I hold the open end of the can to my ear, waiting. Etalon’s intimate gesture has left me vulnerable and without words.
“You won the role of Renata.” The observation warms my temple—as if his very breath travels through the ribbon and the metal—a magical sensorial experience like when we dance in our minds.
I hold the can to my mouth. “Yes. But . . .” I return the metal cylinder to my ear, testing to see if he knows how I feel without my even saying it.
“Why did your triumph make you sad?”
Nailed it. I frown up at Pegasus’s form draped in that glimmering veil of larval fireflies, grateful for the make-believe safety net, but also wanting to finally look at Etalon’s face with no more guises between us—to have him explain this deep connection we share. “I used a gift that I never had to earn, to steal the role from someone else who’d worked hard for it.”
“If you hate this gift so much, why did you use it?”
I’m going through the motions now, moving the can back and forth without even thinking, as if it’s the most natural form of communication in the world. “I don’t hate it.” Not anymore, thanks to you. “I just don’t feel like I deserve it. But I’d rather my friends be mad at me and still have one another, than know what a monster I am.”
He sighs into the phone, and it flutters several strands of loose hair that cover my ear. “‘Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, not the poor singer of an empty day.’”
“I’m pouring out my heart, and you’re spouting lame poetry.”
“Lame?” A rough chuckle bursts through our makeshift phone line. I’ve only heard him laugh in childhood memories with his mother. Now that he’s grown, it’s a deep, broken sound, and even more affecting. “The grand Sir William Morris would roll over in his grave.” Etalon’s tone sounds suspiciously like teasing. “My point was you’re not some ravenous, unthinking beast. You’re a girl with a talent for song who happens to feed on energy to survive.”
I laugh this time, but it’s hollow. “Talent? I beg to differ. And we both know what I did to my friend last night in search of energy. That makes me a beast.”
“Were you hungry today, at any time?”
I think of how I couldn’t look at the students or teachers, even at dinnertime with a delicious salad in front of me, without seeing their auras and wondering how those emotions might taste. “Yes.” My voice echoes in the can.
“And did you attack anyone and drain them of their life-force?”
“Well . . . no. But I had to make the conscious choice not to.”
“Beasts are driven by savage instinct. Not conscious choice. Our kind has a unique way of relating to the physical world. We consume, transmit, and manipulate the life-forces around us.”
The firefly larvae brighten as he says this, as if he’s empowering them with a surge of energy, reminiscent of how I channeled the earth’s pulsing nutrients into the dying roses in the garden.
“So . . . we can bring things back to life?” I ask. The possibility feels like a knife at my chest. Why couldn’t I have known that when I was seven years old, saying good-bye to Dad in his casket before they closed the lid?
“Unfortunately, no. If something is dormant, we can keep it alive with a transfer of energy. But death has no reversal. Which is why we must be very careful when we feed.”
The cold metal numbs my fingers as I digest the information. “Be careful, how? You saw what I did to Jax . . . and there’s another guy back home—” I stall there, ashamed to give the details.
“When we’re small, our bodies don’t require any more energy than what the earth provides. Sunlight, plants and flowers, animals. They all offer sustenance, just by being around them. But we come to a point when we need more—an awakening. Human emotions hold the most potent forms of energy. That’s what you were craving with the first boy. And you’ve been starving since that taste, causing an energy imbalance. Now you’ve addressed that at the club. You will learn to curb your appetites by supplementing between significant feedings. Usually, only a sampling of a plant or animal’s life-force is enough to tide you over. And you will learn how to feed with caution. It doesn’t have to hurt anyone or anything. And it doesn’t have to be the end of your world as you know it. Many of us live among normal people and are never discovered.”
I hold the cold metal to my mouth. “You don’t. You hide inside of mirror passages . . . behind masks.”
“That is my conscious choice.” His answer rattles through the metal at my ear.
“Is it? I sense loneliness, a desire for something more, every time I’m with you.” I crimp my lips, my breath balmy and hot inside the tin can. “My guess is, if you had your conscious choice, you wouldn’t hide at all.”
There’s a pause, as if Etalon’s considering my words. “Tell me, if all of this could be taken from you, would you want that?”