The Iron Thorn

MY FATHER’S ATTIC room appeared around me again by degrees, as the enchantment of the hexenring slipped away. Dean grabbed me by the shoulders. “Aoife. Aoife, what did he do to you?”

I blinked at him. “Nothing. He did …” I breathed deep to compose myself. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did he hurt you?” Dean gave me a shake. I winced as he grazed the shoggoth bite.

“Not any worse than you are right this moment.” I shrugged Dean’s hands off. They were too heavy, too hot. The spot where Tremaine had touched my face was cold—felt brittle, as if it could break.

“Doll, you look like something chewed you up and spat you out the other end.” Dean moved my hair out of my face, his fingers rougher than Tremaine’s, warmer and livelier.

“I think I want to go downstairs,” I muttered. I wasn’t up to reassuring Dean I was all right. I wasn’t sure I was all right.

Dean opened the hatch and gave me his hand to help me down the ladder. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Honestly?” I paused on the bottom rung. “I’m more concerned with you. You were trapped in that ring.… I thought you might have lost years when he took me out.…”

Dean put his hands on my waist and lifted me the last foot to the floor. “I told you they lie, Aoife. Besides, it takes more than the Folk flashing magic to stir me up.”

“Still.” I smoothed a speck of dirt from the Thorn Land off Dean’s shirt, his skin beneath warming my fingers. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” I didn’t want Dean to see the ugly consequences of my Weird. If he did he’d give me a wide berth, and I didn’t want Dean to be gone. I needed him there.

Dean nudged me. “Forget about that. Come with me.”

He took me to the back parlor and stood me in the center of the room while he flipped the switch on the hi-fi to start the aether warming up. I regarded him suspiciously. After what Tremaine had threatened me with, I wasn’t in the mood to switch back to cheerful.

“I tinkered with it while you were gone,” Dean told me. “The hi-fi. You can get a little more than static and the Miskatonic U station now.”

“Cal will be thrilled,” I said. “But what’s it to do with me?”

“Listen,” Dean said, “I know that what happened is twisting you up. Twisted me up, and I’m fairly sure I’ve seen a lot more oddness in my life than you have.”

He turned the hi-fi’s dial until a wax record scratched and dropped over the aether, burbling pop music. “You’re not gonna think straight until you calm down. So will you trust me for a few minutes? I want to help.”

The song continued, and Dean held out his hand. “Now or never, princess.”

“Never,” I said, darting out of Dean’s reach. His mouth turned down, but I held firm. “I don’t dance.”

“And I aim to rectify that situation,” Dean said. “Please, Aoife. Trust me.”

I hesitated. Tremaine had shaken me terribly. I was getting better at not showing it, but my stomach was churning and I couldn’t stop thinking about his last words.

Dean was right. I wasn’t going to figure anything out in my state.

I jumped as Dean slipped his arm around my waist. “Here we go,” he said. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

“Dean,” I said as we swung in a wide, parabolic circle. “This is ridiculous.”

“Listen,” Dean said. “Close your eyes and listen. Let yourself move.”

My steps smoothed out as I obeyed him, though I still kept a death grip on his hand and shoulder. And just like a switch flipping over, we were dancing in time, moving by turns around the parlor. It was easier to focus on my feet than the storm inside me. I felt a tiny bit less terrible.

“It’s, well … not so bad,” I conceded.

“And?” Dean gave me a small smile.

“I might like it,” I admitted. “A little.”

Dean spun me out and back. “Course you do. I’m hoping you’ll grow to like me, too.” He winked. “A little.”

I didn’t answer, I just danced until the song ended and static hissed along the empty aether. “Too forward?” Dean said, lowering our hands so they were pressed together between us. The shine faded from his eyes.

“It’s not that.” I didn’t let go of Dean and he didn’t let go of me. “But this won’t last. Me, and the Weird, and the Folk—”

“Aoife,” Dean interrupted, bending his head toward mine. “I don’t care about lasting. I just want right now.”

We swayed together on the spot, bonded by hand and hip, my breath and heartbeat trapped in Dean’s starlight gaze.

“Dean?” I whispered.

“Yeah, princess?”

I stood on tiptoe to close the distance between us. “I want right now too.”

When I kissed Dean I shut my eyes as if I were dancing again, and shut out everything except his scent, and his skin, and the music whispering in my ears.

Dean let out a soft sound when I pressed my lips to his and then pulled me tight and flush against his chest. His hand on my waist was warm, and I could feel every finger pressing into my ribs. His other slid across my neck, the tips of his fingers catching my hair.

“Aoife,” Dean said huskily, when we finally pulled apart.

I opened my eyes, slowly, afraid that he’d become nothing more than smoke if I looked at him.

“Yes, Dean?”

His eyes were stormy, darker than I’d ever seen them. Dean’s hand moved from my neck to cup my cheek, the spot where Tremaine had slapped me. When he touched me, my skin was finally warm. “I don’t want to let go of you.”

“Me either,” I whispered. My stomach was light and my head was full of vertigo, like the floor was falling away beneath me, and yet I knew Dean would anchor me, keep me close.

Dean pressed his forehead against mine. “So let’s just stay like this a while.”

“Aoife!” The new voice slammed me back down to earth.

Dean and I turned as one, his hands still on me. “Cal?” I gasped. How much had he seen? His expression told me that he’d seen far too much for me to have any hope of explaining.

Cal stood in the doorway, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk slack in his hands. “I heard music. I brought you some …,” he started, eyes darting between Dean and me. “Bethina got some groceries in this afternoon and made them.…” He shook his head, lips peeling back to show all of his teeth in a grotesque echo of Tremaine. “Really, Aoife? Him? Him?”

“Cal, it’s not …,” I started. His face went stone, and his expression was ugly. He wasn’t my Cal in that moment, and I didn’t want to know the new person who was staring at me with unabridged contempt. Cal looked like every student who’d stared down at me—Marcos, Cecelia, every one.

“It is, Aoife. He’s not our kind. You’ll have to choose, and you’ll leave me behind.” He slammed down the plate and glass, so that milk sloshed all over the parlor table. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Cal …” I extricated myself from Dean’s grip, anything but happy. I’d never seen Cal so angry. “Cal, wait!” But my friend had stormed out, and the frightful foreign expression hadn’t left his face.

“You should go talk to him,” Dean said.

I pressed my hands over my face, feeling a hot tangle of anger and sadness, but not shame. I wasn’t embarrassed about what Dean and I had done. I’d wanted to kiss him since our first day in Arkham, and after what had happened since that day, I was through being ashamed of wanting things. “It won’t do any good,” I said. “Cal’s … fragile. He’ll think that I lied to him.”

“I don’t mean salve his dashed notions of romance. I mean calm him down.” Dean shoved his hair off his forehead. “If he throws a rod and goes back to the city spouting stories, he could hurt you, Aoife. And then I’d have to beat the crap out of him, and that’d be a real shame.”

“Cal wouldn’t …” My stomach flipped over, dizzy and unsettled. I realized I didn’t know Cal as well as I had the night we left Lovecraft. “Would he?” I realized I didn’t know the Cal who’d run out of the parlor at all. He