Winter Fire

by Laurie Dubay

  He shrugged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the same thing, over and over again?”

  I nodded. That feeling was as comfortable as my oldest pair of ripped sweats.

  “Well imagine what it was like for me after all that time. Power or no power, it gets old and tired, and you get sick of yourself. I wanted to be different in this form. I like humans,” he said, and the way he said ‘humans’ still gave me a jolt. “I love how they change, how creative they are, how they’re always fighting the impossible. It’s like they have this unlimited supply of hope.” He craned his head and looked up at the sky. “It’s not like that in Asgard. I guess I chose a name that sounded different because I didn’t want to remember my past every time someone spoke to me.”

  “Why Bren?” I watched snowflakes land on his eyelashes.

  “Frieda picked it. It’s a shortened form of an old Norse word. It means burning.” He said.

  I thought again of the first day I had seen him. “Because of your hair.”

  He lowered his gaze to mine. His smile faded and his eyes held mine for so long that I almost forgot my last words. “She says it’s because of my temper,” he said. He let go of my hand, reached up and pushed a thick strand of my hair behind my ear. “You don’t say much, Jenna.” As he let his hand rest against the side of my neck, I suppressed a shiver. “It’s hard to know how you feel.”

  I couldn’t imagine how he could have missed the way I looked at him, already a habit because the sting of it set off some crazy adrenaline rush that muted the warning underneath. And I couldn’t understand how he had missed the way I struggled for breath whenever he smiled at me. And how could he not feel the goose bumps that had risen just now where he pressed his fingers into my skin?

  “You don’t say much either,” I told him, not knowing whether I was buying time or fishing.

  “I’ve just given you my whole world.” He let his head fall to the side as he looked into my eyes. “Don’t you think you could trust me a little?”

  “What do you want me to say?” The truth was, I didn’t know if I could trust anybody. It had been a while since I’d tried.

  “I want you to say, ‘Bren, I don’t care about any of this god stuff. I want to be with you.” He waited, tension stiff in his shoulders.

  Even if I couldn’t trust, I could be honest. Anyone deserved that. “Bren,” I said. “I’m totally freaked out by all this god stuff.” His shoulders dropped, but I continued. “But I really want to be with you.” I let all of my feelings loose for just a moment in these last words, and they sounded like they came from the bottom of a well.

  He took my hand again.

  We talked until the ashy day closed its eyes, the flakes now stark and ghostly against the twilight. Bren asked me about my new life at Little Woods High, and though I couldn’t imagine why such small, ordinary things could be of interest to him, it felt good to talk without a filter on my words. I asked him about Ringsaker, and why it glittered the way it did, and he told me that once the oath was sworn on the rings, it became a place of solace and protection, a place where they could speak to those in Asgard, gods they’d had a connection with there. For Bren, this meant he could speak to his mother, Sif, who kept them apprised of the events in Asgard, and warned them of any plans to try to bring them back. The gods couldn’t take Bren alone because he was too strong, even here, but if they took one of the others, the oath would be broken, and the rest of them would be left without the protection of the group. Bren was the strongest link, but they needed every link to hold their position. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if something went wrong, so I asked him about the earthquakes instead.

  “It’s probably nothing,” he said as the stream began to glisten under the rising moon. “It’s not unusual for quakes to happen one after another. But sometimes earthquakes here on Earth are a sign that something’s happening in Asgard. So we always check in to make sure.”

  “What could be happening there?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my knees against a chilly breeze. Across the brook, the pines leaned and whispered to each other, the moon caught low in their boughs.

  Bren’s eyes were glassy and hard as he thought. “Could be anything, but the quakes are getting closer to us. It’s probably just coincidence, but Frey and Frieda want to check it out to be sure.”

  “Why Frey and Frieda?”

  “They’re best with the elements. Weather, geology, earth stuff.”

  “They really are twins?”

  Bren nodded.

  “So there are families in Asgard. Gods get married, have kids. Like it is here.”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “Nothing changes there. Everything happens the same way over and over. The future is set. There’s nothing new, no challenges. Can you imagine living like that?” He was still looking into the water, the moonlight scribbling over the ripples.

  “It doesn’t really sound like living at all,” I said.

  Bren looked up into my eyes. “That’s my point.” His gaze was so intense that it was hard not to look away. “You know, I watched you on that deck so many times,” he said, “watching the skiers and riders on the mountain. I could feel how much you wanted it. I saw it in your face, in the way you stood. Everything about you was just standing on the brink. And what I kept thinking was, ‘all she has to do is decide, and then everything will change. Everything in her world will change.’” He sat back a little, picked up a pebble by his feet and tossed it into the stream. “That could never happen where I’m from.”

  I wondered if he knew that he had caused me to want like that, to watch the mountain the way I did, day after day, hoping to see him there. To finally go out into the freezing cold night, buckle into a board, and throw myself down the hill.

  He watched me, silver light in his eyes.

  “I never would have done it if you hadn’t been here,” I told him.

  As he stared, I felt tension rising in my body, like that in the quiet space between the colorful burst of a firework and its deafening boom. Bren reached up and touched the side of my face, ran his thumb over my mouth. When I froze, he leaned over and kissed me. He gave me no time to be afraid, as I thought I would be, wondering if things would be awkward, or if I would be too clueless and amateur for him to feel anything. He just touched his lips to mine, pressed his hand against the small of my back, and pulled me close to him. Then he kissed me again and lingered, waiting.

  Every muscle in my body was trembling. I was scared that it would end, scared that I might forget even one detail later, when I was home without him and needing to recreate the feel of him in my mind. I let the smell of pine and the sharpness of the cold burn my nose, reached up and caught the smooth, soft tufts of his hair between my fingers, focused on the feel of the strands against my skin. He tasted like his scent – wintergreen – and I ran my tongue over his lower lip, slowly, desperate to trap the sensation. He sighed in a hard, fast rush and curled his arm around my waist.

  I was losing control of my body, the feeling electric and draining all at once. I grabbed his shoulders, meaning to push myself away to take a breath, but then I felt the warm strength of him beneath my hands, felt him pull me close again, and for one moment I thought I’d do anything to keep this. And this was the thought that scared me enough to pull away.

  I kept my eyes closed, breathing hard, and listened to him gain control of his own breath. Then I looked up at him. His expression was all concern - not what I expected.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his arms loosening around me.

  I searched his face. “What? Why?”

  “I should never have done that after what happened to you last night.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  I let my gaze trail off. It was hard to believe that it had been just last night when Tyler and I had been in the woods near here, sitting on a rock very similar to this one.

  “Bren,” I said. He shook his head again, and I knew it would do no good to try to tell him
how different it was. So I said, “please don’t let him ruin this.”

  I watched him, waiting to see if it had worked. After a moment, he grinned.

  The ride back to the base was a little more peaceful than the one we had taken to Ringsaker. The trees still bowed to Bren’s wishes, and the hills still arched and rolled under his silent command, but he seemed content to coast along under the moon, his arm around my waist as I leaned back against him, his head close to mine. We passed the main lift and glided to a stop, then unzipped our jackets and carried our boards the rest of the way to the lodge.

  Once we had secured our boards in a nearby rack, I took off my gloves, walked over to the base of the deck and leaned against it, exhausted. Bren stepped in front of me, his stance wide to allow space for my legs.

  “Is your mom going to be mad that you were gone so long?” He asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “With me?” He added.

  “She doesn’t know you,” I said.

  “I don’t think knowing me would help.” He pushed my hair behind my ear, then let his hand slide down my arm and interlaced his fingers with mine.

  “That’s not what I meant. She doesn’t know you. Who you are, not what you are.”

  He smiled and pressed a hand against the deck on either side of me. “I’m afraid you’re going to go inside,” he said, “fall asleep and wake up wishing this whole thing never happened. Hoping it was a nightmare.”

  My laugh was airy and full of nerves. “I’m afraid I’m going to wake up and realize it was just a dream.”

  He stared, then leaned in close and kissed me. “Jenna,” he said, pulling away just enough to look at me, a new reluctance in his voice, “I don’t think I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  It was just a few words, but it knocked the wind out of me a little. I closed my eyes, hoping he couldn’t see the force of my reaction. His laugh was edgy.

  “Please say that’s disappointment and not relief,” he said.

  I tried to shrug it off, but I was already studying his face, the set of his shoulders, the way he stood, committing it all to memory. “I’m beyond disappointed,” I said too casually. “Why won’t I see you?”

  “We’re going up to talk to my mother, see if these quakes are anything to worry about. I never know how long it will take to contact her, or when she’ll come. We have to stay until she does.”

  “Do you have to spend all night there?”

  “Possibly. She has to be careful about communicating with us. In Asgard, we’re no better than criminals.” He pressed his forehead against mine.

  I knew it was late, that my mother was probably wondering where I was. I also knew that I had to go in sometime, to go upstairs and get ready for bed and let this day and night with Bren become a memory. I thought about spending Sunday, the saddest day of the week, missing him.

  “If I don’t see you tomorrow…” I said, running my hands up over his chest, his cotton t-shirt a soft contrast against the muscle underneath.

  “What?” He looked down at my hands, then glanced back up at me. “What?” He said more gently. I dragged my gaze back up to his.

  “I’ll watch for the fire.” I said. “At least I’ll know you’re there.”

  “It’s funny you saw it in the first place,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “No one ever does.”

  “Why not?”

  His head fell to the side. “I don’t know. I guess people see what they want to see.”

  “Well,” I said, letting my hands slip around to his back as he took a step closer, “maybe I was looking for you.”

  We stood there for a long time, oblivious to the guests and staff coasting back and forth around us, lining up at the lifts and traipsing up and down the stairs to the deck. Bren held me, his arms tight around my waist, his face buried in my hair while I listened to his heartbeat. When he finally let me go, it was bittersweet, because although I wouldn’t see him for a while, we were together.

  Chapter 16

  Saturday had been the best day of my life, and Sunday was the slowest. My mother wasn’t happy that I’d spent an entire day and night with Bren, but it had only been eight-thirty when I came in, and I’d told her the truth –some of it – so she backed off a little once I promised to spend all of Sunday catching up on homework and what she ambiguously called “down time.”

  I had been up until almost four o’clock Sunday morning, playing everything in my head over and over…the morning at the terrain park, the argument with Bren on the bridge, the crazy ride to Ringsaker, his voice…his kiss…his heartbeat. When I finally fell asleep, it was a restless tangle of hours that left me breathless and edgy in the morning, the sunsplashed Sunday stretching out before me like an endless parade of seconds.

  I spent the morning at a picnic table on the deck, hunched over an open History book while I thought about the feel of Bren’s t-shirt under my hands. During the afternoon, I draped myself over the couch and stared out the big picture window in our suite, waiting for dark. As I gazed at the copse of evergreens beyond the bonfire site, I tasted wintergreen, realized it was my toothpaste, and remembered that I hadn’t eaten, so I texted my mother to ask what she wanted to do for dinner. She came up to the suite and made us tacos. I was distracted for a moment, laughing while she talked about a funny older couple who had checked in that morning, but as she shook the chili powder into the frying pan I was reminded of Bren’s hair, and my smile turned hollow. I may have made fun of myself for it, but my mother’s mere presence made me feel stupid, as if she could hear my thoughts. I was surprised when she looked up from the stove, reached an arm across my back and squeezed my shoulder.

  “I guess I wasn’t ready for this, Jenna.” Her voice was kind, and a little sad.

  “What?” I gave her a blank look.

  She smiled. “For the way you feel about this boy. Bren.”

  “I…” I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say. It felt too personal to talk about now, too raw. She let her arm drop but kept the smile.

  “We’re going to have to talk about this,” she said, poking at the ground beef with her wooden spoon. “You’re not a kid anymore, and I know I can’t make all of your decisions for you. But I have to know that you’re going to put yourself first. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I do,” I said, feeling my cheeks flush. I knew she was going to want to talk to me about all of it…emotions, birth control, sex…but I just didn’t want to do it tonight. And not over tacos. They were my favorite, and I wanted to be able to stomach them in the future.

  “Not tonight, though, okay?” I said, begging her with my eyes.

  She stared at me for a long moment.

  “Okay,” she said. “Soon though.” I let out a sigh of relief as she banged the spoon on the side of the pan and then lifted it between us. “But tonight, it’s you, me, and tacos.”

  After she left, I spent the evening staring out the window at the tiny fire that had sparked to life way up on the mountain, my breath fogging and defogging a small circle of glass. It settled something in me to know he was there, made me feel connected to him somehow, and I found I couldn’t turn away to go to bed. My mother woke me at two-thirty. When I glanced out into the darkness and saw that the fire no longer flickered on the hill, I allowed her to guide me to my room to fall into another restless sleep.

  Chapter 17

  I nearly overslept on Monday morning. My mother drove fifteen miles over the speed limit to get me to school before the first bell rang, and I had to run to my first class. Lauren and Dillon waved as I sprinted past them to my desk, but when I looked toward Brianna, she was staring back at me with an icy expression. Wondering if she could already know about Bren somehow, I kept my gaze shallow to avoid Tyler in the back of the room, dropped my backpack, and slid into my seat.

  I felt Brianna’s glare all through Math, and in every class afterward. I didn’t try to talk to her between periods, figuring it was
better to let her tell me what her problem was than to assume anything and give her new information. It turned out that I only had to wait until lunch.

  I bought a bag of pretzels and a Diet Coke, then walked to the table and sat in my usual spot. Brianna was standing at the other end, talking to Brian and Tyler, but straightened up quickly when she saw me sit down. Swishing over to us, she stopped at the very end of the table, between Dillon and me, and leaned on her hands.

  “So Jenna,” she said, her voice sharp. I looked up at her. She flung her hair behind her shoulder with one finger. “What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem,” I said, keeping my voice even. I cracked open my soda and took a sip, staring straight ahead over Dillon’s shoulder.

  “Well Tyler says you do,” she said. “Apparently you have something going with Bren?” She hunkered down lower when she said this, trying to get my attention. When I didn’t argue, she continued. “And when he found out you fooled around with Tyler at the bonfire, he and his stupid, trashy friends jumped him on the raceway. And then,” she slammed a hand down on the table. We all jumped a little and I cringed inside, wishing we hadn’t. “If that isn’t all bad enough, you told Tyler that if he didn’t lie to get Bren out of trouble, you’d tell everyone he tried to rape you?”

  “Brianna keep your voice down,” Dillon said. “That’s not funny.”

  “No it isn’t,” I said quietly, raising my eyes to Brianna’s. “It wasn’t funny on Friday either.”

  Dillon’s face paled. Brianna’s mouth opened and closed before she regained control of herself. “You’re a liar,” she said to me. “That was really trashy, what you did to Tyler.”

  “You seem to have a preoccupation with that word,” I said, taking another sip of soda.

  She slammed her hand down again, harder, but none of us reacted this time. “You just wanted to get your boyfriend out of trouble,” she said. “And what’s worse…what is so, sooo much worse, is that you knew I liked him. What a crappy friend.”