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“Gimme my bear,” Christopher said, recovering.
Zoë held it out of his reach. “Fm just looking.”
“Gimme my bear,” Christopher said more forcefully.
She laughed. It sounded forced to Simon. “What’s wrong? Can’t take a joke?” She backed away a few steps, and Christopher advanced on her, his fists clenched.
“Give it back.” He almost used the command tone but stopped short, still playing the helpless child.
“Come on, don’t you want to play?” she asked, backing away faster. “If you want it, come get it.” She turned and burst from the shadows, holding in front of her the bedraggled teddy bear.
Christopher let out a cry of rage and rushed out behind her, panic on his face.
Simon grinned and punched the air in glee. Go, Zoë, go. She just might do it. He wanted to cheer.
She headed toward the gazebo. “Come on,” she called. “You’re no fun.”
Simon felt like laughi
ng. Christopher didn’t dare go lightning fast and grab it back, because that would give his game away. He still thought he had a chance. He didn’t know. He played the helpless little boy, running after his beloved teddy, outraged by the teasing. Simon hoped he hadn’t sewn up that hole, that his precious soil was falling out all over this alien dirt.
Simon followed eagerly, herding them with his wishes. The quiet, long a habit, took no effort, and soon he became daring. Since Christopher had eyes only for his bear, sometimes Simon crossed moonlight, briefly startling against the night. He wanted to keep up.
Zoë dodged around the gazebo, up the steps on one side, and down those on the other side. There were four sets of steps; she used all but the one on the pit side. And Christopher chased her frantically, picking up speed, gradually casting aside the pretense. Soon he would be too enraged to care. He flung aside the knapsack that hindered his pace. It was a dark park, a late night—he’d strike quick and abandon the game.
Zoë was panting, and her face was white, as if the frost were tearing her throat. Dodge here. Duck there. Slowing down. And Christopher, on short, pudgy legs, moved faster, bouncing from step to step, across hollow boards, no fatigue on his face, only anger and growing bloodlust.
“Can’t catch me,” Zoë shouted between ragged breaths, and headed across the gazebo again to the other side. The side she had not gone down yet. The side with the pit.
Simon raced around the bushes, almost on all fours, and flung himself down in the dried leaves. He could see from here.
Zoë hit the top of the steps with a burst of speed. Suddenly she was in the air.
Oh, Zoë, don’t jump too short. A picture of her, broken and pierced, flashed through his mind. His hands went to his mouth to cover his horror.
Christopher was at the top of the steps, Zoë was flying through the air, and Simon felt frozen in time. He half rose.
Christopher, ready to run down the steps and snatch her, stopped. He had seen movement. His eyes focused in and found Simon, poised half free from the ground. Zoë rolled to safety as Simon and Christopher stared at each other, Simon in shock, Christopher in disdain.
Simon rose slowly, completing the journey to his feet. Zoë lay gasping on the grass, clutching the teddy bear to her like a talisman.
“What is your trick, Simon?” came the bell-clear child’s voice, harder than any child’s. “Have you a game afoot? Is this your slut?” He laughed when he saw Simon’s eyes flash to anger. “Yes, how foolish I’ve been. I must be getting old. Where were you leading me, Simon?”
Simon relaxed a little, inwardly, but he wouldn’t let Christopher see this. “That’s for you to find out.” Christopher didn’t guess about the pit just a few short paces from him. There was hope.
“Shall I ask the girl?” Christopher’s fangs glinted as he leered.
Simon wanted to hurt that face, slash it, rip it. His brother brought an unreasoning hate alive in him. It boiled inside him and made it hard for him to think. Caught in his anger, he didn’t see the change right away.
“You cease to be amusing,” his brother said. Christopher’s voice was higher, wavering, as if his larynx was distorting. “I should have killed you long ago.” It turned to a squeak.
Bullet fast, a black bat dived for Simon’s face, over the pit, over the stake-lined hole that was to be its death. Sharp claws slashed at Simon’s eyes, and he staggered out from the bushes, covering his face. He was only feet from the pit. The bat dived for his face again. Simon ducked. But the bat changed to a boy and sent Simon crashing to the ground.
They struggled furiously. Simon tried frantically to roll away from the pit that could be his own death, too, and Christopher unknowingly forced Simon closer.
Christopher was strong beyond human terms, yet so was Simon, and Simon was larger, which gave him more leverage. Yet Christopher lacked the spark of humanity that tempered Simon. He bit, he scratched, he clawed for Simon’s throat, and won a throttling grip.
“You can’t kill me,” Simon gasped. “You have nothing you can kill me with.”
