The Mountain's Shadow (22 page)

I bit my lip. That would mean a conversation with my mother, and that was something I wasn’t ready to do yet. My father had passed away when I was in high school, but by that time, my parents had been divorced and I hadn’t seen him in years. He had never had much use for me anyway.

But there was one thing I could do. The phrase “ridiculously healthy” had sparked my curiosity and connected another strand to the web in my brain. I put on my robe and crept down to the study.

The box with the letters sat on the small end table by the armchair. I pulled out the top one and started reading.

Dear Grandfather,

Something awful has happened. Andrew had his tonsils out, and he ran away the day after. I went to his room to bring him ice cream, and he was gone. They found him in the woods, covered in blood, and he was dead…

Tears pricked my eyes. It had taken me weeks to be able to write that letter, a child of nine. I couldn’t read that one yet, not with the new grief on top of the old. I pulled out the next one.

Dear Grandfather,

Mama says I may spend the entire summer with you this year! I’m so excited! Ever since
Andrew died
this spring, I have been so lonely. There hasn’t been anyone to talk to besides the dog, and he doesn’t talk back. I’m looking forward to lots of long walks in the woods and pretend balls with Mr. Bear. You don’t have to do anything special for me, I promise you I’ll be good company, just wait!

Love,

Joanna

That was the summer after Andrew had died, the summer my grandfather had bought Mishka for me. He had known that my parents’ marriage, never good to begin with, was on the rocks because my father’s friend had operated on my brother. My mother never forgave him even though the cause of death was some strange reaction Andrew had to the anesthesia.

Dear Grandfather,

It’s actually snowing for once, and I’m stuck in bed with a fever of 102, and Andrew said he would bring me a snowball, but he’s still outside playing with his friends. It’s not fair—we probably won’t get any more snow for years, and I’m sick! Mama says it’s because I have a delicate, ladylike temperament, but I know it’s because Andrew is “ridiculously healthy”, like Dad always says. Is that normal, for doctors to have a sick kid and a healthy one? I think this is the fourth time I’ve been sick since school started! I want to take some of my snot and look at it under the microscope you sent me for Christmas (thank you, thank you, thank you!), but Mama says that’s gross, and Dad says that being a pathologist doesn’t pay like it used to, whatever that means. I think I might wait until they’re not home and try it.

Love,

Joanna

“Ridiculously healthy…” There was that phrase. An idea formed in the back of my mind, something that my grandfather had figured out and was trying to tell me. I kept reading, but most of the rest of the letters were childish things, news of my school and science-fair successes, and Andrew’s escapades.

Dear Grandfather,

Last night Andrew showed me how he likes to climb out his window at night and go running through the woods behind our house. I told him there are snakes out there, but he doesn’t care. He says he can’t breathe in here when it’s a pretty night. Last night the moon was so big that it was almost like a cloudy day instead of nighttime…

Dear Grandfather,

Andrew got to play the Big Bad Wolf in the Second Grade play, Little Red Riding Hood, and he was so excited he wanted to sleep in his costume. He said his teacher told him it would help him to “get into character”. I think it’s silly. I’m just a forest flower, so it doesn’t matter much anyway…

Reading the letters reminded me I hadn’t had a very interesting childhood, but my twin brother had. He had come home from the hospital with a wild streak, Mama said. He had been the one to climb out of his crib, to run before he walked, and to get in trouble at school.

I put my head in my hands.
Impossible! Not my brother.
I tried to think back to the night he disappeared—a cold, clear February night—when the full moon made everything stand out in silvery relief. I had been downstairs watching TV with my parents and felt guilty because I got to stay up late, and Andrew, having just come home from the hospital after having his tonsils out, had to go to bed early. They had never gotten infected, but they were so big that the doctors were worried anyway. I went to take him some ice cream, and he was gone.

The full moon.

He had just come home.
 

Could Andrew have had CLS? Was that the root of my obsessive interest in it? I put my head in my hands. It made sense, crystal-clear, full-sun, spotlighted sense.

“Joanie?” Leo stood at the door. “Are you okay?”

“My paradigm has been shifted.”

He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe, a smile on his lips. “I know the feeling.”

“I think my brother may have had CLS. That that’s what the Landover Curse is. My grandfather must have had it, too.”

“We were wondering when you’d catch on. You’re no dummy, but there’s no messing with denial for some people.”

I realized that we were alone, the rest of the house asleep. The thought gave me a thrill along my arms that made all the little hairs stand on end.

“So this is the old man’s study?” he asked and looked around at the books.

“Yep. Actually, it’s my study.”

“I guess it is now.” He walked in and stood beside my chair so as to get a better view of the bookshelves.

Once again, I was aware of how he towered over me, his heavy black brows moments from drawing over his eyes in stormy anger. A flush warmed my face.
 

“Don’t you have a ton of books at Peter’s house?”

He ran a finger along my jaw and then picked up my left wrist, almost as though studying it. It was still bruised, but the pain had subsided.

“I’d rather be doing than reading.” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.

“Is that why you were going into orthopedics?”

He chuckled. “Maybe.” He leaned down so that his face was only inches from mine. “You know they call us the cavemen of medicine?”

“Oh, really?” I could feel his breath on my nose and cheeks. The image of him bonking me over the head with the Encyclopedia of Magic and Witchcraft and dragging me upstairs to have his way with me came into my head.

“Oh, really.” His eyes locked on mine. A little thrill moved in my chest—he’d had the same thought,
I knew it!

A knock startled us, and Lonna poked her head around the door. “You guys couldn’t sleep either?” she asked.

I shook my head, my cheeks hot. “We were just discussing the, ah, charts and the vaccinations.”

“I may start looking at them since I can’t sleep. Leo?” She arched an eyebrow at him, and the familiar resentment stabbed through my chest.

“I believe I can go back to sleep now, but thanks.”

I tried not to look at Leo, but I couldn’t resist a small glance. Laughter danced in his eyes as he wished me sweet dreams and walked out of the study.

“I think I can go to sleep now, too.”

Lonna shrugged, but a smile played at the corner of her lips. “Suit yourself.”

“Good night!” I heard the library door close and was happy to be left alone with the shifting sands of insight.

Andrew had CLS. My grandfather might have had it as well. So where did that leave me? Still with more questions than answers, one of which was why Lonna tended to appear whenever things were about to get interesting with me and one of the werewolf men. It was like she was trying to protect me from myself while she was the one with the bad taste in men, and that was the nice way of putting it.

I powered down my laptop, piled the papers into neat stacks, and turned off the desk lamp with its green cover.
Why is it that only one of us gets to have fun?
As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the moonlight streaming in through the windows, I closed them and thought I caught a whiff of Leo’s scent, soap and rain and woods. Nothing of dog, thankfully.

“It’s a good thing I smell like a dog,”
he’d said.
“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found you.”

I smiled at his quip and at the thought that he’d been looking for me. Him, not Gabriel. Had they argued over who got to come rescue me? Or had Leo just made his decision and struck off, all dark energy and determination?

Don’t kid yourself, Joanie
, I told myself.
He’s way out of your league... Or is he?

I crept into the hallway, careful not to step on any of the creaky boards I remembered from my childhood, but a few new ones had appeared. The reawakened scientist in me couldn’t help but ask the questions:
How old is this place? Did Grandfather build it or inherit it? Why didn’t I ask these questions when he was alive?
Grief swept over me like nausea, and, eyes blurry, I banged my ankle against the umbrella stand by the front door. I caught it just before it fell and waited a moment for the silence to reassert itself, my heartbeat in my ears and throat. I cringed, sure one or all three of the werewolves would come charging down the stairs and tear me apart before I could get out, “No, no, it’s me, it’s Joanie!”

But there was nothing, just a breeze outside chasing the first of the fallen leaves across the driveway and a chorus of crickets.
 

I put the umbrella stand back in the spot it had occupied for decades and swallowed the tears that came to my throat. This stupid four-sided brass bucket had had more stability than I ever would. I sat on the bottom step and sobbed as quietly into my hands as I could, not wanting to wake anyone. I couldn’t take Lonna’s pity or Gabriel’s questioning or Leo’s guilt trips. The day’s conversations came back to me, how others had lost so much more.

“Fuck you, Leo,” I muttered into the darkness and wiped my cheeks with my hands.

“Is that an invitation?” He stood over me, leaves in his hair, and I could see from the look in his eyes that he had just come back inside.

I gasped and tried to crab-crawl up the stairs, which didn’t work with my injured wrist. After scrabbling for a moment, I curled up on the bottom step, my hand cradled against my chest.

“Don’t hurt me,” I said.

He sat beside me and gently helped me to a sitting position.

“Let me see,” he said.

I arched an eyebrow at him.

“I had just changed when I heard a crash in here. What did that poor umbrella stand do to you, anyway?”

“Probably not enough to deserve being kicked,” I said, but I gave my wrist and hand over to his gentle tug. He examined it, poking and prodding, and I couldn’t help but imagine his hands were investigating something else.

If he could sense—or heaven forbid—smell my change in mood, he didn’t say. “It’s just a nasty bruise, but you need to do a better job of keeping it still. I’ll get you some ice.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “If you were, you wouldn’t be kicking umbrella stands and crying at the foot of the stairs.”

I sighed and pulled my wrist away from him. “I’m just tired of people trying to make me feel guilty for not having CLS and for it not taking away everything. So what if I have a manor and a fortune? My grandfather, the only person who cared for me, is gone.” I curled up with my knees to my chest.

He ran his hands through his hair, and a few leaves scattered around us like silver tears in the moonlight. “He’s not the only one,” he said.

I snorted and put my forehead on my knees. “Who else is there?” I let my pajama pants muffle my voice. “Lonna and I can’t stop fighting, and I barely know the rest of you.” I wasn’t going to mention the sparks of lust that occasionally flew between me and the werewolf men—especially him, I was coming to realize. That wasn’t the kind of caring I’d meant, anyway.

A large hand rubbed the back of my neck, and I looked up, startled.

“Just relax,” he said, and moved my shoulders so I faced away from him.

I tried to do as he said, and he massaged my neck and shoulders. I closed my eyes and pictured his hands as I felt his calloused fingertips through my shirt and on my skin. He found knot after knot, smoothing them with deep yet gentle touches until I was so relaxed I slumped against him.

“That’s even better than Gabriel’s pills,” I said.

“I don’t want to know,” he replied and picked me up.

That woke me. “I’m not a child,” I said and thumped him on the chest. “Put me down!”

He laughed, and I felt it against my shoulder and hip. “Just relax. I’m taking you to bed.”

“Oh. All right, then.” I snuggled against him and grinned at the thought of what would happen in the bedroom.

When he brought me to my room and put me on the bed, he cupped my cheek, and I turned my face to his. His dark eyes met mine. He traced my cheekbone with his thumb and leaned in until only a whisper of air separated our lips. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something.

“No words,” I told him. Although he was the werewolf, I was the one to inhale his smell deeply before closing the gap. It hit me at the same time his mouth crushed mine and sent a lightning bolt to my core. His lips and tongue combined with the freshness of forest air and the heaviness of the desire between us to make a thunderstorm, and I had to draw back before its power crushed me.