“But the French dudes were like, nah, it’s good! And they built a house by the water and had like a farm and stuff, but mostly their job was stealing. And they were good at it, right? They couldn’t get caught. They’d go and rob a bunch of stuff, and steal horses and whatever, and just come back here and nothing would touch them.
“The sheriffs or whatever, they’d get lost in the woods trying to find them. Or they’d forget about who they were after, what they did, and didn’t care or anything.
“And other people, they never wanted to come here. They said there was a bad air in the woods. But sometimes, if they got too close, they’d disappear.”
At that, Nostrils smooths his hands against the table. When he leans in, we all do. It’s impossible not to watch him, not with more story to hear and that knowing spark in his dark eyes. None of us dare to move. Not a crinkle, crackle, or crunch interrupts his tale.
“Without a trace, you guys. They would just disappear! No bodies or anything were ever found. It was like the ground swallowed them up. The French dudes got older and older, but they never got sick. They never died. But they did vanish after a while. Or maybe people forgot them, just like they forgot about what they put in the lake.”
We’re frozen, statues cursed to hear the rest of this story. The Great Hall is eerie in its red-painted quiet.
Outside, the sun’s almost gone. Darkness creeps in around us; it feels like the whole world shrinks down to the eight of us at this fold-out table. It’s just us and the story. The history—Nostrils swears this really happened.
My breath catches in my throat. Anticipation tingles up and down my spine. My stomach balls itself into a tight fist, along with my heart. Finally, I manage to whisper, “What’s in the lake, Nostrils?”
“Vampire devils!”
Suddenly, a banshee screams!
The bloody sound cuts like steel. It slices through my skull and drives into my brain. Long, clawed fingers dig into my ribs. They’re going to plunge through the skin. They’ll peel the bones apart with a snap! They’re going to tear out my heart and my lungs right in front of me! I’ll be alive and watch myself die, bit by bit.
I snap and scream too, throwing my arms up to try to protect myself.
And then I’m confused, because everyone’s laughing.
Lowering my arms, I hear the echo of the screams in my ears. They turn into words. Words spoken by familiar voices. Ew did the screaming, and Bowl Cut did the grabbing.
They got me. They pulled a stupid prank, and they totally got me.
Nostrils laughs. “Two-hearted vampire devils who drink your blood and steal your soul! They live in the lake. They’re coming for youuuuuuu!”
My heart pounds and I feel dizzy. It was just a stupid ghost story, just like Corryn’s golden arm bit. And I fell for it. Again! Everybody’s laughing at me, wondering out loud if I peed my pants. The spike of adrenaline makes me sick to my stomach, but I remember what my dad said before I left. Sometimes, you have to play along to get along, Tez.
Even though my face is hot and my chest feels like it’s going to burst, I plaster on a smile. I laugh.
“Good one, guys,” I concede gamely.
After everybody has their turn imitating me screaming, the conversation moves on.
I should have realized I wasn’t actually dying. My life didn’t even flash before my eyes, which honestly had felt vaguely disappointing in the midst of all the terror. Wilted, I open my bag of carrot sticks and just stare at them. I don’t feel like eating right now. I feel dumb and exposed, and also uncomfortable.
Corryn’s the only one who notices I’m not talking. She leans over and whispers, “That was kind of mean. You want me to sock somebody for you?”
I don’t. But the offer soothes me. She’s probably never played along to get along in her entire life. When I smile this time, for her, it’s real. “I’ll let you know.”
Rubbing her fist like she’s polishing it, Corryn says, “Anytime, Tez.”
Tez. My real name. Not Chickenlips.
Well, how about that?
I think we might be friends.
4
Faces in the Fire
Tez
The bonfire was aflame to a degree that my dad would call “fair to middling.”
Big, but not ancient-druid kind of big. Nowhere near big enough to upset any anthropomorphic bears with forest ranger credentials. It’s disappointing, honestly.
Everybody but me is bouncing around like pachinko balls, amped up on nighttime and hot dogs—even Corryn.
The thing is, there are issues with the fire. I raise my voice to point it out. “See, the problem is that we’re burning birch. Birch burns hot, but it goes up really fast! Do we have any maple?”
Exactly zero people answer my question. Our huge pile of firewood is almost gone, and I’m not allowed to inspect it for better logs. That was the first thing Gavin told me, and now he stands by the pile like a bulldog. A bulldog with a British accent and a knack for picking the wettest, moldiest branches to toss onto the bonfire.
When he does, a fug of nasty greenish smoke washes over us. Most of the girls scatter upwind, shrieking.
“I dare you to breathe it,” Nostrils shouts. Two seconds later, Knees and Bowl Cut are gagging and retching. Across the fire, Ew lives up to her name, over and over and over. As in, “Ohmigod, you guys! Ew!”
Corryn drifts over and stands sort of near me. We’re in a good, medium spot. Not too much smoke, but plenty of warmth. The heat from the too-hot birch makes Corryn’s brown hair float up a little. Her cheeks are red, and she waves a wobbly hot dog in my general direction.
“Do you know a lot about trees?” she asks.
I smile at her and nod. “I studied all aspects of camping before we got here. I wanted to make sure I did it right.”
“Must be nice,” Corryn says. “I didn’t even know I was coming until the last minute.”
Wow, surprise camp? That sounds scary. My parents have never sprung anything on me last minute, not in my entire life. I’m not sure how I would feel about that. Exhilarated? Terrified? Exhilified?
I ask, “You don’t want to be here?”
She stares into the fire instead of looking at me. “They sent me away so they can get a divorce in peace. I mean, whatever, right? Double birthdays and double Christmases for me. Whoopie.”
“Oh wow,” I say. I pat her shoulder awkwardly. “I’m—really sorry.”
Impaling another hot dog on a stick, Corryn says, “Who cares? Anyway, you can identify wood and stuff, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say. She wants to change the subject, therefore, we’re changing the subject.
“I read about the native plants of Ohio, and wilderness survival, and shelter construction, and more. Not only can I identify wood, I’m pretty sure I can build a log cabin, make a working bow and set of arrows, and smoke a whole wild hog. Obviously, we would have to catch the hog first.”
Corryn thrusts her hot dog into the flames. Right into them, deep into the core. Like, practically up to her wrist.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to set it on fire.”
Smoke drifts around us, and she pulls her stick free. She holds it up like Excalibur—a flaming, blistering Excalibur.