12. Avery

There was nothing she could do but watch Cricket leave. She had duties to attend to, campers to oversee, and reports to file. Her job was supposed to be the most important thing in her life right now, but somehow, befriending the faun and healing whatever had broken in their conversation superseded that.

Why?

What was it about Cricket that had thrown her to the forefront of Avery’s every waking thought? When she played piano, she thought of Cricket in the wood, darting from tree to tree with her raspy, playful laugh. When she taught her guitar lesson, she thought of Cricket’s fingers and those metal caps, wondering if the F chord would even present a challenge to the faun.

And now, despite the clamor of the cafeteria, all of her attention was on Cricket limping away. Muscles in those lean legs twitched beneath the bike shorts and flexed in her calves. It was an effort to tear her gaze away, but she managed, dropping it down to the half-eaten Sloppy Joe on her plate. Her stomach turned with the realization that eating meat in front of an inhuman that was part deer was probably insensitive. That Cricket wasn’t eating salads and grains bowls to make a point, but rather because that was what she ate.

Gosh. Is that why she was always so terse with Avery? Because she couldn’t stand the sight of a human eating—Don’t think it—flesh?

“Oh, ew.” She pushed her plate away.

Although, it’s more muscle than flesh. Right? Wouldn’t flesh denote eating one’s own kind? OH.

Her stomach clenched, bile rising in her throat. Did Cricket think she’d been eating ground venison?

Avery rose and grabbed her tray, heading to the trashcans to throw away the rest of her Sloppy Joe. Glancing around the dining hall, she caught Director Murray’s eye. She shot Avery a tight smile and stood, gesturing for her to follow into the kitchen.

Cooky glanced over as they entered, jerking their snout up and wiggling their whiskers in greeting. Pots and pans clanged, held aloft and moved around the counters and stovetop by a multitude of tails. Avery schooled her face. She had come to terms with the fact that a rat the size of a WWE wrestler cooked their meals. It was one of a number of … interesting things she had seen in Elkwater Music Camp, but she still had to fight against the inborn impulse to gag.

“Had an interesting phone call earlier.” Director Murray crossed her arms and dropped a hip against the counter. “From a man named Desmond at Lunar out of Atlanta.”

Avery startled, unsure if she had heard correctly. “Lunar?”

“The firm your father is working with.” Mac nodded, eyes gleaming as a smile spread across her face. “Lunar Asset Management. They want to help the camp find investors. He said something about his colleague being impressed with the grounds and staff.”

“Are you sure—”

“I don’t know what you said during your lunch, but, thank you.” Director Murray lurched forward, wrapping Avery in a tight hug. “This is exactly what we need. If they can help us find investors, I can grow the camp, we can welcome more students and—” She cut herself off, releasing Avery to hit her with a misty-eyed smile. “Thank you, Avery. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Director Murray, are you sure about this?”

“Please, Avery. It’s Mac.” She squeezed Avery’s shoulders and whirled around, mumbling as she strolled out to the dining hall. “Oh, there’s so much to do. They want to tour the camp; I’ll have to call my dad and get his advice. What kind of wine do you serve investors?”

Avery pressed a hand to her cheek, wincing at the heat flushing her face. She should be excited for Director Murray and the camp—this was what the woman had been working toward. It was what the camp needed, so why did she have this creeping sense of dread?

“If you’re gonna take up space in my kitchen, make yourself useful.” Cooky snapped her leg with a tail and jerked their face toward the sink. “Ain’t gonna do themselves.”

“Yes.” Avery rushed to the sink. “Of course.”

She lost herself to the task, scrubbing through stack after stack of trays, plates, and cups, and ducked out a side door when the last of the campers left for their cabins. Not ready to sit in her cabin with nothing but her thoughts, she paced the length of the dining hall and weighed her options. She could go to the counselor’s office, where her co-workers would be chatting and playing video games, but as much as she didn’t want to be alone, she didn’t have the energy to try and fit in. There was always filing to do, but that would put her in Director Murray’s cabin with Cricket. As enticing as that may be, Avery wasn’t a glutton for punishment.

That left the practice rooms. Avery needed to lock up anyway, so she might as well clear her head by getting lost in the music before she did. She flexed her fingers, her mood already lifting at the thought of her favorite room, with its upright Steinway and a window with a view of the woods. Eager to get there, she cut along the side of the dining hall and onto one of the deer trails the campers used as shortcuts.

This late in the day, the instructional side of the camp was abandoned in favor of cabins and the shadows beneath the bleachers. Clouds stretched across the sky, blocking the moon, and she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the deeper darkness before pressing on.

Avery relished the quiet; only the sound of her footfalls and the rustling of a breeze through the trees were audible and the world was peaceful in the way only the mountains could be.She grabbed her denim skirt and hitched it up to step over a narrow creek, hesitating with one foot in the air as a loud snap echoed through the wood.

Her head swiveled to the trees, her grandmother’s words running through her mind at a frantic pace.

If you hear something in the woods, no, you didn’t. If you see something in the woods, no, you didn’t.

She should look away and keep walking. Keep her head down, make herself small, play dead. But she couldn’t look away, she couldn’t move, because she saw something in the woods and knew, without a sliver of a doubt, that it saw her as well.

“H-hello?”

The breeze died away, tree tops falling still as clouds drifted away from the moon, casting the backside of the camp in pale blue light. Shadows crawled from the wood, and Avery exhaled.

“You’re being stupid,” she berated herself. “It was just a twig snapping.” Still, her neck prickled, and she peered into the woods, heart juddering to a halt when one of the shadows moved.

A broad figure stepped between the trees, moonlight pouring over a bone-white skull. Avery did not wait to see the rest of whatever the creature was. Hitching her skirt high, she leapt over the creek and ran.

Pounding footsteps followed, shaking the earth. Avery pressed her speed, dropping her skirt to swing her arms and lengthen her stride. The denim tangled in her legs, keeping her from sprinting outright. The trail she followed ran along the length of the orchestra room, and the next gap between the buildings was easily twenty yards away. Even without a skirt on, Avery had never been the fastest runner, but she’d mastered that sixty-foot sprint during her years as a power hitter.

She called on all that muscle memory now, gritting her teeth and aiming for the edge of the building and the breezeway. Sweat poured down her back, half from the hot summer night, half from fear as a dank musk accosted her nose. Musk and something sharp. Minty. She gagged, her eyes burning and a cry strangling in her throat.

There was a rush of hot wind, wet panting in her ear, and the creature snagged her skirt, wrenching Avery back. She landed on her stomach, shrieking and scrabbling at the ground. She kicked her legs, and a shoe connected with something hard and immovable.

“Please,” she sobbed, kicking her leg again, grazing what she thought might be a leg. “Let me go.” And again, higher and—her shoe connected with something soft. Squishy. The creature let out a noise that was somewhere between a howl and a roar, claws ripping free from her skirt and grazing the inside of her calf. Pain shot up her leg, fueling the adrenaline already coursing through her body. She scrambled away, gaining her feet and sprinting forward. The tear its claws had left in her skirt allowed Avery to open her stride, and she bolted, aiming for the dim lights of the practice rooms and a campfire circle gleaming ahead. There would be people and inhumans. There would be help. There would be—

An arm shot out of the breezeway, snagging Avery’s elbow and hauling her between two buildings. Splinters scraped her shoulders, and before she could process what had happened, her face was pressed into a warm body, thin cotton the only thing separating her from a rapidly beating heart.

“Keep quiet,” a raspy voice whispered. A hand palmed the back of her head, and an arm snaked around her back, pressing Avery hip-to-hip with her savior. She trembled wildly, burying her face into a slight chest. Something leathery and moist nuzzled her ear, soft lips brushing the shell as they spoke again. “Slow breaths, or not at all, if you can manage.”

“Cricket,” she whimpered, and the faun held her tighter, shushing in her ear. A shiver joined her tremble, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

A wicked snarl rumbled down the tight breezeway, and she cried out against Cricket’s chest. It was close; the creature was so close, and they were barely hidden in the shadows. If it swept its arm, it would snag her skirt. It would drag her away from Cricket and into the woods. It would be her bones the faun found. Her blood staining the earth.

Her arms tightened around the faun, as if she could bind their bones together to keep that thing from dragging her away. To her surprise, Cricket tightened her arms right back, nuzzling her damp nose against Avery’s temple and running a velvet-soft thumb along her cheekbone as the creature huffed and scraped claws along the wall.

Her touch was hypnotic. Lulling the sting from the wound on her leg and arousing every one of her senses, drawing every bit of Avery’s attention to that gentle sweep and the heart beating under her ear. To the strength in Cricket’s arms at such odds with the faun’s slight frame.

“I think it’s gone,” she whispered after a long moment, her thumb never ceasing its tender sweep. Avery tensed, waiting for the inevitable moment Cricket realized what she was doing and who she was holding. But the moment stretched, and still, she kept Avery in her arms.

“What was it?”

“Whatever chased me over the ridge.”

“The wend—”

“Don”t say it’s name.”

“I saw its face.” Avery raised her head. The motion sent Cricket’s hand to cup the base of her neck. Velvet-soft fingertips dusted her throat, and the wide pools of Cricket’s eyes were trained on her. “No antlers.”

“No antlers.” She tilted her head forward, bringing them closer. The erect stand of her ears softened, the tips swiveling toward Avery. “I thought it had you. Are you hurt?”

“My skirt is ruined.”

“Oh no,” Cricket deadpanned.

“And it nicked my calf.”

“Oak and ivy, Avery.” Cricket finally blinked, releasing her from that intoxicating stare. She tipped their foreheads together, and blond curls fell forward, tickling Avery’s cheekbones and closing them off from the rest of the world. “I heard it in the woods, but it didn’t chase me. It seemed like it was waiting for something.”

Each word bloomed against her lips, a warmth sent from Cricket to fill her from top to toe. It settled in her belly and crawled up her front, and if Cricket didn’t let go, if she didn’t step away, Avery feared she’d give the faun a whole new reason to hate her.

But this doesn’t exactly feel like hate.

“Waiting for what?” she managed.

“I don’t know.” Cricket raised her head to again stare at Avery. The soft grip on her throat tightened just so. A possessive touch keeping Avery right where she stood. “It only moved when you came out, coming to the edge of the woods to watch you pace and—” Avery huffed. “What?”

Avery ducked her head, biting her lip and shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“No, not nothing, what?”

“You were also watching me pace.” She should be embarrassed. She ought to be burning up and horrified that Cricket had witnessed her minor breakdown outside the dining hall, but it was hard to be those things when she was so distracted by how the faun’s body leaned into hers, relaxing into Avery’s softer curves.

Cricket muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Shut up,” then cleared her throat. “I darted ahead when it started chasing you. I thought I could hide, and when it ran by, I’d … I don’t know. Jump on it?”

This time, Avery giggled outright, leaning back to take in all of Cricket’s face. “You hid here to save me from that thing?”

“Not all of us are monsters, Avery,” Cricket leveled, her expression going serious. “Some of us are—”

Whatever they were, the world would never know because Avery popped up onto her toes and kissed her.