by Kim Faulks
Leaves rustled just out of sight. I jerked my head up at the sound and reached out with trembling hand, searching the forest floor around me. My fingers brushed the rock. I clawed the edges, lifted the weight in my palm and pulled my arm backwards.
The slow patter grew louder. From the curve came a glint of white. His nose peeked out from the corner, then his eyes, his head, and the rest of his body. The wolf edged closer, head lowered, hypnotic blue eyes trained on me. An ache bloomed inside my chest.
“Shoo! Go away.” I hefted the rock in my hand as the animal came closer.
He was skinny, not quite full grown, but not a pup. The whine drifted toward me on a breeze. He trotted closer, keeping his tail low, but his head lower. I sucked in a breath, fighting the urge to scream.
Shuddering in fear, I whispered, “You saved me. You saved me from that bear.”
Closer still he came, until all that separated us was the length of his body. I searched his eyes, finding life in the bright blue. Lowering my hand, I let the rock slip free.
“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” My sharp intake of breath made the wolf flinch.
I sucked in my breath at the touch of his wet nose. Trembling fingers grazed the hard ridge, riding higher between his eyes. I kept his gaze and sank into the depths of blue. A white wolf with crystal blue eyes. I’d never seen something so beautiful. I traced the edges of his ear, jerking my hand away when the pointed appendage flicked to and fro. The soft bark that the wolf gave sounded like laughter.
“That tickled, didn’t it?”
His stretched his neck, sliding the ear under my hand. I tried again, finding the edge of the cartilage before his ear jerked away. “Okay, I’ll stop.”
I drifted my fingers down the coarse edges of his fur, then sank deep into the downy undercoat until I touched skin. “My name’s Gretel. I wonder what your name might be?”
I shook my head. “Wolves don’t have names, do they?” His blue eyes sparkled, urging that train of thought. “Then, I’ll have you give you one. You’re white like a cloud. Cloud, how does that sound?”
He dropped his nose close to the ground, shaking his head as he sneezed.
“No, I don’t think so. You’re more important than that, coming to save me like my own guardian angel, like my own protective ghost.”
The wolf wrenched his head up. I caught the spark in his gaze. “Ghost. That’s it. That’s what I’ll call you, Ghost.”
He jerked his head higher, sniffing the air, catching a scent that eluded me. He let out a sharp bark, then a howl that tore through my head. The moment was broken. I lost those blue eyes. My wolf turned and bounded away.
He was gone before I knew it, slipping through the forest as though he lived up to his name. A faint cry echoed. My father’s panicked call rang out.
I screamed until my throat caught fire and the echoes of my father’s steps neared. Rocks clattered to my feet as he towered above me on the rise. “Gretel. Dear God, child, are you hurt? Did you fall?”
My brother followed to stand beside him. I couldn’t answer as they disappeared along the ridge, only to surface moments later. I reached for my father as he darted around the bend to drop at my side. His hands fluttered helplessly as I reached for him.
I clawed his shirt, desperate for his embrace as my brother came up behind him. Hatred glinted like sharpened steel in Hansel’s gaze. I’d never been afraid before, not truly afraid.
But as my brother reached out to smooth my hair, I felt fear taint my soul. He whispered, “You really need to be a little more careful, Gretel. One day, Father may not be here to save you.”
Chapter Two
Gretel
The scent of pine lingered on my father’s jacket. I gripped the collar tightly and waited. For three nights, blood and fangs had haunted my dreams. And for three nights I woke crying out a name—Ghost.
My fingers found every crease as I padded to the window and stared out into the night. I searched for my wolf in the woods and yet, he remained hidden. There was another specter here. A ghost in the glass stared back at me as I draped the jacket over one arm and lifted the other to the glass.
My reflection was stained somehow, as though this wasn’t really me. This image was of another. She was just a girl. Her long auburn hair was braided, hanging over her shoulders. Her eyes were wide. Those chestnut eyes seized me, whispering a secret I couldn’t quite hear. I pressed my fingers against the icy pane before a glint of yellow in the darkness sped my heart.
I leaned closer. My breath misted the window, leaving the view hazy and distorted. I rubbed the surface with the heel of my palm and stared into the night. Fog raced across the plain toward the forest like white caps on an incoming tide.
The flicker of yellow light appeared again, then disappeared. For three nights, the same nightmare had wrenched me awake. Three nights, I spied this same amber sparkle in the dark. My belly tightened. I ached with both the dread of knowing that something terrible was about to happen and the need to know what bad thing came our way.
My toes ached from the bite of early winter. I tucked the end of my nightgown over my feet and tried to rub some warmth into them. The strange yellow flicker came once more. Only this time, the light was closer.
I followed the gleam until my eyes burned. There was no one else out here, no one except for us. We were a hard twenty minute ride from the nearest town of Blacksland. Far enough from the townsfolk, yet not far enough when trouble brewed. We weren’t equipped to deal with trouble, not with Father away. He’d been gone for months now, signing a new business deal. We made money off the forest that surrounded us—a lot of money—but Father wanted even more. His trip to Boston had lasted longer than usual.
The torch, raised high, burned bright. The clip-clop of hooves on the cobblestone path rang in my ears long before I spied the outline of the rider. The dark shape grew larger as I stared down from my window. Then in a blink, he was gone.
There was only silence. Cold air wrapped around me. I gripped the jacket, wrenching the leather to my face and inhaled, as thought my father’s scent could work as a talisman to ward off trouble. A faint blast tore through the house. I flinched at the sound and waited. Heavy steps echoed along the landing moments later. I wrenched my head toward the door, catching a glimpse of candlelight along the bottom of the door. Then the glow was gone again.
I counted the seconds. A hinge squealed. I followed the sound. Muffled voices from the hall called me away from the window. The choked cry seemed to pierce my chest. My hand brushed my bedpost as I stumbled for the door. The doorknob rattled until the handle slipped and the door swung inwards.
“Hansel?” Candlelight drew my eye. The whites of Marcus’s eyes glowed against his dark skin. Our servant boy raised the lantern, and in those eyes, I saw something I’d lived with for a long time—fear.
Footsteps answered my call, filling the air with thunder. I spied a dash of yellow as the light from the lantern cut through the darkness.
“What’s going on?”
Hansel strode from his room, spearing his shirt into jodhpurs. “Nothing. Get back in your room.”
Then my brother was gone, swallowed by the night. The flickering light chased him and Marcus as they raced down the stairs. My feet refused to move, while the silence closed in. I reached for the banister with a shaking hand and started down the steps.
This house was no stranger to me. I knew every creak and every crack. The big house sighed like an old man and whispered like a child. Come find me. I turned left at the bottom, and hurried through along the hall toward the front door, passing the library, the music room, and my father’s study before my steps slowed at the sound of a voice.
“I’m so sorry, Madam. I’m so sorry for your loss.” A male voice echoed through the foyer.
A scream tore through the foyer, followed by heavy thud. The chilling sound stole my breath. I brushed the wall with trembling fingers as I rounded the corner.
Bathed in
the glow of a lantern, a bare foot shot out from underneath a midnight gown. The flowing skirt filled the wide foyer, but my eyes were caught on the pale sole. Lace bedclothes peeked out from underneath my mother’s dressing gown. Her hunched form jerked and shuddered. A moan tore from my mother’s lips at the touch of the stranger’s hand on her head.
The sound was faintly familiar, forlorn and weak, drawing me closer. I shook my head, the slow motion dragging the stranger’s attention upward. His sad eyes held me, whispering things I didn’t want to know.
“Mother?”
The recumbent form stilled. Chocolate hair spilled around her shoulders as she turned her head. Her face was near perfect, high cheekbones and sculptured lips. My mother was far more beautiful than any woman should be.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I forced the words past a tight throat, even though a small part of me already knew.
Hansel moved toward me, arms outstretched. Tears glistened in his eyes and shone against his cheek. I cowered from his touch. I knew how cruel and dangerous he could be, but his tears were real. “It’s Father. He... he....”
My mother swallowed a sniffle and lifted her head as she lay on the ground and answered. “Your father’s been murdered.”
Chapter Three
Gretel
I stared at the mourners alongside my father’s casket. Strange faces held my gaze. They nodded, smiled as though I were some poor innocent girl. I was far from that now. Seventeen was coming quickly and my wolf and I would soon be gone.
My mother wept in great, gulping sobs. Those sickening sounds were too cruel and I felt them too deeply. She’d not said a word to me in the two weeks we’d waited for my father’s body to come home.
I’d long ago given up trying to find the reason for her contempt. I’d cried too many tears and waited too many hours for her to show me even the smallest kindness. My father once tried to explain her neglect with kind words, sugar coating what was plain as day. My mother didn’t love me—she barely tolerated me.
Her wails punctured my chest. I gripped my sodden handkerchief and kept my focus on the pastor’s words. His voice droned through an interminable prayer. The surface of the casket glistened in the icy morning sun. Ornate carving decorated the edges, brass handles glinted like gold. I fought the need to scream ‘Stop!’ to give me a little more time. Just a little more time. Was he even in there? Was my father really dead?
Two weeks of mind-numbing pain, and then in a flurry, the funeral was set. The goodbyes planned. The maids were in a fluster, readying the house for this dark day. Mother was the driving force behind every deed. She had such a need for the funeral. A hunger to reach that dividing line from the life we once had to the life we had now—a life of emptiness and heartache.
“Shhh, easy sister.” Hansel’s arms provide no warmth, his words no comfort. He forced a cup into my hands. “Drink the tea, I’ve acquired a tonic that will help you.”
I shook my head, shoving the cup away, the brown tea splashed the sides. He grabbed my hand, forcing my fingers around the hot porcelain. “Drink, Gretel. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Tears ran down my face as I nodded. I was too tired to fight. I drained the cup and handed it back. My cheeks burned with my tears. I dabbed the trail with the handkerchief and tried to find a way to breathe. The wails became too loud and the preacher’s words too insincere. They didn’t know this man—no one did—not like I knew him. My father was more than an upstanding citizen of the community. He was more than the provider. I turned my head and sought out my brother, remembering a warning he’d uttered so long ago. You really need to be a little more careful, Gretel. Father may not be here one day to save you.
The scrape of a shovel rang out, before a thud, as dirt hit his coffin.
My hands trembled at my side and my head swam in a haze. I licked my lips, tasting the remnants of the tea. It shouldn’t be that bitter, should it? My father was more important than all those things—I swallowed the bitter tang—he was my protector.
Who would protect me now?
***
This house was a stranger to me now, empty and cold. I strode along halls and through rooms, just as I’d always done. It’d been three days since the funeral, already there was a hostile atmosphere about this place—an emptiness—I felt to my bones. My hands shook as I folded the tear-stained leather jacket and stared at the letter in my hands.
I knew you would find this, my beautiful girl. This jacket always seems to smell faintly of your jasmine when I return from my trips. I’m heartened this old coat brings you some comfort. Keep it safe for me, and when I return we will go hiking in the woods, just you and me as we once used to. I saw your wolf yesterday. He is getting bolder as the days grow shorter. I fear one day I shall have to build a kennel in your room, lest he continues his claim of you. If you’re ever in need of a protector, Gretel, find him. Find your wolf.
Father.
My legs were weak as I tried to stand. I pushed from the window seat and reached for the frame of my bed. My steps were silent, as though I were the one who’d passed. Was I the ghost, forced to walk the halls of this old house in search of those I loved? I held my breath and closed my hand around the handle. I expected to feel nothing, while inside I felt everything.
The knob was cold under my palm. I gripped the metal and twisted, wrenching the door backwards. The panel thundered against the wall. The chandelier sparkled under the midday sun. I yearned to reach those rays, for them to warm my body and touch my soul. I needed life. I needed warmth. I needed someone to anchor me, for I feared I was adrift in this storm and the rocks were so close.
I took a step and craned my neck, searching for sound in my brother’s room. Was he inside? Was he suffering, as I suffered? I splayed my hand, finding strength as I clenched my fist and reached for his door.
I knocked softly, then waited for second before calling. “Hansel, are you in there?”
Someone moved. I rested my hand against the wood, searching for the connection we shared. There’d been a time we shared everything together. The womb. The nanny. We shared the treasures of our world. And on the nights when lighting streaked across the sky, we shared a bed, holding hands until exhaustion took us. Then we slept, stealing warmth from one another.
But those days were just a memory now. Somehow, I’d fallen out of step. I was the one who fumbled after him as he surged forward into manhood and I waited behind.
And I waited still. “Hansel, please.”
He gave me silence.
Emptiness and I had become inseparable. We’d become entangled somehow, caught in a dance I did not know, but was learning. So help me God, I was learning. I turned from his door and made my way down the stairs. It felt like an age since I traveled these halls. Since those words from my mother were uttered with cruel conviction. Your father’s been murdered.
I turned right at the base of the stairs and headed toward the rear of the house. The grand ballroom sat empty. The piano shone, buffed with a strong arm, even though the strings were silent and had been for some time. I stepped inside, filled by greed. Hungering for a memory of my father, I recalled the sparkle in his eyes whenever he stared at my mother. And his hearty laughter on Christmas morn as he handed one gift to us, pretending one gift was all we could afford, while behind him, presents were piled high.
My father was rich, not just in money, but in love and in laughter. In moments where he taught me to survive in the woods and find the beauty in the unlikeliest of places. The forest was our place. We wandered for hours, climbing fallen trees and razored rocks, finding companions in the unlikeliest of places.
My white wolf had turned into our wolf. I remembered my father’s surprise when the animal came to me after my ankle had healed. Father had feared for me at first as I bent and held out my hand. Ghost crept forward to sniff my outstretched fingers, then my father’s, as I urged him to trust.
Those memories pulled me toward the ballroom
window. The view darkened under towering trees. Somewhere out there my wolf waited for me. I pressed my face against the pane, searching for his silvery pelt against the gloom.
My heart was cold and heavy as I stepped away from the pane. I could give no more to the beast in the woods. I could give no more to anyone.
Hushed voices called me toward the kitchen. I stilled, hovering at the door while the servants sat and polished. I knocked lightly, then stepped inside. Chairs scraped, the squeal ripping through the kitchen. I jumped at the sound as Maybelle rushed forward, slapping her hands on her white apron. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t hear you come in. Can I get you a cup of tea?”
I nodded and tried to clear the fire in my throat before I muttered. “Thank you. Tea would be lovely. May I sit with you?”
Her brown eyes widened. She gave a curt nod and disappeared. Sarah, a chambermaid, sat at the table. Her hand worked slowly, rubbing the curve of a spoon already glinting with a sparkle before working along the handle. She rose as I neared and gave a curtsey. “The funeral was lovely, Miss. We’re so sorry. We loved your father very much. He was a kind man. A thoughtful man.”
I nodded. The opulence of the service had felt strange. If only they knew the real man they would change velvet for pine and a grand wake for a few personal words. But Mother wanted more. She wanted food and friends. She wanted to be the center of attention, while I wanted solace.
“He was the best employer I ever had. He always had a kind word to say.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t feel her words. My mind was frozen, my body numb. “You’re very kind. Do you mind?”
Sarah glanced toward the kitchen where the chink of cups sounded. “No, of course not. I’ll put these away.”
“No. Please, don’t. Not on my account. May I help you?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out as though she hadn’t the words to respond.