Nevermore

from the mix of cold and anger. She moved around the car door, not wanting it to be a barrier between them. She kept her gaze downcast at first, drawing as near as she dared, surprising herself as she scooted the toes of her shoes to within inches of his boots.

She focused first on the design of his T-shirt—a wilting rose gripped in the jaws of a skull—and worked her way up to the collar of his green jacket and the light wisps of his hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She looked up at him. His eyes, once again partially lost in the dark, jagged recesses of his hair, stared down into hers.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Varen . . . I don’t think there’s any way I can go with you this Friday,” she said, blurting the thought out just as it occurred to her. Her throat constricted, and she turned her attention once more to their feet. “I want to go,” she went on softly, “but . . .” She shut her mouth quickly, before she was able to make herself sound any more pathetic.

“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated, so gently that she had to look up at him again, to make sure she hadn’t imagined the faint note of amusement there. “Listen,” he said. He leaned down close to whisper, the sensation of his breath against her cheek nearly causing her eyes to flutter shut. “I’ve got to go,” he said, “’cause right now, your dad’s watching every move I make.”

Isobel’s eyes popped open. Over his shoulder, she could see her dad standing in the orange-yellow light of the dining room, squinting at them through the window like some great ogre, his arms folded, his face grim.

She felt the brush of Varen’s knuckles against her jaw. Startled, her eyes returned to his. Then, before she could stop him, he sank away from her and into the driver’s seat of the car.

He turned the ignition, and the sound of his softly wailing stereo broke the silence.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. Isobel stepped back from the Cougar so he could shut the door. Her skin seeming to hum from where he’d touched her. She saw him shift the car into gear and then he drove off, his headlights crossing beams with another car that was just pulling onto her street. Isobel stood and stared after the Cougar until its taillights—like two demon-red eyes—vanished around the next turn. The approaching car pulled into her driveway, and when Danny climbed out from the backseat, she heard him murmur a quick thanks to his ride before calling out, “Hey, Isobel! Who was that?”

Her arms still tightly wrapped about herself, Isobel ignored her brother as she made her way toward the house. She stormed through the front door to find her father in the foyer, waiting.

24 The Woodlands of Weir

“Are you seeing that kid?” her father asked, pointing out the door. Isobel tried her best to ignore the fear that flared through her insides, like dry tinder catching flame. Her father hardly ever lost his temper, but when he did, it was totally lair-of-the-dragon-king, complete with fire breathing and fuming eyes.

“Sam,” came her mother’s voice from the hallway. She appeared in the archway leading to the kitchen, her hands wrapped in a dish towel.

“He’s not a kid,” Isobel seethed, “and for your information, neither am I. What is your problem, anyway?” She tightened her arms around her middle, bracing herself for the argument.

She hated fighting with her dad, and it was such a rare event that it always made her nervous.

“I’m trying to find out if my only daughter is dating a hoodlum, that’s my problem!” he railed.

These words were echoed by the bang of the storm door. Danny, clad in his tan Boy Scouts uniform, awe plastered across his chubby face, entered the foyer. “That car was dope!” he announced. “Who—?” He stopped suddenly, looking between Isobel and their dad, his enthusiasm draining. “Ohhhh,” he whispered, his voice like a tire leaking air, “should have used the back door.”

“Sam, honestly,” her mom said, “I don’t get what the big deal is. They were just working on a project.”

“Did you not see that kid, Jeannine? He looks like one of those gun-toting, school-shoot-out maniacs!”

“Yes, Sam, I did see him! And I spoke with him. He was very well-mannered, and if you hadn’t blown through the roof, you might have found that out for yourself.”

“Who are we taking about?” asked Danny, opening his arms as though expecting rain.

Isobel couldn’t believe this. Her dad was freaking out over nothing! He was blowing a gasket because she’d been doing her homework. “You just can’t handle it that I broke up with Brad, can you?” she growled.

“Whoa,” Danny said, taken aback, “you broke up with Meathead?”

“No,” said her dad, starting to shout, “what I can’t handle is you being dropped off after midnight by some kid who thinks he’s a vampire!”

“And now you’re dating a vampire?” Danny asked, intrigued. “You know they bite, right?”

“Danny,” her mom said, “go sit in the kitchen.” Danny stayed right where he was.

“Oh, please!” Isobel shouted. Spinning away, she mounted the stairs at a run. She was not going to stand there and be questioned like a five-year-old.

“Are we talking about the dude from the phone?” asked Danny, addressing the room in general.

“Isobel, you stop right there. I’m not done yet!” her dad yelled.

“Too bad,” she shouted, stopping midway up the banister, “because I am!”

“How can he be a vampire when he knows so much about slayers?”

“Danny,” her mom said, her voice full of warning.

“Just saying.” Danny shrugged.

“I said get down here, Isobel! We’re going to talk about this or it’s going to be another two weeks before you’re allowed out of this house!”

“So what else is new!” she bellowed, barging the rest of the way up.

“Isobel!”

“Sam, stop yelling at her!” her mother yelled.

“If this were in Japanese,” said Danny, “it could so be an anime.”

“Isobel!” her dad shouted again.

She stopped at the top landing and leaned over the railing. “I’m sixteen, Dad! And it’s none of your business who I choose to date!” She turned and stomped the rest of the way to her room, stopping again outside her door, her anger blazing. “Or who I dump, for that matter!” she roared, and sent her bedroom door slamming shut with a resounding bang.

Inside her room, Isobel flung herself onto her bed, unleashing an unbridled scream into her pillow. What was happening to her life? When had everything become so complicated? It was homework! How and when had her life become upended by homework?

Quick footsteps on the stairs were followed by a gentle knock at her door. Her mom. Isobel knew it even before she heard the soft voice asking if she would please come down to dinner. Isobel offered no reply. After a moment, she heard a sigh, then the retreat of defeated footsteps.

She lay still for a long time after that, curled up on her side, and tried to ignore the dull ache forming in her head.

She thought about digging her cell phone out of her backpack, but who would she call? She could try Gwen, but Isobel didn’t know her number, and since Gwen had called the land line the other night, she wouldn’t have it in her cell’s directory, either. She thought about trying Gwen’s Internet White Pages approach, but that would mean she would have to venture into her brother’s room, and right then, she didn’t have it in her to face another argument.

For what felt like the first time in her life, Isobel was battling not to hate her father. She couldn’t understand how he could be so unfair or so blind, how he couldn’t seem to see Brad’s other side. Or what it was about Varen that had caused him to go so ballistic in the first place. Why did Varen seem to cause everyone around to go ballistic? What about him was not allowed? What made his world so different from hers?

His face, angular and serene, materialized in her mind. The memory of his gaze sent a gentle calm through her. She pictured him just as he had been when they’d been standing outside together next to his car. He’d been so close, she thought, shutting her eyes again, taking in a long, deep breath, as though, if she concentrated hard