Chapter 13

"So, what's going on between you and your roommate, Fernandez?" is how Clay greets me as he reaches my table at Mummy Mocha. This has become my go-to study spot. I've started talking with Tanner, the dude who always seems to be working here. Tanner works a lot of jobs, so he's struggling academically. Poor dude. I get it. If I didn't have my scholarship, I'd be in the same boat.

Clay sits down next to me, his bony, cold knee banging against mine.

"Things are kind of confusing, but we hang out now," I say happily. Thinking about Steve always makes my chest warm. I've found myself humming the song he wrote for me while I'm walking to and from class or in the shower. "He's actually supposed to be meeting me here soon for a study session. So I think he likes me—more than my other roommates did, anyhow."

"Good, but that's not what I meant. You guys seemed cozy last night. I think you have a crush on him, and the feeling is mutual."

I whip around and stare at him. "You … you could tell he likes me? He told me he wants me." Or wants my soul.

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who was so oblivious to everyone wanting to bang you."

"I haven't banged anyone," I huff, keeping my voice low.

"Really?" Clay says. "You're a virgin?"

I give him side-eye. " No , I mean I haven't been with anyone since I've been here. You've dated like fifteen people in that time."

"That's so weird to me. You're … you look like you." He gestures to me.

"Having the opportunity to have sex with people doesn't necessarily mean I want to do it. If someone wants me only because of my appearance, that's not very appealing."

"I understand that."

"And besides, it's not like I always looked like this. Because of my past, I don't place that much importance on looks," I say.

Clay's brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"I went from being a pudgy kid to a teenager who weighed twice what I do now. Then I got so into water polo that you couldn't keep me out of the pool, and I dropped a bunch of weight." I shrug. "I like my body regardless of its size."

Clay purses his lips, tilts his head, and pauses before saying, "Huh."

I shrug. "In any case, this is what I look like now, and my crush on my roommate is getting bigger. Except I'm not sure if it's based on my own feelings or some nokk bonding thing."

"What do you mean?"

"When I see Steve, I get butterflies in my stomach and my knees go weak. My heart races. I hang on every word he says. I come up with excuses to get close to him. To see him."

"That's a crush all right. So why do you think it's not coming from you?"

"Steve told me that when I gave him my blood, he cut his finger pulling the slide out of the bag, and our blood mingled, which is apparently the first step toward bonding. Then there's kissing and giving each other our hearts. I hope that last one's metaphorical. So do you think there's some kind of mystical force going on? Don't I have free will?"

"No idea. Hang on." Eyebrows raised, Clay pulls out his phone and looks up nokk on Witchipedia again. "Huh."

"What do you mean, ‘huh'?"

"Has he tried to drag you to the underground world?"

"No, although he said he wanted to. He said it involves a lot of paperwork."

"Really? Well, that's Europe for you."

"I'm pretty sure you can sign your soul away with paperwork just about anywhere."

"Yeah, maybe," Clay says, tapping on his phone. "Did you know that his scream causes drownings?"

"He mentioned that he's an omen of that."

"But it sounds like nokks can cause drowning, not just predict it. Maybe it wasn't smart to put him on the water polo team."

I wave a hand. "What's he going to scream about? He's so quiet. And we all know how to swim."

"I dunno. Just be careful. Or … don't. Do you still want to kiss him, given the bonding thing?" Clay studies me intently.

Do I want to risk bonding further? Most of me is saying hell yes, because it sounds exciting. I suppose I should be smarter than that, but what can I say? Something inside me has wanted him from the second I saw him—before I even gave him any gifts.

Contented resolve settles into place in my heart.

I nod, but before I can answer Clay in words, I hear "Brandon!"

Savannah is standing in the doorway to the coffee shop, waving at me. I give her a smile. Ever since I saw her at Brainz Liquor, I've been running into her everywhere, and she wants to meet all the time to study for monster history.

Before she even orders, she comes over to us. Her wings are rather large, and she accidentally nudges someone. "Oops, sorry," she says.

"Hola," I say, trying for enthusiasm. She's cool and all, but I'm getting the idea she likes me more than I like her. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Say, what did you do with that last question in the homework?"

Behind her shoulder, I see Steve walking in. He cranes his head, looking for me, and I wave to him. I don't want to be rude to Savannah, though.

"I had trouble with it," I admit. I glance at Clay, who's watching me very carefully.

Savannah keeps talking, but Steve appears to have left. As soon as I can excuse myself, I text him emojis of a coffee mug, red question mark, fairy, hug, and troll with a walking stick.

He leaves me on read. He hasn't done that in a long time.

Finally, Savannah heads off to class, and Clay nudges me. "I think someone's jealous."

"I'm not jealous," I say.

"No, I think Steve's jealous of how Savannah is always hanging all over you."

I blink. "You're right. I think maybe he even started to say something like that last night, before you got there. I'll have to fix that."

But with classes, dinner, and Clay dragging me to a movie, I don't see Steve until late that night. I'm too tired to get into anything heavy, especially since we have to get up early for practice, so I just say good night and go to bed.

It feels weird to bring it up in the morning, too, all bleary-eyed and half-asleep. I decide I'll do it after practice. We'll go have coffee, and I'll lay it all out for him. How I feel and everything.

While I know that's the right thing to do, and I'm hopeful it will have a very good outcome, it also makes my nerves spike.

When Steve and I walk into the locker room, the team's standing around Phil. The barrel-chested Sasquatch is in his Speedo, exposing the tufts of hair that are growing everywhere on him. And I mean everywhere—the tops of his feet, his forehead, the backs of his hands, his shoulders.

So the team is helping him wax. Again. Since his Sasquatch hair magically grows back so fast, they have to do it right before he jumps in the pool, otherwise it's pointless; good thing the salt water apparently doesn't irritate his bare skin. He's in enough hurt from ripping out his fur. Diego and Nick are applying the sticky strips to Phil's body, then yanking them off as he yelps in pain.

"Why do you go through this week after week?" I ask, shaking my head and wincing in sympathy as I drop my lounge pants and shove them, along with my hoodie, into the locker. "I know you don't want the extra drag during games, but isn't the pain too much just for practice?"

Steve takes off his T-shirt and sweatpants and joins us, wearing a new blue-and-green Speedo. He looks so good in it—I'm not sure why I didn't notice that before. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Phil thinks he's too hairy," Nick says, "so he makes us do this because he can't reach all his spots."

Diego nods and grabs another wax strip. "It's a lot of work."

Phil shrugs, then shrieks as Nick rips off more of his hair. The skin underneath is tan, but reddened. "A Sasquatch looks terrible in a Speedo," he says defensively.

"Some people may think so. It's who you are, though. Why change it?" I ask. Given my history, I'm very pro letting people be in the body they are in. I glance at Steve, whose dark eyes are on me, and he seems to be taking in my every word.

"Swimmers always wax," Phil insists.

"Maybe before an important game," I acknowledge. "Every little advantage helps, and it can feel good to be all smooth in the water. But why bother when it's just us and just practice?"

Phil looks sheepish. "I dunno."

And I get it. He wants to fit in. What he needs to understand, though, is that him being a Sasquatch is fine. "I'm good with you not waxing," I say. "Not that my opinion matters. But I think everyone would be comfortable with you being your regular, hairy self. We like you how you are. Don't worry so much about it."

Phil looks around. The whole team is nodding at him.

Nick gives him a smile. "You really don't have to do this."

"Well, maybe just before important games, like you said," he says. "I have to admit, waxing hurts worse than getting a limb ripped off."

"Be your furry self," I say, clapping him on the back.

Phil bites his lip and nods.

A phone sounds inside one of the lockers, and Steve startles. "I think that is mine," he says, in a wary tone. "I don't receive many calls."

"Is it your father?" I ask.

He shrugs as he walks over to his locker. "It could be."

"If it is, you'd better answer it," I say. "It might be important."

He nods, opens his locker, looks at the phone, and sighs. But he answers, saying something in what I assume is Norwegian. His voice gets grumpy, and soon he's saying something very sharp.

I'm worried about him, but I'm not sure there's anything I can do to help. So I join the other guys and head out to practice.

On the pool deck, I set my towel on the bleachers and do dryland lunges and squats with the team. Then Coach starts us on intervals, where we do five laps, then get out for push-ups and sit-ups and repeat.

After my first set, I pop my head out of the water, but I don't see Steve. Should I go check on him? I get out of the pool and drip my way into the locker room.

Steve is still on the phone, and his dark eyes flash in my direction for a moment. I could swear his body almost shifts to his other form—gray and green. But it might've been a trick of the light.

"You okay?" I mouth.

He rolls his eyes and nods, then says something in Norwegian.

"Let me know if you need help," I whisper, and he nods again. I return to the pool and jump in feetfirst, with my hands at my sides. I need to do my laps and catch up with the rest of the team, who are back doing dryland exercises, but before I begin, I notice Clay is still in the pool, over at the edge.

"Got a cramp," he says. "Had to take a breather. I think it's gone. Let's finish the laps. I'll join you."

A vibration is emanating from the locker room and suffusing the entire pool. It's Steve's voice, but it's amplified, and it's making the water tremble.

Clay stiffens. "Oh, that's not good."

"I know. I wonder what's going on. I hope he's okay."

"I didn't mean that," Clay says, "although yes, we should find out what's wrong. But if I'm not mistaken, Steve is getting close to screaming. You know what that means."

"Pfft." I wave a hand. "Like I said before, we all know how to swim. And that's not a scream. He's just pissed."

"Still. Be careful."

"I will," I say.

We do our first lap. When we're done, Steve's still not in the pool, and his voice sounds like it's taking over the whole indoor space. I wonder what's going on. He didn't say for sure he was talking with his dad. Maybe he has a best friend in Norway. Or a girlfriend. Or a … boyfriend.

I don't like that idea. I mean, Steve can have friends , of course. But the idea of Steve in love? It gives me a funny feeling in my stomach.

Clay comes up next to me and gestures. "Race you?"

I notice everything's gone quiet. Steve must be off the phone. Everyone else is doing lunges. "Tell me when to start."

"One, two, go," Clay says, the little cheater.

But I push off the wall and swim fast, my body sliding through the water, my arms cutting the surface. I make it to the other end, but Clay is there ahead of me. Dammit.

"One more time," I say, panting.

He nods, and this time I take off before him.

Then there's an overpowering noise.

The biggest vibration yet passes through the pool, and I fight to keep moving forward. My chest goes tight, and I can't turn my head to breathe. Water rushes into my nose, and I swallow huge, salty gulps.

Darkness invades my brain.

And the world ceases.