Cold Spell

by Jackson Pearce

  I stay quiet; if Flannery herself can’t convince Brigit that she’s strong enough to rule anything on her own, from bears to deer to a clan of Travellers, then I doubt I can. I swallow as Brigit sits down at the kitchen table.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” I ask.

  Brigit lifts an eyebrow, then shakes her head pityingly. “You haven’t already decided? That’s the problem with buffers, Ginny Andersen. You let the world determine your fate.”

  I firm my jaw. “So I’m a blessing, then?”

  Brigit shrugs. “You’re a curse. I wanted to leave you in the woods, let the Fenris have you, but Flannery made a bargain. She marries Callum without pitching a fit to the clan, and you stay here.”

  I nod faintly and walk back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I lie down in bed—the one on the floor, not Flannery’s—and stare at the ceiling. I hear Brigit finish her tea, put the cup in the sink, and then pause at my door for a moment, listening. I lie still, and Brigit eventually goes to her own bedroom. The trailer falls silent, though I can’t tell if she’s actually asleep or not. Any minute now, threads of gold and violet will appear in the sky. There’s not much time.

  I sit up in bed.

  I don’t know if Brigit’s right—if I’m a curse, or a blessing, or neither. But she was definitely wrong about one thing: I’m not letting the world—or anyone in it—determine my fate. Not anymore, at least.

  I pull Flannery’s window open; the cold air rushes in, biting my arms and neck. I can see the forest from here—are the Fenris there, waiting? I have to move either way; there’s no time to dwell on the fear. The window frame is sharp—I can feel it bruising my hands as I heave myself up onto it. I hold my breath, listening for the sound of Brigit rising, moving, coming after me. Nothing.

  I drop to the ground. It’s so cold I feel a shock run from my feet to my hips as I hit the dirt. I reach into the hoodie pocket and find Flannery’s knife—I stashed it in there hours ago—then run.

  The camp is quiet, and I’m grateful for the snow that’s still thick between trailers—it mutes the slap of my feet. I’m exhausted, my vision watery, but I keep moving. There, ahead—Callum’s trailer. It’s dark and still, like everything else, but I grip the knife even tighter in my hand as I approach. Something in the woods rustles, and my breath catches in my throat; I hold the knife ahead of me, keeping my eyes trained on the branches. I exhale. It’s nothing, just snow falling from the trees. I turn back to the flower-painted door. Now or never. I hold my breath, turn the handle, and then push the door open.

  I jump back. Flannery and Callum are awake, sitting at the head of the bed with a foot or so between them. They’re wearing the same clothes I saw them in last—Callum in a suit and Flannery in her wedding dress. There’s a candle lit on the nightstand, making their bodies soft and shadowy.

  “Ginny?” Flannery asks, making a face.

  “Hi,” I answer, because I don’t know what else to say.

  “What are you doing here?” Flannery says slowly. I step through the door frame, and her gaze falls to my right hand. “And what are you doing with my knife?”

  “I’m… I’m kidnapping you,” I say, brandishing it a little.

  She raises her eyebrows and looks over at Callum. For a moment he’s still, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s surprised, or because he’s working out how best to fight me off. But then he laughs, a quiet sound, under his breath and guarded.

  “What’s so funny?” Flannery asks.

  “I was just thinking about what I’ll tell everyone tomorrow,” he says. “My wife ran away with a buffer. While wearing her wedding dress.”

  Flannery laughs this time, and I can hear the relief in the sound. In lasts only a moment, though, and then they’re still, staring at one another, as if I’m not in the doorway wielding a knife. Callum moves first, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Go on. I’ll buy you some time,” he says swiftly, calmly.

  Flannery looks at Callum incredulously. “I can’t just… I can’t just leave.”

  “You can,” he says firmly. “Unless you want to stay. Do you?”

  “Yes,” Flannery says automatically. “This place is mine.” I’m not sure what she means by mine—her kingdom? Her home? I’m not sure she knows, either.

  Callum pauses and asks a different question in a softer voice. “Do you want to stay if it means you’re forced to marry me?”

  And Flannery hesitates.

  “Go,” Callum says.

  “I was that bad in bed?” Flannery says, trying to joke. The tears in her eyes betray her.

  “Look, our first fight as a married couple,” Callum says drily, and this finally gets a laugh from Flannery’s throat. He smiles at her. “Also, you’ll need to punch me.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “It needs to look like I fought back,” Callum says. “If they think I let her leave, they’ll shun me.”

  “How about instead of getting punched in the face, you come with us?” I suggest. Callum falters, looking away.

  “You still don’t get it,” Flannery says, shaking her head at me. “This is our home. These people are family. And the world out there… well. It’s not a world that makes it easy for a lone Traveller. But…” She looks down, balls her hand into a fist. “I… I just… I can’t stay.” Flannery then swings her fist forward, punches Callum hard in the face. The impact makes a loud crunch sound, and Callum goes down, crashing onto the floor of his trailer. Flannery lifts her chin and studies him as he wobbles to his feet.

  “Is that gonna bruise?” she asks hurriedly. “I can do it again.”

  “It’ll bruise.” Callum winces. “Goddamn, Flannery. You never do anything halfway.”

  “All right,” Flannery says, spinning around to me. “Let’s go.” I nod and dart for the door. I can already see the idea of the morning on the horizon. I jump from the edge of the trailer’s door to the ground, icy and crunchy under my feet. I look over my shoulder to say something to Flannery—

  They’re kissing, Flannery’s arms slung around Callum’s neck, his hand resting on the small of her back, and I find I can’t possibly speak and ruin it. Flannery looks small beside him, a body at odds with her personality, and when they break away they look at each other for a moment that lasts for years. Flannery inhales and shakes the sentiments away.

  “Put some ice on that,” she says, rubbing his eye with her thumb so hard he winces again. Then she springs out of the trailer after me, and we dash away together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  We weave away from the camp, around pockets of stragglers finishing off the last of conversations and beers. Flannery moves quickly, less sneaking, more prowling. It isn’t until she hears the snuffling sounds, however, that she figures out where I’m headed—the menagerie. As we get closer to the animals—and therefore farther away from human ears—Flannery speaks again in a low voice.

  “Well done, buffer.”

  “I try,” I say, fishing the keys from my pocket and waving them at her.

  Flannery inhales, then walks into Wallace. I hear a rustling, a clanging, and then there’s a flurry of movement. I jump back just in time—the possums and raccoons stream out together; a few moments later, the rabbits cautiously hop down the steps and into the trees. She reappears at the door, eyes locked on me, as if she can’t bear to see the animals going.

  “So are you driving, or am I?” she asks.

  “You have to drive,” I say. “I can’t work a stick shift.”

  “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

  “Stick shift?”

  “No, ‘you have to drive.’ ”

  I would laugh if my heart weren’t finding its way into my throat. I drop into the passenger seat as Flannery hitches up her dress and kicks the red heels off in order to work the pedals. It takes a moment for the engine to turn over; Flannery encourages it in Shelta. When it finally gives, she pats the dashboard and whoops.
I almost fall out of my seat when Wallace jolts forward.

  There’s a screeching, ripping sound; I look out my window and see the deer leaping into the woods, then the fox, then the badger as we wreck the pens leaning against Wallace’s side. Flannery slams on the brakes, twisting around to look through the back window. I see her watch the animals vanish into the forest, something akin to pain streaking across her face. The deer is the last to vanish, its white tail flicking up, a spark of bright in the black.

  “Good luck,” she murmurs. “Hope you’re strong enough now that you’re free.”

  She stares a moment more, as if she expects the animals to reappear, then turns and grips the steering wheel tightly. “I hope we both are.”

  Flannery slams her foot down on the accelerator. Wallace flies forward, smoking, rattling, running. We curve to the outside of the camp; everything in the bus slides to the right as we tilt a little, one set of wheels riding along the incline leading to the trees.

  “They’re up,” Flannery says sharply, her voice focused and clear. I look in my side mirror, grimace. People are stepping out of their camps, curious as to who has an engine running. As we progress I can tell people recognize the bus. They point, and then—

  “What are they doing?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Same thing I do if one of my animals gets loose,” she says, then stomps the gas. “I chase after it.”

  We lurch forward, fishtailing a few times when we hit slick spots. A car appears behind us, a rattly El Camino. It takes me a moment to recognize who’s behind the wheel—Brigit herself. Behind it, I see other cars lighting up, people shouting and jumping into them through open windows. They’re angry, swerving behind us, plowing through the edges of tent porches and sending tarps flying. Flannery takes a hard right turn, nearly toppling us to one side.

  “Keep driving! Your mother’s behind us!” I shout as I jump up and stumble my way to the back of the bus. Holding tight to a crevice by the roof, I fling open the back doors. The sound of engines and glare of headlights hits me, disorienting me for a moment; I almost fall out when Flannery takes an especially wild turn.

  More time, more time. I look around frantically. There’s nothing here, nothing except—

  “How’s it looking?” Flannery yells, punching the shifter into a higher gear.

  “Perfect!” I yell back as I position one of the raccoon cages by the back door. Wait, wait—I kick it out just as the El Camino speeds up. It clatters to the ground; Brigit swerves to avoid it, but the cage hits the windshield of the truck behind her, shattering it.

  The main road is up ahead—I see the station wagon just off the embankment. Faster, faster, though the bus is pitching dangerously. My heart speeds up, and my eyes narrow. I kick another cage out as we round another bend. It bounces along the ground toward the El Camino. Brigit avoids it but loses valuable seconds by braking to do so; I think I hear her cursing in the wind that’s whipping hair into my eyes. I turn back to grab another cage—

  I’m out. There’s nothing else here, nothing to throw, nothing to do, and at least four vehicles chasing us. Flannery meets my eyes in the rearview mirror briefly; she speeds up in response. There’s nothing left to do but drive—

  I hear a kicking sound, something about the tone of the air changing. I whirl back around and see several sets of headlights growing smaller and smaller behind us, until we go over a little hill and they disappear entirely. The El Camino continues closing in, but suddenly its engine quiets as well. I narrow my eyes at the darkness—did Brigit give up? Surely not.

  “What happened?” I shout to Flannery, cautiously making my way back to the front.

  Flannery taps the brakes quickly, hard enough to cause the back doors to slam shut, then laughs. “Looks like they’re all out of gas.”

  “So Callum did buy us time,” I say.

  “He did,” Flannery says. “He bought us the rest of our lives. For the low, low cost of two raccoon cages.”

  I laugh, but then we’re silent for a moment as it sets in. We’re free. Both of us. This won’t just be a good story to tell Kai—it’ll be a good story to tell anyone, everyone. I feel like shouting, like celebrating; Flannery, on the other hand, looks shaken. Broken, even. She keeps looking in the rearview mirror as if she wants to see something familiar, something she loves, but it’s empty.

  “So,” Flannery says, swallowing hard. “We’re going to look for Grohkta-Nap. Us and the Fenris, too. Huh.” It isn’t a question, and I can tell that despite her doubts about Mora’s divinity, Flannery is still afraid of her. I can also tell that having this plan, this mission, is the only thing stopping her from feeling totally adrift.

  “You don’t have to come,” I remind her, just in case I’m reading her wrong. I want to give her an out.

  “I know,” Flannery answers. “But I spent my whole life thinking she was a goddess. My whole life being the shit Princess of Kentucky and being threatened with marriage and being told lies and…” She shakes her head. “I’m free. I don’t have anywhere else to go now. And truth be told, I’d really like to stab something, so your Snow Queen will do.”

  Home. We’re home.

  It seemed an odd title for this place, when compared with homes in her other lives—the apartment on Fifth Avenue and the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Different as those were, strange as they were, they felt like places she belonged. Places she loved. This place felt no more like home than the hotel rooms—a place to stay, nothing more, no matter how hard she tried to change that.

  Mora let her fingers dance along tree trunks, watching frost climb from the roots to the tops of limbs at her touch. Despite there being no signs of Ginny or the Fenris on her trail, a nagging worry lingered in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, focused on the water in the air, and made it cooler, cooler, until it became rain, then snow. It poured from the sky on her command and coated the ground, covering their tracks and freezing the Fenris out, should they be lurking somewhere close.

  It almost amused her, how the Fenris probably thought they were taking any power she might have when they stripped her of her humanity. But in the ocean, her new sisters showed her how to listen to the water, how to use it for her will. Not control it, exactly, but to work with it, like convincing a wild horse to let you on its back. It was a skill Mora temporarily forgot when she first emerged from the waves and joined the Fenris, until the boy she loved kissed her and her memories returned. Now, it was easy: water in the sky to rain, rain to sleet, sleet to snow. The Fenris had inadvertently given her the very skill she needed to keep herself hidden from them.

  Mora kicked at the ground, watched the snow turn to ice as it struck her boot, and then opened the front door. As expected, the cottage was disappointingly unwelcoming. She’d hoped moving into a small place, something that a grandmother or an artist might live in, would make it feel more… real than the high-end apartments and New England mansions she often took over. No such luck. Perhaps we should move again, she thought as the other members of her guard rushed to greet her at the door. They kissed her hands and the insides of her wrists, letting their fingers trail along her back. She allowed it for a moment, then stiffened; they stepped back and cast their eyes downward obediently.

  “Gentlemen,” she said fondly, “this is your new brother, Kai.” She stepped aside and motioned to the doorway. Kai was there, silhouetted in gray light. Snow dusted his shoulders and his bare forearms, even clung to his thick lashes, something so attractive it made Mora press her lips together hungrily. She resisted the urge to kiss him, allowing the others to shake his hand instead. She often wondered if they really saw themselves as brothers, the way she and the other ocean girls saw themselves as sisters.

  “Michael, unfortunately, didn’t make it back,” she said, dropping her head respectfully.

  “What happened to him?” one of the boys—Edward—asked.

  “He was shot,” Mora answered. “By hunters. And they could be following us.”

 
“We’ll go stand lookout,” Edward said immediately, and the others nodded in agreement. They were easily excited—there wasn’t often much to do here, few ways for them to prove their love and devotion.

  “Excellent,” Mora said, smiling at them. Controlling the water was something Mora had to be taught, but controlling boys, teaching them to love her above all else? That came naturally. Perhaps it was something primal, or perhaps it was something that came from the darkness around her heart. The Fenris, after all, were all males and terribly good at convincing girls to love them, trust them. And then in the water, when she was an ocean girl, boys were hypnotized by the sound of her voice. Primal or dark, it wasn’t a skill she fully recognized until well after the boy she loved kissed her.

  If you’d known back then, you’d have him here with you. But now he’s just dead in the ground. A corpse who can never love you. It was a disheartening thought, one that occurred to her daily—she could have had him, right there, and yet she had missed the chance.

  That was the only thing she hated herself for.

  The guards turned to go outside and begin setting up the lookout. Kai looked confused, bumbled around behind them, and shivered for a moment in the snow. Mora watched him carefully; he swallowed, and the chill bumps on his arms disappeared. He stood up straighter, now seemingly unfazed by the temperature, and walked off with another guard.

  Mora sat down in a linen armchair and exhaled. Ginny wouldn’t come—they never came, in the end. A few others had gotten close, of course—Michael’s girl, Dalia, found the island even, but turned away when he broke her heart; he didn’t remember her. Mora tried, once, to choose boys who weren’t loved, who weren’t adored, but they never made good guards. It wasn’t their fault; it was just hard for her to love a boy who wasn’t a challenge. Taking an unhappy, unloved person was so much easier than taking someone like Kai. Perhaps that was why it was so simple for the Fenris to take her, change her.