The cold shook my shoulders, a soft threat of what was to come, but I pushed it away, out of my head. I looked into his eyes and tried to pretend that there was no wolf around them.
I remembered the day I’d asked Victor if he wanted to start a band with me. We were in his room, which was one part bed and three parts drum kit, and he was slamming out a solo. The echo was so loud in the smal room that it sounded like there were three drummers. His poster frames jittered on the wal s and his alarm clock was slowly jerking toward the edge of his bedside table. Victor’s eyes were shining with manic fervor, and he made a crazy face at me every time he kicked the bass drum.
I could barely hear Angie’s shout from the next room. “Vic, you’re making my ears bleed! Cole, shut that stupid door!”
I shut Victor’s bedroom door behind me.
“Sounds hot,” I told him.
Victor tossed me one of his drumsticks. It arced past my head, and I had to jerk to catch it. I took a whack at his cymbals.
“Victor!” howled Angie.
“Victor!” howled Angie.
He cal ed, “These are magic hands!”
“One day, people wil pay for the privilege of listening!” I shouted back.
Victor grinned at me and did a fast run with just one stick and the bass drum.
I smashed the cymbal again to piss Angie off and turned to Victor.
“What’s up?” Victor asked. He pounded at the drums again, smacking his stick off the one I held in my hand in the middle of the run.
“So you ready to do this thing?” I asked him.
Victor lowered his drumstick. His eyes were steady on me. “What?”
“NARKOTIKA,” I said.
Now, in this freezing cold wind, the sun disappearing, I reached out and touched the fur on Victor’s shoulder. I said, my voice gravel y and uneven,
“I came here to get away. I came here to forget everything. I thought…I thought I didn’t have anything to lose.”
The wolf lay there, smal and gray and dark in the failing light. Dead. I had to keep looking at his eyes. I wouldn’t let myself forget that this was not a wolf. This was Victor.
“And it real y worked, Victor.” I shook my head.
“You know it, don’t you? It’s al gone when you’re a wolf. It’s just what I wanted. It is so, so good. It’s absolute nothing. I could be a wolf right now, and I wouldn’t remember this. It would be like it never happened. I wouldn’t care if you were dead, because I wouldn’t even remember who you were.”
Out of the corner of my field of vision, I saw Sam turn his face away from me. I was profoundly aware of him not looking at me, not looking at Grace.
I closed my eyes.
“Al …this…pain. This…” My voice was failing me
again, suddenly dangerously unsteady. But I wouldn’t let myself stop. I opened my eyes. “Guilt. Because of what I’ve done to you. Because of what I’ve always done to you. It would—it would be gone.” I stopped, rubbed my hand across my face. My voice was nearly inaudible. “But that’s what I always do, isn’t it, Vic?
Screw things up and then make myself disappear?”
I reached out and touched one of the wolf’s front paws; the fur was coarse and cold beneath my fingertips. “Ah, Vic,” I said, and my voice caught in my throat. “You were so good. Magic hands. ” He’d never have hands again.
I didn’t say the next part out loud. Never again, Victor. I’m done running. I’m sorry this is what it took for me to see.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something, the darkness shifting.
Wolves.
As a human, I had never seen so many of them, but now, the dark spaces between the trees seethed with them. Ten? A dozen? They were far enough away that I could almost believe I was imagining the dim shapes.
Grace’s eyes were on them, too. “Sam,” she whispered. “Beck.”
“I know,” he said.
We were al frozen, waiting to see how long the wolves would stay, and if they would come any closer. Crouched there beside Victor, I was aware that the glinting eyes meant something different to each of us. Sam’s past. My present. Grace’s future.
“Are they here for Victor?” Sam asked, voice soft. Nobody answered him.
I realized: I was the only one mourning Victor for who he real y was.
The wolves remained where they were, specters in the oncoming night. Final y, Sam turned to me and asked, “Are you ready?”
I didn’t think it was something you could be ready for, but I covered Victor’s face with the sheet. Together, Sam and I hefted his weight—it felt like nothing between us—and gently lowered him into the grave, with Grace and the pack as our audience.
The woods were utterly silent.
Then Grace stood up, final y, unsteady on her feet, one of her hands pressed to her stomach.
Sam startled as one of the wolves began to croon. It was a low, sad sound, far more like a human voice than I thought possible.
One by one, the other wolves added their voices; as the evening grew darker, the song swel ed, fil ing every crevice and gul y in the forest. It prickled some wolf memory, buried deep in my mind, of me tipping my head back to the sky, cal ing the spring.
The lonely song drove home the fact of Victor’s cold body in the grave like nothing else, and I realized that my cheeks were wet as I lowered my face to my palms.
Lowering my hands, I saw Sam cross the few steps to Grace and hold her swaying form.
Holding tight, denying the fact that eventual y we al had to let go.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
• SAM •
When we got back inside, it was hard to tel who looked worse—Cole, so racked with grief, or Grace, her eyes looking huge in her pale, pale face. It hurt to look at both of them.
Cole sank down into one of the chairs at the dining room table. I led Grace to the couch and sat next to her, meaning to turn on the radio, to talk to her, to do something, but I was al used up. So we al sat in silence, lost in our thoughts.
An hour later, when we heard the back door come open, al of us jerked, relaxing only a little when we saw that it was Isabel, bundled in her white, fur-lined jacket and her usual boots. Her eyes slid from Cole sitting at the table, his head on his crossed arms, to me, and then final y to Grace, who lay against my chest.
“Your father was here,” I said, stupidly, because I couldn’t think of anything else.
“I know. I saw, after it was too late. I didn’t know he was going to bring it here.” Isabel’s arms were held tightly to her sides. “You should’ve heard him crowing when he got back. I couldn’t get away until after dinner; I told him I was going to the library, because if there’s one thing that man doesn’t know, it’s the hours the library is open.” She paused, half turning her head back toward Cole’s stil -motionless form and then back to me. “Who was it? The wolf, I mean.”
I glanced toward the dining room table, just visible from where we were on the couch. I knew he could hear us. “It was Victor. Cole’s friend.”
Isabel jerked her attention back to Cole. “I didn’t realize he had any…” She seemed to realize how awful that sounded, because she added, “Here.”
“Yes,” I said emphatical y.
She looked uncertain, glancing back at Cole and then back at us. Final y, she said, “I came to see what the plan was.”
“Plan?” I asked. “For what?”
Isabel looked at Cole again, and then at Grace a little longer, and then she pointed a finger at me. With a gritted smile, she said, “Can I have a moment with you? In the kitchen?”
Grace lifted her head dul y and frowned at Isabel, but she moved off me so that I could fol ow Isabel to the kitchen.
I had barely crossed over the threshold when Isabel said, voice biting, “I told you that the wolves were around our house and that my father was not a fan. What were you waiting for?”
My eyebrows raised at the accusation. “What?
What your fathe
r did today? I was supposed to prevent that?”
“You’re in charge. They’re your wolves now. You can’t just sit there.”
“I didn’t real y think your father was going to go out—”
Isabel interrupted me. “Everyone knows my dad wil shoot at anything that can’t shoot back. I expected you to do something!”
“I don’t know what I would do to keep the wolves from the property. They go around the lake because the hunting’s good there. I real y didn’t think your trigger-happy father would blatantly flout hunting and firearms laws to prove his point.” My voice came out accusing, which I knew wasn’t fair.
Isabel laughed; it sounded like a bark, short and humorless. “You, of al people, ought to know what he is capable of, for God’s sake. In the meantime, how long are you going to pretend there’s nothing wrong with Grace?”
I blinked at her.
“Don’t give me those lamb eyes. You’re sitting there with her, and she looks like a cancer patient or something. I mean, she looks awful. And she smel s just like that dead wolf. So what’s going on?”
I winced. “I don’t know, Isabel,” I said. My voice sounded tired, even to me. “We went to the clinic today. Nothing.”
“Wel , then, take her to the hospital!”
“What do you think they’l do at a hospital? Maybe, maybe they’l do blood work on her. What do you think they’l find? I’m guessing ‘werewolf’ won’t show up on most panels, and there isn’t a diagnosis for ‘smel s like a sick wolf.’” I didn’t mean to sound so angry; I wasn’t angry at Isabel—I was angry at me.
“So you’re just going to—what? Wait for
something bad to happen?”
“What am I supposed to do? Take her into the hospital and demand they fix a problem that hasn’t real y appeared yet? That isn’t in their Merck Manual?
You don’t think that I’ve been worrying about this al day? Al week? Don’t you think it’s kil ing me to not know what’s happening? It’s not like we can be sure. There’s no—no precedent. There’s never been anyone like Grace. I’m stabbing in the dark here, Isabel!”
Isabel glared at me; I noticed her eyes were a little red behind her dark eye makeup. “Think. Be proactive instead of reactive. You ought to be looking at what kil ed that first wolf instead of just staring at Grace with moon eyes. And what were you thinking, letting her stay over here? Her parents have left me voicemails that could cook bacon. What happens if they find out where you live and show up here while Cole’s shifting? That would be a great conversation starter. And speaking of Cole—do you know who he is? What the hel are you doing, Sam? What the hel are you waiting for?”
I turned away from her, linking my hands behind my head. “God, Isabel. What do you want from me?
What do you want?”
“I want you to grow up,” she snapped. “What did you think, that you could just work in that bookstore forever and live in a dream world with Grace? Beck’s gone. You’re Beck now. Start acting like an adult, or you’re going to lose everything. Do you think my dad is real y going to stop with just one? ‘Cause I can tel you right now, he’s not done. And what do you think is going to happen when people come after Cole? When whatever happened to that wolf happens to Grace?
Were you really at a recording studio yesterday?
Unreal.”
Unreal.”
I turned back around to face her. Her hands were fists stuffed in her armpits, her jaw was set. I wanted to ask her if she was doing this because Jack died and she couldn’t stand to see it happen to someone else. Or if she was doing it because I had lived and Jack hadn’t. Or was it because she was a part of us now, inextricably tied to me and Grace and Cole and the rest?
Ultimately, it didn’t real y matter why she was here, or why she was saying what she was saying. Because I knew she was right.
• COLE •
I looked up when I heard the raised voices in the kitchen; Grace and I exchanged looks. She got up and came to sit across from me at the table, holding a glass of water and a few pil s in her hand. She swal owed the pil s and set the glass down. The entire process seemed to take a lot of effort, but I didn’t say anything, because she hadn’t. She had dark smudges under her eyes and her cheeks were bright red with a rising temperature. She looked exhausted.
In the other room, Sam’s and Isabel’s voices were raised. I felt the tension in the air, stretched between al raised. I felt the tension in the air, stretched between al of us tight as wires.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said.
Grace asked, “Cole? Do you know what wil happen when people find out you’re here? Do you mind me asking?” The way she asked it was completely frank and simple. No judgment about my famous face.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. My family won’t care. They gave up on me a long time ago. But the media wil care.” I thought about those girls snapping photos of me on their cel phones. “The media wil love it. It would be a lot of attention for Mercy Fal s.”
Grace exhaled and laid a hand on her stomach, careful y, like she was afraid of crushing her skin. Had she looked like that earlier?
Grace asked, “Do you want to be found?”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Ah,” she said. She considered this. “I guess Beck thought you would be a wolf more.”
“Beck thought I was going to kil myself,” I said. “I don’t think he thought about it any more than that. He was trying to save me.”
In the other room, Sam said something inaudible. Isabel said, “I know you and Grace talk about everything else, so why not that?”
everything else, so why not that?”
Just then, when she said that, the way she said it, like the knowledge was painful, made it seem like Isabel had a crush on Sam. The possibility of that gave me a weird, numb feeling.
Grace just looked at me. She had to have heard it. But she kept her reaction to herself.
Isabel and Sam came into the living room then, Sam looking hangdog, Isabel looking frustrated. Sam came over behind Grace’s chair and slid a hand onto her neck. It was a simple gesture that didn’t say possession so much as connection. Isabel’s eyes were on that hand, the same way I guess mine were. I closed my eyes and opened them again. In between, I saw Victor. And I just couldn’t do it anymore
—be conscious.
“I’m going to bed,” I said.
Isabel and Sam stared at each other again, a silent argument stil waging, and then Isabel said, “I’m leaving. Grace? Rachel said you were staying at my place. I told them you were, too, but I know they didn’t believe me. Are you real y staying here tonight?”
Grace just reached up and held Sam’s wrist.
“So it comes down to me being the voice of reason,” Isabel snapped. “How ironic. The unlistened-to voice of reason.”
She stormed out. I waited a second, and then I fol owed her out into the black night, catching up with her by the door of her white SUV, the night air cold enough to burn the back of my throat.
“What?” she said. “Just, what, Cole?”
I guess I was stil raw from hearing her voice when she talked to Sam. “Why are you doing that to him?”
“To Sam? He needs it. Nobody else is tel ing him.”
She stood there, furious, and now that I’d seen her crying on her bed, it was easy to see that the same emotions were chewing her up inside right now, only she never let them out.
“And who’s tel ing you?” I asked.
Isabel just looked at me. “Believe me, I do it to myself al the time.”
“I believe you,” I said.
For a second, she looked like she was going to cry again, and then she got into the driver’s seat and jerked the door shut behind her. She didn’t look at me as she reversed out of the driveway. I stood in the driveway, gazing after where she’d gone, the cold wind tugging at me without enough force to change me. Everything was ruined, and everything was wrong, and not being able to s
hift should’ve been the end of the world. But instead, for once, it was okay.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
• SAM •
Here we were again, always saying good-bye.
Grace lay on my bed, flat on her back, knees up. Her T-shirt had pul ed up just a little, revealing a few inches of her pale bel y. Her blond hair was spread out on one side of her head as if she were flying through the air or floating in the water. I stood by the light switch, looking at her and just…wanting.
“Don’t turn it off yet,” Grace said, her voice a little strange. “Just come sit with me for a little bit. I don’t want to sleep yet.”
I turned off the light, anyway—in the sudden darkness, Grace made an annoyed noise—and then I leaned down to hit a switch, turning on a string of Christmas lights stapled around the ceiling. They sparkled through the strange shapes made by the slowly spinning birds, and cast moving shadows, like firelight, across Grace’s face. Her noise of annoyance changed to one of wonder.
“It’s like…” she started, but didn’t finish.
I joined her on the bed, sitting cross-legged next to her instead of lying down. “Like what?” I asked, running the back of my fingers across her stomach.
“Mmmm,” said Grace, half closing her eyes.
“Like what?” I asked again.
“Like looking at the stars,” she said. “With a giant flock of birds flying past.”
I sighed.
“Sam, I real y want to buy a red coffeepot, if they exist,” Grace said.
“I’l find you one,” I said, and laid my hand flat on her bel y; her skin was shockingly hot against my hand. Isabel had told me to ask Grace how she felt. To not wait for her to tel me, because she wouldn’t until it was too late. Because she didn’t want to hurt me.
“Grace?” I said, removing my hand, scared.
Her eyes drifted from the birds spiraling slowly above us to my face. She caught my hand and moved it so that our hands cupped around each other, her fingertips on my lifeline and mine on hers. “What?”
When she spoke, her breath smel ed both copper and medicinal; blood and acetaminophen.
Maggie Stiefvater - [Wolves of Mercy Falls 02] Page 26