Rampant by Diana Peterfreund

hold my hand on the one night in weeks I could pretend to be normal again….
    I took a deep breath, and again the sensation came, like hunger at dawn or weariness at dusk. My body clicked into place so naturally I barely had time to fight it. I turned my head toward the entrance to the courtyard and opened my eyes.
    Again, the darkness quivered, deepest indigo on black. But then, as I had that night in the forest, I saw it more clearly. I… felt it. Just beyond the arch it stood, waiting for me, waiting for the boys, waiting to pounce. Far bigger than Bonegrinder. Far bigger than any zhi. Dappled skin, a heavy, dark mane, and a long, evil horn.
    “Are you all right?” Giovanni asked, taking my arm and pulling me back toward him. “I’ve never seen anyone move so fast,” he went on. “You looked like you disappeared for a second.”
    I realized that we were somehow right at the gate. In the blink of an eye, I’d crossed the entire courtyard, flashed forward, just as I had chasing Bonegrinder that afternoon.
    The unicorn at the entrance took a few steps forward, then paused, just beyond the reach of the moonlight. It was the color of midnight, of shadows, of nightmares. I’d never seen anything like it. Why was it waiting? We were defenseless. Tipsy and tired and weapon free.
    “You should try for a track scholarship when you do get to college if you can sprint like that.”
    I looked at him, blinking, trying to clear my head, but I only saw blood and death. “There’s something out there…. Get back. You’ll get hurt.” I couldn’t have another Brandt on my hands.
    “What are you talking about?” He asked. He stretched his neck into the darkness, until he was inches from the creature.
    Couldn’t he feel its breath on his face? Couldn’t he see how ittaunted me with his death? One snap of its jaws and Giovanni would be gone. Almost two decades of art and nice hands and rare smiles. I pictured the corduroy lines on Brandt’s face, remembered his blood pouring into the leaves. We had no golden bottle. We had nothing.
    The unicorn’s horn arced almost over Giovanni’s head. It stood still, flesh and not flesh, hallucination and threat all at once. Perhaps my uncle was right, and those who saw such things were indeed mad. This wasn’t Bonegrinder, all fluff and hoof and rabid-puppy attitude. This was a monster. This was magic.
    “No,” I whispered. Get away. Get away.
    “Hate to tell you, Astrid the Warrior, but there’s nothing out there.”
    The kirin—for that was what it was—parted its lips above Giovanni’s scalp. I saw a flash of teeth. And in that moment, it looked me right in the eyes and dared me to come for it.
    I kicked off my heels and sprang.

7
W HEREIN A STRID D RAWS F IRST B LOOD
    T HE KIRIN WAS MADE OF night itself. I clung to its back, able to do little more than hang on to its cold, damp coat as it bucked and reared, tossing its head in a vain attempt to snare me with its horn. Up close I could see it wasn’t invisible at all, merely brindled in the colors of midnight. And yet, as it spun in silent struggle, its hooves making no sound on the cobblestones, the world around us flickered like a mirage, the figure of Giovanni blurring as we whirled away. Could he see me? Would he hear me if I screamed?
    I crawled up the creature’s spine, grabbing handfuls of black mane that slid through my fingers like wet weeds. Now I could hear it breathe, hot puffs of air that stank of rot and singed my nostrils as I choked them down. My hand closed around its horn, warm and hard as a baseball bat on a summer day. I squeezed. I pulled. The kirin went berserk, twisting and twirling, leaping and jouncing me. I could hear Phil shouting my name, could make out three blurry figures at the gate, but I couldn’t draw breath to yell back. My hands slipped from the horn, down thecreature’s face; and I dug in desperately, until I felt something squish beneath my thumb. Its eye.
    I recoiled in horror,