The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

“All right, you don’t mean me any harm, do you?” he said.

A soft rustling sound came from the forest but not from the undergrowth or the overhead boughs. It was these creatures laughing. He caught the very pale outline of a profile, of long hair. And once again they were moving away from him.

He heaved a deep breath.

There was a loud snapping noise. Someone somewhere had struck a match. Pray it wasn’t Lisa or the other servants!

Light leapt out from behind the north end of the house, and seemed to penetrate the mist as though it were made of tiny golden particles. And there they were again, the men, the women, and those small figures, and then they vanished altogether.

He struggled with the change, gritting his teeth. The light grew brighter and then flared to his left. It was Lisa. Dear God, no. She held the kerosene lantern high.

“Come inside, Master Reuben,” she said, not in the least fazed that she was staring at him in his wolf shape, but merely reaching out for him. “Come!” she said.

He felt the most curious emotion as he looked at her. It was like shame, or the nearest thing to shame he’d ever known, that she was seeing him naked and monstrous and that she knew him by name, knew who he was, knew all about him and could see him this way, without his consent, without his desire for her to see him. He was painfully aware of his size, and the way his face must have appeared, covered in hair, his mouth a lipless snout.

“Go away, please,” he said. “I’ll come when I’m ready.”

“Very well,” she said. “But you needn’t fear them. They are gone now anyway.” She set the lantern on the ground, and left him. Infuriating.

It must have been some fifteen minutes before he made the change, cold and shivering as the thick wolf coat left him. Hastily, he put on his torn shirt and what was left of his pants. His shoes and raincoat were somewhere back in the forest.

He hurried inside, and was intent on running up the stairs to his room, when he saw Margon sitting in the dark kitchen, at the table, alone, with his head resting on his hands. His hair was tied back to the nape of his neck, and his shoulders were hunched.

Reuben stood there wanting to speak to Margon, desperate to speak to him, to tell him about what he’d seen in the oaks, but Margon quite deliberately turned away. It wasn’t a hostile gesture, merely a subtle turning, his head bowed, as if he were saying, Please do not see me, please do not talk to me now.

Reuben sighed and shook his head.

Upstairs, he found the fire lighted in his room, and his bed turned down. His pajamas had been laid out for him. There was a small china pitcher of hot chocolate on the table with a china cup.

Lisa emerged from the bathroom with the air of one who was busy with a multitude of errands. She laid his white terrycloth robe out on the bed.

“Would you like for me to run you a bath, young master?”

“I take showers,” Reuben said, “but thank you.”

“Very well, master,” she responded. “Would you care for some late supper?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied. He was livid that she was there. Dressed in torn and filthy garments, he waited, biting his tongue.

She walked past him and around him and towards the door.

“Who were those creatures in the forest?” he asked. “Were they the Forest Gentry? Is that who they were?”

She stopped. She looked unusually elegant in her dress of black wool, her hands appearing very white against the cuffs of the black sleeves. She appeared to reflect for a moment and then,

“But surely you should put these questions, young sir, to the master, but not to the master tonight.” She held up one emphatic finger like a nun. “The master is out of sorts tonight, and it is no time to ask him about the Forest Gentry.”

“So that’s who I saw,” said Reuben. “And who the hell are they, exactly, this Forest Gentry?”

She looked down, visibly reflecting before she spoke, and then raised her eyebrows as she looked at him. “And who do you think they are, young master?” she asked.

“Not the forest spirits!” he said.

She gave a grave nod, and lowered her eyes again. She sighed. For the first time, he noticed the large cameo at her neck and that the ivory of the raised figures on the cameo matched her thin hands, which she clasped in front of her as though standing at attention. Something about her chilled his blood. It always had.

“That is a lovely way to describe them,” she conceded, “as the spirits of the forest, for it’s in the forest that they are most happy and always have been.”

“And why is Margon so angry that they’ve come? What do they do that he’s so angry?”

She sighed again and, dropping her voice to a whisper, she said, “He does not like them, that is why he is cross. But … they always come at Midwinter. I am not surprised they are here so early. They love the mists and the rain. They love the water. So they are here. They come at Midwinter when the Morphenkinder are here.”

“You’ve been in this house before?” he asked her.

She waited before answering and then said with a faint icy smile, “A long time ago.”

He swallowed. She was freezing his blood, all right. But he wasn’t afraid of her, and he sensed she didn’t mean for him to be afraid. But there was something proud and obdurate in her manner.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“Do you?” she asked, but her voice and face were faintly sad. “I don’t think that you do,” she said. “Surely, young master, you do not think the Morphenkinder are the only Ageless Ones under heaven? Surely you know there are many other species of Ageless Ones bound to this earth who have a secret destiny.”

A silence fell between them, but she didn’t move to go. She looked at him as if from the depth of her own thoughts, patient, waiting.

“I don’t know what you are,” he said. He was struggling to sound confident and polite. “I really don’t know what they are. But you needn’t wait on me hand and foot. I don’t require it, and I’m not used to it.”

“But it is my purpose, master,” she responded. “It has always been my place. My people care for your people and for other Ageless Ones like you. That is the way it has been for centuries. You are our protectors and we are your servants and that is how we make our way in this world and always have. But come, you are tired. Your clothes are in tatters.”

She turned to the hot chocolate, and filled his cup from the pitcher. “You must drink this. You must come and be close to the fire.”