The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

He took the cup from her, and he did drink the thick chocolate in one gulp.

“That’s good,” he said. Strangely, he was less rattled now by her than he’d been in the past, and more curious. And he was infinitely relieved that she knew what he was and what they all were. The burden of keeping the secret from her and the others was gone, but he couldn’t help but wonder why Margon hadn’t relieved him of this burden before now.

“There’s nothing for you to fear, master,” she said. “Not from me and my kind ever, for we have always served you, and not from the Forest Gentry because they are harmless.”

“The fairy people, that’s what they are?” he said. “The elves of the woods?”

“Oh, that I would not call them,” she said, her German accent sharpening slightly. “Those words, they do not like, I can tell you. And you will never see them appear in pointed caps and pointed shoes,” she went on with a little laugh. “Nor are they diminutive beings with tiny beating wings. No, I would forget such words as ‘the fairy people.’ Here, please, let me help you take off these clothes.”

“Well, I can understand that,” said Reuben. “And actually it’s a bit of a consolation. Would you mind telling me if there are dwarves and trolls out there?”

She didn’t respond.

He was just miserable enough in his torn and wet shirt and pants to let her assist, forgetting until it was too late that he had no underwear on, of course. But she had the terrycloth robe over his shoulders instantly, quickly wrapping it around him as he slipped his arms into it, and tying the sash for him as if he were a little boy.

She was almost as tall as he was. And her resolute gestures again struck him as odd, no matter what she was.

“Now, when the master is not out of sorts, he will perhaps explain everything to you,” she said, her tone softening even further. She dropped her voice, laughing under her breath. “If on Christmas Eve they did not appear, he would be disappointed,” she said. “It would be a terrible thing in fact if they did not appear at that time. But he does not like it at all that they are here now, and that they’ve been invited. When they’re invited, they become bold. And that irritates him considerably.”

“Invited by Felix, you mean,” Reuben asked. “That’s what’s been going on. Felix howling—.”

“Yes, invited by Master Felix, and it is his prerogative to tell you why, not mine.”

She gathered the soiled and torn clothes and made of them a little bundle, obviously for throwing away. “But until such time as the august masters choose to explain about them to you and your young companion, Stuart, let me assure you that the Forest Gentry cannot possibly bring you the slightest harm. And you must not let them force your … your blood to rise, as it were, as it seemed it did tonight.”

“I understand,” he said. “They caught me completely by surprise. And I found them unnerving.”

“Well, if you do want to unnerve them in return, which I do not advise, by the way, under any circumstances, just refer to them as the ‘fairy people’ or ‘elves’ or ‘dwarves’ or ‘trolls’ and that will do it. Real harm they cannot do, but they can become quite an incredible nuisance!”

With a loud sharp laugh, she turned to go, but then,

“Your raincoat,” she said. “You left it in the forest. I’ll see to it that it is brushed and cleaned. Sleep now.”

She went right out the door, shutting it behind her, leaving him with all the questions on the tip of his tongue.

12

THE HOUSE WAS IN a pleasant uproar with people coming and going everywhere.

Thibault and Stuart were decorating the giant Christmas tree and commandeered Reuben to help them. Thibault wore a suit and tie as he almost always did, and with his wrinkled face and mossy eyebrows looked the schoolmaster next to Stuart, who, in cutoff jeans and a T-shirt, climbed the creaking ladder like a muscular young cherub to the top step to decorate the highest branches.

Thibault had put on a recording of old English Christmas carols sung by the choir of St. John’s College at Cambridge, and the music was soothing and haunting.

The intricate lighting of every branch of the giant tree had already been done, and what was needed now was the hanging of countless gold and silver apples on the tree, little lightweight ornaments that sparkled beautifully amid the deep thick green pine needles. Here and there small edible cookie gingerbread men and gingerbread houses were to be added, and the gingerbread had a delicious aroma.

Stuart wanted to eat them, and so did Reuben, but Thibault forbade them sternly to even think of it. Lisa had decorated every single one herself, and there weren’t enough as it was. The “boys” must “behave” themselves.

A tall elegant St. Nicholas with a gaunt but benevolent porcelain face and soft green velvet robes had been placed at the very top of the tree. And the branches from top to bottom had been dusted lightly with some sort of synthetic gold dust. The effect of it all was grand and impressive.

Stuart was his usual buoyant self, eternally smiling, freckles darkening when he laughed, explaining to Reuben that he’d been able to invite “everybody” to the Christmas gala, including the nuns from his high school, and all his friends, and the nurses he’d known in the hospital.

Thibault offered to help Reuben add any last-minute college or newspaper friends, but Reuben had taken care of all of this earlier when Felix had knocked on his door, offering to help him. Numerous phone calls had been made. Reuben’s editor from the San Francisco Observer was coming with the entire staff of the paper. Three college friends were coming. His cousins from Hillsborough were also driving up; and Grace’s brother, Uncle Tim from Rio de Janeiro, was flying in with his beautiful wife, Helen, as both wanted to see this fabulous house. Even Phil’s older sister Josie, who lived in a nursing home in Pasadena, was making the trip. Reuben loved his aunt Josie. Jim was bringing a few people from St. Francis parish, and several of the volunteers who regularly helped with the soup kitchen there.

Meanwhile activity went on all around them. Lisa and the caterers had laid out hundreds of sterling knives and forks and spoons on the giant dining room table, and Galton and his men swarmed over the backyard area, clearing an old parking space behind the servants’ quarters for the refrigerator trucks that would come the day of the banquet. A band of young teenagers, answering to Jean Pierre and Lisa—everyone was answerable to Lisa—were trimming every interior door and window frame with garland.