Page 8 of Faun Over Me

“No.”

“Good.” She spun away, hands shaking as she gathered her guitar and fumbled with the latch on her case. “I don’t need your judgment.”

“From what I just saw, I’d say you do.”

Avery sent a glare over her shoulder. “So you were spying on me.”

“Just seemed like for someone who doesn’t want any judgment, you were awfully quick to do so.”

“No, I—” She slammed the case closed and jumped to her feet, wanting—no, needing—to explain what had happened, that she didn’t mean to snap at Kola or imply Eddie couldn’t play the guitar. That she was trying even if she was failing, but it had to count for something. “I didn’t mean—”

“Nevermind.” The inhuman sighed and shook their—her. Director Murray had said she was a her—head. “I’ll just continue my hobble through the woods, where you decided to set up your lesson where anybody could come limping by.” She gestured at the trail with her crutch and hopped around, heading back the way she had come.

Avery watched her go, eyes drawn to the flex of muscle in her arm as she gripped the crutch, dropping to her long, lean legs and the bandage-wrapped ankle. Muted music from the field wove through the trees, brassy blurts and the call of a bugle, the driving tempo of snare drums, and still Avery didn’t look away. She chewed her lower lip, guitar case in one hand, as she replayed their brief conversation.

It was like being a living broken record, repeating the same groove in the vinyl over and over again. Unable to break free of the cycle until something, or someone, jostled the turntable, giving the nudge necessary to move forward.

And maybe …

A cymbal crashed and Avery took off at a jog, legs catching in her skirt. “Hey, wait up!” The inhuman kept hobbling along, neither faltering nor glancing back. Avery fumed and matched her slow-going pace, switching the guitar case to the other hand and reaching for her elbow. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t touch me.” She jerked her arm away, swaying off balance.

“You’re hurt,” Avery pointed out.

“I don’t need your pity,” the inhuman retorted.

“It’s not pity; I just want to help you.” She reached again, determined to help, to show she was good and kind—not a bigoted specist but someone who was trying to do the work to be better.

The inhuman leaned away, setting her injured hoof on the ground. She bleated in pain, waving an arm as she teetered backward. Avery acted without thinking, dropping her guitar case and snagging the only part of the inhuman she could reach. Her fist closed around the knotted sleeves of the flannel at her waist, and she tugged with all her strength. A bony, lean body far heavier than it looked collided with her, knocking Avery off-balance, and they went down in a heap. Her back hit the ground, and the air was forced from her lungs with a pained “oof.”

Spots danced in her eyes as the backlit treetops slowly came back into focus, and she gasped, struggling to fill her lungs. A heavy weight shifted, metal clanged against a tree stump, and a curly head rose, wide-set copper eyes glaring at Avery.

This close, she could make out the amber and gold shards in her pupils and each individual little bump on the dark tip of her nose. Avery had read somewhere that each dog’s nose was particular to the dog, the pattern as unique as a fingerprint, and her oxygen-deprived brain wondered if it were the same for whatever this inhuman was.

And then she acknowledged it was a very cute nose. Or was it a snout? Was it even polite to ask?

A thin upper lip curled back, splitting slightly in the middle and revealing blunt, white teeth. Avery’s eyes dropped to the inhuman’s plump lower lip as she snarled, “What in the hells was that about?”

“I was … trying to …” Avery wheezed, flicking her gaze away from the inhuman’s mouth only to be caught by that angry glare. Reality rushed in, and suddenly, she was all too aware of how their legs tangled together. Hyper-aware of soft downy fur and an ACE bandage rubbing against her shins. Of the scent of meadowgrass and peach, and the comfortable weight of the inhuman who had fallen on top of her. Her body heated from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. “I just wanted too ...”

“Help me, I got it.” She grunted and wriggled onto her knees, groping for the crutch and using it to hoist herself from the ground. “Please, don’t.”

“But I—” She scrambled to her feet, unsure how to finish that sentence. The inhuman had said no, and she wasn’t helping anything or anyone by pressing the point.

She cocked her head, gaze flicking over Avery before stabbing her crutch into the ground and swinging around. “If that’s what passes for your help, trust me, I don’t want it.” And with that, she hobbled away, still somehow graceful in the swing of her free arm and sure step of her uninjured leg.

As if sensing Avery’s lingering stare, she hesitated at the intersection of two trails and angled at the waist to meet Avery’s gaze. It was a beat. A moment. A rest in the score, stretching on, awaiting the conductor’s signal for the song to continue. Avery’s cheeks burned, her lips parted and dry, and with the crash of a cymbal from the field, she glanced down. When she’d recovered herself, she flicked her gaze up and found the trail ahead empty and quiet, as if the inhuman had never been there at all.

5

Cricket

Fox fur.

That was the only thing Cricket could focus on, and it was driving her insane.

Fox fur and a pale blue morning sky.

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