Silver and Salt(22)
If they were in the books, life would be easier. Like vampires. Stake them. We’d not seen one before, and with the way we watched, I thought we’d have spotted one a long time ago, but if we ever did, we’d know what to do. Or werewolves…okay, I was not entirely sure about werewolves. They might be real. I’d caught the scent of people with that special Grendel talent of smelling everything you didn’t want to smell, and some of them smelled like dog but stronger…more rank. I thought they were dog people, had ten or so giant canines crammed in their tiny apartment, but sometimes I caught them glaring at me from the corner of their eyes. They might be dog people or they might be Dog-people. We hadn’t found out yet.
“You believe in vampires?” I asked, leaning casually against Nik’s shoulder as I had all though the movie. He was the only one I’d let touch me or who I would touch without thinking about it. Relaxed. Warm. Safe. That was how he smelled and had since I could remember. “I know we haven’t seen one yet, but I haven’t seen a komodo dragon in real life either, and they’re real, yeah?”
Niko, the corners of his lips turning up slightly, poked my ribs as he switched off the television. His eyes, the same gray as mine, studied mine with amusement. We’d watched that practically ancient movie called The Lost Something or Another. It was about vampires, although not especially scary ones, which had given me a chance to ask Nik about something without really asking. He wouldn’t take it seriously. One of the vampires in the movie had a mullet; how serious could it be?
“You think vampires are real?” he asked. “That they have Eighties-style hair and ride motorcycles? You know we’ve never seen one.” Yet. “And we’ve certainly not seen anything like those who have more jewelry than a pawn shop could afford, ride motorcycles, and read comic books.”
I elbowed him back hard. “No, but werewolves are still debatable. I’ve never smelled a crazy dog lady that came close to the stench on those hairy guys we saw in Montana.” Seriously hairy. “I’m saying there could be more than Grendels. Maybe.” I elbowed him again before resting again next to his much taller shoulder. “I know vampires probably aren’t real. But I think werewolves are. That smell.” I grimaced. “You’ve no idea how pukeworthy that was.
“And if they’re real, what about other things that go bump in the night? Like…” I paused as if I was thinking about it…I had been thinking about it; the pause wasn’t necessary or false, but it was more believable. “What about ghosts? Werewolves have silver, if the books are right. But what about ghosts or phantoms? Is there a way to get rid of them?”
“Ghosts don’t exist; you know that. They’re no more real than vampires. Why? Did you have a nightmare about one?” he asked, running fingers through my hair, a little rough, solid enough to anchor me in reality. I had nightmares several times a week, Grendel-related more often than not. It wouldn’t be that off if I had.
Niko believed in Grendels, as he’d seen them my whole life. Vampires, werewolves, anything else supernatural he dismissed as mythology and legend. And, hell, why wouldn’t he? He had a race of monsters that created half of his little brother for a reason we didn’t know and now followed that same brother wherever he went. If I was him, I’d be the same. I’d want to believe one monster for the world was enough. But I didn’t have that much faith. Or hope. Niko had a handle on those I hardly grasped. I let him hold on to those while I wore cynicism as worn-out as my favorite hoodie. I didn’t mind. I wanted to be prepared for the both of us, prepared for anything under the sun or under the starless, empty night sky as well.
“Maaaaybe they don’t.” I drew out the word because I knew it would annoy him, but it would also make him think and think hard, prove himself. “But what if you’re wrong? Like maybe you are with the werewolves?” Nik didn’t like to think he was wrong, and he hardly ever was. He studied hard in school and out. He’d studied mythology for years, trying to find out what the Grendels were, what they wanted, how to fight them, and failed. Not his fault, though. If he couldn’t find them, they weren’t in the books. That was my faith.
“There’s this kid in my math class, Marcus,” I went on as I finished the Three Musketeers bar I’d been munching at the last of the movie.
“You made a friend?” he interrupted, pleased for me. I hated to break it to him, but I had to, as the next time he mentioned Marcus, I’d have forgotten who he was talking about.
“I told you, Nik. I don’t need friends,” I explained. “I have you.”
Nik worried, always worried. I should have friends, he’d said too many times before, but sometimes I could see him thinking as I got older that it wasn’t necessarily a terrible thing if I didn’t. It’d always been hard when I was little, as we moved around every six months at least. Hard to make friends you know at best you’ll leave and not see again, often twice or three times a year. But I’d had some…the being-little part helped.
But I got older, around ten and eleven, and my teachers had starting sending home notes saying I didn’t interact with the kids at school. I was a loner. It wasn’t healthy. Nik had read the notes carefully with me, not judging, and I’d shrugged. “I can’t help it, Nik. I don’t get them. They say and do the craziest things. They don’t make sense.” Frustrated, I’d shoved my hair behind my ears—another thing the notes said: my hair was too long.