11. Cricket

Cricket slammed her tray against the table, ignoring the pang of guilt as Avery startled at the loud slap of plastic against particleboard. “Where were you today?”

Avery narrowed her eyes, knuckles blanching white from her grip on the fork. “Excuse me?”

“You weren’t around this afternoon. Where were you?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and prodded the pile of minced meat and gravy on her plate. The corner of a thick piece of Texas toast peaked out from beneath the slop, and another piece was placed at a perfect ninety-degree angle on her napkin—which was aligned parallel to the table’s edge. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had lunch with my dad.”

“And his friend?”

“How did you—?”

“I saw them, your dad, you two have the same hair color.” Avery’s open expression shuttered at that comment, and she went back to poking her food but never actually eating it. “His friend, who is he?”

“A business associate.”

“Sure, fine. Don’t tell me.” She stepped over the bench with her injured leg first, leaning on the table’s edge as she put weight on the hoof to bring her other leg over and plopped down.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” Avery said after a moment, her voice low. “My dad took me to lunch in Elkins. He brought a business associate, and they talked business the whole time. Then dropped me off here and drove to Green Bank.”

“You drove down to Elkins?”

Avery’s head snapped up, alarm making her blue eyes bright. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“Oak and ivy, just answer the question.”

“No!” she raised her voice, drawing the attention of campers and counselors at the surrounding tables. Hunching, Avery flushed and whisper-hissed, “When did you see my dad?”

“He came by to talk to Mac.” At Avery’s blank stare, she amended, “Director Murray. That doesn’t matter. You went down to Elkins. Are the roads open?”

“How else do you think my dad got here?” Avery rolled her eyes and shoved a forkful of ground beef into her mouth. Cricket’s stomach twisted. She stuck her tongue out and fake-gagged. “What.”

“How can you eat that?”

“It’s meat.”

“Exactly.” She shuddered. “It’s disgusting. The smell alone makes me nauseous.”

“Then sit somewhere else,” Avery fumed. “I was perfectly fine eating my meal in peace. Alone.” She shoved another forkful of meat into her mouth, chewing noisily before swallowing. “But apparently, I can’t even do that right.” And another.

Cricket took a second to look at the human. Like, really look at her. Purple shadows clung to her eyes, her hair was pulled back tighter than usual, and she looked somehow … diminished. Or stretched too thin. It was one or the other, and Cricket couldn’t quite decide which she thought it was. But whatever it was, it had put Avery in a foul mood, and something about that made her more real.

“Oak and ivy, fine.” She slid on the bench, giving Avery a few more inches of space, and tucked into her salad.

They ate in angry silence, the cafeteria chatter humming like a beehive around them. Cricket was just debating hobbling to the buffet for a second helping when Avery cleared her throat.

“What does ‘oak and ivy’ mean?”

“You need me to explain basic botany to you?”

“No, just—when you say it, it’s like a curse word?”

Cricket laughed, her ears perking in amusement. Avery’s gaze tracked their movement, her slight embarrassment giving way to a curious tilt of her head. Self-consciously, Cricket smoothed one of her ears down, eyes dropping to Avery’s hand, those long, strong fingers still curled around her fork. The down along her neck prickled, and she shifted where she sat. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Why ‘oak and ivy’?”

“Why ‘Jesus Christ’?” Avery straightened at the question, and Cricket rushed out, “I’m not belittling your faith. I was just giving an example. Why do humans say ‘Jesus Christ’ when they’re surprised or angry?”

“I don’t,” Avery blurted. “It goes against our teachings to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Cricket exhaled, the curls on her forehead dancing in the puff of breath. “Okay, bad example.” She tapped the fork against her lip, unable to ignore how Avery’s eyes followed the gesture and then lingered. “It, uh, it’s important. Like Jesus Christ is to you. I think. In my family, we hold the white oak in high regard. Faun are married underneath their branches, and pregnancies are blessed with their boughs. We make wine from the acorns for our festivals; it’s—”

“Religious,” Avery cut in. “I think I understand. And ivy?”

“It’s sweet,” Cricket shrugged. “Most faun have a sweet tooth.”

“Do you?” A bit of minced meat gravy clung to the corner of her mouth. She swept it up with her thumb, the motion drawing all of Cricket’s attention to soft, pink lips.

“Yeah,” she rasped. What the hells is wrong with me? She couldn’t pull her eyes away. Avery was staring at her, waiting for Cricket to elaborate, but all she could think was how stupid she was being. There was no way Avery was into females, much less inhumans. The girl would sooner take her god’s name in vain than hook up with a monster. “And salt.”

“Salt?” Her tongue flicked the corner of her mouth, and Gods dammit, Cricket needed to look away because the longer she looked, the more likely Avery would notice and—oak and ivy, now she was blushing.

“Yeah,” she nodded tersely, shoving a cherry tomato into her mouth. “Was it a nice lunch?”

Avery leveled her gaze across the table, her fork hovering over sodden Texas toast. “What do you actually want to know, Cricket?”

“Alright. Who was that other man.”

“Why?”

“His car had Georgia plates.”

The fork lowered, then was set down perfectly parallel to her plate. “And?”

“And, the company buying up all the land in Green Bank is from is from Atlanta. And you said they went to Green Bank. What for?”

“I—” She wrinkled her nose, and that little line appeared between her brows. “Something about a pipeline? I wasn’t really paying attention, but my dad works with US Petrol, and they were talking about securing votes to claim eminent domain.” Cricket cocked her head, the words unfamiliar. “Have you heard of a monster killing cattle in Green Bank? A wendy-something?”

Her ears flicked up in alarm, and she slapped both hands down, leaning over the table. “Why?”

“Troy mentioned it,” she said offhand, then added, “my dad’s business associate. He said the locals were afraid of them but weren’t selling.”

“Damn right, they’re afraid.” She straightened and crossed her arms. “First of all, don’t say its name, and second of all, depending on who you ask, it fell through when we did, or it’s been here for centuries.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” She nodded, then frowned. Enough of the locals in Green Bank had mentioned a monster, and Cricket had been chased over the ridgelines by one just a few nights prior. But it couldn’t be a you-know-what. Could it? “But whenever they got here, they’ve been haunting these hills long enough for the legends to exist. I’ve never seen one, but it’s described as large and humanoid, with a skull for a face and massive antlers.” The hairs along her arms rose as she weighed what she had just said against the monster she had seen and descriptions of whatever it was stalking the people of Green Bank. “They’re either something that possesses humans and forces them to eat other humans, or it’s a monster that hunts humans, but either way, it’s insatiable. No matter how much it eats, it wants more.”

“Do you think that could be what chased you here?”

Cricket shook her head, mouthing, “I don’t know,” when she really wanted to say, “I sure as hells hope not.”

At Avery’s frown, she clarified, “I know something chased me over the ridgelines, but I never got a good look at it. I guess it could have been a you-know-what, but …” She pressed her lips together, keeping her next words to herself.

It wasn’t that she wanted to lob accusations or scare Avery into taking her side or anything, but her dad was involved with the Georgia company that was forcing Cricket’s family out of their homes. And they mentioned a monster at their lunch and had gone to Green Bank to do something with eminent domain, whatever that was. The pieces were lining up too neatly for Cricket to keep quiet.

“The other day, I went for a walk, and I—”

“Cricket!”

She flinched, ears shooting straight up and body freezing at Avery’s outburst. Her fingers throbbed, protesting in pain. It was an effort to break her prey-driven stare away from Avery and force it down to her hands, which gripped the edge of the table so hard the tips of her fingers were bent back.

“What?” she managed through clenched teeth.

“You’re not supposed to be walking on your foot, I mean, hoof, er, ankle.”

“How else am I supposed to get around?” Avery had no answer to that. Instead, she watched as Cricket slowly released the table, flexing her fingers and curling them into a loose fist as she worked blood back into her extremities. “I was in the woods behind the piano room, and something had bedded down there. Something big.”

“Do you think it’s what chased you?”

“Probably.”

At that, Avery reached across the table, brushing Cricket’s elbow with her fingers. “Are you okay?”

She stilled at the touch, gaze dropping to Avery’s hand, which stayed right where it was on Cricket’s arm. She flicked her gaze up to Avery’s face and—oak and ivy, Gods dammit—she blushed and pulled her hand away. But not all the way. It stayed on Cricket’s side of the table, fingers outstretched as if the human were reaching for her, and what in the hells Cricket was supposed to do with that, she had no idea.

“It had eaten, too,” she said, successfully ruining the moment. Avery pulled away, throat bobbing as she hugged herself. “I don’t know if it was human or animal, but there was … evidence,” Cricket kept talking, needing to fill the moment with something other than the thought of Avery’s fingers, Avery’s tongue, Avery’s spring-sky eyes. “Blood and guts on the undergrowth, half-buried bones, and the stench—” She stuck her tongue out, crossed her eyes, and gagged.

“That sounds,” Avery swallowed, “monstrous.”

“Of course it does. The thing is a monster,” Cricket grinned. Avery raised an eyebrow, and it was unfair how endearing sarcasm was on her face. “Okay, fine. I’m technically a monster too.”

“I didn’t say that,” Avery demurred. She dropped her eyes, lashes dusting cheeks blushing a delightful pink. A flutter built in Cricket’s belly, feeling all too much like hope, and just as quickly as it rose, she stamped it out.

“You didn’t have to.”

Avery snapped her head up at the change in Cricket’s tone, but what did she expect? Her dad was involved with the Georgia men, and no matter how cute she was, Avery couldn’t help her. She could barely tolerate being around her, so what was the point of enjoying that blush or admiring those eyelashes?

“Why are you so intent on hating me?” she asked, her eyes shining. “I’ve been nothing but nice since I found you in the woods. I thought—”

“I’m not some stray you picked up, Avery.” She straightened at her name, and Cricket found she liked how the word formed on her tongue. “I’m a faun, my home is being threatened, and your dad has some connection to the people doing it.”

“That’s a specious claim, Cricket,” she retorted, softening the sharp tone on her name. “My dad works with a lot of people on a lot of different projects. Whatever is going on in Green Bank is just one of many—”

“But it’s the one that affects me,” Cricket snapped. “You know what? Nevermind. Why did he bring up the you-know-what?”

“He said one had been attacking the humans in Green Bank.”

“It can’t be.” She shook her head. Even though she herself had been hunted, Cricket couldn’t be certain it was the monster Avery suggested. Or maybe, she just didn’t want to believe that was the creature targeting Green Bank. The you-know-what was a thing of legend, predating their fall through the worlds. Warnings of its presence and appetite had been shared with the faun, not by them.

Or maybe she was in denial.

“We would know about any attacks if they were from that specific being,” Cricket doubled down. “It’s part of our agreement with the humans in town. We protect them from whatever stalks the night; they keep us secret from the rest of the world.”

“But you were attacked.”

“A ridge away from Green Bank on my way here.” And chased in the woods behind the camp. “And then I found where whatever it is had bed down. It’s not a you-know-what.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I know what I saw, okay?” She pushed down on the table and rose onto her hooves. “It’s large and muscular, and yeah, it had a skull for a head but no antlers.” She stepped over the bench, willfully ignoring how Avery rose when she teetered on her injured hoof. The thing in the woods hadn’t had antlers, she was sure of it. Those had been branches. And it had been huge and hulking, not emaciated, but Cricket had been terrified, only catching glimpses in flashes of lightning. And then she’d been hidden in the thornbush, only able to see its claw-tipped paw.

Gods, she was getting to be no better than her family, questioning herself as much as they cast their doubts on her claims. But Cricket knew what she had seen just as well as she knew something sketchy was happening in Green Bank. She just needed more evidence.

“You saw it in a storm,” Avery argued, “by your own admission. How can you be so sure?”

“I just…I just am, and I’m done having everyone question me. Good night, Avery.” She grabbed her tray from the table and limped away.