Page 118 of Conner's Luna

"Why not?" I ask her, my head spinning. The story of great-greatTíaDaryle was just that... a story. Until this weekend proved the inexplicable was possible. Now I can't be sure what is real anymore.

"She had blue-eyed blood in her. That was what made Daryle so tempting. The sea marks her children from birth with them blue eyes.TíaDaryle got a lot of compliments in her day for those eyes. Word was herpapiwas accusing hermamiabout them blue-eyes, 'til hisAbuelawhacked him a good one. Ain't made no sense, a blue-eyed baby in our bloodline. She had real pretty blue eyes, too, like the ocean on the warmest summer day."

"Recessive genes," I say weakly. The odds of Conner and I having blue-eyed children must be only around five percent.

Abuelasnorts, "your smarts can't explain everything, child, and that's from yourAbuela. Now, you listen real close," she says sternly. "I told yourPapithis when you were just a baby, but he's gotAbuelo’sstubbornness, that one. I never saw or heard anything likeTíaDaryle until you were about three. Just as high as my knee, and I heard a real pretty song, Peanut, coming from the room you were sleeping in."Abuela’s voice becomes choked. "It was a song I only heard once before. Couldn't even tell you the words today.TíaDaryle sang me that song. Sang me to sleep at night for the two weeks she was with us. Then she disappeared again, back into the sea."

"WasTíaDaryle there? In my room?"

"Don't know,"Abuelasounds like she's crying in full force, now. "Youwere singing it, Peanut. In your pretty little angel voice. I knew you were a special thing, but I was never so glad to have a brown-eyed baby girl than that night."

"TíaDaryle must have been there," I say weakly because it's easier to imagine that a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old woman taught me the song than accept that I justknewit.

"That boy,"Abuelasays abruptly. "Does he seem entranced with you? Likes your voice, does he?Mami-Watademands her man to be faithful and obedient to her. You lie down with that boy?"

"No," I whisper, horror-struck at the implications of... well... everything.

"If you pick a man, Peanut, then he's sunk. There's a price, understand? If he does you right, then he'll be wealthy and powerful. He does you wrong and he'll be ruined. You're a powerful little thing, child. More powerful than some wolf-man."

"I'm not special," I insist in a voice that sounds broken even to my own ears.

Dad snorts again. "You were always special," he snarls, "had to chase off boys and most girls since you were a toddler."

I just shake my head. I have friends who are boys. They aren't in love, or lust, with me. I don't haveanyfriends at State other than my boys. It has to just be a crazy story. Then again... "Abuela, can I haveBisabuelaCharlotte's book?" I ask her. I'm desperate for answers and need to research, read, solve and answer all of my questions, or I'll go insane.

"You'll have to come here to get it," she says immediately. "Bring your wolf-man, if you decide to keep him."

"Conner," I tell her his name again.

She snorts, "sounds like nothing special. Green eyes are close to blue. Bye now, Peanut. You remember to come see me soon."

"Bye,Abuela. Love you." I hang up with numb fingers. I look at Dad, my entire body shaking. "You never told me," I accused him.

He glares at the poor, defenseless tabletop. "You were always solving puzzles, reading textbooks in grade school. You didn't need yourAbuela’sstories clouding up your head."

"Dad," I say with an extra-harsh snap to my voice, "I'mlivingone of her stories."

He huffed, "if I believed all ofAbuela’sstories, then we're descended from merfolk, magic-men, and Mick Jagger."

"I have to-"

A bang on the sliding door to the backyard makes me jump out of my skin with a high-pitched scream. I spin around, leaping to my feet and toppling the chair to the floor.

A whine and another bang make my eyes focus on the large shape just outside the door. A big, dark-colored nose presses against the glass, leaving a smear of brown dirt. An exhale from the nose and the glass fogs up, obscuring his furry face.

"Conner?" I murmur his name as I walk to the doors. He wags his tail furiously as I open the door. At my feet are a lump of orange and brown and green. Carrots, I realize.

He whines again and his tail thumps as he looks at me expectantly.

I laugh until I start to cry, sagging helplessly against the doorframe.

"Get!" Dad appears behind me and shoos Conner away with his hands. The giant wolf doesn't budge. He barely glances at my dad. "Get out of here, wolf," Dad practically growls.

Conner scratches the ground and nudges the carrots toward me. Bending, I gather them into my arms, heedless of the dirt still clinging to them. He dug them up in someone's garden. It's disturbing sweet.

The frog in my throat makes it impossible to speak for a while. I try, twice, before I manage to croak out a soft, "thank you."

Conner's tail wags harder. He barks, once, the sound so loud it reverberates through me. He takes a step toward me, one shaggy paw hovering over the threshold.

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