Saturday morning, I wake up completely lost. The sense of urgency that propelled me through the week has evaporated, leaving me floating without direction.
What am I supposed to do all weekend?
A bunch of people have headed up to the ski slopes, but I slept too late to go with them even if I wanted to.
Sam's skating, but I don't feel like flopping about like a fool on the ice while the others perform art.
Cuddling Leo, I bring up my email. There's a message from my dad, nearly identical to the email I get from him every morning, saying he misses me and hopes I'm doing well. I write back and try to sound cheerful. I miss him, too. I'd call, but I'm too scared I'd wind up crying, and I don't want to put him through that.
My mom wrote too, babbling about the wedding and complaining about how much more difficult my dress fittings are going to be with me way up here, hundreds of miles from the seamstress handling the wedding party's dresses. I consider writing back that I wouldn't mind being dropped from the list of bridesmaids. In fact, I would dance around in cheerful bliss if she let me off the hook on that. I feel weird as anything being part of her wedding and only agreed to it because Dad told me it would hurt her feelings if I didn't. The main motivation was to not disappoint him. When I do respond to Mom's message, though, I manage to keep myself from volunteering to be fired and from ranting about how, “Oh, you caught me. I got expelled from school and shipped off to Alaska just to inconvenience you.” Instead, I calmly point out that I will be home for a whole week at the end of March and then again for an entire month before the wedding, assuming Dad doesn't get the house sold.
There's still nothing from Troy. Not that I've written him either. Outside of my dreams, I've been doing a good job of not even thinking about him. Inside my dreams... When I'm not having nightmares about wolves, I'm dreaming about Troy. Sometimes we're back together. Sometimes I'm killing him. Either way, I'm left feeling bad.
There's only one mail from anyone at my old school. I was cc'ed on something about going to the mall today. They're probably still there. I'm not sure if I was cc'ed by mistake or if the sender hasn't noticed I'm gone.
I'm still not willing to check my Facebook account. Seeing posts about the mall trip or who asked who to what movie wouldn't make me feel any better.
Wading through a mire of angst-riddled apathy, I put Leo down with a pat and slink into the shower before forcing myself into jeans and stomping off to the library to find something to read.
The library is smaller than the one in my old school, but much larger than the size of North Sky would usually warrant. It's also somewhat higher on the the fantasy and mythology scale than most libraries I've been in. The walls are decorated with scenes from lunar myth, the largest space being given to an original painting of a pale man driving a team of dogs across the sky. The plaque under it identifies the driver as Mani, the Norse god of the moon. The artist's name causes me to blink in surprise – Michael Atherton. My eyes go over the painting again, taking in the brush strokes and composition. I don't know much about art, but it seems really well done for a high school principal.
Wanting to escape into make believe, I drift over to the fiction section to hunt out something fluffy. But before I can settle on anything, my attention is grabbed by a sound drifting down the hall.
Haunting music calls to me from a room I haven't been in yet. I follow the rich, Gothic melody along the corridor, but stop at the doorway it leads to, scared to step in lest I break the magic spell Seth is constructing.
He doesn't notice me watching him as his fingers charm sound from the piano. He's too focused on his song, which flows from him without the aid of sheet music.
No one ever bothered to mention he was musician. There's a lot of things no one ever says about Seth. Surely they aren't all shallow enough to think driving a cool car and being feline is more important than being able to make people cry with music.
And there literally are tears sliding down my cheeks.
The song goes on and on, never becoming dull.
When Seth's fingers fall still, I sniffle to control my nose, then clap slowly.
He whips to face me, startled and embarrassed.
“That was beautiful,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion.
Eyes wide, he pales noticeably. “Thank you.”
He lowers the cover over the keys, staring down at it. “I didn't know anyone was there. I usually don't make people listen.”
“Make people listen?” What world does this guy live in? “Seth, you could charge people. Go on tour. Sell t-shirts and everything.”
Laughing, he rises from the stool and takes a few steps towards me. “I don't think pianists sell much swag.”
I shrug. “Well, they have people to do it for them, sure....” Trailing off into a grin, I find myself staring into his eyes yet again. The grin falters and fades.
Seth looks down to his feet. “So what are you doing today?”
“Reading.” I wave down the hall. “I was in the library looking for something when I heard you.”
He frowns slightly. “Are you completely sold on the idea of reading all day?”
My eyebrows go up. “Not really,” I say slowly, my stomach rolling in waves of nerves.
Looking up to meet my eyes, he takes a breath and asks, “Have you seen town yet?”
Swallowing, I try to keep my wits about me even though all I can clearly focus on are those eyes. “There's a town?”
Seth laughs. “Yes, there's a town. There's a city too if you want to go all the way to Anchorage.”
“Town sounds fine,” I say. Then, realizing he didn't actually offer to take me to town and had merely asked if I'd seen it, I start to feel myself blush. “Um... I mean...”
“Great.” His grin sweeps down and masters me. “Let's go then.”
“Okay,” I say. Or I think I manage to say it. Like always, it's possible I just made a completely unintelligible noise. He acts as if I said it though, waving me through the door ahead of him and running upstairs to find his coat while I search for mine and my shoes.
Seth's car is red and sporty and rare enough that I can't name the model. It's likely European and certainly worth a small fortune. It has a backseat, but barely. Simone wasn't just being mean when she said there wouldn't be room for me in it. There was hardly room for the four people already riding in it.
The leather seats are heated, of course, so it's easy to pretend all the snow and ice we pass, like all the gorgeous white on the mountains rising so majestically around us, is just decorative graphics. Inside the car, it's warm as spring.
Which makes it all the colder when we step out downtown and the wind hammers into me.
The town is comprised of two streets, a high street and a low street, with a few smaller roads connecting them. The low street has an excellent view of a river. I don't know which one, just that it's mostly frozen. The high street sits up a steep incline and backs onto a small cliff.
Despite the weather, we leave the car parked across from the water and start to walk along the storefronts. There are still a lot of small businesses here: tiny clothing stores, stores for camping supplies, and even a general market.
“I guess Wal-Mart hasn't made it here yet,” I muse, mostly just to have something to say. We've fallen into a silence that isn't exactly uncomfortable, but isn't warm and fuzzy either.
“What do you mean?” Seth asks, squinting at me.
My hand waves at the nearest store. “All these small businesses. In most towns, if you want to survive downtown like this, you need some kind of gimmick going. I don't think I've ever seen a general store that wasn't trying for retro. You know, a 'Grandpa, tell me about the good old days' kind of thing.”
“When penny candy was a penny and dime stores sold things that cost a dime?”
I grin. “Yeah.”
A cell that isn't mine starts to ring, and Seth curses. He takes a vicious step away and flips the phone open, hissing into it. He faces away from me, and the wind is blowing. It seems like I shouldn't be able to hear him, but his voice still carries to my newly enhanced ears. “What?”
Not wanting to crowd him, I look at the window we've stopped next to. It belongs to the sort of gift store that only carries things people's grandmothers would buy, like angel statues and dolls with huge eyes and panes of painted glass with Biblical verses on them.
“If she's not dying, I don't care,” Seth tells whomever called him. “And even then, you'd have to sell me on it.”
His teeth grind together with enough force that I can hear it as he listens to the response. “I'm busy, Amber. Tell her to call the frigging shuttle.”
Biting my lip, I move my eyes along the store front, trying at least not look like I'm eavesdropping.
“Yeah, I know.” There's a very unhappy and aggrieved sigh. “If I do this, it's not for her. It's for you. And you owe me.” Whatever Amber says produces a sound that's part tsk, part snort, and part laugh. “Yeah, I love you too. Bye, brat.”
I keep my eyes forward as he snaps the phone closed and steps up behind me. “Mike...”
“Yeah?” I kneel beside the glass, pretending to be examining a figurine of a polar bear.
“Simone twisted her knee.” In the window reflection, I see him rake his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “She needs to go back to school. And my sister is threatening suicide if I don't go get her right this second and shut her the hell up.”
“Your sister?” It's more of a whisper than anything. Something inside me that had tightened, loosens.
“Yeah, Amber.” He chuckles. “Spoiled senseless, of course, but I seem to be attached to her.”
“I didn't realize you were siblings.” I suppose now I think about it, both their scent and their appearance have certain similarities. She lacks his distinctive hair, of course, and if her eyes are even half as amazing, I've never noticed. Haven't spent much time gazing into them though.
“Yeah. Amber and I are twins.” He shuffles his feet. “The other two are foster sisters.”
Oh.
“I guess this is when you ride off to save the damsel in distress, then.” I smile. “It's your duty to save her.”
“In short,” he answers with a snort. “Although, damsel isn't the first word I think of when I think about Simone.” His hands stuffed in his pockets, he asks the pavement, “Do you want to come with me, or do you want me to drop her off and then come back here?”
Laughter spits out of me. “I don't think it's a fantastic idea for me to go with you. Simone's not exactly a big fan of mine.”
“Yeah...” His eyebrows slide slightly upward. “She doesn't seem to like you too much.”
No shit.
“Not that she likes most people,” he adds with a little curvature of the lips. Head still down, he gives me an uncertain look. “You want me to come back and get you later?”
“It was a long walk,” I tell him, smiling at his look of confusion. “Yes, please come back and get me when you're done.”
“You'll be alright here?” he checks.
Nodding, I look up the street. Just walking up and down the whole thing would take less than five minutes, but if I start going into places I'm sure I can waste an hour or so. “Yeah, I'll just explore.”
“If you get done before I get back, there's a place at the end of the street called Denali's,” he tells me after a long breath. “Wait there?”
“Italian?” The end of this street doesn't appear to be a likely place for international cuisine.
“No.” He laughs at the thought. “Bar.”
I blink at him. “I'm not old enough to get into bars,” I point out dimly.
“They won't card.” Seth gives me a teasing grin. “If you don't want to think of it as a bar, think of it as a restaurant. They have excellent chili. You should try a bowl.”
“Chili,” I repeat. “Right.”
“And, so you know... That really big hill over there is named Denali too.” He jerks his chin toward the looming monster in the distance that I thought was Mount McKinley, the largest “hill” in North America. Dimly, I recall the natives had a different name for it. Denali, I assume.
“You sure you're okay with this?” His look is uncertain. I wonder what all the people who think he's too cool for the rest of us would think about the expression, the fear and certainty of rejection in it. “I could take you back to school and then go get her.”
Shaking my head, I smile. “No. This is good. Stop worrying about me and go rescue your sister.”
“Okay.” With a grin and a deep breath, he turns and trots to his car, waving before he climbs in. He pulls out of the space and drives back to me, stopping and rolling his window down.
“Just go,” I tell him before he can ask again if I'm okay with being temporarily ditched. “I'll see you soon.”
Laughing at himself, he nods sharply and drives off, leaving me to wander the streets of...
What is the name of this town, anyway? Great. I don't even know where I am.
Trying to make the best of it, and reminding myself I did have the option of going back to school but chose to stay here for some reason, I push open the door of the nearest store.
The place is far too warm and scented with some truly obnoxious scents. I never liked the sorts of candles you find in places like this when I was human, and I like them even less as a were. Fleeing the smell of potpourri and cinnamon clashing in battle, I slide through the cold into the next store down.
Even going into places, it takes twenty minutes to see everything downtown has to offer, so I find myself heading somewhat reluctantly to Denali's. I doubt my dad would be terribly happy with me if he saw the place, a rustic two story building with pealing paint and smudged windows.
At least there are windows, though. So it could always be worse.
The interior is much in keeping with the outside. A few beer signs flash in dim neon, a faded mural shows a wolf pack running under the Northern Lights, and the floor hasn't been swept in recent memory, if at all.
But the place is open, which puts it above the closed family grill up the street. And it does have chairs, which makes it better than the general store, even if the seating does look like it could give a person splinters from ten feet away.
Summoning my courage, I walk towards the bar, wondering if it's manned right now. Since I seem to be the only person here, I could understand if it wasn't.
There's a clattering from behind a door... a curse... a thump... and someone pushes his way into view.
His eyes lock onto mine, widening in startled recognition. “Michaela,” he grunts, wrestling a keg through the doorway.
“Warren,” I whisper, fighting the urge to run.
Never run from an animal you're afraid of. Everyone knows that. Run and it'll chase you.
The wolf places his hands on the counter, leaning forward, his eyes still unflinchingly on my face.
“I was told to come here and have chili,” I babble.
I wonder if that sounded as inane to him as it did to me.
“Told by whom?” His head tilts, his nose flares slightly, and his eyes narrow. “Told by your leopard?”
Forcing myself to meet his eyes again, I try to look dignified. “It was recommended by a leopard, yes.”
“And where is this leopard now?” the wolf wants to know.
Suddenly tired, I sit on a barstool. “Simone hurt her knee. And Amber swore she would die if she had to listen to her go on about it for one second longer than it takes her brother to drive up to the slope.”
Warren snorts softly. “I suppose hurting her knee is code for hearing he was somewhere with you.”
“Probably.” I smile as I nod.
He's staring at me again, but it's not hostile this time, more curious than anything. Straightening abruptly, he asks, “You wanted chili then?”
For reasons that are completely beyond me, the question, or the look that goes with it, makes my heartbeat skyrocket. “Sure. If there's any made.”
The grin he gives me knocks the breath right out of me. “There's always chili.”
I don't breathe again until the kitchen door swishes shut behind him.