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  “What will you tell them?”

  Petra looked at me, her green eyes rigidly locked on mine.

  “I — I — don’t know.”

  I stood in the stale, empty bedroom, at a loss for words. I had come here in search of her, to see her one last time before she left. But I had not expected this. I had not expected what she would be, standing in this room for the last time herself. I had not expected to find standing in her bedroom a girl attached to the body of a brown horse, her possessions sold, her room bare, everything that I knew of the girl I’d dated gone, and in its place a centaur.

  She adjusted her blue-checkered button-down shirt, loosing the top two buttons.

  “This is not how I wanted it to end,” she said.

  “What — are you?” I said.

  “My people used to live in your world,” she said. “I read your stories. Ancient Greek legends, you called us. Monsters. It is funny to see how you saw us, from the other side.”

  “‘How you saw us,’” I repeated, trailing off. “Petra — is that even your name? What happened this summer?”

  “I — like you, Mark,” she said, looking up and out the window. “I did not lie about that.”

  “But you lied about — everything else,” I said.

  “Not everything,” she said.

  My face burned. “Was anything ever going to happen?”

  “No.”

  I glared at the floor.

  “I did not want to hurt you,” she said. “But I did not know what to do. I — I have to leave.”

  “Because you turned back into a horse?” The words sounded insane, but there was no denying what was standing in front of me.

  “I ran out of — the potion. My people — some of us are allowed to visit, for a while, to learn about the world we came from, to learn about the humans we once lived with — and to learn why we left. You may stay until the magic runs out. Until you cannot keep up the pretense. And then you may choose to stay and be hunted like the monster the humans see you as, or you may return to your people. I know humans would still see me as a monster. You even now see me as a monster. Humans barely tolerate other humans, much less we exiled otherkin.”

  “You — you’re not a monster,” I said. “I — I don’t know what you are.”

  “Look at me, Mark. I was born like this. These hooves and this tail — I have had them every night of my life, even while I was here. The potions only made me appear human during the day.”

  I shook my head, looking up at her, and unexpectedly met her eyes again. “Was — this entire summer a lie, then?”

  “No,” she said, softly. “I — I do like you. I wish — it could have been more.”

  “I thought — I thought you were the one,” I said softly, my eyes welling up. “I thought it might be — might be — . Before you said yesterday that you had to leave, I was — I was planning to introduce you to my parents. My friends like you. My sister likes you. Hell, even my damn ex liked you.”

  We stood in silence awhile, as the last sunbeams of the day filtered through the window. Specks floated in the dusty farmhouse air beside her.

  “The portal opens at night, when your full moon is highest in the sky,” she said, pointing out the window. “Behind the barn. We have — a little time. We could walk there together.”

  I nodded, and the impossible creature stepped past me, carefully inching through a wooden doorway that was just big enough, and then even-more-carefully clomping down the stairs. I followed her, watching her dusty blond tail bounce in the light of dusk, just like the long dusty blond hair on her head. She moved like she had always been like this, and by her story, she had. The girl I’d known wasn’t real. This massive, elegant, unnatural being before me was the reality.

  We arrived outside, and she closed the farmhouse door for the last time behind her, and locked it. She stepped down off the porch.

  “The next visitor will come here when I return,” she said. “I do not know who it will be. A son of a noble, perhaps, or someone raised to be a leader. Or perhaps a girl like me who would not stop asking about the humans and the other world.”

  I nodded.

  We began the long walk toward the barn. The sun hovered on the horizon, illuminating the entire farm in red and orange hues.

  “Tell me one thing,” I said.

  “Anything,” she said.

  “If you really were human, would you have — would you have said yes?”

  I trembled, reaching into a pocket, and pulled out a small black box. A box I’d bought only a week after I’d met her. A box I’d carried this entire time, unsure of when to dare asking her. I held it up, and I opened it.

  She stopped, her hands over her chest, her eyes shimmering.

  “I — I — ” She swallowed hard. “I would have.”

  I took the ring out of the box, and reached up high and pulled her right hand down to me. I slipped it over her ring finger. I’d worked so hard to figure out her ring size, and it fit perfectly.

  “That is not — the correct hand,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “Your other hand — will — will have to be someone else’s to claim. Keep this. It’s — a memory. Of what might have been.”

  Her eyes welled up, and she raised the diamond to stare at it. “Th — thank you.”

  I glared at the dirt, and tossed the box into the weeds beside the path.

  She leaned forward, her golden hair falling beside me, and took my face in her hands. She made me look up at her, and then she pulled me close, and we kissed, a long, last final kiss goodbye. In her lips, she shared with me what might have been, the answer that could never be, the future that we both wanted but neither could have.

  When she let go, the sun had disappeared below the horizon, and the stars had begun to emerge. The moon was already well overhead, not yet at its zenith, but it would reach its peak not long after sunset tonight.

  I looked up at her. “I wish — there was a way you could stay.”

  “I know.”

  We walked the rest of the path in silence, holding hands. I didn’t care that she wasn’t human, that I had to reach up past a horse just to hold her hand. She was still the girl I’d fallen in love with. She still talked like her, smiled like her, laughed like her — and kissed like her.

  We stopped behind the barn. There was a strange blue-white light, floating in the air ahead, and crackling gently, like a sparkling firefly of the wrong color.

  “The portal will open soon,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “I will always love you,” she said not looking at me. “If only — ” She trailed off.

  “I know.”

  As the moon rose, the blue light expanded into a whirl of crackling electrical sparks. The still air around us began to pick up into a gentle breeze. Petra’s hair fluttered in it.

  “It seems ironic,” she said.

  “What?”

  “My people were once humans also, millennia ago. Magic made us into the kentauroi — your ‘centaurs.’ But our best magics cannot make me human for more than a few hours, let alone a lifetime.”

  I had no words to follow that.

  The portal grew, wider and wider now, the outer blue-white ring surrounding a swirling purple-and-black maw, nearly as large as a man. Petra’s hair whipped in the unearthly wind.

  “It is nearly time,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “There — there is another way,” she said, softly.

  “What?”

  “There is another way,” she said, looking down at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “What do you mean?” I had to shout over the wind.

  “You — could come too,” she said.

  “Your people left to escape the humans!” I said.

  She nodded. “There are no humans on Gaia.”

  “Then how could I come too?”

  Her answer was almost a whisper, barely heard over the blowing wind. “My people were once humans too. That magic still must exist.”

  The words struck me like a thunderbolt. She was asking — she was suggesting — that I —

  “I do not ask you,” she said. “It — is not something I could force upon you. But — it is — possible.”

  The moon was high. The portal was at its peak.

  “I must go home, now,” she shouted.

  She leaned down, kissed me, savoring it for as long as she dared, and then the centaur backed up, reared, bolted to a gallop, and leapt into the swirling darkness. The flash of her golden tail disappearing into the portal was the last I saw of her.

  I stared a moment, as the portal began to shrink.

  “No,” I said. “It doesn’t end like this.”

  I braced, ran, and leapt after the girl I loved.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

  “What will you tell them?”

  Petra looked at me, her green eyes rigidly locked on mine.

  “I — I — don’t know.”

  I stood in the stale, empty bedroom, at a loss for words. I had come here in search of her, to see her one last time before she left. But I had not expected this. I had not expected what she would be, standing in this room for the last time herself. I had not expected to find standing in her bedroom a girl attached to the body of a brown horse, her possessions sold, her room bare, everything that I knew of the girl I’d dated gone, and in its place a centaur.

  She adjusted her blue-checkered button-down shirt, loosing the top two buttons.

  “This is not how I wanted it to end,” she said.

  “What — are you?” I said.

  “My people used to live in your world,” she said. “I read your stories. Ancient Greek legends, you called us. Monsters. It is funny to see how you saw us, from the other side.”

  “‘How you saw us,’” I repeated, trailing off. “Petra — is that even your name? What happened this summer?”

  “I — like you, Mark,” she said, looking up and out the window. “I did not lie about that.”

  “But you lied about — everything else,” I said.

  “Not everything,” she said.

  My face burned. “Was anything ever going to happen?”

  “No.”

  I glared at the floor.

  “I did not want to hurt you,” she said. “But I did not know what to do. I — I have to leave.”

  “Because you turned back into a horse?” The words sounded insane, but there was no denying what was standing in front of me.

  “I ran out of — the potion. My people — some of us are allowed to visit, for a while, to learn about the world we came from, to learn about the humans we once lived with — and to learn why we left. You may stay until the magic runs out. Until you cannot keep up the pretense. And then you may choose to stay and be hunted like the monster the humans see you as, or you may return to your people. I know humans would still see me as a monster. You even now see me as a monster. Humans barely tolerate other humans, much less we exiled otherkin.”

  “You — you’re not a monster,” I said. “I — I don’t know what you are.”

  “Look at me, Mark. I was born like this. These hooves and this tail — I have had them every night of my life, even while I was here. The potions only made me appear human during the day.”

  I shook my head, looking up at her, and unexpectedly met her eyes again. “Was — this entire summer a lie, then?”

  “No,” she said, softly. “I — I do like you. I wish — it could have been more.”

  “I thought — I thought you were the one,” I said softly, my eyes welling up. “I thought it might be — might be — . Before you said yesterday that you had to leave, I was — I was planning to introduce you to my parents. My friends like you. My sister likes you. Hell, even my damn ex liked you.”

  We stood in silence awhile, as the last sunbeams of the day filtered through the window. Specks floated in the dusty farmhouse air beside her.

  “The portal opens at night, when your full moon is highest in the sky,” she said, pointing out the window. “Behind the barn. We have — a little time. We could walk there together.”

  I nodded, and the impossible creature stepped past me, carefully inching through a wooden doorway that was just big enough, and then even-more-carefully clomping down the stairs. I followed her, watching her dusty blond tail bounce in the light of dusk, just like the long dusty blond hair on her head. She moved like she had always been like this, and by her story, she had. The girl I’d known wasn’t real. This massive, elegant, unnatural being before me was the reality.

  We arrived outside, and she closed the farmhouse door for the last time behind her, and locked it. She stepped down off the porch.

  “The next visitor will come here when I return,” she said. “I do not know who it will be. A son of a noble, perhaps, or someone raised to be a leader. Or perhaps a girl like me who would not stop asking about the humans and the other world.”

  I nodded.

  We began the long walk toward the barn. The sun hovered on the horizon, illuminating the entire farm in red and orange hues.

  “Tell me one thing,” I said.

  “Anything,” she said.

  “If you really were human, would you have — would you have said yes?”

  I trembled, reaching into a pocket, and pulled out a small black box. A box I’d bought only a week after I’d met her. A box I’d carried this entire time, unsure of when to dare asking her. I held it up, and I opened it.

  She stopped, her hands over her chest, her eyes shimmering.

  “I — I — ” She swallowed hard. “I would have.”

  I took the ring out of the box, and reached up high and pulled her right hand down to me. I slipped it over her ring finger. I’d worked so hard to figure out her ring size, and it fit perfectly.

  “That is not — the correct hand,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “Your other hand — will — will have to be someone else’s to claim. Keep this. It’s — a memory. Of what might have been.”

  Her eyes welled up, and she raised the diamond to stare at it. “Th — thank you.”

  I glared at the dirt, and tossed the box into the weeds beside the path.

  She leaned forward, her golden hair falling beside me, and took my face in her hands. She made me look up at her, and then she pulled me close, and we kissed, a long, last final kiss goodbye. In her lips, she shared with me what might have been, the answer that could never be, the future that we both wanted but neither could have.

  When she let go, the sun had disappeared below the horizon, and the stars had begun to emerge. The moon was already well overhead, not yet at its zenith, but it would reach its peak not long after sunset tonight.

  I looked up at her. “I wish — there was a way you could stay.”

  “I know.”

  We walked the rest of the path in silence, holding hands. I didn’t care that she wasn’t human, that I had to reach up past a horse just to hold her hand. She was still the girl I’d fallen in love with. She still talked like her, smiled like her, laughed like her — and kissed like her.

  We stopped behind the barn. There was a strange blue-white light, floating in the air ahead, and crackling gently, like a sparkling firefly of the wrong color.

  “The portal will open soon,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “I will always love you,” she said not looking at me. “If only — ” She trailed off.

  “I know.”

  As the moon rose, the blue light expanded into a whirl of crackling electrical sparks. The still air around us began to pick up into a gentle breeze. Petra’s hair fluttered in it.

  “It seems ironic,” she said.

  “What?”

  “My people were once humans also, millennia ago. Magic made us into the kentauroi — your ‘centaurs.’ But our best magics cannot make me human for more than a few hours, let alone a lifetime.”

  I had no words to follow that.

  The portal grew, wider and wider now, the outer blue-white ring surrounding a swirling purple-and-black maw, nearly as large as a man. Petra’s hair whipped in the unearthly wind.

  “It is nearly time,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “There — there is another way,” she said, softly.

  “What?”

  “There is another way,” she said, looking down at me, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “What do you mean?” I had to shout over the wind.

  “You — could come too,” she said.

  “Your people left to escape the humans!” I said.

  She nodded. “There are no humans on Gaia.”

  “Then how could I come too?”

  Her answer was almost a whisper, barely heard over the blowing wind. “My people were once humans too. That magic still must exist.”

  The words struck me like a thunderbolt. She was asking — she was suggesting — that I —

  “I do not ask you,” she said. “It — is not something I could force upon you. But — it is — possible.”

  The moon was high. The portal was at its peak.

  “I must go home, now,” she shouted.

  She leaned down, kissed me, savoring it for as long as she dared, and then the centaur backed up, reared, bolted to a gallop, and leapt into the swirling darkness. The flash of her golden tail disappearing into the portal was the last I saw of her.

  I stared a moment, as the portal began to shrink.

  “No,” I said. “It doesn’t end like this.”

  I braced, ran, and leapt after the girl I loved.