Authors: Mette Ivie Harrison
Tris & Izzie (5 page)
A
s I walked away and dumped the soda cup, I told myself it wasn't fair to think about Mark like that. He didn't treat me badly. He asked me to do something for him once in a while, and he was usually appreciativeâwhen a game wasn't on.
It had never bothered me before.
Tristan probably wouldn't be a better boyfriend in any real terms. It was just the grass being greener on the other side and all that.
And the eyes bluer. And â¦
I headed down the metal steps and found myself in a crowd of people who were moving toward the concession stand. When I got away, I was in front of the fenced gate that led to the ticket booth. Out in the parking lot was a big black dog. It was running back and forth with frantic, jerky motions, as if it was looking for someone.
I like dogs, though Mom has never let me have one, despite my asking her a million times. And this one was beautiful, with a shiny coat, strong hind legs, and an up-right head.
At first, I thought someone had just left it in the parking lot to wait. It wanted to be taken for a run, and now it had to wait, and it didn't understand because it was a dog. Some-times humans are really cruel.
I went over to the gate and lifted the latch, thinking I would pet the dog. I kept imagining Tristan talking to Branna, and I didn't want to go back to that. I wasn't paying much attention to the dog anymore, or I might have noticed something was wrong.
As it was, I didn't hesitate to open the gate and take a step outside.
“Here, boy,” I said.
That was when the dog turned, and I saw that it had two heads. Two heads full of white, shiny, slobbery, gnashing teeth, and a grand total of four eyes. The eyes had a greenish cast to them and stared at me with unnaturally focused interest.
“Uh, nice doggie,” I said. I put up my hands and tried to take a step back.
The dog moved quickly, getting between me and the gate. It snapped at my jeans with one head while the other head closed the gate hard enough that the latch fell down and locked in place.
I was trapped now, on the wrong side of the gate.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. All because I'd wanted to pet a dog. Why had I assumed that it would be tame and safe?
“Please, don't hurt me,” I said. I could feel sweat trickling down my back. “Please, please.”
The head that wasn't pulling at my jeans snarled at me. “Help!” I tried to scream, but my voice came out squeaky.
Then the dog's second head pulled up and stared at me, eye to eye. I was terrified.
Why had I come outside the gate?
If only I still had the potion that I had thrown at Mel. Compared to this dog, Mel seemed like a guppy. I hadn't even told Mom I'd used up the potion or that it hadn't worked, so she had no idea I was vulnerable.
This dog had to be magic. And I had no way to fight it.
I felt a brush of rough fur on my neck and instinctively tried to pull away. But the dog's other head was still clamped on my jeans leg, so I couldn't escape.
“No help,” said one head sharply.
If I'd had any doubt that this dog was magic, it was gone then. A talking, two-headed dog? Not likely to be featured on the Discovery Channel anytime soon.
I lifted a hand and tried to wave it at someoneâanyoneâ on the other side of the gate.
But the dog jumped up, letting go of my jeans just long enough for me to take one step. Then it chomped down on my hand.
“No help,” it said again with its other mouth, the one not full of my hand.
“No help,” I echoed softly. My heart was beating so hard I couldn't hear anything else.
I could feel broken skin, and blood trickling down my hand. Pain radiated up my elbow and into my shoulder. I could see the imprint of the dog's upper teeth along my little finger. There was blood oozing out of it, but it looked half healed to me already.
How could that be?
I watched for another few seconds as the skin healed up completely. It was bruised, but it wasn't dripping blood any-more, and the pain had settled back into my hand.
How had that happened? I hadn't taken a healing potion.
“Magic,” barked the dog. “You magic.” It moved the head that wasn't chomping on my hand to my other leg and sniffed it all the way up. Then it sniffed my crotch. And my nearly healed hand. And up my arm.
When it came to my dripping forehead, it stood back on all four legs. “Magic,” it said again, in a low snuffle. “Much magic.”
“It's not mine,” I said with a shaky voice. “It's my mom's.” It had to be from her love philtre, unless she had secretly slipped me a healing potion. But why would she do that when she thought I had the protection potion?
“Kill magic,” snarled the dog.
Apparently, subtlety was not its strong point.
I kicked awkwardly at the dog's left head and somehow made it let go of me.
I didn't wait for a second chance. I started running and shouting, expecting the dog to chase after me, jump on my chest, and throw me to the ground, then chew into my face. I wasn't going down without a fight.
I ran south toward the school, because I figured the doors would be open, and I knew there was no chance I could open the gate outside the football field in time.
I could hear the dog snarling behind me, could feel its breath on my neck. I screamed, really loudly this time, a death scream, sure my last hope was gone.
There was the sound of something heavy falling behind me.
Don't look back
, I told myself.
Just run
.
But I looked back. I couldn't help it.
There was blood splattered all around the asphalt, and the dog didn't have two heads anymore. It had only one head and a stump on the other side, which was quickly dissolving into a regular smooth, one-headed dog neck.
The other head was a steaming lump on the ground, and above the dog was Tristan, holding a sword like you see in movies, with a hilt covered in jewels and a wicked-sharp blade. The way he held it, I could tell that this wasn't the first time he'd used it.
Why hadn't I seen it before? He had to have brought it to the homecoming game.
Sure. Who wouldn't bring one?
I felt myself go cold as a wind kicked up around me.
“Isolde?” asked Tristan. “Are you allâ”
He didn't finish, because the dog, now with only one head, suddenly jumped up and came after me. My mouth dropped open to scream again, but no sound came out.
Tristan lifted the sword again and sliced through the second neck.
The head continued its forward momentum. First law of thermodynamics. It turns out that it works with magical creatures as well as regular ones.
The head landed on me, warm and wet, then bounced off and skidded to a stop next to an old Chevy pickup truck.
I was covered in blood and shaking with terror, and I thought I would puke.
Tristan came to my side. “You are safe now,” he said. “It's dead.”
“Dead,” I whispered.
He pulled me against his chest, and I tucked my head under his chin, gasping in the smell of him. It was the only thing that could take away the smell of the dog and its blood. At that moment, I didn't care about anything else.
W
ith Tristan's arms around me, I gradually stopped shaking. My sweaty forehead was pressed against his neck, but he didn't seem to mind. I felt like I was floating in his arms, and I wasn't sure I ever wanted him to let go. I would have kissed him then and there, but just in time, I heard voices.
I looked up and saw Branna. And Mark. And just about everyone I knew from school.
Mark was running, but he didn't have a weapon. I won-dered what he would have done to the dog if he'd come out-side before Tristan. Dribbled the two-headed thing like a basketball?
Tristan was the one who had been prepared. He was the one who had saved me. But he was not my boyfriend.
I pulled away from him. “Th-Thank you,” I said with effort. He was standing funny, with one side hunched over, but I didn't think much of it.
Mark had his arms outstretched.
Branna's mouth was wide open, her eyes glinting.
Mark reached me. “What happened to you, Izzie? I heard some barking, and I saw Tristan running out the gate. I came right away.”
“Theâthe dog,” I jabbered. “Itâ” I remembered in time that I couldn't say anything about magic. Mom had drilled it into me: never in public. “It attacked me,” I said. “It must have been rabid.” I could see no sign of the second head on the asphalt now, only the first one. I hoped that meant there wouldn't be news reports about a magic two-headed dog.
“Did it bite you?” asked Mark.
“IâIâdon't know,” I said, shivering. Suddenly, I was freezing.
“Tristan, did you get bit? Because you might both need shots,” Mark said calmly.
I turned to Tristan just as he crumpled onto the ground, unconscious. There was a gaping wound on his side where the dog must have attacked him while my back was turned. I hadn't even noticed it before.
Tristan had held me and whispered assurances to me and made me want to kiss him, and all the while, he'd been seriously wounded. I didn't know if I should love that or hate that about him.
Branna was the first one to reach Tristan's side. Mark struggled with me when I tried to pull away from him. “Let someone else take care of Tristan,” he said. “Izzie, you're going to hurt yourself worse if you don't take a rest.”
But I wasn't going to watch from a distance as Tristan bled to death. I limped forward.
Branna had pulled off her sweatshirt and was pressing it into Tristan's wound.
Tristan's arms and legs started to jerk, and there was foam coming out of his mouth. This wasn't a normal reaction. The dog's magic must be affecting Tristan somehow.
“Come on, Tristan,” Branna said. “Come on. You're going to get through this. You have to live!”
I didn't want her face to be the one he saw when he woke upâif he woke up. I moved to his other side and he seized again.
“That was no ordinary dog,” said Branna quietly.
“I know,” I whispered back.
“Whatever happened to him, he'll die if he doesn't get treated soon,” said Branna.
My eyes were stinging with tears. Tristan had saved me. It was my fault he was hurt. The dog had come to kill me, not Tristan.
“I called the ambulance,” I heard Mark say right next to me. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and tried again to pull me back. “Izzie, let Branna take care of him. You need to lie down.”
“My mom,” I said. “You have to make sure it's my mom coming in the ambulance. He needs her.”
“I'm sure your mom is a great ambulance driver, but we want whoever is closest, so they can get Tristan to the hospital as soon as possible,” said Mark.
It sounded perfectly reasonable in a world where there was no magic, but my mom would know how to deal with a magic dog's bite. She had healing potions that could do things no doctor could.
I couldn't find my cell phone. I must have lost it in the fight with the two-headed dog. “Call back,” I said. “Call back and tell my mom she has to come.”
“Izzie, you need to calm down.”
I slapped Mark across the face. “Call back!” I insisted.
Mark put a hand up to his face, clearly more in surprise than in pain. “Fine. I'll call back,” he muttered.
I leaned forward. “You're going to be all right,” I commanded Tristan, who was still unconscious. He was
not
allowed to die on me. He had come into my life and messed up everything. Now he was going to die and leave me alone? No way.
“Okay, your mom is coming,” said Mark after a quick conversation on his cell. “She was the one coming in the first place.”
“Good.” I took a deep breath.
“Branna, tell her she's not going to help Tristan by making herself sick,” said Mark.
Branna looked at me. “You're not Tristan's girlfriend,” she said bluntly.
“And you are?”
“More than you,” she said.
I nodded and stood up. I felt tired, nothing more. Maybe that meant the love philtre really had worn off.
I swayed on my feet, and Mark put out a hand to steady me. “You're burning up,” he said. “That can't be good.”
Who cares?
I thought. It was Tristan who was in danger.
I would have fought Mark, except that I couldn't. I was too weak.
“Branna, there's something really wrong with her,” said Mark. He helped me lie down next to Tristan, and I thought what a good boyfriend Mark was, after I had slapped him and everything. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I just waited while the world seemed to move in waves.
“Izzie?” That was my mom's voice. I could see a kind of blur of her standing over me.
“Tristan,” I said. “Help Tristan.” He was the one who had gotten bit by that dog.
“He's already in the ambulance. I need you to get in there, too. Can you tell me what happened?” She looked behind her and then whispered, “You can tell me the truth, Izzie. Even if there's magic.”
“Dog,” I said. “Two-headed. Speaking.”
“Two-headed. It was probably a slurg, then. What did it say?”
“Kill me,” I said to Mom, desperately holding on to her arm. “Said it wanted to kill me, kill magic.”
“Can you tell me anything else about it?” Mom asked.
“Black,” I said. “Shiny. Strong.”
“How big?”
I tried to lift my hand, but it moved only a little. “Uhâ chest high,” I said.
“I understand,” Mom said.
Then I was being lifted into the ambulance. I could hear something beeping every few seconds, and I thought Tristan must be lying next to me. He was still alive. He was going to make it.
“We'll get you to the hospital,” said an EMT.
“Just a moment. I need to talk to her first,” said Mom. “She's my daughter.” There was a pause. “Privately,” she added.
The EMT moved away. Then my mom was between me and Tristan, a hand on each of us. “Izzie, concentrate,” she said. “You are burning up. Do you know why? Did you try to use magic?”
I shook my head from side to side, unwilling to admit even then that I had stolen her love philtre.
“Are you sure? I need to know, Izzie.”
I hesitated. “Potion,” I finally said.
“You took a potion?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“From home? One of mine?”
I nodded again.
“Well, nothing I have in the house could have caused this response. It has to be something else. We'll have to figure it out later, after you're safe,” Mom said. “Listen, Izzie, I'm going to give you and Tristan a healing potion. It will taste terrible, but you have to drink it all. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered.
“And one other thing,” said Mom. “I need you to spit in Tristan's potion. And think about him getting better. Think it hard.”
“Whuh?” I said.
“I can explain everything later, but I need you to do this now. It will save his life, Izzie, if it can be saved.”
It made no sense to me. I wasn't a witch, and I'd never seen Mom spit in her potions to make them more powerful. But I'd save my questions for later.
“Spit,” said Mom.
I spat into the bottle she held to my mouth. I saw a flash of fire, but it disappeared so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it.
Mom certainly didn't say anything about it. She swirled the potion around, then tried to dribble it into Tristan's mouth.
He choked and spat it back up.
“It will help you,” said Mom urgently. “I'm a witch. Tristan, listen to me.” She tried to pour it in, but he spat it up again reflexively.
“Izzie, you've got to get him to take this. He's slipping fast. Any other human would be dead from a slurg bite. I don't know why he's survived as long as he has already. You're his friend, right?”
“Yes,” I said. I was his friend, and more.
“Then you've got to get him to listen to you.”
I tried to lift myself up on one elbow, but it was hard. I felt like I had suddenly turned into an elephant but had only a mouse's portion of strength. I would do anything for Tristan, though, even drag my elephant self over to his stretcher and lean close to his ear.
“Tristan,” I said. “It's Izzie. Nod your head if you can hear me.”
He nodded very slightly and groaned.
“You're sick, Tristan. That dog poisoned you with his bite. You've got to drink something to make you better. Do you trust me?”
“Isolâ” He tried to get my name out, but he was drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Tristan, listen to me,” I said as loudly as I could. “You've got to drink this. If you love me, if you ever meant anything that you said to me, drink this.”
I waited for a second. His eyes fluttered open, and I swear he looked at me and smiled, just like he had when we met. I hated him for that arrogant smile, and loved him, too.
I poured the potion down his throat.
This time, he drank it.
As soon as he was done, I sagged to the floor. I didn't have enough strength left even to get back onto my own stretcher. Mom had to get me onto it, and then she had me drink some of the potion myself.
“Good work, Izzie,” she said. “Amazing work, actually. I don't think I've ever met anyone who survived an attack by a slurg.” She kissed me and rubbed her cool hands over my hot forehead. “Except your dad.”
That was all I remembered for three days.
