Of Fur and Ice

by Andrea Marie Brokaw

  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 battl
e, 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.

  Chapter Nine

  To my surprise, when Warren returns, it's with not one, but two bowls of chili. And two glasses of chocolate milk.

  My eyes widen at the sight of the milk. Is he admitting to staring at me every meal I've eaten at North Sky? Or does he simply share my weakness for the stuff?

  “Thanks,” I say, instead of asking about that.

  “You don't mind me joining you?” he verifies, his voice cautious and in no way frightening.

  “Of course not.” At least, I don't mind it if he's going to act like a normal person.

  He's completely relaxed as he sits down, acting as if the last week hasn't happened. It's surreal, but I play along as I wonder what sort of game this is.

  “So, you know why I'm here,” I look down at my chili, stirring it as I speak. “Why are you here?”

  “Here in Denali's?” He squints at me as I try a bite of the chili. It's remarkably good. Not so spicy I can't taste it, but not bland either.

  “Yeah.”

  He's looking at me like I've started piling the chili onto my head instead of eating it. He answers slowly, drawing out the words, “Probably because my family owns it.”

  “Oh.” Alright, now I feel stupid. I don't remember anyone ever telling me his family name though. In fact, I think the Fox siblings may be the only kids I've met here whose last name I do know. And they only mentioned it so I'd know who their mother was. “Hence the wolves, huh?”

  The smile he's giving me, I'm shocked to realize, isn't at all mocking. “Hence the wolves.”

  Aware he's watching me, I look down at my bowl. “So I guess you come here often, then?”

  He laughs. “Yeah. Several times a week and most weekends.” He waits while I take another bite of food, then asks, “Do you like it? It's an old family recipe.”

  I look up without moving my head, trying to see if there was a joke in that or not. His gaze seems to be teasing, but unless the stuff comes from a can, I can't imagine why. “Yeah. I like it.” Nice, noncommittal answer.

  “Good.” Spooning up a huge bite of the stuff himself, he watches me with a look of great amusement while he chews. He swallows and gets up as the phone behind the bar starts to ring.

  “Denali's,” Warren says into the phone, his voice smoothly professional and years older than he is. “Oh, yeah, she made it here alright.” He nods to the caller. Is it Seth? Seth should be back by now. Unless his car fell off the mountain or something. Are they talking about me? “Sure, I can tell her...” I eat some more chili, wondering about my new habit of listening in on other people's conversations. “Don't worry about it. I'm sure she'll understand.... I'll take her back up when I get off.... See you later.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me as he hangs up the phone, not buying that I wasn't listening. “If Simone's knee injury was on your account, then she's even more psycho than everyone thought.”

  That would have to be pretty darn psychotic.

  “She's really hurt?” I ask, more confused than distressed by the information.

  Giving me a shrug, Warren starts back towards the table. “Seth says her knee is roughly the size of a grapefruit, so they're taking her to the city for x-rays. She probably tore her ACL. Big problem for humans, but she should be fine in a week or so.”

  Putting down my glass of milk, I nod. “That's good.”

  His responding look is somewhat droll. I think my uncertainty of the goodness of Simone's quick recovery shone through my words.

  “So,” I go on quickly, “I'm stuck here until you get off work then?”

  He shrugs. “You can take my truck if you want. I can run back.” He doesn't look at me as he waits for the answer.

  “You get off before midnight, right?” Sure, it's a bar, but if he's here now, they can't expect him to stay until closing, can they?

  There's a flicker of a smile. “I get off at six. Mom doesn't like me manning things when there's a point to being open.”

  “Okay.” I scope up some more chili. “Then I'll wait for you.”

  “Okay,” he repeats quietly, sitting down to finish his food in silence.

  Amazingly enough, a group of other people come in before we've cleared off our table. Gathering the dishes as Warren goes to handle them, I reflect on how different the wolf is today. I'm starting to understand why everyone's been so confused about his response to me. If this is the real Warren, then freaky staring Warren is... What? A sign of mental instability? A multiple personality?

  I take the things into the kitchen and rinse them out in the sink before putting them in a massive dishwasher. I'm humming softly to myself when someone starts talking behind me and startles me nearly out of my skin.

  “What is it with you and kitchens?”

  Slowly, I turn, afraid its going to be Evil Warren behind me, but find Nice Warren smiling at me. I grab the counter behind me, leaning back on it to preserve my balance. “What do you mean?”

  “The door clearly says, 'Staff Only.'” Walking toward me, he captures my eyes with his and refuses to let them go. “You're not the one who works here.” Maybe this is Evil Warren after all. His gaze bores into me. His scent, traveling before him, threatens to drown me.

  He stops inches from me, his eyes e
lectric with intensity. My tongue runs along my bottom lip, and his focus shifts to watch it.

  My heartbeat sounds loud in my ears.

  Abruptly, Warren takes a large step backwards.

  “You play pool?” he asks.

  Unable to speak, I settle for nodding.

  “Come on, then.” He opens the door, holding it for me while I force myself to pass by him, rather than hiding in a cupboard like I want to do.

  It somehow fails to surprise me that, although I'm a pretty good shot, I'm not nearly as skilled a player as Warren. He easily beats me in the first round. I do manage to win the second, but I attribute my victory entirely to luck.