My heart clenches, and for a moment, I can almost feel Mother’s arms again, warm and strong as they wrap around me while we sit on our front porch together, watching a blushing sunrise climb over the mountains.
I blink, realizing I’ve come to a halt.
Shaking the memories from my mind, I focus on the present. I’ve come to a fork in the road where other paths branch off from here. I study the wooden pole adorned with street names and find Whitespruce Lane. It’s the largest path to the left.
I take off down it, following as it takes on a slight incline. Here, the snow seems to accumulate a little deeper than it does in town. Unlike the path that led me here, Whitespruce doesn’t seem quite as travel-worn, but there are still signs of earlier foot traffic. However, I’m required to lift my skirts and coat to avoid my hems dragging even further into the snow.
With every step, I watch for branching paths, seeking out signs bearing house numbers hidden somewhere among the trees and snow. So far, there’s nothing to indicate a ten or twenty Whitespruce Lane, much less a thirty-three. And yet I keep walking, trying to regain my earlier feeling of peace and not the dread that’s beginning to claw at the back of my mind. The silence no longer feels nostalgic and welcoming. It feels…ominous. Not only that, but it’s colder here, darker beneath the trees that grow ever denser.
And…is that the sound of movement I hear just ahead, rustling in the undergrowth? No, it’s to the side. No, behind me.
A wave of panic urges me to stop, and I obey, halting in my tracks. The skin prickles up the back of my neck, and all I can think is that I should turn around and go home, now before it’s too late. But too late for what? Surely, I’m just letting my sister’s worry get to my head. This fear I’m feeling…it’s just like what happens when I leave the house, isn’t it? But comparing the two kinds of fear leaves me realizing how vastly different they are. The kind that keeps me often indoors—heart racing when I think of crowds of townspeople—is rooted in memory, in strands of pain laced through my heart and mind. But this…the way my senses grow alert to every sight and sound, skin pebbling over my arms and neck, the calmknowingthat I am not where I’m supposed to be…it’s something else.
But the interview,another part of me says. I’m so close.Soclose. This is the first interview I’ve been offered, and who knows when I’ll receive another. I can’t give up now.
Swallowing my fear, I take another step forward, then another. I hurry my pace, eyes darting everywhere for—thank the saints above. There, just ahead, is a wooden sign that reads thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, nailed to a tree at the mouth of a branching path. I quicken my pace again, pulling my skirts even higher as I close the distance between me and the sign. My heart is in my throat by the time I reach it, sweat pooling beneath my armpits. I want to feel joy. Relief. But all I feel is a warning to get indoors as quickly as I can.
Without a second thought, I turn at the sign and start down the narrow path.
And there I come to a halt once again, the blood draining from my face.
No more than a dozen feet in front of me is an enormous creature with shaggy brown fur, golden eyes, and long, snarling teeth.
“Well, shit,” I mutter under my breath. “There really are wolves.”
6
All my bravado about howwolves don’t attack for funseems like idiocy now that one of the beasts is before me. This creature is nothing like the timid little coyotes from my childhood in Isola. No, this is a towering giant with paws the size of frying pans and a muzzle almost as big as my face. The wolf lets out a growl that reverberates deep into my bones, sending every hair on my body to stand on end.
“Easy,” I say, voice quavering as I hold up my hands in surrender. But what do saintsforsakenwolvesknow about human hand gestures?
Wait…unless…
Keeping my voice calm and even, I say, “Are you one of the fae?”
The only answer I receive is a padding step toward me.
I take three steps back. “If you are, I am not here to harm you or your kind, and it is highly illegal for you to attack me.”
The wolf’s growl deepens, muzzle rippling with a snarl.
Okay, so this is either a normal wolf or a fae who doesn’t give a damn about the law. Neither thought is comforting. I take a few more steps back. “Easy. I’m leaving now, so…just go ahead and let me go on my way—”
Another growl, but this time from behind me. I whirl around and find two more wolves coming down the path, blocking my way to the main road.
Saints above, this isn’t good. I have no weapon, no skill in fighting off wolves. When it comes to the coyotes, all one must do is stand tall, yell, and act aggressive. I watched Mother do it when they’d try to steal our chickens, but something tells me that won’t work on these vicious beasts.
Their growls grow louder as they pad closer, then they begin to circle me. I keep my trembling arms outstretched to the sides, warding them away, although it isn’t much of a defense. All it means is they might eat my arms first. And for the love of all things holy, I don’t wantanypart of me eaten.
Sweat coats my brow as I whip my head side to side, trying not to let any of the wolves out of my sight for more than a second as they continue to circle me, snarling, growling, and baring their impossibly sharp teeth. My heart beats so hard, I fear it might explode. Perhaps that would be a mercy compared to what these wolves are about to do.
I have but one hope left. “Help!” I shout at the top of my lungs. If thirty-three Whitespruce Lane is somewhere at the end of this path, then someone on the premises might hear me. “Help!” I call again, but the wolves only growl louder. Then suddenly, they stop.
The first one I saw, the shaggy brown, lowers its head, legs staggered, one paw curled under and lifted as if preparing to leap for an attack.
I call for help one more time, but the words dry in my throat.
The wolf leaps for me.
