Page 65 of The Wild Zone

The wetter the clay man got, the mushier he became. The garbage can fell off, almost tripping me. Water-soaked sediment pooled at our feet. The boy kicked the clay man so hard he toppled over and literally fell to pieces.

We both jumped on the sheet-covered mound of clay, stomping until it was nothing but mush in the grass. The guy in the kilt shut off the water.

For a moment, the three of us stared at the muddy sheet in the waterlogged grass.

“Is it dead?” I asked.

“Gods, I hope so.” The guy in the kilt shivered. “I’ve only ever heard of golems in Jewish folklore. I’ve never actually seen one before.”

Golems? Okay. I added that to my list of things I never wanted to see again.

The boy helped me pick up the muddy sheet and dump it into the garbage can. Then we set the can back against the house. It seemed like the least I could do for Mr. Bentley, though I imagined he would be pretty confused when he got home.

“We need to leave,” said the guy in the kilt.

I nodded. “Gotcha. I should go clean up anyway. Thanks for your help.”

The man and the boy glanced at each other and then at me.

“No,” said the boy. “He means you have to come with us.”

I smiled at him. He was tall, with tousled brown hair and green eyes, and he smelled like cinnamon chewing gum. He seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t about to go traipsing off with him and his buddy just because we’d shared a moment of golem-stomping.

“No thank you, total stranger,” I said. “But I appreciate the assist.”

I made my way through the ruined gate and headed for the street corner to retrieve my soccer bag.

“Wait!” The boy followed me. “We aren’t strangers. We’re family. My name’s Grant White, and this is…”

He frowned when he realized the kilted dude wasn’t behind him. “Silas!”

“Coming!” The guy in the kilt limped toward us. He’d lost one of his boots, revealing a goat hoof where a human foot would’ve been. “Confounded mud. I got stuck.”

He froze when he saw me looking at his hoof. “Ah. I suppose I should explain….”

“You’re a satyr,” I said. “Those huge horns curling around your ears were my first clue.”

His eyes widened. “You must be quite good at seeing through the Mist.”

“Or maybe you’re just not hiding very well.”

His face turned as red as his hair. “Ahem…yes. So if you know my kind, perhaps you know that satyrs are protectors for demigods. And you”—he gestured toward muddy footprints and the uprooted street sign nearby—“are in need of protection.”

I counted to five before answering. It’s not that I wasn’t grateful to these randos for helping me out, but my mom had told me all about satyrs and their demigod summer camp. She’d told me I could go anytime I wanted, but that sounded terrible to me. I figured it would be like every other class or team or tutoring session I’d ever joined, where I’d get judged for being spectacularly mediocre and end up disappointing my mom. I could do that just fine in the comfort of my own home.

On top of that, my body hurt all over from fighting the golem. My nerves were jangling. It was all I could do to resist screaming at Grant and Silas to go away.

“I think I’m good,” I said at last. “I need to get home. If I ever see another golem, I now know to use a garden hose.” I saluted them both. “Good night.”

Before I could turn away, the satyr grabbed my arm. “Wait. Please.”

He was lucky I didn’t elbow him in the face, but something about his pained expression made me hesitate.

“When you say home,” he continued, “do you mean the place two doors down?” He pointed in the direction of my house.

My skin crawled, and not just because I was covered in drying clay. “How do you know that?”

He and Grant exchanged another uneasy look.