Chapter 15
"She's using Peter," Malia said.
"She's what?" Stiles asked. He slowed his steps across the expanse of lawn in front of the school.
"Come on, Stiles." Malia kept walking until she realized Stiles wasn't next to her. She turned around. "You saw her at the lacrosse game. She's totally playing him."
Stiles opened his mouth, closed it.
He tried again, not quite sure where to start questioning how Malia came to that conclusion. "She—Henley, the girl your dad tried to murder—is using Peter?"
Malia lifted an eyebrow at him, clearly waiting for him to put the pieces together. The pieces that didn't exist.
"You…you realize Henley is Peter's victim, right?" Stiles asked. He thought about the night Scott had found her. The way she had been torn open, bleeding on Scott's bed and Stiles had been sure she was going to die.
Malia scoffed. "Please."
Stiles shook his head, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. He had no idea what she was talking about. Henley had done nothing but try to steer clear of all of them. Especially Peter.
" 'Oh Peter, I'm just a helpless little phoenix,'" Malia said in a voice Stiles assumed was supposed to be mimicking Henley. The ridiculous falsetto sounded nothing like the desperate pleas to leave her alone that had come from Henley. " 'Please put your arm around me and get me out of here.'"
Again, Stiles opened his mouth not sure what to say. He had seen Peter getting Henley away from the lacrosse field. But he was also certain Henley had been about to incinerate the field if she didn't get out of there.
Malia's lip curled slightly in disgust. "As if she's helpless. She's got Peter wrapped around her finger."
"She was turned into a phoenix by Peter," Stiles tried again.
"Yeah. Not exactly helpless," Malia said, giving Stiles a meaningful look. It would have been more meaningful if the meaning wasn't insane.
"So you think she's, what? Planning to sue Peter for damages? For emotional pain and suffering?"
Malia frowned. "I don't know. But I'm going watch her."
"Ok. You do that. You watch her," Stiles said. He mentally begged her not to do anything more than watch the woman who was literally trying to do nothing more than not catch on fire.
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Henley took the stack of records that had been brought in and sold to the shop off the sales counter and carried them back to the counter behind the record player.
It was almost time to close. She wanted to sort through the newly acquired records, lock up, and go home. Put another day behind her. She had been back to work for a total of two days since she had left Derek's and had managed to feel almost…normal.
There were only a couple customers left in the store, browsing through the racks of records while the record player played a classic Beatles song. Not Henley's favorite album, but customers tended to like it.
She separated out the records on the counter by genre first. Then she'd see what condition each one was in. Price them and maybe get them out in the racks before she left.
She was absorbed in the task and didn't realize the music had changed until she heard the words start, the Beatles replaced with a bass rhythm and Jim Morrison's deeper voice.
Come on, baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
She whirled around.
Peter stood next to the record player.
Henley stalked toward him and grabbed the needle off the record with a scratch.
"Cute," she snapped at him. She took the record back to the counter with her.
We didn't start the fire
It was always burning, since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No, we didn't light it, but we tried to fight it
She grit her teeth as Billy Joel played on the record player. Using every ounce of self-control she had, she went back over to Peter. She held his eyes and plucked the record off the player.
"What do you want?" she hissed at him.
Peter was unconcerned in the face of her anger. He held up another record. "Is this one any good?" he asked.
Henley grabbed it from him. Jerry Lee Lewis, Great Balls of Fire was emblazoned on the cover.
"Get. Out," she said through gritted teeth. Her eyes warmed and her vision changed, she knew her eyes were glowing at him.
"We need to talk," Peter said.
Henley leaned in closer to him. "I don't have anything to say to you."
Peter didn't withdraw. His eyes were an icy blue this close. But that ice didn't cool the fire in her. "There are hunters we need to see."
Henley recoiled.
"Not your family. Yet. But the Calavera family should meet you."
"You want me to meet hunters? On purpose?"
Peter held her eyes. "Meet them. Then kill them."
Henley stumbled backwards. "What?"
"You'll burn them, barbecue them, char them. Whatever you want to call it."
"I'm not—no. No. Get out of here!" She stormed back towards him and gave him a shove, both her hands flat on his chest. He didn't budge. He looked down at her hands.
Henley could feel his heart, a steady beat under her palm. Each breath.
Her hands warmed, but it wasn't from within. She could feel the warmth—his warmth—seeping through his shirt into her palms.
Had she touched anyone since turning into a monster? Other than Derek restraining her, carrying her to safety. Had she been touched by anyone? Even before meeting Peter and the other freaks, she had been alone. No one to even share a laugh and bump shoulders when they shared an inside joke. No one to grab her hand and hold it if she was nervous. No one wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close when life got hard.
She swallowed hard and kept her eyes on Peter's chest. Feeling every thud of his heart against her palm. The steady rhythm anchored her against him.
She felt the change in his breathing more than she heard it. Her own breathing settled into the same rhythm.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the bell over the door jingle and was aware the last customer had left the store.
She felt the weight of Peter's hand settle against her hip. Another contact point of warmth.
His fingers moved slightly, pressure against her skin through her jeans.
She didn't think she moved, but she was closer to Peter. Their bodies only a breath apart. The only thing between them was heat.
Her eyes fell closed and any thought of anything but warmth and Peter and comfort falling away into the heat. She let it surround her, taking refuge from everything she had learned and seen and become.
And then it was gone.
Suddenly chilled, she opened her eyes and saw Peter taking a step away from her. His eyes, red with heat, stared at her. He blinked and they were icy blue again.
Feeling more alone than before, she gritted her teeth against the pain of loss. Annoyance flared in her chest, a different kind of heat.
This was Peter. The man who wanted nothing but to hurt her. To use her. What was wrong with her?
"Get out," she said, looking away.
He didn't say anything and she risked a look at him. He was studying her like he'd never seen her before. His brow furrowed slightly, his eyes bright with awareness.
She wasn't about to be weak. To be taken in by lies and deceit by someone who cared nothing for her. Like she had been with her dad and brother.
Was there anyone in her life who had ever been honest with her?
She needed to get away from him.
"I mean it," she said, finding some steadiness in taking control of whatever this was. "Get out."
Whatever was in Peter's eyes faded and he was back to a cold, calculating look. "We'll talk later," he said.
"No we won't!" The words snapped out of Henley reflexively.
"See you tomorrow," Peter said. He started toward the door. He paused by the first rack of records and a small smirk pulled at his lips. He pulled a record. "A classic," he said, looking at it. He set it on top of the other records and left.
Henley closed her eyes, curling her hands into fists, holding back the sparks that burned her palms. She took a long breath. She didn't fight against the flames. She let them become part of her until she could settle them.
Back to some sort of equilibrium, she picked up the stack of records Peter had left by the record player. She headed out to the aisles to put them away, stopping to pick up the one he had looked at on his way out of the store.
It was a classic Johnny Cash record.
Ring of Fire.
With a growl rumbling in her chest, Henley shoved it back into place.
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