The Boy's Name
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When I open my eyes, I'm lying on something uber-comfortable. I stretch. Ouch. My ankle is a swollen mess. It's plopped on top of a couple of pillows. I'm shoeless, but there's a thick blanket over me. It warms every part of my body except my face. Even that isn't cold, though, because the air is toasty.
I'm in some sort of living room. A fire blazes in a stone hearth, the cracking of logs the only sound. I suppress a shudder. It reminds me of the tree people who are after me. Of him. There isn't much furniture. There’s just this couch and a low table with a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of what appears to be water resting atop it. Where am I?
I run a hand through my hair. Then I remember Owen and me jumping off of the bridge. Or maybe falling off would be a better way to phrase it?
Something shifts beneath my head. There's a grumbling sound. I tense, then glance up, straight into Owen's open eyes. My head is apparently on his lap. On. His. Lap.
"Oh." I jerk to a sitting position. The last memory I have is of Owen kissing me. Then I go and fall asleep with my head on his lap. Smooth, Stringer, smooth. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was, uh, laying on you." My entire face burns.
He shrugs. "It's all right. I make a convenient pillow."
I blink. "Are you joking with me?"
"Guess I am. Why?"
"I'm just not used to you acting like anything other than an ass."
The glare is back. "Thanks so much." He purses his lips as he offers me the glass.
I take it and sip. It’s water, but its stale—room temperature. I don't want to be rude, so I pretend to drink more before I set it down.
I touch two fingers to my own mouth. "You kissed me." I hide my statement behind my hand. Sure, Jem. Maybe it won't be as awkward if he can't see your mouth?
He cups my cheek; the pad of his finger grazes my skin, sending tingles through me. "I should have realized you'd been poisoned sooner."
Owen takes my hand, turning it over. The cuts on my finger and palm stand out. They're not painful. It looks like someone drew on me with a marker and it's started to fade. It probably compliments the slash on my chin—in a horror movie chic sort of way.
"You said I wouldn't know who I was by morning."
"You wouldn’t have. The poison is actually his blood—it drugs you. You can't stay away from him. Like when you threw yourself from a moving car." He rolls his eyes.
"Oh." Now that I'm not in the moment, just the memory of me jumping out of the car reeks of ‘bad idea.’ "That explains a lot."
"Yeah. Something like that. Anyway, by kissing you..." His gaze shifts. "I was able to draw the poison out of your system. Even holding your hand, making contact with you, will drive his influence away. My body's designed to absorb and destroy it. Yours on the other hand..."
Disappointment I can't explain crashes through me. He didn't kiss me just to kiss me? So what? Big deal. I can't stand him. Right?
"Was there a reason we had to jump in the river?"
He chuckles. It makes him sound a lot older. "The less you know about how we actually got here, the better."
More secrecy. "Okay, maybe you'd better start with who he is?"
"His name is Balen. He's the guardian of all trees. Trees have a sort of collective consciousness, like they're a family or something. He acts as a channel, binding them all, looking out for them. He also keeps them safe, feeds them."
"Okay, now that doesn't sound so bad. Trees need guardians. There's all this deforestation going on. I can see that."
"It's bad, Jemma. Real bad." Owen toys with a ring on his right hand, moving it in slow rotations around his finger. "Balen used to be human. His family dabbled in magick, but he wanted to do more. He performed a rite that would provide him with the ultimate power. He became the tree guardian. Of course, that type of power doesn't come cheap—an insatiable hunger followed it.
"Every few years, he has to choose a child to live amongst the trees." Owen frowns, like he'd rather be doing anything other than telling me about this. "He harvests the child's lifeblood."
Nausea twists my stomach, bile rises in my mouth. I force it back. I will not puke. "That's..." I try and come up with the right word, "...sick."
"Tell me about it." Owen seems fixated on his right shoe. "Worse, his victims...they don't live long. They change, age, weaken, whereas Balen doesn't. He's forced to take another child and..." Owen glances up at me. "If your parents hadn't moved you to the city, it would have been you. He was too weak to track you. He's responsible for the disappearance of Molly McGee."
I close my eyes. "I know. I was there. I saw her get taken."
"And you're lucky you survived that night." He doesn't meet my eyes. "He lures children to him. He cuts them, gives them his blood like it's a drug, and they're hooked. They have to be with him."
"Once he lures them?" I ask, my ankle throbbing as I shift positions.
"The children become part of the trees themselves."
Poor Molly. My mind flashes back to that night. Molly being pulled into the tree, consumed by it. “But I’m not a kid anymore. Why does he want me now?”
“I don’t know. The one who got away, maybe?” he shrugs. “All that matters is he’s after you. You were just three when you first saw him, right?"
"How did you know?"
"I told you. I know everything. At least, about Balen." There's a grim smile on Owen's face. "He has a penchant for artists. He likes people to immortalize his likeness. It makes the first phase of his victims', I guess you could call it assimilation, happen faster." He reaches over and takes my hand. My skin burns. "That's why you couldn't stop sketching him."
"And what about you?" It's easier to focus on gaining more information rather than all of these terrifying things I'm hearing. Still it doesn't slow the pounding of my heart or stop my stomach from turning, especially with Owen's hand on mine.
"My family and I were given some of the gifts you've seen to stop Balen. Our abilities have been handed down through each generation. Legend has it that a coven of witches bestowed the power on us. We have to put an end to this. That's our charge."
There's so much mystery about Owen. His family, his powers, his connection to Balen. I can't shake the feeling that Owen’s telling the truth—as far-fetched and insane as it all is. I read it in his eyes, feel it in my bones. "And that's what you were doing in ‘Beans & Bravado’? Watching me?"
"Yes. Searching for signs he'd returned. I thought there might be a chance he'd hunt you down."
The idea I've been observed without my knowledge almost freaks me out as much as the whole concept of Balen and his tree guys. Almost.
"You should have just stayed away from me. Then none of this would be happening. You wouldn't have the lame chore of having to watch me."
His eyes burn an intense blue—what looks like three different shades at once. "I can't stay away from you, Jemma."
Oh. Oh, my. What does he mean by that? Is that because of his duty or because he doesn't want to? The questions rest on the tip of my tongue, but I can't force them out.
I've had boyfriends, but they've never lasted. Honestly, I've never wanted them to. They didn't know me anyway.
But Owen.... He might know me better than anyone.