by Forthright
Tami frowned. “Is there some hierarchy at work here?”
“More of a practicality,” said Cyril. “It’s a matter of lifespan.”
She sighed. “I know I’ll probably live longer than Grandad, but he’s been waiting his whole life for this.”
Cyril made a soft noise, a very birdlike noise. “She doesn’t know.”
Rook’s tail bristled. “By oversight or omission?”
“Hey, now,” said Linden. “Don’t assume the worst. A whole lotta stuff’s happened in short order.”
Tami took a deep breath and addressed them each in turn. “Cyril Sunfletch. Kinloo-fel Nightspangle. Linden Woodacre. I know your names, and I know I have a lot to learn. What has you concerned?”
“Not concerned, per se,” said Cyril. “Simply surprised. In nearly every regard, you might consider us heralds who carry good news.”
She had to wonder why this latest surprise was setting off so many guarded looks and speaking glances. It was as if none of them wanted to be the messenger.
Cyril must have drawn the short straw.
Heaving a sigh, he explained, “Those born with a golden seed in their hand choose a good place and plant that seed. For many years they guard and tend their twin, and in exchange, they receive their tree’s blessing.”
“So say the tales, but cut to the chase,” urged Linden.
“Tami, you have become tree-kin. You will share your tree’s lifespan.” Cyril’s smile was tight with sympathy. “We want you to join our number because you will live as we do, ever onward, evermore.”
An Amaranthine lifespan. Hers. That was mind-boggling.
Cyril gently added, “You and I will never have to say goodbye.”
It took a few heartbeats for his underlying meaning to sink in.
She would have to face many, many other goodbyes.
TWENTY-NINE
Allotment
Jiminy was up all night discussing the challenges of warding Red Gate Farm’s acreage with Michael, who would express ship a set of ward stones to give him a start. More crystals would have to be ordered from Glintrubble—at great expense. If Doon-wen approved. Scrawling the grand total on a scrap of paper, Jiminy went to find his alpha … and a cup of coffee.
Founders was hushed. The pre-dawn lull.
He distractedly went through the familiar motions of brewing, liberally tempering extra strong coffee with steamed milk. He needed to be awake. Melissa would be there soon to escort an allotment to the Reaversons’ place.
Melissa.
What was he going to do about her? She was all barriers and bare blades, and he was on the wrong side of both.
Leaning back against the counter, he cradled his coffee and closed his eyes, inhaling the aroma. How was he supposed to get closer when she held his friendliness against him? Customer service meant paying attention, and women welcomed his little attentions. They sipped at them like the coffees they ordered, but they were gone as quickly as his foam art.
Jiminy liked the beauty of an artfully poured cup, and he favored the quickening pulse that came from a strong brew, but what he really needed was something more lasting. The cup itself.
He considered the big, white ceramic cup—its weight, its durability, its simplicity. With something like this, anything was possible. He could pour himself into it, warm it from the inside, lavish it with all his artistry, making something beautiful and heartening. Something shared.
A heavy hand landed on Jiminy’s shoulder. “Is this contemplation?”
Doon-wen wasn’t the subtlest of presences, but he could be stealthy when he wished to toy with the youngsters of their pack—of which Jiminy was one.
“Why are you so absorbed, you would allow your coffee to go cold?”
Jiminy murmured, “This is a good cup.”
“Not many notice.” Doon-wen’s eyes narrowed. “You are beginning to understand what is most important. You must be growing up.”
He felt both complimented and teased.
“You have not slept.” The wolf stepped close, caressed Jiminy’s cheek, tested the air, and growled softly. “Coffee is not a substitute for rest.”
“First-sensei helped me weigh the options for warding the new enclave.” Jiminy shyly added, “He has decided that managing the warding of the acreage—from start to finish—will be an effective test of my abilities.”
“Your attainment?”
“Yes.”
Doon-wen sniffed lightly. “Traditionally, when a young male reaches his attainment, he looks to the establishment of his den.”
“If I can find the right ….”
A warning finger lifted. At first, Jiminy thought he’d been caught in a near-lie. Doon-wen didn’t tolerate guile. But then the shop’s front door opened, and Melissa came hurrying forward.
“Good morning,” she said briskly, joining them behind the counter. “Is there anything I can do?”
To Jiminy’s utter astonishment, Doon-wen reached for her and repeated his earlier actions—touching, testing, and scolding. “You have not slept.”
“I should hope not,” she grumbled. “I was on patrol.”
Doon-wen growled.
Melissa’s stance was respectful, but she didn’t back down. “When my family is safe, I’ll sleep long and well.”
The wolf huffed, and Melissa relaxed against him.
Jiminy let his confusion show. Doon-wen’s behavior had a proprietary nuance, and Melissa’s acceptance suggested a prior understanding.
“Have you eaten? Jiminy, pour her some coffee.” The pack leader added a non-verbal message—Take heed. The trail is at your feet. Look no further.
Reaching for a fresh cup, he crisply replied in kind—My nose works.
Doon-wen’s smile was hard to interpret. Jiminy couldn’t decide if it was peer pressure or approval. But even if the pack leader approved of Melissa, her quick glance promised a swift rebuff.
The wolf rolled his eyes and returned the message—My nose works. With an added flourish that implied superiority. And the kinds of subtext with which wolves were conversant.
Jiminy took extra care with Melissa’s cup and offered it with a simple, “Good morning.”
She murmured thanks and paused to admire the pattern he’d poured into the foam. Her smile was small, but soft.
Doon-wen watched over the exchange and offered his assessment with a confident flick of fingers known by every wolf on the hunt. Patience. It is within our grasp.
Melissa’s presence was largely incidental. She needed to be there since she was Doon-wen’s escort. But the pack knew its business, and they took care of their own. Roonta-kiv oversaw the loading of eight sizable Kith into two horse trailers. She and her bondmate would drive the trucks.
Doon-wen had gone off to bring around his car, leaving Melissa alone with Jiminy, who had—thus far—been behaving himself. She should have known it couldn’t last.
His shoulder nudged hers.
“Boundaries,” she muttered.
Jiminy asked, “Has something happened between you and my pack’s illustrious leader?”
Melissa wasn’t sure she wanted to answer. Then again, did she know the answer? Jiminy was still her best resource in demystifying wolf mindsets and behavior. “Doon-wen and True took me in.”
“In what sense?”
“Fostering.” She searched his face, hoping for fresh insight. “He said my only obligation will be to the pack.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“Is there something I should know?” she asked in a tight voice.
Jiminy checked over his shoulder, then pulled her into a dead-end alley between the coffee shop and the secondhand clothing store next door. She let him.
He stood too close.
She poked his chest.
Rubbing the spot—and easing back a step—he said, “First and foremost, you’re in an enviable position. Doon-wen would never offer to foster you if he hadn’t set his heart on it. And a wolf’s heart is
just about the safest place anyone could belong.”
Melissa nodded cautiously. What was the catch?
“In a way, you’ve already gained what you’ve always wanted. Fostering is a pact. You can claim Doon-wen Nightspangle as your pactmate.”
She’d never presume. And fostering had never been her goal. “But …?”
Jiminy lowered his voice. “This is Doon-wen. He has plans for you.”
“Maybe I have plans, too.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “He didn’t set any conditions.”
“That would go against wolf nature. But it won’t stop him from encouraging you in my direction.”
“We’ve been over this. I’m not interested in marriage contracts. I want a Kith partner.”
“I know. I’ve been listening, Melissa, and I do understand. I just want to make sure you do, too. Because the Nightspangle pack will see your addition to our number as a sign of interest, if not intent.”
“Then we’ll defy them by remaining indifferent.”
Jiminy looked worried.
“Doon-wen can’t force me to accept you, can he?”
“No. That also goes against wolf nature.” His gaze dropped. “What is it you want from a wolf?”
Melissa had no trouble reeling off a list. “Complementary strengths. Shared purpose. Mutual trust. Lifelong loyalty. Unwavering devotion.”
He muttered something. Too soft to hear.
“What?”
Jiminy met her gaze. “I can give you those things.”
Hold up. “I want a wolf.”
“I am a wolf.”
“You know what I mean! I want a Kith partner.”
Jiminy went on, more serious than she’d ever seen him. “And because I’m a wolf, there are things that I want, conditions that have been set, obstacles to overcome.”
Melissa tried to listen. Tried to understand. “What do you want?”
Without hesitation, he matched her word-for-word. “Complementary strengths. Shared purpose. Mutual trust. Lifelong loyalty. Unwavering devotion.”
“Wanting the same things isn’t the same as wanting each other.” She returned to her previous point. “Doon-wen will ease up once he realizes we’re not interested.”
“That won’t work.” Jiminy’s posture shifted, and he made a weary gesture with his hands. “I can’t take refuge in indifference because I’m not.”
Not.
Not?
It took another few beats for Jiminy’s meaning to strike. He was not indifferent. And that was … different. Now Melissa was worried. “Maybe you should stop.”
He laughed a little, but in a humorless way. “That also goes against wolf nature.”
That morning may have been the proudest of Melissa’s life. In her role as reaver, she took a position between two races, offering introductions, assuring peace.
George Reaverson stood tall, gaze fierce, surely battler-born and more than ready to fight for his own. But at Doon-wen’s approach, his expression wavered toward a wanting Melissa understood all too well. She had to wonder what the wolves would make of Uncle George and his hopes.
“An enclave.” The old farmer’s voice cracked with urgency. “I have the acreage. I prepared a circle. I know which secrets to keep. The tree alone should be leverage enough to ….”
Doon-wen cut him off with a soft growl. “You do not need leverage, George. You called out, and we came. The wolves of the Nightspangle pack are here, and we will stay.”
Uncle George quietly asked, “You will?”
“Let us speak of the future as those who will share it.” The wolf’s tail swayed as he matched—even outstripped—the Reaversons’ generosity. “Let us run freely across your acreage, and we will protect it. Let us sing within the circle you prepared, and we will welcome your generations to our feasts. Let us exchange names in the manner of friends and live as neighbors.”
THIRTY
Overrun
Mindful of Kip’s warnings about the keen senses of wolves, Joe skipped out on the formalities. He’d made short work of caring for the most essential of his responsibilities, then holed up in his room, where the door, the floor, and even the ceiling still shimmered faintly with Kip’s sigils.
One wall now boasted a modest stockpile—cereal boxes, bread, peanut butter, apples. He’d even smuggled in one of the coolers for items borrowed from the fridge.
Kip showed no signs of waking, so Joe settled in with the rest of his contraband. Grandad kept a stack of tabloids next to his recliner. Flashy, sensational headlines screamed from their front pages, promising insider information and tell-all tales. Mom found them distasteful, referring to them as gossip rags, but Grandad read them religiously. Because ever since the Emergence, they were riddled with shocking revelations about the Rivven races.
The headlines were incredible.
My Neighbor Howls at the Moon
Rescued! Beast Saves Avalanche Victims
Girl Born with Demon Horns
Top Ten Signs Your Neighbor is Rivven
One Woman’s Unicorn Encounter
Joe flipped to see pictures of the unicorn’s love child, but they were more confusing than conclusive. It might all be nonsense. Then again, some of it must be true. Why else would Grandad bother?
Slightly more credible were the articles following the movements of known Rivven. And the people closest to them.
Inside Lord Mossberne’s Mountaintop Retreat
Cats vs. Dogs: Twineshaft and Starmark Tell All
Adoona-soh’s Surprising Fashion Statements
Joe was halfway through an article entitled “This Year’s Must-Read Rivven Romances” when he realized that something was out of balance. With the farm overrun by wolves, he’d been adjusting like crazy. He could tell Jiminy’s packmates were nearby, which was unnerving. But this was slightly different. Could Jiminy be fussing with the wards again? Nope, this didn’t feel quite like the harmonic dissonance that had been bugging him the other day. This was something new. Someone new?
He shook Kip’s shoulder.
Still no response.
Joe only hesitated for a scant minute before opening his bedroom door and listening. The house was quiet. Everyone was elsewhere. Hurrying downstairs, he donned jacket and boots and slipped out a little-used side door. Circling the house, he aimed for the road, sure that someone was there.
The house was warded. Jiminy had seen to that. But the driveway wasn’t, since their customers needed access to their barns, the pumpkin patch, and the corn maze. The orchard and its produce were available to everyone, no matter their species.
There. Someone was standing among the trees at the end of the driveway. Even though the gate was shut and the banners lowered.
Steeling his resolve, Joe walked down the drive.
Their lurker had black hair and eyes, and he watched Joe’s approach without remark or retreat. His corduroy shirt was a weathered gray, and he stood with hands stuffed into the pockets of faded jeans.
“Are you Ash?”
“Hello, Joe.”
“Kip’s here.” He could feel color rising in his cheeks. “He won’t wake up.”
Ash nodded a few times. “Did he … say anything?”
“Umm … yeah.”
“How much?”
Joe didn’t even know where to start. “Most of it, I think.”
The janitor shifted restlessly. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
A wave of shyness caught Joe by surprise. “Umm … are you really Mr. Black?”
Ash’s eyes widened.
Joe fumbled for something else to explain how much Kip had revealed. “I like his tail. And the claws aren’t so bad. And when he’s a squirrel, he’s … cute.”
Incredulity faded into exasperation on Ash’s face. “Okay, yeah. I think that’s most of it. Did you get him drunk or something?”
“He stopped at two beers.” Joe shuffled forward another step. “Are you here to get him?”
&
nbsp; Rubbing at the side of his face, Ash asked, “How safe is he?”
“Umm … he put sigils everywhere in my room.”
Ash eased closer. “That alone means he’s safe. And Jiminy’s wards don’t hurt. What about your sister?”
“She doesn’t know. I won’t tell.”
Joe searched the young man’s face, looking for traces of the old man he remembered from his childhood. The eyes. His build. Something in the set of his mouth. It was as if time rolled backward, revealing a stranger who was—and wasn’t—his childhood friend.
“Warding this place must have taken it out of him. Kip will probably sleep for a day or two.” Ash asked, “Are you willing to keep an eye on him for me?”
“You could come in,” Joe offered. “Nobody else is in the house right now.”
Ash shook his head. “Did Doon-wen see you like this?”
“Like what?” Joe rubbed uneasily at his chest. Weren’t Kip’s sigils supposed to be invisible?
“Do me a favor and take a long, hot shower before joining any song circles.”
He hadn’t washed. Did he smell like Kip? Joe admitted, “I was petting him. His squirrel. Him in squirrel form.”
“I’ll bet he loved the attention.” Ash slowly reached out to touch Joe’s arm. “And it’s not the end of the world if the wolves find out. But it might get awkward if someone says something in front of Tami.”
Joe asked, “Is it the end of the world if Tami finds out?”
Ash’s hand fell away. “How much did Kip say about me?”
“Not much. Only that you and my sister really need to talk.”
“We do.”
“Come up to the house,” Joe offered. “She’ll be home soon. You can talk.”
Ash retreated a step. “I can’t just be here.”
“Yes, you can.” This was his old friend. This was the person Tami loved. This was the right thing to do. In a cautious echo, Joe reached for Ash. “Be here and tell her.”
For a long while, they just stood there, Joe holding Ash back with a firm grip.