When My Heart Joins the Thousand(39)

The footsteps sound louder now. I look over my shoulder.

The guys behind us are walking faster, catching up. It’s them—the ones from the restaurant, still wearing those stupid poof-ball hats. But they move with the swift, steady gait of predators.

“Alvie, run,” Stanley whispers. He’s breathing very fast. “Don’t worry about me. Just get out of here.”

“Forget it.” My arm tightens on his. The young men behind us are ominously silent.

I grit my teeth.

One of them—the blond, the one I’ve been thinking of as Draco—breaks off from the group and circles around so that he’s standing in front of us. He’s smiling, showing a sliver of white teeth. The two others are still behind us, cutting off our path of retreat. They look so similar, they might as well be twins . . . and they’re both huge, with letterman jackets, thick necks, and thin brown hair peeking out from under their hats. Somehow, they didn’t seem nearly so big in the restaurant.

I press closer to Stanley’s side. My heartbeat fills my whole body, down to my fingertips and toes. I recognize these people. I’ve never seen them before tonight, but I recognize them all the same.

They’re the thousand enemies.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


“Relax,” Draco says, still smiling. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just want a polite, sincere apology.” His accent and vocabulary have a whiff of college—upper middle class—but his shoulders are thrust forward in the aggressive stance of a thug. I wonder if he’s armed.

Stanley’s pulse jumps visibly in his throat. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Great,” Draco says. “Neither do we. So how about it? To show us you mean it, maybe you should get down on your knees first.”

The twins snort laughter, lips pressed together to hide their smiles. They’re trying to look menacing. They’re big enough that they don’t have to try very hard.

“What if we say no?” Stanley says.

Draco raises his eyebrows. “Well, then, we might have to express our disappointment.”

My arm tightens on Stanley’s. He moves in front of me, shielding me with his body.

Draco glances at me. “Who’s the redhead? Does she talk?”

“Leave her alone,” Stanley says, his voice forceful.

“Oh, suddenly he grows a dick,” one of the twins says.

“This your girlfriend?” Draco is staring straight at me. I stare back. “Not bad.”

“Stay away from her,” Stanley says.

“Or what?”

My hand is still in my pocket, gripping my keys. My upper lip twitches and pulls back from my teeth. My head burns, and my brain seems to be swelling. I can feel it pulsing, pushing against the backs of my eyes.

“I mean it,” Stanley says. “If you come any closer, I’ll—”

“What? You’re gonna fight me?” He gives Stanley a hard shove.

Stanley stumbles, then lunges forward. Draco pushes him again, and he reels backward, nearly falling. I catch him, stumbling under his weight. I can feel him shaking with fury as he gasps for breath.

The twins bark laughter. They sound like seals. Something is happening inside my head, like clouds churning, darkness seeping through my brain.

“What do you say?” Draco’s gaze doesn’t leave me. “Want to ditch this gimp loser and come with us?”

I open my mouth. But instead of words, a catlike hiss slides out of my throat.

The twins’ laughter dies down to silence. Draco’s smile fades.

When I was a small child, I would sometimes revert to animal behavior during stressful situations. I learned to control the tendency as I got older . . . but now the impulse wells up from some deep place inside me, and I give myself over to it. I clench my fists and stomp one foot on the ground, growling low in my throat, the way rabbits will do when they’re warning off another animal.

The twins’ mouths hang open.

I stomp harder, growling and hiss at them as loud as I can, spraying spittle into the air. “Enemy!” I shout. The blood roars in my skull like a waterfall. I snap my teeth together. “Enemy, enemy, enemy!”

Draco takes a step back. “Jesus,” he mutters.

My heart beats faster. It’s as if, suddenly, my strange, shameful tendencies have been transformed into a power.

I hiss and stomp some more. Draco’s smirk slides back into place, but he’s putting on a show now; I can sense his fear, almost smell it. He’s not going to come another step closer. “Well, they say crazy girls are the best in bed,” he says loudly.

On cue, the twins start laughing again. Stanley’s back goes rigid. Without a sound, he charges at Draco and swings his cane, hard. It smacks against the side of Draco’s head.

Draco staggers. “Fuck!” he yelps. Before he can regain his balance, Stanley swings the cane again, smacking him on the other side of the head. Draco’s hand flies to his temple.

The twins are doubled over, howling, as if the whole thing is a show. “Nice job, TJ,” one calls, “getting your ass kicked by a cripple.”

“Shut up!”

I’ve fallen silent, caught off guard.

Stanley’s breathing hard, brandishing the cane like a sword, teeth clenched. He and Draco—TJ—move in little jerks; TJ lurches at him, and Stanley jabs him in the stomach with the cane. “I’m going to shove that thing up your ass!” TJ growls. He glares at the twins. “Help me, you dumb fucks!”