Alone in the Wild

by Kelley Armstrong

“As she would,” Tomas says softly.

  Nancy’s eyes glitter with tears. “Yes, she would. Absolutely. I only wish she’d told us, if only so we could help you get that baby back to her mother. She must be going mad with worry. When we find Lane, he may be able to tell us what Ellen was doing or where she was coming from when he … when he…”

  She breaks off, her voice catching. Tomas reaches for her, hesitating a little, but she falls into his arms. We slip out after that, followed by Tomas’s promise that they’ll help us in any way they can. In return, we promise that we’ll be back in a week or so, to see whether they need help finding Lane. Then we’re gone.

  * * *

  We rest back at our campsite. We must, considering how far we need to walk. A four-hour nap before we break camp and walk until the sun starts to drop. I want to push on after that, but Dalton says no. We’re less than halfway home, with no chance of making it back without more sleep. Better to find a spot and get our shelter up before it’s fully dark.

  We’re in bed by six, asleep 1.5 seconds later. As exhausted as we are, though, we don’t need twelve hours of sleep, so we’re on our way again by three in the morning, our flashlights leading us through the darkness.

  It’s nearly noon when we reach Rockton, and I can say with absolute certainty that these were the most physically strenuous three days of my entire life. Dalton’s promise of an entire batch of fresh-baked cookies may be the only thing that gets me through the last ten kilometers. I’m holding him to that, too, and washing them down with multiple mugs of spiked coffee, followed by an afternoon nap that may last until morning.

  I reach the town perimeter and topple face-first into the snow. Or I try to, but my feet tangle in the snowshoes and Dalton grabs me before I snap my ankle with my drama-queen gesture. He lifts me over his arms, and I struggle to get out, saying, “I’m fine. Just being a brat.”

  “Too late. I’m carrying you.”

  I start to settle in. Then he flips me over his shoulder, firefighter style, which is a whole lot less flattering.

  “No, no, no,” I say, renewing my struggles. “Just let me—”

  “Too late.”

  “You can’t—”

  “—embarrass you by carrying you over my shoulder through town? Yep, I believe I can.”

  Storm starts dancing around us, barking, finding her second wind. I grab the back of Dalton’s parka and yank, and I’m just goofing around, but it’s hard enough to make him stagger, and apparently Storm chooses that moment to cut in front of him, and we all go down in a heap of curses and yelps and giggles.

  As we untangle ourselves, a voice says, “First, you disappear for three days. Now you are napping at noon. I understand the holidays are coming, but as a taxpayer, I object.”

  I twist to see Mathias standing there. “Since when do you pay taxes?”

  “I treat each and every person in this community with marginal respect. It is very taxing.”

  We untangle, and Dalton and Storm rise as I snap off my snowshoes. “What are you doing out and about?”

  “There is caroling. It began at ten in the morning. After two hours, my choices were to walk in the forest or begin a quiet but relentless slaughter of the offenders. Knowing the latter would force you to work through the holidays, I chose the former. It is my gift to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  We start for the town.

  Mathias falls in beside me. “Also, speaking of relentless, we must discuss this constant flow of visitors you have unleashed on our peaceful village, Casey.”

  “Peaceful?” Dalton says. “Where have you been living?”

  “In a town where people do not wander in from the forest and make themselves at home. Your detective is the Pied Piper of the Yukon, leading people to our town with her charming manner and sunny disposition.”

  I look at Dalton. “You have another detective?”

  “Compared to me, you are pretty damned charming. Not sure about sunny, but people definitely find you less intimidating than me, which just means they don’t know you very well.”

  Dalton turns to Mathias. “Yeah, we’ve been doing more outreach since Casey’s been here. Building relationships with the community really wasn’t my strength, apparently. If you’re talking about Tyrone—”

  “I’d rather not really. Mr. Cypher has chosen his alias well. I do not know what to make of him, and I have decided he is a puzzle I do not care to solve. The problem is that the procession of strays does not end. I discovered only today that you had a hostile in town. A live hostile, which you promised me for study, and you whisked her in and out without a word to me.”

  “You requested a hostile,” I say. “I chose to deny that request.”

  “Instead, you give me other strays. A wolf and a feral boy.”

  “First, you asked for Raoul. Plenty of people wanted him, and you got him, and therefore you owed me a favor, which you repaid by taking Sebastian, who is a resident, not a stray. Also not feral.”

  “He spent half his life being raised by narcissists who treated him as a fashion accessory. Then he spent the other half imprisoned for their murders. He may have learned very pretty manners, but Sebastian is as feral as that half-breed dog, and I have spent six months sleeping with one eye open, wondering which will kill me first.”

  I could point out that Sebastian doesn’t live with Mathias, but instead I shrug as we enter town. “Fine. Give me the dog. Our deputy will be thrilled to have—”

  “It is too late. Raoul is accustomed to me.”

  “Then I’ll take Sebastian back and—”

  “He is accustomed to me as well. And it is my duty to monitor him, for the sake of the town. No one else is equipped or trained for such a task.”

  “You’re just bitching for the sake of bitching, aren’t you?”

  “I do not bitch. I simply point out that you need to stem this flow of strays. You have barely removed one when another takes her place.”

  I stop and look at him. “What?”

  “You have a visitor. She is in the town square. William attempted to show her the hospitality of the police station, but she is another of your wild things and refuses to go indoors. She is with Raoul and Sebastian. Raoul is guarding her. Sebastian is…” He purses his lips. “I am not certain what he is doing. Perhaps drinking in the rare beauty of this wilderness flower. Perhaps considering the myriad ways he could kill her with maximum efficiency, should she prove a threat. He may be doing both simultaneously. It is Sebastian.”

  I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog as I shout back,“Next time, Mathias? Cut the preamble and get to the damned point.”

  “That would be no fun at all,” he calls after me.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  When Mathias says we’ve attracted another woman from the woods, hinting she’s young and attractive, my first thought is Cherise. Yet when I draw close, I spot a small dark-haired figure, one who is younger and significantly more welcome than Cherise. It’s Edwin’s granddaughter, Felicity.

  Sebastian is neither gaping at her nor plotting her demise. He’s playing host, pulling out his charm and his manners and his high-society upbringing, telling Felicity a story complete with blazing smiles and dramatic gestures. There’s no flirtation there. Yes, she’s his age and pretty, but if he’s noticed that, he’s tucked it aside, as if it would be rude to see her as anything but a guest in need of hospitality.

  As for Felicity …

  I remember when I was thirteen, and my mother sent me to finishing school. Okay, it wasn’t called “finishing school.” I’m not sure those exist anymore, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have attended. It was billed as weekly classes for teen girls to learn teen-girl stuff, everything from putting on makeup to protecting yourself online.

  I might never have been the most feminine girl, but I was not opposed to learning the secret language of stiletto heels and smoky eyeliner. While the class offered that, it was more like a finishing school, with lessons for privileged y
oung ladies to learn to act like privileged young ladies.

  I was privileged. I took private lessons and flew business class—well, unless there weren’t enough seats, and then my parents put April and me in economy, supposedly as a lesson so we’d grow up vowing to get the kind of careers that meant we never needed to fly coach again.

  The point is that those girls should have been my people. Except I was a half-Asian tomboy from the suburbs, and they were all white, elegant, and city-bred. I felt like a gawky country girl stumbling into a debutante ball.

  That’s how Felicity looks sitting beside Sebastian. She follows his story stone-faced, her gaze locked on him in a look of barely concealed panic. Not so much transfixed as held captive, fearing if she moves a single muscle she’ll reveal herself as a teenager from a very different planet than the one this self-assured and animated boy clearly inhabits.

  When Sebastian sees me, he smiles and stands with “Hey, Casey,” and I swear Felicity deflates in relief.

  “I was keeping Felicity company while she waited,” he says. “Talking her ear off with my boring stories.” He flashes a smile her way. “Sorry.”

  “Yes.” Color rises on her cheeks. “I mean, yes, you were keeping me company. No, your stories were not boring.” She flails a moment, as if struggling to find the girl I met the other day, the one who’d been equally self-assured in her natural environment. “I came to talk to you, Casey.”

  “And now you can,” Sebastian says. “You’re free of my awkward hospitality.”

  “Yes.” Another mortified flush. “I mean, yes, she’s here, and yes, you do not need to stay with me any longer. Thank you for keeping me company. It was very kind.”

  He grins. “My pleasure. I will leave you in Casey’s capable hands.”

  He jogs off, and Felicity watches him go.

  “How … old is he?” she asks tentatively.

  “Nineteen. He’s our youngest resident.”

  “Oh. I am eighteen. Angus is twenty, and that boy seems … older, but he didn’t look it, so I thought … I suppose that is how boys are, down south.”

  “Not exactly,” I say. “Sebastian is a special case, but I’m glad he kept you company.”

  “He was very entertaining. His stories were funny.” She takes a deep breath, throwing off any lingering discomfiture, and turns to me. “I have information you want. I would like to trade for it.”

  I glance around. Dalton’s taken Storm to get her stitched up at the clinic, and he’s left me to this.

  “All right,” I say. “Let’s go into the police station—”

  “I would prefer to stay outside.”

  “May we at least leave the town square? Everyone can hear our conversation here.”

  She nods, and we begin walking.

  “You found a baby,” she says. “That’s why you came to my grandfather. You didn’t tell me that. You should have.”

  “Edwin had already told us where to find the baby’s parents.”

  “He lied.”

  “So we discovered,” I mutter. “The clothing came from the Second Settlement, not the trading family he sent us to.”

  “Did you speak to the traders?”

  I nod.

  “And what did you think?”

  “You were right. Not the sort of people I care to do business with.”

  “They can trade fairly. The problem is that we only use them when we must, and then they know how badly we need their supplies, so we pay far too much. Grandfather would prefer not to do business with them. He’d rather do business with you.”

  “Understandable. We’d rather do business with him.”

  “Good.”

  She slows to look up at a decorated pine towering over us. I imagine her assessing not the beauty of the object, but the relative wealth that it requires—the expenditure of both time and goods.

  “It’s the holidays,” I say. “Time to celebrate the solstice.”

  She nods. “We do that as well. We do not string berries in trees, though.”

  “The birds will appreciate them.”

  She snorts. “The birds that come for those will not be good eating.”

  Apparently she thinks our decorated trees are luring dinner. I’m about to say not everything is about food, but fortunately, I do nothing so thoughtless. For settlers, everything is about food—or shelter or basic survival.

  “People enjoy seeing the birds,” I say simply.

  “You sound like those from the Second Settlement.”

  I glance over at her. “I thought you didn’t have contact with them.”

  She shrugs. “That is my grandfather’s way. It is their elders’ way. It is not our way.” She pauses to watch a few residents race by, sliding on the packed snow and laughing like children. She shakes her head. “It is different here.”

  “They’re just on lunch break before their afternoon shift.”

  “So you met the Second Settlement,” she says. “What did you think of them?”

  “Interesting.”

  A snort. “That is one way to put it. They have ideas. Odd ideas. They won’t trade with you, though. Not the way we will.”

  “I got that impression.”

  She nods, satisfied. “My grandfather should have let you go to them. There’s nothing to fear. He just worries.” She looks at me. “I would like a gun.”

  “So you’ve said. But right now we’re still busy trying to find this baby’s parents.”

  “That is why I’m here. To trade. It is also why you should have told me about the baby. I know who it belongs to.”

  “Do you?” I say, keeping my voice calm. “Oddly, your grandfather said the same thing. Those traders also tried to claim her.”

  “Is it a her?” Something flickers in her eyes, gone before I can chase it. She nods. “You have been fed many lies, but I tell the truth.”

  “In return for a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  I face her. “Yeah, here’s the problem with that. Edwin told us the baby was from these traders, in hopes we’d keep her and avoid contact with the Second Settlement. The traders told us she was theirs, in hopes we’d pay them for her. Now you’re telling us you know where she belongs, in hopes of getting a gun. See the pattern? We’ve spent a damned week tramping through the forest, trying to give a family back their lost baby. This doesn’t benefit us at all, and everyone else is trying to benefit from our good deed, and I’m getting really pissed off. If you don’t actually know who this baby’s parents are, then I’d suggest you turn around right now and go back to the First Settlement or you are never going to see a gun from me.”

  She eyes me, much the way she might eye a wolf in the forest, trying to decide exactly how dangerous it is. “You’re frustrated.”

  “How very astute of you.”

  Her lips quirk. I won’t call it a smile, but it’s something. She might be appreciating my directness. Or she might be amused at my show of weakness, allowing my temper to get the better of me.

  “No one out here will reward you for your good deeds,” she says.

  “I’m not looking for—”

  “A reward, I know. You want us to help or stay out of your way. Instead, we’re making your task unnecessarily difficult.”

  “Yes.”

  She eyes me again, head tilting as if considering. Then she says, “It is a test. Not intentionally or overtly, but in the end, you are being tested. Do you see through the lies? How easily are you manipulated? How much can you be used? That’s what everyone out here is thinking. How useful can you be to them? And you are thinking the same thing. Can the First Settlement be useful? The Second? The traders? Tyrone? Jacob?”

  She lifts a hand against my protest. “Yes, Jacob is Eric’s brother, and you are not trying to use him, but it is still a reciprocal relationship. Your goal is not to take advantage but to establish mutually beneficial relationships. Everyone else is doing the same. They’re just less concerned about making those relationships fair.
Everyone wants the best deal. You would not take advantage of Jacob. You might not even take advantage of me, because I am young. But if you could take advantage of those traders? Of course you would. Everyone wants something. No one wants to be cheated.”

  She’s right, of course. That isn’t only life up here; it’s life in general. It’s just more obvious here, everyone angling for an advantage over the limited resources we share.

  “They are testing you,” she says. “You’re a good person. The question is how good, and can it be used against you? You ask whether I’m lying. I’d be a fool to do that, wouldn’t I? It would be cheating you on our first trade. Foolish and shortsighted, like a bear trampling an entire berry patch for one meal. Better to cultivate the patch.”

  “And you’re cultivating me.”

  “You know I am. There’s no point in lying. Also, I don’t do it. That’s my grandfather’s way, and it works for him. It does not work for me. If I don’t want to tell you the truth, I won’t answer. When I say I know where to find this baby’s parents, I’m negotiating in good faith. I’ll take you to them, and then you owe me a gun.”

  “You’ll hold this child hostage for a gun.”

  Something flashes behind her eyes. Then her jaw sets, and she says simply, “I would like a gun. I believe finding this baby’s parents is important to you, and therefore worth the price I’m asking.”

  If I don’t want to tell you the truth, I won’t answer.

  I remember her expression when I said the baby was a girl. That flicker of emotion.

  “You know her parents,” I say.

  “Did I not say that?” she snaps, annoyed at being more transparent than she intended.

  “I will pay you for this information.” I say. “Five hundred dollars’ worth of our goods or two hundred and fifty of your choice, to be purchased in Dawson.”

  Her eyes harden. “That means nothing to me.”

  I wince. Of course. Unlike Cherise, who travels to Dawson, Felicity has never used money. “Right, sorry. Five hundred dollars would buy you five good pairs of boots or five decent parkas or five hundred cans of soup.”

  She tries to cover her shock, and says nonchalantly, “How many guns?”