Chapter One
As night fell, the cold moon hung high in the sky. The bright moonlight fell on the ancient castle on the edge of the city, casting a mysterious silver veil around it. Emily stood on the balcony, looking at the forest in the distance, and felt a chill rising from the bottom of her heart. Since moving to this castle, her life has become bizarre and mysterious. The cold wind in October swept across her bare shoulders, bringing a shudder. Emily subconsciously wrapped her woolen shawl tightly around her, but she couldn't feel any warmth. This castle seems to be always cold, just like its mysterious owner Lucas Black, exuding an inaccessible atmosphere. "Miss Emily," suddenly, a low voice sounded behind her, "You'll catch a cold if you're still outside so late." She turned around and saw Lucas standing at the balcony door. The moonlight outlined his tall figure. He was wearing a dark silk shirt, and the collar vaguely revealed his strong chest. The amber eyes flickered strangely in the darkness, as if they could see through her soul. "Mr. Black," Emily whispered, trying to hide the trembling in her voice, "I'm just admiring the moonlight." Lucas took a step forward, but suddenly stopped. Emily noticed that his body stiffened instantly, and his nostrils fluttered slightly, as if he was sniffing something. His expression became solemn, and a glimmer of wildness flashed in his eyes, but was quickly suppressed. "Please go in," his voice was hoarser than usual, "It's not safe here." Just then, a cold night breeze swept across the balcony, bringing a faint smell of rust. Emily saw that Lucas's fingers were almost pinched into the stone railing, and his knuckles were white. She couldn't help but take a step back, her heartbeat accelerated. "I thought this castle was the safest place," she whispered, "after all, you are here." Lucas let out an almost inaudible growl, "Some danger, Miss Emily, is much closer than you think." His eyes looked unusually sharp in the moonlight, "especially on a full moon night." Suddenly, a wolf howl came from the distant forest, shrill and long. Emily was surprised to find that Lucas' pupils shrank in an instant and turned into vertical pupils like a beast, but the fleeting change made her wonder if it was just an illusion caused by the moonlight. Just then, a cold breath passed by her from behind, accompanied by a chuckle. Emily turned around and saw only a dark shadow flashing in the corner of the balcony. When she looked back again, Lucas had come to her side, with a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'll take you back to your room," he said, with an unquestionable commanding tone in his voice. Emily noticed that his palms were surprisingly hot, in sharp contrast to the chill of the castle. Walking in the dark corridor of the castle, Emily could feel Lucas' presence, he walked behind her like a silent guardian. Moonlight poured in through the Gothic stained glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the floor. "Good night, Miss Emily," Lucas whispered in front of her door, "Remember, no matter what sound you hear, don't leave the room tonight." "Why?" Emily asked subconsciously. Lucas was silent for a moment, his eyes looked deep and dangerous in the moonlight, "Because the moonlight tonight is too beautiful, it will always wake up something that shouldn't wake up." When the door closed behind her, Emily leaned against the door, her heartbeat still alarmingly fast. She could hear Lucas's footsteps gradually fading away, but she seemed to hear the sound of wings flapping outside the window. She walked to the window and looked out through the glass. In the moonlit courtyard, she saw a figure standing by the fountain. The man looked up at her window, and the moonlight illuminated his pale marble face - it was Draco, with a mysterious smile on his lips and a dangerous light in his eyes. When Emily blinked, his figure had disappeared, as if he had never appeared. Emily lay trembling on the bed, listening to the wolf howling outside the window. She knew that she had fallen into a world full of dangers, and this was just the beginning. On this moonlit night, her fate was closely linked to two mysterious and dangerous beings, and there was no turning back.
Chapter Two
In the dead of night, Emily lay in bed, the faces of Lucas and Draco appeared in her mind. She could not resist the deep attraction, but she also knew that she was caught in a dangerous vortex. She knew that the confrontation between the two men was a life-and-death hostility, and she was just a pawn in their war. A corner of her heart reminded her to escape, but the deeper desire pulled her to stay in this mysterious castle, looking forward to the unknown encounter.
Just as she was about to fall asleep, a slight knock on the window interrupted the silence. Emily opened her eyes, and the moonlight poured into the room through the curtains, making the corners of the room particularly dark. She sat up subconsciously, trembling slightly and walked to the window. When she opened the curtains, a figure was standing in front of her, cold and elegant.
It was Draco.
"Sorry, I scared you, Emily." His low voice was frivolous and indifferent, as if every word revealed his unfathomable darkness. His eyes were like two flames in the abyss, locking onto her with an irresistible force.
"How... are you here?" Emily's heartbeat quickened, and her hands unconsciously clenched a corner of the curtain. She knew she should be scared at this moment, but Draco's unique charm made it hard for her to resist.
Draco did not answer her question, but slowly approached, lowered his head and whispered in her ear: "You know why I'm here, Emily. You've never really been afraid of me, right?"
The moment he approached, she smelled the cold breath on him, as if it came from the night a thousand years ago. Her breathing gradually became rapid, but she did not retreat, but was locked by his eyes, as if her soul was also attracted to him.
"Draco... we can't do this." Her voice was weak, but she did not retreat at all, as if even she herself was struggling with contradictions.
"You don't belong here at all, Emily. Staying here will only put you in deeper danger." Draco gently lifted her chin, with a smile on the corner of his cold mouth, that smile was both gentle and dangerous, "But if you want to know the real darkness, then come. I will take you to see everything."
At this moment, the door was pushed open, and Lucas' figure appeared at the door like a shadow. His face was gloomy, and his eyes were burning with anger. It was his possessiveness and anger that he could not hide. He walked towards Draco step by step, his hands clenched, his muscles tensed, as if he was going to pounce on and tear the enemy in front of him in the next second.
"Draco, let her go." Lucas' voice was low and threatening, like an enraged beast. It was the first time Emily saw him so out of control, his eyes were like a ball of unextinguishable fire, revealing uncontrollable anger and possessiveness.
Draco smiled slightly, released Emily's chin, and looked at Lucas provocatively. "Don't you understand yet? She doesn't belong to you. The savagery of the wolf tribe is nothing but a bondage to her, and I can give her true freedom."
"The 'freedom' you mentioned will only make her fall into darkness. You don't understand what true protection is." Lucas sneered, his eyes as sharp as an eagle. He slowly stepped forward, blocked Emily, and protected her behind him. That was his attitude as the wolf king, firm and unshakable.
Emily was sandwiched between the two, feeling her heartbeat speed up, as if breathing became difficult. These two completely different forces intertwined and collided in front of her, making it impossible for her to decide which side to choose.
Draco raised the corners of his mouth and slowly took a step back, his eyes still on Emily. "Emily, one day you will find that he can't satisfy the desire in your heart. And I am your true home."
As soon as the voice fell, Draco's figure disappeared into the night, as if he had never appeared.
Lucas looked at the empty room, his fists gradually loosened, but the anger and worry in his eyes remained. He turned around and looked at Emily softly, but his eyes still flashed with contradictions and forbearance.
"Are you okay?" He asked in a low voice, with a trace of undisguised concern in his voice.
Emily nodded, but her heart was in turmoil and it was difficult to calm down. She knew that she had fallen too deep. She could not let go of these two men easily, nor could she easily resist them. A complex emotion surged in her heart, which was a dangerous and fatal attraction.
"Lucas, I..." She wanted to say something, but lost her words when she met his eyes.
"Don't get close to him." Lucas' voice was low, with a hint of pleading and warning, "I know you feel confused, but Draco is not what you think. He will only drag you into the darkness, and I won't let him hurt you."
Emily just looked at him silently, and a touch of uncertainty gradually rose in her heart. She knew that this was not just a war, but a contest of feelings and desires. In this dangerous triangle relationship, she has gone too far and can never turn back.
Chapter Three
Emily stayed awake all night. The wind outside the window blew through the woods, making a low moan, as if the whole castle was whispering in her ear. She curled up in bed, recalling Draco's cold smile and Lucas's deep eyes. Two completely different attractions stirred in her heart, making her lost on the edge of danger and desire.
When the sky was slightly bright, she made a decision. She had to figure out what she wanted, the wildness and protection of the wolf tribe, or the mystery and temptation of the vampire. She got up and walked out of the room, walked through the deserted corridor, and came to the door of Lucas's study.
The door of the study was slightly open, and a whisper came from inside. Emily stood outside the door and pricked up her ears to listen.
"She is innocent, Lucas." A low and gentle female voice came from Lucas's sister, Leila. Emily had heard rumors about her. Leila was the wisest prophet in the wolf tribe and could always see fragments of the future.
"I know, Leila." Lucas' voice was hoarse, as if he had struggled all night, "but I can't control myself, I can't suppress my desire for her. I'm afraid that if she stays with me, she will only be swallowed by my darkness."
Emily's heart trembled, and she raised her hand to push open the door.
"Lucas." Her voice was abrupt and firm in the silent room.
The two turned around and saw her standing at the door with a hint of determination in her eyes. She walked slowly towards Lucas, looked up at him, with a hint of determination and inquiry in her eyes.
"I know you protect me, but I'm not a fragile child." Her voice was calm and firm, "I need to know the truth. Why are you always so hesitant? And why is Draco so persistent in approaching me?"
Lucas' expression froze for a moment, his eyes wandering on her face, as if he was weighing whether to tell her everything. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind.
"Emily, the fate of our werewolves is usually determined at birth. The wolf tribe has a unique ability to perceive its partner. When we find that person, we will feel an attraction that cannot be ignored... and you are my destined partner." Lucas spoke in a low voice, with pain and desire flashing in his eyes.
Emily's heartbeat accelerated, and thousands of emotions surged in her mind, both shocked and confused. She never thought that she would become his destined partner, and his possessiveness and protectiveness of her turned out to come from this ancient bond.
She asked softly: "What about Draco? Why is he so obsessed with me?"
Lucas's eyes became more gloomy, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Draco's tribe never believed in fate. They prefer to dominate their own future. And he believes that as long as he possesses you, he can destroy me and the traditional beliefs of the wolf tribe. So, he is not sincere to you, but to weaken my power."
Emily's heart suddenly tightened, and a hint of anger and loss surged in her eyes. However, she also felt a little unwilling, as if she was just a tool in this struggle, being fought over and torn by the two, and she had no right to control herself.
"So, Lucas, are you sincere? Is it just fate for me?" There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, and her eyes became cold.
Lucas was stunned, as if he was hurt by her question. He was silent for a moment before speaking: "Emily, I can't deny the existence of fate, but I can't ignore my feelings for you." He gently held her hand, his eyes full of affection and desire, "Whether it is fate or something else, I am willing to give up everything for you."
Just then, a slight sound came from outside the window. Emily turned back suddenly and saw a pair of dark red eyes flashing outside the window, like a flame in the dark, and the familiar cold breath startled her heart.
It was Draco.
He stood outside the window, sneering at them, as if everything was under his control. He knocked on the window lightly, his voice cold and full of provocation: "I don't think it's possible to talk about 'betraying' everything here, Lucas. You can't protect her because she will eventually come to me."
Lucas' eyes immediately became cold and dangerous. He stood in front of Emily, glared at Draco outside the window, and growled in a low voice: "Stay away from her, Draco. You can't force her to choose darkness."
Draco smiled slightly, his eyes full of evil confidence. He raised his eyebrows at Emily, as if everything was under his control. "Dear Emily, you will find that the bright world cannot satisfy your desire. And darkness - is your destination." After he finished speaking, his figure instantly disappeared into the night.
The room returned to silence, but the air was filled with tension and uneasiness. Emily looked at the empty darkness outside the window, feeling both fear and desire in her heart. She could no longer deny Draco's attraction to her, and the danger and mystery made her heart beat faster.
Lucas noticed her hesitation, and a trace of pain and uneasiness flashed in his eyes. He gently held her hand and whispered, "Emily, don't get close to him. His darkness will devour you and make you lost in the endless night."
She didn't respond, but just looked at him silently, her heart full of complicated emotions. She knew that she could no longer simply withdraw from the two of them. Her fate had been drawn into an uncontrollable vortex, and the only thing she could do was to follow her heart and touch the unknown darkness.
Chapter Four
As autumn deepened, the forest surrounding the castle donned a cloak of gold and crimson. Yet Emily felt none of the season's warmth. Since that night's revelation, her mind had been in constant turmoil, with Lucas's truth and Draco's temptation intertwining like two serpents in her thoughts, leaving her breathless.
That evening, Emily found herself alone in the castle's library, searching through ancient tomes for any mention of werewolves and vampires. As she focused on a yellowed manuscript, the air suddenly turned cold. Looking up, she found Draco standing across from her, his appearance as silent as shadow.
"Seeking truth, my dear Emily?" Draco leaned elegantly against the bookshelf, wearing a deep purple silk shirt that made his skin appear even paler. "But you know, written accounts are often one-sided."
Emily instinctively stepped back. "Why do you always appear like this? It's unsettling."
Draco chuckled softly, moving toward her with fluid grace. "Because I enjoy seeing you startled. It makes you even more enticing." His fingers traced her cheek, the cold touch making her shiver. "Lucas told you I'm merely using you, but did he mention that his fate is actually a chain binding him?"
Emily froze. "What do you mean?"
"The werewolves' so-called destined mates are nothing but constraints in their bloodline," Draco's voice carried a hypnotic power. "They're forced to love someone, forced to protect them. Isn't that tragic? While I..." his gaze deepened, "I choose you because I'm truly drawn to you."
A low growl suddenly echoed from the doorway. Lucas stood there, his eyes now golden, filled with rage. "Step away from her, Draco!" His voice carried an unmistakable threat.
Instead of retreating, Draco pulled Emily closer. "Why so angry, Lucas? Is it because I spoke the truth, or because you fear she might choose me?"
The tension in the air grew thick enough to cut. Emily could feel the energy between the two men threatening to tear the room apart. Lucas's body trembled as he fought to control the beast within.
"Enough!" Emily suddenly shouted, "What am I to both of you? Some trophy to be won?" Her voice carried both anger and hurt.
Both men froze. Pain flashed across Lucas's eyes, while Draco's expression turned contemplative.
Emily pushed away from Draco and walked toward the door, but paused beside Lucas. "You say I'm your destiny, but have you considered my feelings?" Her voice was soft but accusatory. "And you, Draco, if you truly cared for me, you wouldn't use me as a weapon against him."
She hurried from the library, and only when she reached the corridor did her tears finally fall. She didn't know whom to trust - Lucas, chosen by fate, or Draco, who chose her himself? More importantly, she began to question whether she truly understood her own heart.
As night fell, Emily stood on her balcony. Wolves howled in the distant forest, while somewhere in the castle, she thought she heard the flutter of bat wings. Everything reminded her that she stood at the crossroads between two worlds, and she had to make a choice.
Then she noticed items on the balcony railing: a rose as black as night with a blood-red sheen - Draco's mark. Beside it lay a wolf fang necklace, a werewolf protection charm, obviously left by Lucas.
Emily gently touched both items, her internal conflict growing stronger. She knew that choosing either would alter her destiny forever. But more importantly, she needed to understand what her heart truly desired.
As moonlight bathed the castle grounds, Emily realized that her decision wouldn't just be about choosing between two men - it was about choosing what kind of life she wanted, and more importantly, who she wanted to become.
Chapter Five
The following days in the castle were filled with an unbearable tension. Emily found herself constantly caught between shadows and silence, between warmth and cold. Every corner seemed to hold either Lucas's protective presence or Draco's seductive whispers. The weight of their attention was becoming increasingly suffocating.
One particularly cold morning, Emily discovered a mysterious leather-bound book in the library's restricted section. Its pages contained ancient prophecies about the eternal conflict between werewolves and vampires. As she read, her hands trembling, she found something that made her blood run cold.
'When the moon bleeds red and the night grows teeth, a choice will be made that breaks the ancient cycle. A mortal's heart shall tip the balance, bringing either eternal darkness or salvation to both races.'
"Interesting reading material," Leila's voice suddenly came from behind. Lucas's sister moved like a ghost, her silver eyes holding centuries of wisdom. "I've been waiting for you to find this."
Emily closed the book carefully. "Is this... about me?"
Leila's expression remained enigmatic. "The prophecy speaks of a mortal who stands between our worlds. But prophecies, dear Emily, are like rivers - they show the destination, but the path taken is always your choice."
"What happens if I choose wrong?" Emily's voice wavered.
"There is no wrong choice, only consequences," Leila replied, her voice gentle but firm. "But I must warn you - the blood moon approaches, and with it, a moment of truth that will change everything."
Before Emily could ask more questions, a commotion erupted from the castle grounds. They rushed to the window to see Lucas and Draco facing each other in the courtyard, their postures tense with barely contained violence.
"You've crossed the line, Draco," Lucas's voice carried up to them, filled with fury. "You dare to mark our territory?"
Draco's laugh was cold and mocking. "Territory? This stopped being about territory the moment she arrived. Or are you afraid she's already choosing me?"
Emily watched in horror as Lucas's form began to shift, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes. The morning sun caught his golden eyes, now burning with primal rage. Draco's own transformation was more subtle - his pale skin taking on an otherworldly sheen, his movements becoming impossibly fluid.
"Stop!" Emily's voice rang out across the courtyard. Both men froze, their attention snapping to her window. "This has to end!"
She turned to rush downstairs, but Leila caught her arm. "Be careful, Emily. The blood moon is three days away. Under its light, both races lose control of their darker natures. And you..." she paused meaningfully, "you will be at your most vulnerable."
When Emily reached the courtyard, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Lucas immediately moved to her side, his protective instinct evident in every motion. But it was Draco who spoke first.
"My apologies for the disturbance, dear Emily," his voice was silk over steel. "But perhaps it's time you understood the full scope of what you're involved in." He pulled an ancient medallion from his coat. "This belongs to your grandmother. She wasn't just any woman - she was a guardian, keeper of the balance between our races."
Emily's world tilted. "My grandmother? But she died when I was young..."
"She was murdered," Lucas cut in, his voice heavy with old pain. "By those who wanted to destroy the peace between our kinds. And now, as her descendant, you inherit her role - and her enemies."
The revelation hit Emily like a physical blow. Suddenly, everything made more sense - the mysterious circumstances that led her to the castle, both men's intense interest in her, the prophecy. She wasn't just caught between two supernatural beings; she was part of an ancient legacy.
"The blood moon comes," Draco said softly, his eyes locked on Emily. "And with it, powers long dormant will awaken. You'll need to choose not just between us, Emily, but between two paths for both our races."
As if in response to his words, clouds gathered overhead, casting strange shadows across the courtyard. Emily felt something stir within her, something old and powerful, like a sleeping giant finally beginning to wake.
Lucas moved closer, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill air. "Whatever you choose, Emily, know that my protection isn't just about fate or duty anymore. It's about-"
But before he could finish, a piercing scream cut through the air. All three turned to see Leila collapsed at the castle entrance, her silver eyes wide with terror as she pointed at the sky.
"It's coming," she gasped. "The blood moon... it's coming early. And with it, they're returning - the ones who killed your grandmother. They're coming for Emily."
In that moment, as Emily looked between Lucas and Draco, she realized that her choice might not be about love at all - it might be about survival.
Prolog
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PROLOG
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Ir det YsÉvagaeK Ily)s ih dLetN lyuseBrøde lkyMsk UpåY piigernCes gymnuasieTtRoviPlretr skji.ltwejsM jegp fra hinandebnH medy mDNXAM-$t(estbsXæ!tt.eét. Jegh læwsÉteC Ghu_rt&ilgGt^ ziFnstrLuktizofneGrBne, fvørG YjeIg miBsLtse$dXei lmodetJ.i
Jeg spyttede ned i røret. Jeg lagde det i kuverten. I bunden af min rygsæk fandt jeg en knækket kuglepen og trykte omhyggeligt en e-mail-adresse, som jeg ikke ejede, men bad om, at den stadig var tilgængelig.
Jeg nægtede at tænke. Jeg forlod badeværelset og gik direkte mod skolens forside og derefter mod en åbning i kædehegnet. Hver dag gik jeg forbi den pollenbelagte blå postkasse lige uden for skolens område.
Jeg hørte en hoste bag mig. Harrison Addison-Silicon Valley royalty, som jeg sad ved siden af i klassen, men som jeg knap nok havde talt med, som de andre børn aldrig turde tale med - havde en identisk pakke i hånden. Han rakte ud foran mig og greb fat i postkassens håndtag. Den gabte op med et knæk.
Jde(g kliggedÉeI oÉp& Npåc HFaRrrziósJons zog g,av, hóaLm Keit szpÉørgmen.dée b'likW.B Hamnq gestLikuleredXe JmpedH jhfaxgNeGn Rfor at Éfå) miggS tgilH aJtI 'gdåT f^øursgt. JbeqgÉ bvakXlsejdei, uTsihkk.eKr ppå,p obm deDtteh vayrL e$n .vej,s jceg .s_kiuZlVle gåB, Aog roZmX d)e!n óvFililXeR tfJø*r(eX Cmwiqg tiMlr dezn_ scacndhedf, so^m km^ijnep forZæ^lBdre sawgideq,w hatW jepgB malydwrirg. zmWåttIea få atH fvide.
Kapitel et
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KAPITEL ET
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En ^mIåtnIedj WtiBdl_iZgere^
Hvis jeg kunne udpege det øjeblik, hvor tingene ændrede sig, ville det være så simpelt som dette: et gymnasiebibliotek i Illinois, hvor jeg sad ved et bord med min gruppe, der deltog i en videnskabsmesse.
Så var det tid til at gå.
Biblioteket var ved at lukke, så vi ryddede op efter vores papirrester og efterlod de mange borde og stole, samlede vores jakker og forlod det orange og brunfarvede rum.
"óKmatiMeó! DGu RgplQeXmtReA d.en her."f
I det sekund jeg satte mine ben uden for biblioteket, fulgte min partner på videnskabsfestivalen, Alina, efter mig med tilmeldingsblanketten i hånden. Jeg lod mig hypnotisere af farven på hendes neglelak. Bare for et øjeblik. En funklende, elektrisk blå farve. Da jeg først mødte hendes øjne, måtte jeg lyve.
"Tag den!" opfordrede hun indtrængende. "Mig og Ruthie er helt klar. Du er ved at overskride fristen, og vi gør det ikke uden dig." Den sidste bemærkning var rar og tog toppen af hendes mobbetone. Jeg tog forsigtigt papiret fra hendes hånd. Alina havde ikke længere tillid til, at jeg ville tilmelde mig online. Det virkede som om jeg var den sidste person på Lincoln West High School, der ikke ejede en smartphone.
Fuld af intensitet og løfter - konkurrencen og fremtiden var hendes til at tage - lagde Alina begge sine hænder fast på mine skuldre. "Gentag efter mig: Vi kommer videre til statsmesterskaberne. Vi skal nok komme videre til statsmesterskabet."
RGuthLiDe,,p vorJes aaindLen xmankmke)r, kgom he(n &tnilH Ali)nra li sdøråbnZinógyegnB.G K"Viz sgkaIlz wntok nklomGmbeL v^iudÉeyrne t.il KstatrsmcepstAer_spkiabIernie!"t ftialføjAedze XhWuTn soRg skuQbfbxe(deX kærYlCigMtA &tuitlN XAlina Lmjexd sAiZn fsk,uvldeOró.q J_esgL _såV d$eres* cglrakde !abn)siXgterÉ Yoqg KhlaZvbde l$ystB yt(iul) mant( IvgæxrZe meódY.! B"Kom .nauA,U RKamttieO!D Dyu errj forx sBøsd. dDeBtX eLrv .ii woRréden Éat vil(leP knuseC éalBlMeQ."
Måske var der en måde denne gang.
"Tak," sagde jeg og kiggede over skulderen, som om der var et sted, jeg skulle være. Jeg var nødt til at tænke det her igennem. Måske kunne jeg danne et argument for at overbevise mine forældre. Ingen vidste, hvem jeg var. De behøvede ikke at komme. Det kunne ikke spores tilbage til dem.
Jeg vidste, at vi ville komme videre. Det var det, der var problemet.
"Skes hvi iz mo)rgWen& kllokkeZnQ $séybv pfemóogfYyrrXr*e? 'VCié rskIatl var*beXjdeG pCå DprHæPsentaGt$ionsta!vYlernted."
"Så ses vi," sagde jeg.
Mens jeg gik stille og roligt gennem den næsten tomme gang og forsøgte at lindre mine sparsomme træsko, kiggede jeg på spørgsmålene på tilmeldingsformularen.
Jeg burde være tilfreds med, at jeg havde hjulpet Alina og Ruthie så langt. Det burde være nok. Projektet ville helt sikkert ikke have været så godt uden min hjælp. Jeg vidste godt, at det var en arrogant tanke, men det var sandt. Da jeg ankom i januar, havde jeg luret i baglokalet til det videnskabelige messe-møde, hvor tolv børn arbejdede på deres bidrag efter skoletid. Så kunne jeg ikke stoppe mig selv, da jeg overhørte Alinas gnist af en idé om afsaltning ved hjælp af UV-lys. Hvis jeg ikke var sprunget ind, ville Alina og Ruthie stadig være fastlåst på deres genopladelige batteri.
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I den hesteskoformede indkørsel uden for skolen jonglerede min idrætslærer med en Tupperware-beholder under den ene arm, mens hun fiskede sine bilnøgler op af sin taske. "Farvel, Katie!"
"Farvel!" Jeg sagde, imponeret over, at hun kunne huske mit navn. Det fik mig til at føle mig lidt hjemme, og som om jeg måske kunne være Katie. En fransk bulldog, der var bundet til cykelholderen, knurrede lavt i halsen, forarget. Jeg bøjede mig ned for at kradse under dens glatte, varme armhuler.
Det var maj, og selv om temperaturen var frisk, stod solen stadig højt kl. 17.00 og løftede mit humør. Jeg stod ved siden af et nyplantet træ, hvis lyserøde blomster muntert trodsede dets spinkle statur, og holdt udkig efter min far, som normalt ventede på mig. Han kørte ind i halvcirklen, jeg hoppede ind på passagersædet, og så begyndte vi den lange køretur hjem ad landevejene, hvor vi for en gangs skyld slappede af og sang højlydt med på popsange i radioen. Det var mærkeligt, at min far ikke var her endnu. Han havde en militær tidsfornemmelse.
J&eg sfFrøksS.G JekgI haDvdneY *defnS CvelkYenditBeh,' sRprzeRdevnde éftoarnXemmfelseF )afu, $atm _jeg ikkCeV var a&lFe!n_e, Yog faHt éjaegG bUl&evR oIveyrQvsågWet.
Så så jeg dem.
De sad i en anden bil - en sølvfarvet lastbil - parkeret på den anden side af gaden, hvor ingen ville lægge mærke til dem, da de observerede skolens hoveddøre.
Jeg vidste, hvad det betød.
SkNolen Wbag lmXig &bepvKæWgedZeH sTig undBePr RvkaZnmdemtJ.m
Normalt så jeg det komme. En måned, en uge, helt sikkert et par dage i forvejen. Denne gang havde jeg slet ikke fornemmet det. Jeg troede, at jeg var sikker på at jeg ville få afsluttet skoleåret. Tre uger mere med Alina og Ruthie og vores projekt.
Vinden hvirvlede kobberfarvet hår foran mine øjne. Jeg stoppede det bag et øre, kiggede begge veje og begav mig hen til dem, mens jeg susede hen over den firesporede vej. Rundt omkring os var der flade vidder, hvor græsset bølgede i vinden. Halvdelen af lastbilen lå på vejen, den anden halvdel hang ned i en grøft. Alle fire vinduer var rullet ned. Jeg inhalerede den friske luft fra Illinois og kastede et sidste blik på Lincoln West High. Bulldoggen var den eneste, der kiggede.
Ved bilen mødte jeg tre par øjne, min lillesøsters store som underkopper. Mine kom til at hvile på min mors smukke grå øjne. De var hjemsøgte.
"Po'pspZy,U" sÉaNgdre Uh!unl.! a"fDsetn CevrJ Apåb ti^de.L"&
At min mor kørte, burde have været advarsel nummer et om, at tingene havde ændret sig. I alle mine sytten år på flugt - og jeg kunne måske huske tretten af dem - var det her noget helt nyt. Efter at vores velolierede maskine i årevis havde fungeret upåklageligt, var et tandhjul gået løs.
Jeg tøvede ved min mors åbne vindue. "Hvad skete der?" spurgte jeg. "Var der nogen, der genkendte dig?" Jeg rystede på hovedet, et subtilt nej.
Min mor forblev stille. Hun ventede tålmodigt på, at jeg kom til fornuft, hendes øjne holdt roligt fast i mine, indtil jeg huskede: Der var ikke andet valg end at gå. Lige nu.
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Jeg havde et sidste øjeblik for mig selv, da jeg gik rundt til det tomme sæde på den anden side af bilen. Jeg følte mig så flov, at jeg var tæt på at græde. For at distrahere mig selv bemærkede jeg de røde vilde blomster, nogle var fladtrykt af dæk, andre lænede sig mod solen. Pludselig fik jeg en fornemmelse af, at jeg havde været her før - uden for en bil, adskilt fra min familie indeni. Deja vu.
Det føltes virkeligt nok til, at jeg skyndte mine bevægelser. Jeg rev den tunge dør op og smuttede ind på bagsædet af den mærkelige lastbil. Luften i bilen var varm og lugtede af honning. Jeg slappede af, da jeg lukkede døren og lukkede mig inde hos min familie. Det var okay - vi var stadig sammen. Vi var ikke blevet splittet op.
Min søster holdt en æske med grahamkiks, og den ene kind så klistret ud. Jeg ventede på, at min stærke far, som altid var vores leder, skulle hilse på mig.
"aFa*ry?F"
"Hej, Poppy," sagde han, men han vendte sig ikke om. Han stirrede ud af vinduet. Han virkede optaget, dybt i tanker, mens han kiggede ud over markerne.
Min mor drejede sig rundt, så hun kunne se mig. Hun så smart ud i sit vintage tøj: en ankellang nederdel, ankelstøvler i cowboystil og en tynd grå T-shirt under en lilla cardigan, der faldt ned over hendes hofter. Hendes lange hår hang i et lagen ned over hendes ryg. Når jeg så hende udenfor, blev jeg altid forskrækket, som om hun var et genfærd fra en af mine drømme. Hun var ikke ofte ude i det fri. Selv nu, mens vi stod parkeret, stillede hun ryggen til skolen. Hun vendte sig igen mod forsiden, men ordløst rakte hun bag sig efter min hånd og klemte den.
"Har du efterladt noget indenfor?" Min mor vendte hovedet mod bygningen.
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"Nej," sagde jeg stille og roligt. "Ikke noget som helst."
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Jeg gættede på, at vi var tæt på det sikre hus, hvor vi havde boet de sidste seks måneder, og hvor tingene ikke havde virket presserende. I årenes løb syntes mine forældres bekymring at ebbe ud og flyde - jeg var aldrig sikker på hvorfor, præcis. Men i de sidste seks måneder var den aftaget, og jeg havde slappet af.
Hvis vi var på vej hjem, ville motorvejen til sidst give plads til et udvalg af grusveje. Vi drejede til venstre og kørte yderligere fem minutter, forbi postkasser, der markerede andre grusveje. Der var så meget plads mellem husene og gårdene, at vi ikke engang havde set naboerne.
På en almindelig dag ville min far have bremset bilen op til et stop for enden af vores indkørsel, gruset knasede under dækkene, og jeg måtte stige ud af bilen for at åbne porten; det havde været værst i regn og sne. I går, før jeg viste min profil til det lille kamera til min mor, holdt jeg mit ansigt mod solen og solede mig et øjeblik. Et kalejdoskop af lys havde drysset gennem mine øjenlåg, og jeg havde fremsat et ønske: Jeg havde ønsket mig et ønske: "Må vi ikke nok blive?
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Lige i morges, da jeg skulle i skole, sad min mor og malede glad og koncentreret. Lærredet var så stort, og hun var så langt fra at blive færdig, at jeg havde taget det som et betryggende tegn på, at vi ikke var i nærheden af at flytte. Nu gik jeg ud fra, at de havde ødelagt maleriet, ligesom de altid ødelagde hendes kunstværker, inden de tog af sted.
"Må jeg bruge mit rigtige navn næste gang?" spurgte Emma og brød stilheden.
Inden mine forældre nåede at svare, kastede jeg mig over sagen. "Nej, der er ikke noget med at bruge dit rigtige navn. Aldrig. Hvad er familiens regler?"
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Emma sukkede tungt, sank dybt ned i sædet og talte til bilens tag. "Et: du må ikke bruge dit rigtige navn." Emma pustede opad i sit pandehår og blæste med næseborene. "To: ikke opholde sig for længe på et sted. Tre: hvis der er noget underligt, så tag en ting og løb hen til mødestedet."
"Godt," mumlede min mor, mens hun rettede bilen ud. "Hvad ellers?" En aksel af gyldent lys ramte hendes arm, hvor hun havde draperet den over ryggen af min fars nakkestøtte.
Emma var kun otte år. Min mor sagde, at det var en farlig alder. Som syvårig havde Emma troet på tidsmaskiner. Men som otteårig var Emma begyndt at forstå det, som om hendes fødder var helt plantet i virkeligheden. Hun kunne forstå, hvad vi gjorde nu, men samtidig var en otteårig ikke helt pålidelig.
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"Fem." Min far løftede kinden fra sin håndflade og talte tydeligt til forruden. "Du skal ikke spørge om fortiden. For din egen sikkerheds skyld. Det er den mindste fejl, der får os fanget."
Jeg lagde mærke til, at han sagde vil.
"Jeg har aldrig været en Katie," sagde jeg og forsøgte at lette stemningen. Lugten af jord og kvæg blæste ind gennem ventilationsåbningerne.
"Ja, éalltxså.^ Jzeg vNæyl*gxer )ik(k(e n*avneanteL,Y ska^t,"D ^sagPd_ew min wmoIrh. Nmu$, LhvForB viC bvar_ ic (etO ojmr.ådWe! m*ed fulBereF bDi)lexr, XhoOlXdta ihupn brzaOttet i$ ten oDródse$nVtfléig Qnhi(-og&-tZred-stirll^inrg, soum& oTms hzunm ibkke VhavdHe hkCøJrwt tbHil i CårevviXs o&gw nvPaZr dnervøs.k
Så hvem fanden valgte vores navne? Vi ventede på hotelværelser, indtil min far fik besked om at hente en pakke med nye identifikationsoplysninger. Engang, da min far troede, at jeg sov på et mørkt, beskidt motelværelse, så jeg ham tage en pakke med kontanter og papirer fra pakken og lægge dem i en metalboks.
"Hvorfor kører du?" Emma spurgte min mor.
"Det gør jeg bare," svarede min mor. Der var noget meget mærkeligt i gang. Min far blev ved med at stirre ud af vinduet, som om han beregnede vores muligheder i sit hoved. Var vi et øjeblik fra at blive omringet?
DBerU vawrI zenS aMkBa(vIet stNilhFedb Bi. zdZen lixllez WlaXsBtDb.iblÉsw PfKørXerhlutsP._
"Var de tæt på denne gang?" Jeg spurgte igen, uden at forvente et svar. Hvem var det, vi undgik? Politiet? FBI?
Min mor pillede en hårstrå fra ChapStick'en på sine læber. Hun svarede stædigt ikke. De insisterede altid på, at jo mindre vi vidste, jo bedre var det, for vores beskyttelse.
Jeg kendte ikke mine forældres sande identitet. Eller hvad de havde gjort. Jeg havde forestillet mig alle mulige scenarier og havde endda overvejet tanken om, at jeg var blevet kidnappet, at de ikke var mine rigtige forældre. Men jeg lignede min mor så meget og lignede min far nok. Det, jeg blev ved med at vende tilbage til: Jeg kunne ikke forestille mig, at de ville gøre nogen fortræd.
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I nogle henseender var mine forældre frie ånder, men der var også streng orden i vores familie. Det kom fra min far, som altid havde været lederen i vores flygtningelivsstil. Så det var ekstremt mærkeligt, at han ikke kørte bil, og at han knap nok talte.
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Jeg satte mig tilbage i sædet, og kanten af det revne vinyl fanger min lysegule sweater fra Goodwill. Jeg trak i den løse tråd, stoppede så op og forsøgte at skubbe den igennem for at skjule snittet. Jeg måtte tage vare på det, jeg havde.
Min far rettede sig op og pressede sine knoer mod panden, som om han havde hovedpine. Han vendte sig om for at se på mig. "Jeg skal bruge din telefon," sagde han. Jeg troede, at han havde glemt det.
Jeg gravede i min rygsæk og fandt min lille sorte klaptelefon frem. Der var en telefonsvarer fra Ruthie.
"MFå je_gF fljigYe wlAy$tute$ btHihlP FdeQnNne sidstme t(eleFfUoknwsvgareFrs?W"(
"Far," sagde han til mig og rakte ud efter den.
Jeg tøvede. Så rakte jeg den modvilligt ud.
Han fjernede hurtigt SIM-kortet. Jeg lukkede øjnene, så jeg ikke behøvede at se ham knække det i to stykker.
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Min far lagde telefonen i handskerummet og smækkede det så i i et sjældent følelsesmæssigt udtryk. Han var dog ikke vred på min mor, for han tillod hende at tage hans hånd og kysse ømt på bagsiden af den.
Jeg studerede ham i smug i endnu et minut og forsøgte at finde ud af, om han var vred eller bange eller bare havde travlt med at beregne vores næste træk. Da jeg så ham, spekulerede jeg, ikke for første gang, på, om min far havde en form for militærtræning. Ud over det dagjob, han tog, som han fik under bordet, brugte han sit liv på at opføre sig som specialstyrker. Han indrettede altid det, vi kaldte "fars hul" - et rum eller et område, hvor han sad foran sin gamle bærbare computerskærm og holdt øje med overvågningskameraerne. Han kunne sidde så stille i timevis, hvilket et almindeligt menneske ikke kunne gøre. Jeg forestillede mig, at han var blevet trænet til en krig i en ørken, hvor han ikke kunne bevæge en muskel, fordi fjenden ville kunne se bevægelserne i hans camouflage.
Jeg anstrengte mig for at se, hvad der lå i lastbilens lad bag mig. Kufferter. Så denne afkørsel havde ikke været en nødsituation.
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Min mors genstand var et lille indrammet maleri af et californisk landskab - på størrelse med et postkort. Det var et billede af en ujævn kystlinje og et indbydende blåt hav, og jeg har været besat af det, siden jeg var lille. I iskolde vintre og lange, grå forår drømte jeg om at bo i det.
For mig var det babyagtigt, men min genstand var mit lyserøde tæppe. Det havde nu knivskarpe huller, hvis man holdt det op mod lyset, og nogle steder var det slidt så tyndt, at det skræmte mig at tænke på, hvad der ville ske, når stoffet var slidt igennem. Når det var koldt, og vi boede på moteller eller i lejligheder uden varme, trak jeg tæppet over mit hoved for at holde varmen, men i dag prøvede jeg at være så blid som muligt, når jeg håndterede det. Min mor plejede at lave sjov med, at når jeg var lille og faldt ned, ville jeg have mit tæppe før hende.
Min mor tog den ene hånd af rattet og trykkede på knapper på det ukendte bilstereo. "Har du husket mit tæppe?" spurgte jeg. Jeg rev et granola-bar-papir op med mine tænder.
DSeMrx zva'rb dødsstTiOlVleM.
Jeg kiggede op.
Mine forældre kiggede på hinanden.
Jeg lænede mig fremad, så min hage rørte det kolde vinylsæde på min mors sæde. "Sig mig, at du har husket mit tæppe."
"Dueut )err jeg GkWedl laf," sagdGel ^miÉn Kmor.
Jeg satte mig tilbage. "Jeg har haft det hele tiden. Jeg har haft det, siden jeg blev født."
"Det er jeg så ked af, Poppy," sagde min mor. Hun klemte kortvarigt øjnene sammen og sagde Fuck.
"Kan vi gå tilbage? Jeg løber ind i huset. Det tager kun et sekund. Vær sød." Men jeg vidste, at det var nyttesløst, allerede mens jeg sagde det. Vi var allerede flere timer væk.
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Jeg tænkte på, at udlejeren til sidst ville komme til det forladte hus, få det rengjort, og at mit tæppe ville blive smidt i en stor, sort affaldssæk. Jeg lukkede mine øjne helt tæt.
"Det var min eneste ting," hviskede jeg. Udsagnet føltes som om det kom op fra en dyb brønd inde i mig.
"Hvad, skat?"
"KGwlem. GdetW," $saVgdGe XjePg.
Nu var det tid til at gøre det, som jeg altid gjorde for dem. Jeg lagde det mentale billede af mit tæppe i et rum og lukkede panelet.
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VWi IvarO Hp'åY veZjj mmod vesTt.
Der gik flere timer, før min mor endelig sagde: "Dan, jeg er nødt til at stoppe."
Vi holdt ind ved et godt Comfort Inn langs en lang strækning af en ubeskrevet motorvej. Jeg håbede, at vi ville blive ved med at køre mod vest, langt mod vest til kanten, til den verden, som det maleri var. Jeg bad altid om Californien, og jeg blev altid skudt ned. Jeg syntes, det var mærkeligt, fordi det var så stor en stat. Så mange steder, hvor man kunne falde ind.
Min mor slog bildøren op og strakte sig, fingerspidserne rakte ud mod den sorte himmel. I aften var jeg vred på hende og betragtede hende med fjerne. Nogle gange søgte jeg hende efter spor om, hvem hun egentlig var. Eller plejede at være. Ballerina var et gæt. Hun var så høj og elegant.
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Min far tjekkede os ind, og da vi var i det utilitaristiske hotelværelse, spredte vi vores sparsomme ejendele ud. Min mor skubbede privatlivsskiltet på dørhåndtaget og låste os så inde med den døde lås. Min far havde en "go bag" og gik i gang med at samle vores brugte ID-kort.
"Kom med mig," sagde min mor med en gestus til min søster. "Du skal tage et bad."
Emma kiggede stridbart på hende.
"RG.åT!" ysag^de njegK Zo.g sMkZuFb$bede haenSde HoGp, ^af xsenGgYeCn. JegQ var Zi^kAkeV i, Ohu,mør tiBl eLtr srlasertiaSnfanlwdu Ki asftwe$n.u CDet var Kmig, dedr f.orztij)ented Paat f*åf Ae&t. BIkWkqes at IjeFgÉ knoIgesnsinAdTe hagvdde hUaft dret.v IHkkgeh a*t ZjYexgr noNgepnqsinDde vilhleP OfåW Bdet.
Min søster kravlede ned fra den store dobbeltseng og fulgte min mor ud på badeværelset som en lille fange på vej til sin celle.
Jeg sparkede mine sko af, lagde mig tilbage på sengen og smed et håndled over øjnene.
"Poppy." Jeg slap hånden og rullede mig hen til min far, der sad i den retryggede skrivebordsstol med hænderne foldet i skødet. "Du gjorde det godt," sagde han.
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Eller måske var jeg god, fordi jeg havde lukket endnu et kapitel, og endnu en gang havde jeg forhindret alle i at kende mig.
Min søster skubbede sig ud af badeværelset. Hendes øjne var helt røde, og det samme var hendes ansigt. Min mor havde fået Emma til at vaske sit hår og havde derefter kæmmet sit smukke silkefine babyhår igennem. Man skulle tro, at Emma blev tortureret.
"Er du okay?" Jeg hviskede og rørte ved en stribe af hendes våde hår. Hun rystede bare vredt hovedet væk og lagde sig under dynen.
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"Selvfølgelig, men må jeg lige tale med dig et øjeblik?"
Jeg sluttede mig til min mor i det lille badeværelse med den skrøbelige dør. Hun lukkede den med den ene skulder. Vores øjne mødtes i spejlet.
"Jeg er ked af det," sagde hun. Hun lagde begge håndflader på mine kinder og holdt mit ansigt fast, så jeg kunne se hende i øjnene. Jeg nikkede og mærkede en klump klemme i halsen. "Jeg ved, at du gerne ville blive. Du kunne virkelig godt lide Alina og Ruthie. Og jeg er ked af det med dit tæppe. Jeg ville gøre alt for at kunne gå tilbage og hente den." Hun foldede armene og tog fat i siderne af sin cardigan. "Det er meget at bede om."
MiNt. Fh^jerNtYer gav efVtFer PodvkeRr Fhe!nXdpeQsL ruéndskyflwdniVnwg.h W"Dcet erq uokay," psag,de cje)g. KJdeg_ be^vNægeWde mDig (frReBmr foWrg Éat ÉkKraMmme h$ennÉdeD xtæatv.
"Vi har holdt sammen så længe."
"Vi vil altid være sammen," sagde jeg. Jeg kunne ikke forestille mig at være adskilt fra hende. Det virkede til at opmuntre hende, og jeg mærkede hendes smil brede sig mod mit hår.
Da jeg var blevet femten, sagde mine forældre, at deres største bedrift var, at de næsten havde opfostret mig. De havde sagt det med lettelse, som om de havde krydset en imaginær målstregen. Men de havde stadig Emma.
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Jeg huskede sandsynligvis øjeblikket på grund af min mors reaktion - hvor forskrækkede hendes øjne var. Hendes pupiller gjorde en skør ting - de udvidede sig og trak sig sammen. Set i bakspejlet spekulerede jeg på, om hun reagerede sådan ved tanken om at forlade mig og komme i fængsel, eller fordi jeg havde overrasket hende med, hvor meget jeg vidste.
Hun havde fjernet mig fra sit skød og bøjede sig så ned foran mig, så vi stod ansigt til ansigt. "Far og jeg skal ingen steder."
I stedet for at blive trøstet, var det, jeg lærte af samtalen, at der ikke var andre. Hun nævnte ikke nogen anden, der kunne tage sig af mig. Mine forældre var alt, hvad jeg havde mellem mig og den store skræmmende verden.
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"ID'erne er klar." Han holdt sin klaptelefon op for at vise hende, hvor han havde hørt denne nyhed. Jeg vidste, at jeg ikke skulle stille spørgsmål.
Senere den aften på motelværelset overhørte jeg mine forældre hviske-argumentere gennem badeværelsesdøren.
"Nej." Det var et ord, som jeg ikke ofte hørte min far sige til min mor. "Jeg har kigget på det fra alle vinkler. Det er ikke en god plan. Vi kan ikke tage af sted. Det har altid været farligt, men nu er det bare dumt."
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"Du tænker ikke klart. Du er i chok. Det var vi begge to. Men nu har jeg tænkt det igennem."
Uanset hvad det var, vidste jeg, at hun ville forstå det. Normalt så jeg ilden i min fars øjne - det næste stop-blik - og resignationen i min mors, at vi var nødt til at fortsætte. Men han søgte altid hendes godkendelse, før han tog store skridt, som om han ventede på hende, fordi hun på en subtil måde var den egentlige chef. Den følelsesmæssige chef. Han var operativ.
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