11: how do I avoid my own murder?

I don't have much longer on this earth. I'm pretty sure of it. Midge's mom is going to kill me. I'd promised her that I wasn't dangerous, that Midge would be fine in my hands, and then I bring her back home, unconscious. If that's not a means for murder, I don't know what is.

To my surprise, though, Mrs. Osborne doesn't stab me on the spot (unlike her daughter did). She just furrows her brow, takes her limp daughter from my hands, and carries her to the screened-in porch, followed not long after by her husband. The guy creeps me out. I'm not sure. He's never even said anything to me, but he just creeps me out.

That leaves Safiya and me in the living room, in mostly silence save for the droning news channel left on the television. Safiya's lounging on the couch, filing her nails, and I have no idea how she does it. How is she calm? How does she not feel like she's going to implode? There's no way that could have gone worse. No, really. There's not. We have no more info than we did when we went there, and Midge is hurt, and it's my fault.

I can't stay still. I'm pacing like a madman, probably muttering to myself, trying to figure out how the heck—how the heck I'm even supposed to move on with this. The news channel's just static, background noise, in the loud screamo band that is my head.

"Grey," comes Safiya's voice, "if you don't stop pacing, I'm going to douse you with holy water."

I grimace, halting in place. "Please don't."

"I don't get what you're so worried about. I'm sure she's going to be fine."

"Are you?" I ask her, chewing nervously on my shirt collar. Safiya looks up and scowls at me; I stop chewing. "Are you sure? And I mean, maybe it doesn't even matter if she turns out okay. The bottom line is that, at one point, she was not okay, and I let it happen."

Now Safiya sits up, widening her eyes at me. "What else were we supposed to do? There was no way out of there, Grey. It was either Midge did her fancy spell or Cyril skinned us all alive. Midge saved our asses back there. And she's gonna be fine. So, please, cool your jets."

I nod a little, letting out a long exhale. "My jets are cool. I'm so cool. Everything's—"

The door to the porch opens, and out steps Midge's parents. Nevermind. Nothing's cool. They're going to kill me right here, right now. My blood will spray all over their oriental rug and everyone will laugh and be like, "Boy, why didn't we do that a long time ago?" I'm positive. I'm so positive it hurts.

Mrs. Osborne stares at me for what feels like eternity, and then she just says, "It'll take a while for her energy to build back up, but Midge is okay. You can go in and see her, if you want."

"Oh," I say, then, "oh. Really? She's okay?"

Midge's mom narrows her eyes, sharing a glance with her husband before looking back at me. "Yes, Grey. Do you wanna see her or not?"

"Uh, yes," I manage, and as I'm walking towards the door, Mrs. Osborne snatches at my arm. I'm yanked to stillness, and I stand there, trying to be cool, when I'm not cool at all. Here it is. Here's the moment I die.

"Scare me like that again, Mr. Meesang," Mrs. Osborne warns, "and I'll send you back to hell."

I almost correct her by saying that's not where I came from and I've never actually been there, but something tells me that's not the response she's searching for. So I just nod, and then she lets me go, shoving me onto the screened-in porch. The door slams shut behind me.

In comparison to the freak show that is the rest of Midge's house, the porch is sort of placid. There's a trickling fountain in one corner, a playful frog carved of stone, in addition to the plants everywhere. There's orchids, ferns, and other bright colorful things I don't know the name of, all basking there in the sun like happy people.

Then there's Midge, laid back on the couch, motionless.

She's underneath an array of what look like Christmas lights but probably aren't Christmas lights because they're up year-round. They twinkle softly as I ease down on a stool, wondering what I'm even doing here. She's asleep. There's nothing for me to do but watch her and hope I'm not breathing too loud.

So that's kinda what I do. I don't mean to be creepy, but her face is just...interesting to me. Mildly distressed but serene at the same time. If it weren't for the subtle furrow between her rose-colored eyebrows and the downturn to her lips, I'd say she looks like she's having a good dream.

I sigh. "You're dumb, Midge," I mutter. "Either that or you're just mean. Jesus—do you even know how much you scared me? Do you get some sorta kick out of that? I mean, it's not fair. You could have—"

I cut off sharply as she jolts awake, taking in a long breath and snapping her eyes open. She looks around frantically until her gaze lands on me, and then she jumps backwards with a shout. "Grey?"

"Midge?"

"Where's Safiya? Where's—we're alone?"

I give her a strange look. Just to make sure she knows how strange she's being. "Uh, yes, I believe so. That's your first concern, of all things?"

"How did I get here?" Midge demands, and though she seems to be in the process of calming herself down, she's still making all sorts of weird sharp movements that convince me she's not completely alright yet. She draws herself up to a sitting position, hugging a pillow to her chest. "I'm...home. How did I get here?"

I look away. "I...I carried you."

There's a long moment where the two of us just stare at each other, trying to figure out how this even came about. Like, what is this? Why are we even here?

Then Midge asks, "Did you touch anything?"

"What?"

"You creep! You heard me. I said, did you touch anything? On...me?"

"Oh, by hell, Midge, no! What do you take me for?" I snap. My cheeks are on fire. I'm beginning to regret ever coming in to see her. "I would never—I just had to get you out of there, alright? I promise. That's all I was doing."

Midge eyes me as if she's unconvinced, but then she just lets out a breath and sinks back against the couch, thrusting a hand across her forehead rather dramatically. Her pink hair pillows out underneath her as she traces the gray ceiling with her gaze. "Well...thanks."

"You're thanking me? We all would've been Cyril's apple sauce pouches if it weren't for you, Midge."

"There's...nothing," Midge replies, turning her head a little to look at me. I'm confused by what she means, but then she goes on with a frown, "He didn't know anything. What if we're wrong? What if it all is a coincidence? I mean, it's not likely, but even the prophecy could be—"

"Midge," I say. She blinks. "No. Maybe we haven't found the right lead yet, but that doesn't mean it's not there."

Midge chuckles. "And here I was thinking you didn't want anything to do with this. With me or this prophecy business."

"Oh, trust me, I don't. I just know there's no point in running away from it anymore."

I can't tell whether or not she likes this answer. She just shuts her eyes and rolls her head back towards the ceiling again, the smile vanishing from her mouth. "Grey...I haven't been entirely honest with you. I think there's something—I mean, if you're really going to help—then I think I should—"

She doesn't finish, because then Safiya's tearing the door open, both Midge and I looking up in astonishment as she appears in the door frame. I don't even have to ask what's the matter. Safiya says, "We have a problem."

"No, Safi. We have, like, fifty-six problems."

"Well, fine! We have another one!" she snaps, and then just makes this disdainful noise and motions for us to follow her back into the living room. I shrug, helping Midge to her feet and obliging.

The news station is still on, but now there's something worth looking at. The headline labeled BREAKING NEWS at the bottom of the screen reads: Werewolf attack near Peachtree.

I get the cold feeling in my stomach again. I look at Safiya. "This is bad. This is really, really bad. The humans—they've got to hate us by now."

As I'm saying it, I'm thinking about Rocco, the disappointed look on his face as he'd talked to me the other night. If the attacks keep going like this, maybe he will end up being afraid of me. I hate it, but it's true.

Safiya just nods in agreement. "There are rules in place to avoid all this. That's why I don't get it. That's why none of this makes any sense."

"There has to be something we're missing," Midge muses. "Something we're not seeing—"

"Guys, wait," I say, pointing at the screen. A picture of the wolf has flashed up on screen, a huge rust-colored one with its snout twisted into a snarl. None of that, though, is what catches my attention. It's the mark at its ear, a jagged line slicing through the pink, furless flesh. "You see that? The mark on its ear?"

"Yeah? So?" Safiya replies. "What's a scar have to do with any of this?

"It's not a scar, Safiya," I correct her, turning away from the screen. "It's a signature. That wolf—he's one of the fighters."

Both Safiya and Midge are looking at me like I belong in a straitjacket. They look at each other, then at me, and outburst in unison, "What?"

I snag the remote, switching the TV off. "Come on," I order. "I think we should go see my dad."