamp. I settle into the passenger seat and buckle up. Once again, she’s in a sundress and sandals with a white cardigan thrown over her shoulders. In spite of the morning shade, she’s covered her eyes with huge, polka-dotted sunglasses that make her skin seem as pale as the moon and her lips as red as the Chevelle. She takes turns at reckless speeds and, as soon as we’re on the main drag of Sticks, accelerates to fifty in a thirty-five-mile-per-hour zone.

  “You know school’s the other way, right? And my dad’s a deputy?” I resist the urge to grip the seat. Never let them see you squirm.

  “He’d die a happy man to hear you say that, you know.” Gear change. “Now, if you and I are going to stop pretending, I think we need to get a few things straight, don’t you?”

  The speedometer climbs.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s start with what you did to my brother. I know he’s in the swamp and you’re not. I want to know how we fix it.”

  Her smile is pained. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way. It’ll be better for everyone if you forget he ever existed.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me what’s better for me.” The speedometer climbs again. Wind whistles around the antenna, distressed. “Tell me how you did it.”

  “How about I tell you a story instead?” It’s a rhetorical question. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “It’s about a brother and sister who loved each other very much, so much that when their father demanded the sister marry a cruel, wealthy man, they ran away. Into the swamp, where they knew they’d be safe.”

  The speedometer continues to climb. Beneath my feet the floor begins to rattle. She shifts again and we shoot forward so fast my head bounces against the seat. It’s thrilling and terrifying, especially when I remember how little lived experience she has behind the wheel.

  “And they were safe.” The word becomes a curse the way she casts it. “They discovered the swamp would keep them safe forever if they wanted. But for that they had to become a part of the swamp and give up any chance of ever returning to the world outside.”

  Nothing about this story sounds familiar. It’s not one of the Clary tales I’ve ever heard, though it would certainly fit among them.

  “So, they did. They consumed enough of that wicked Wasting Shine to bind their souls to it and it made them immortal. It made their bodies as changeable as the swamp, but it also changed their hearts, and the longer they were left alone and isolated, the more twisted they became. Now, they steal the souls of anyone who strays too near because it feeds their own power, and they never let anyone go. That is what waits in the swamp. They never let anyone go.”

  “Except for you.”

  Faster.

  The trees are a blur. My body begins to shiver like the board beneath my feet, thrumming in a wind I have no control over.

  “That was luck and I’m not going back th
ere. I can’t live like that again. Not ever.”

  The turn in the road takes us both by surprise. We’re going too fast. Lenora May shrieks. The tires squeal. The car skids onto soft dirt, fishtailing to a stop inches shy of a pine tree. One of Phin’s precious hubcaps rolls down the street, and there’s a hissing noise competing with the pounding of my heart. I leap out of the car and press my shaking hands into the dirt. My stomach constricts around the complete lack of food I gave it this morning. The other door opens and Lenora May’s shaky laughter spills over my shoulders.

  “Oh, Sterling!” she cries. “Don’t be afraid! We’re alive!” Her hands tug at my shoulders until I’m facing her. All I can see are her eyes, so green and exquisitely bright. “You’ve been so safe all your life. So safe you might as well be dead. Phin did that, he kept you from living, but I won’t. I promise you, I only want to live as fiercely as I can.”

  My hands are cold between her trembling fingers.

  “That’s what Phin should be doing!” I find the hubcap with my eyes. “You’re ruining everything he loved! Why did you have to take his life?”

  Her smile fades and the air seems to chill in its absence. “If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have. But the Shine required a trade—to let a life go, the swamp needed a life in return. I’m very sorry for him and for you, but he’s stuck. Truly. And he wouldn’t want you to stop living your life just because he’s gone.”

  “He would come for me.” As soon as I’ve said it I know the only false part of the statement is that Phin would have already come for me. It wouldn’t matter how afraid he was or how many people warned him away, he’d have been over that fence in no time and he wouldn’t have rested until he found me. “I’m going to find him.”

  “Don’t. Please don’t go into the swamp.”

  Any small doubt I had about going vanishes with those words. If there’s one place I should be looking, it’s where Lenora May tells me not to.

  “I’m going to find him,” I repeat.

  Sadness tinged with fear creeps into Lenora May’s face when she says, “Then I guess we’d better get to school.”

  I expect her to argue or shout or do something other than go retrieve the runaway hubcap and toss it in the trunk. But she barely looks at me. She surveys the tires the same way Phin might, crouching by each one to inspect the tread. Then she drives us to the school parking lot in silence.

  Before I leave, she catches my wrist. “Sterling, one thing,” she says. Her eyes linger on the hunk of metal on my arm. “If I can ask one thing, that is.”

  “You can ask,” I say, prepared to ignore anything that comes from that lying mouth.

  “It’s this: be careful. And if you do go after him, make sure you take that bracelet with you.”

  The only thing that gets me through exams is knowing I have a plan. It may not extend beyond “go into the swamp and find Phin,” but it doesn’t have to. I know he’s there now, alive and stuck. Just because there are also terrible things doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. Much as it pains me to take a lesson from anything Lenora May has said, one thing did ring true. All my life Phin has been the one to keep me safe. She meant it as a negative, but that’s only because she’s never had a brother like Phin. I won’t feel safe again until he’s back at home.

  Heath texts before first bell, i remember. phineas harlan saucier.

  I reply, Nathan Payola. Then a second message, I have something to tell you.

  Without knowing it, he strengthened my resolve. Usually, the end of a school day would find me and Candy and Abigail in Candy’s car, heading to her house, where no parents exist to bother us. Today, things fall apart, so naturally I don’t even have to make excuses. Abigail looks exhausted and begs off for a nap, and Candy excuses herself with a smirk the second she spots Heath at my locker.

  Heath stands up straight when he spots me, a soft smile releasing his scowl.

  “She found the Chevelle,” I report. “Next time we steal a car? Remind me to pick a hiding place Phin didn’t know about.”

  “I was thinking we could take it down a few notches and try something sane like skydiving or gator hunting or watching a movie at my place.” His grin is infectious. I can’t believe this is the same Heath that’s been skulking at the back of classrooms all year when he wasn’t absent altogether. It’s crushing to say no. Doing something as normal as watching a movie sounds better than just about anything, but Phin’s waited long enough.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to—” I stop myself before I lie, and instead tell the absolute truth. Everything Lenora May said to me this morning. With every word, Heath’s smile dies a little more. “I know they’re alive, Heath. Abigail saw someone yesterday. It had to have been one of them. And after what Lenora May said, I have to go after Phin. Today. Right now.”

  Lockers slam and someone bumps Heath in their hurry to leave. He keeps his voice hushed, but tinny notes of terror slip in. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I know it’s not, but I don’t see any other choice.”

  “Staying safe,” he insists. “Staying sane. That’s a good choice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought I heard Nathan’s voice, or how many times I’ve woken from a dead sleep at the fence, ready to climb over. I’d probably be long gone, too, if Old Lady Clary hadn’t wrapped this cord around my wrist and told me to be a good boy and stop talking about Nathan.”

  He holds up his wrist where that ratty leather cord still hangs. This close, I see it’s three strands braided together with a silver medallion woven into the center. It’s depressingly unsurprising to learn that Old Lady Clary’s been hushing more people about the swamp than me.

  He continues, “Abigail didn’t see Phin or Nathan. This is what the swamp does! It fogs your brain until you can’t remember what’s real anymore and then it sucks you inside.”

  It’s the word fog that does it. I suddenly remember Old Lady Clary telling me that the swamp had more than one kind of fog. She’d only had eyes for my bracelet.

  “Heath! This is why we remember! It has to be!” I grab his wrist and show him mine. “Whatever these charms are, they’re keeping our heads on straight.”

  It makes too much sense not to be the truth. For whatever reason, Old Lady Clary made sure Heath had something that would keep his mind clear of the swamp’s fog. Abigail didn’t have one and that’s why she claimed she hadn’t seen anyone. Once it’d happened, she probably didn’t remember it. I’m so certain about this I could explode, but there’s one way to make sure.

  “Have you ever, even for one minute, taken yours off?” I ask. “If you have and you still remember Nathan, then I’m wrong, but if you haven’t, then it’s enough of a correlation to be convincing.”

  Heath leans against a locker and closes his eyes, becoming motionless. There’s a roughness to him that I’ve never bothered to notice. The constant creases around his eyes, the defensive hunch of his shoulders. It’s as if even thinking about the swamp takes him to the brink of exhaustion.

  “No,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’ve never taken it off.”

  I’m right. I know I’m right about this, and Heath knows it, too.

  But I see the argument building in his eyes, the year-deep fear of the swamp that’s kept him quiet and alone. I can’t let that same fear keep me away any longer, but there’s no reason Heath has to come along. A year of missing his best friend has been torture enough. At the very least, I can protect him from having to go inside the place of his nightmares.

  “But,” he says like he’s about to disappoint, “I didn’t have it for days after the crash and I still remembered.”

  “Oh.” My mind races for an answer, something—anything—that supports my crumbling theory about why we remember, but there’s only Lenora May’s strange warning.

  “I’m not saying they’re not related,” he offers with no real hope in his voice. “But just because we remember them, doesn’t mean they’re alive.”

  “W
ell, I’m not going to give up that easily,” I snap, and as soon as I’ve said them, the words taste bitter. “Oh, no, Heath, that’s not what I meant.”

  He shakes his head as if to excuse the comment, but the distance he puts between us speaks more loudly. A shove would have done just as well to push him away.

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it,” he says, but his eyes shift from mine. “Listen, I owe you a Coke, but I’m supposed to go see Doc Payola in a few minutes.”

  “Maybe tomorrow?” I bite down on another apology. It’s better if he doesn’t stick around. At least not today.

  “It’s a date.” He clears his throat and manages a rough smile. “A real one this time.”

  The school’s a tomb when we leave. We climb into the truck, and Heath revs the engine to take me home. The passenger side’s a little cleaner than it was yesterday. The dash is as cluttered, but he’s gone to some effort to make sure the seat’s clear and there’s room for my bag on the floor. Tomorrow, if all goes well, I’ll be back in this truck, going on a long-overdue date with Heath Durham. I’ll paint my nails and wear the tall leather boots that are too hot for this sort of weather, but make my legs look too long to pass up. We’ll have a Coke and maybe watch a movie and be nothing but normal for a few hours.

  But first, I’m going after Phin.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  I WAIT FOR NIGHT.

  It’s been a long time since I had a reason to escape through my bedroom window. Before Dad left, Phin and I had it down to a science. We could descend the wall in less than a minute and be hidden in the woods outside the swamp in two. If we hadn’t been so afraid, it might’ve been fun. Traipsing through the pines until they gave way to oaks, then hunting our way through to the ghostly columns of the old Lillard House. We’d stay there until we thought it was safe to return. Sometimes that was all night.