The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

“I did see her, just now,” Margon said. “I hadn’t seen her before, but I saw her in the window seat. I saw her rise and come towards you. But Reuben, don’t you see, she can’t really hear you or understand you and she can’t speak to you. She’s not a strong enough spirit, and please believe me, the very last thing you want is for her to become strong, because if she becomes strong she may stay forever.”

Reuben gasped. He felt the maddest impulse to make the Sign of the Cross, but he didn’t do it. His hands were shaking.

Lisa had returned with a tray, which she set down on the leather ottoman in front of Margon. The fragrance of coffee filled the room. There were two pots on the tray, two cups and saucers and the usual silver and old linen napkins.

Margon let loose a long stream of German words, obviously some sort of reproof, as he looked at Lisa. His words never became hurried or harsh, but there was a cold chastising tone to what he said nevertheless and the woman bowed her head again, as she had before, and nodded.

“I am so sorry, Reuben,” said Lisa with soft sincerity. “Truly I am sorry. I am so rough, so perfunctory sometimes. My world is a world of efficiency. I am so sorry. You will, please, give me another chance, that you might think better of me.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Reuben. “I didn’t know what I was saying.” He felt immediately sorry for her.

“It was I who spoke badly,” she said, her voice now an imploring whisper. “I will bring you something to eat. Your nerves are shattered and you must eat.” She went out.

They sat there in silence, and then Margon said, “You’ll get used to her and used to the others. There are one or two more coming. Believe me, they are expert at serving us or I wouldn’t have them here.”

“There’s something unusual about her,” Reuben confessed. “I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t know how to describe it. But really, she’s been so helpful. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

He took a folded Kleenex out of the pocket of his robe and wiped his eyes and nose.

“There are a lot of unusual things about all of them,” said Margon, “but I’ve worked with them for years. They are very good with us.”

Reuben nodded. “It’s Marchent that worries me, you know that, because she’s suffering. And Lisa said the most horrible thing! I mean—is it really possible that Marchent doesn’t know she’s dead? Is that conceivable, that the soul of a human being could be bound to this place, not knowing that it’s dead, not knowing that we’re alive and struggling to talk to us and not being able to do it? That’s almost more than I can believe. I can’t believe that life could be that cruel to us. I mean I know terrible things happen in this world, always, everywhere, but I thought that after death, after the cord had snapped, as they say, I thought there would be—.”

“Answers?” offered Margon.

“Yes, answers, clarity, revelation,” said Reuben. “Either that or, mercifully, nothing.”

Margon nodded. “Well, maybe it’s not so neat. We can’t know, can we? We’re bound to these powerful bodies of ours, aren’t we? And we don’t know what the dead know or don’t know. But I can tell you this. They do eventually move on. They can. They have their choice, I’m convinced of it.”

Margon’s face showed only kindness.

When Reuben didn’t answer or speak, he poured out a cup of fresh coffee for Reuben and, without asking, put two packets of artificial sweetener in it, which was what Reuben always took with his coffee, and after stirring the coffee, he offered it to Reuben.

There was the soft rustle of silk announcing Lisa, and the pungent smell of fresh-baked cookies. She held the steaming plate in her hand and then set it down on the tray.

“You eat now a little,” she said. “Sugar wakes one in the early hours. It rouses the sleepy blood.”

Reuben took a deep drink of the coffee. It did taste delicious. But the ugly and terrible thought struck him that Marchent could perhaps taste nothing. Perhaps she could smell nothing, savor nothing. Perhaps she could only see and hear, and this seemed penitential and awful.

When he looked up at Margon again, the compassion in Margon’s face almost made Reuben cry. Margon and Felix had so much in common beyond the darker Asian skin, the dark eyes. They seemed so alike as to be from a common tribe but Reuben knew that wasn’t possible, not if Margon was telling the truth with his ancient stories, and everything about Margon suggested that he always told the truth, even if others didn’t like it or want to accept it. Right now, he looked like an earnest and a concerned friend, youngish, empathetic, genuine.

“Tell me something,” said Reuben.

“If I can,” said Margon with a little smile.

“Are all the elder Morphenkinder like you and Felix, and Sergei and the others? Are they all kind and gentle like you? Isn’t there some scoundrel of a Morphenkind somewhere who’s rude and hateful by nature?”

Margon laughed a low rueful laugh.

“You flatter us,” he said. “I must confess there are some quite unpleasant Morphenkinder sharing this world with us. I wish I could say there were not.”

“But who are they?”

“Ah, I knew you would immediately ask that. Will you accept that we’re all better off if they leave us alone here, and keep to their own territory and their own ways? It’s possible to go on for a very long time without coming in contact with them.”

“Yes, I accept it. You’re saying there’s nothing to fear from them.”

“Fear, no, there’s nothing to fear. But I can tell you there are Morphenkinder in this world whom I personally despise. But you’re not likely to encounter them, not as long as I’m here.”

“Do they define evil in a different way that we define it?”

“Every single soul on earth defines evil in his or her own way,” said Margon. “You know that. I don’t have to tell you. But all Morphenkinder are offended by evil and seek to destroy it in humans.”

“But what about in other Morphenkinder?”

“It’s infinitely more complex, as you found out with poor Marrok. He wanted to kill you, felt he should, felt he’d no right to pass the Chrism to you, felt he had to annihilate his mistake, but you know how difficult it was for him, you and Laura being utterly innocent. And you, you had no difficulty in killing him simply because he was trying to kill you. Well, there you have the entire moral story of the human race and all the immortal races in a nutshell, don’t you?”