Rosie
Scarlett, you don't know it's the same Fenris you saw in the park. This is a huge city--it could have been any number of packs," I groan for what feels like the millionth time. I knew something bad had happened when Scarlett stormed in at two in the morning, dropping her hatchet so loudly that the junkie downstairs roared in distaste.
Silas rubs his neck and nods in agreement, casting the couch an accusatory glare. I'm incredibly grateful that I was too tired to pay much attention when he came in last night, though I did manage to look his way just in time to see him whip his shirt off in the moonlight. The image is burned into my eyes, which I have to admit isn't exactly the worst thing.
Come on, Rosie, get your mind together.
"It's them, I know it's them. It's like I'm being punished
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or something," Scarlett growls, slamming the newspaper down on the graffiti table. "Three Girls Murdered: Killing Spree Continues," the headline screams.
"Don't be stupid," Silas says in a tone that he alone can use with my sister. "They just have more distraction here. You used to be the only bait for miles, and now they're practically living on a buffet table."
"We came here to try to do the most damage, and I can't attract a single wolf! What am I supposed to do?" Scarlett snarls. Screwtape hisses at her for waking him up.
"Be the dessert?" Silas shrugs.
"I can't do that," Scarlett snaps. She sighs and pulls her hair back into a ponytail, then drops her head into her hands for a long time, as though some great internal debate is going on inside her mind. Finally she looks up at me. "Rosie. You're the dessert."
"What?" I respond quickly, alarmed. Not only is it bizarre for Scarlett to suggest I do something so dangerous, but being the only bait means I can't mess up, not a single mistake. I can't even begin to imagine how Scarlett would react if I lured and then lost another Fenris.
"You have to," Scarlett says matter-of-factly. "Let's face it, Rosie, you're more dessert than I'll ever be. I can't compete with the Dragonflies"--she waves a hand toward the window when we look confused--"the girls, those girls with the sparkly outfits and blond hair. I can't compete with them, but you, Rosie... you can. You're all we've got. One girl alone is a lot easier prey than two. We'll hide, wait for them to
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approach you, and then we all attack." Her words are quiet but firm, as if she's battled a long time for her conclusion.
"Why do I not think I'll like this?" I grumble, sinking down onto the couch that doubled as Silas's bed, now safely covered with a sheet. "Are you saying no knives? No anything?"
Scarlett bites her lip. "You'll look more... you'll be better bait. I can't do it--it has to be you. I wouldn't let anything happen to you, Rosie," she says needlessly.
"Of course," I say quickly, waves of guilt crashing into me. "Of course, Scarlett. I'll do whatever I need to do." I nod. "It's my responsibility," I add and see Silas raise a curious eyebrow at me.
Scarlett sighs and stands, heading toward the door that leads to the rooftop deck. I went up there once this morning and promptly came back down--it's nothing more than some plywood nailed to the edge of the building. Scarlett will probably like it, though. Good lookout. My sister shuts the door as she disappears, but it drifts back open slowly so we can hear her heavy footsteps and muttered curses as she climbs the rickety stairs.
Outside, the church bells chime once; they chime for the hour and then once every quarter hour. It made sleeping even more difficult.
"So I'm the dessert," I say glumly, rising to put a loaf of bread away.
"Come on. Let's go get coffee, get your mind off it," Silas says soothingly as I begin to take my frustration out on the
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bag of bread, violently twisting the end of the plastic into a knot.
"I don't like coffee," I grumble without looking at him. Silas reaches forward and puts his hands over mine. Goose bumps erupt on my arms.
He raises his eyebrows, voice gentle. "You can get chocolate milk, then. But let's get out of here before you bend the entire loaf in half."
I sigh and look at him. Funny how he can go from being "just Silas" to Silas in a matter of seconds. I release the bread and follow him out the door, my frustration and the fluttery feeling fighting for control of me.
The diner Silas takes me to is just a few blocks away, a dingy but classic-looking place with black and white tile and red neon signs blinking things such as "Apple Pie!" and "Specialty Hash Browns!" We slide into a booth, and a waitress who is missing several teeth grins at us and asks us for our order.
"Just a cup of coffee for me. You, Rosie?"
"Chocolate milk," I reply with a snide look toward Silas. He laughs and the waitress hurries away. Then, silence. Silas rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, and I pretend to read a piece of paper outlining the history of the diner. Right.
"So," I blurt out, a little louder than I meant to, "I guess you didn't get much time at home, did you? Back from California and now stuck here with us?" Is my voice shaking? I think my voice is shaking.
"I'd hardly call it stuck," Silas says with a smile that's
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rather dazzling. "Though you have a point. I should take a real vacation. Most of San Francisco was a blend of buying groceries for Jacob and feeling guilty over leaving you and Scarlett in Ellison all alone. I haven't had a vacation since I was... wow, since my seventh birthday, I suppose. My dad took all of us to some secluded little beach off North Carolina for a whole month."
"That sounds nice," I reply, a little jealous. I've never really been on vacation.
Silas laughs. "It was at first. But when I say secluded, I mean secluded. Having no one but eight siblings for entertainment gets old after about a week."
"I understand completely," I say with a smile.
"Though I will say," Silas adds, looking out the window, "I miss them more than I thought I ever could. There's a bigger difference between 'hardly seeing one another because of distance' and 'hardly seeing one another because of anger' than you'd think."
"They're just upset," I offer. "They'll get over it all, with time."
"I know, I know," Silas says. "It's because they're remembering Pa the way he used to be. Full of life and vigor and talking to tree spirits or whatever. They think I accepted a house from a healthy man. Truth is, I can't bring myself to tell them that the reason he gave me the house is that I was the last one to be forgotten. He forgot about all of them, and then... me in the end." Silas spins a napkin around on the table and exhales.
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"It's like he's already... um... gone, isn't it?" I ask carefully, placing a hand over his to stop the spinning napkin. I meet his eyes and suddenly realize we're touching--I pull my hand away, but Silas smiles and answers.
"Pretty much. He's just this guy that looks like my dad and has a few of his old memories from way back in the day. It's not that my siblings don't care, it's just that they're so preoccupied with their own lives. But Jacob and me... I guess we weren't as busy as the rest of them."
"That's good, though," I suggest, fighting the urge to put my hand back on his. Why did I pull it away? What's wrong with me? "I mean, what if you'd gone to college with your high school friends? Who would have taken care of your dad? I mean"--I backpedal--"Scarlett and I would have, of course, but... it's not the same, I'm sure."
"True," Silas says, "my life would have been very different if I'd become a woodsman with my brothers or gone to school with my friends." He pauses. "Lucky for me, I avoided those traps and ended up fighting wolves instead."
"Lucky for both of us," I reply, smiling.
The waitress reappears and sets down a coffee mug that looks as if it could have been salvaged from our dirty apartment. Thankfully, the glass holding my chocolate milk looks as though it's been rinsed, at the very least. Silas shakes a few sugar packets into his cup and changes the subject. "So, did you see that community center I was talking about?"
"What? Where?"
"We walked right past it, just before that grocery store.
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I mentioned it on the way to the city? You just drop in and take classes. They've got all sorts of stuff. I bet you can get a student rate, even."
"But I'm not a student--"
"You're young enough that they'll assume--"
"--and how am I supposed to find the time to take dance classes, now that I'm the dessert?"
"I'm starting to really regret using that metaphor," Silas says, grinning. "And let me explain something, Rosie." He takes a swig of the coffee and presses his lips together, searching for words. "I'm from a long, long, long, long line of woodsmen. My brothers are all supertalented. They all built their own rooms. For god's sake, Lucas built a freaking wooden hot tub in his bedroom with wooden monkeys pouring water into it."
"Monkeys?"
"Don't ask. Anyway, I can do some woodworking. I know my way around the forest, I can handle an ax better than most, I can make a tree grow where nothing else will, I can live off berries and hunt for my food, and I've known about the Fenris since I could crawl. I'm a woodsman, for all intents and purposes. But that doesn't mean I live for it any more than the fact that you're good at hunting means you have to live for that. So maybe breaking out of the hunting lifestyle for a few hours here and there will help you figure out if it's really for you or not."
I shake my head, confused as to why he'd even think that was possible. "I can't just not hunt, Silas. So yeah, I take a
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few random classes, and what if I decide that I hate hunting and want to quit? That doesn't mean I can. I owe Scarlett my life, and if she wants to cash in by having me spend my life hunting beside her, so be it. It'd kill her if she ever thought I wanted to quit."
"Rosie," Silas says quietly. "I'm not suggesting you drop your sister like a bad habit and take up intense ballet training."
I sit back in the booth and fold my arms over my chest. I watch the people walking outside the giant glass windows. Innocents, Scarlett calls them at times. People who have no idea what we do, the prices we pay for them, the price my sister paid for me. But isn't it possible that I could do something else as well?
I look back at Silas, who is adding more sugar to his coffee. "Okay. Fine. One class, but only because I might not get another chance once we're back in Ellison. And you have to promise not to tell Scarlett."
"Only if you let me pay for it," he counters.
"Silas," I say threateningly.
He shrugs. "You and Lett are broke. And besides, if you pay for it, Scarlett will know the money is missing."
"Fine," I say dismissively.
"Great. Let's go get you signed up, then," he says, rising and dropping a few crumpled dollars onto the tabletop. I remain seated, mouth open.
"Now?"
"No time like the present. I suppose I've taken Operation
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Rosie-Gets-a-Life as a personal mission. It's too similar to Operation Silas-Gets-a-Life for me to ignore." He extends a hand to me and, without thinking, I take it. My heart rate quickens and I want to pull him toward me.
Oh god. What am I thinking? I pull my hand away again and smile nervously. Silas smiles almost sheepishly. Did he feel the same stirring sensation?
We backtrack down the street until we reach the community center. It's no surprise I missed it on the way; it's little more than a hole in the wall, flanked by a Starbucks and a Dollar Tree. Silas hands me thirty dollars and waits outside as I enter the center, which smells strongly of incense.
This is wrong. I am a hunter. Wasting money on a random class is wrong. I am bowing out on my responsibilities to other girls, girls who don't know about the Fenris. I peer at the board that lists the center's classes, and there's some of everything. Flower arranging, dancing, French, origami, feng shui... I almost step back from the mental overload. I can take anything I want. A flutter of joy rises in my chest.
Keep it simple, Rosie. Remember, this isn't supposed to take the place of hunting. Hunting is your responsibility. This is just for fun--don't get carried away.
"All right, it'll be a three-class series, any classes you want. They start next Tuesday and run for four weeks, and you get to skip one week. Student rates mean you owe twenty-eight dollars," the willowy receptionist says, tapping at the computer keyboard and shoving a schedule into my hand.
I hand over the money. Scarlett is going to be so angry.
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"This is your class card. Just bring it with you."
I nod and take the card from her. She gives me a wary look. I leave.
"Wow," I say as I exit. Silas grins.
"Pretty empowering, breaking out of the woodsman--er, hunter--pack, isn't it?"
Yes. Yes it is. But then the guilt takes over.
"She'll be so mad. People die, you know? People could be eaten by a Fenris while I'm here..."
"Relax, Rosie. You aren't abandoning her. You're just taking some classes," he says, nudging me gently--but with just enough skin-on-skin contact that it sends shivers down my spine. I'm overwhelmed with the desire to link my arm in his and have to fight it away.
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CHAPTER NINE
SCARLETT
MY INNER VOICE SOUNDS LIKE OMA MARCH'S, AND IT lectures me. Yes. It'll be okay. Remember why you're here: to hunt Fenris, to stop the surge of deaths. You aren't here to be the star. Rosie deserves to try the front seat out for a while. She's a brilliant hunter. She won't end up scarred or broken, not with you and Silas to protect her. You can keep her close, you can keep her safe.
I doubt my inner voice, to be honest.
We cut through the business district, past the darkened skyscrapers where lone security guards patrol the building lobbies. The city smells like smoke and heat from the day, but I'm cold, even with my cloak. Sounds pick up, laughing, talking, and it's almost as though we've suddenly crossed a
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magic line that let us into the city nightlife. Taxis fly by us, girls cry out to their friends, guys walk with bizarre swaggers and tilt their heads at ladies who swoon in response. There's a buzz with a few overheard conversations--girls recounting the recent murders, telling the details with relish. They don't think it could possibly happen to them.
I don't need to tell Rosie what to do--I've taught her well long before now. She cuts in front of us, dropping the hood from her head. Silas and I casually walk behind a row of SUVs, all customized to the point of ludicrousness, while Rosie sweeps past the pack of Dragonflies who are sipping cocktails and dancing flirtatiously on the patio of a bar. A few men turn their heads toward her. Most ignore her, but one seems drawn to her. Way to go, Rosie. The man--a Fenris, I can feel it--says something to the twenty-something woman he was talking to and sets his beer bottle down onto the table. They prefer their prey young. Lucky for us.
Rosie doesn't know he's there yet and keeps charging forward until she's broken free from the crowd surrounding the bar. Silas and I follow for a moment, then hang a hard right and sprint toward the park, which is better grounds for hunting, and duck behind the sign when we arrive. Rosie follows our lead and heads down one of the paved trails, raising her hood back over her head so that the Fenris sees nothing but a girl in crimson walking away. Irresistible.
The Fenris swoops around ahead of her, nothing but a shadow rushing through the dark night. My sister sees him,
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finally, but doesn't let on. She meanders down the trail, the trees and shrubbery blocking her from view of the street. The Fenris steps out in front of her.
"Hey--you know the park is closed this late?" he asks flirtatiously. I lean around a magnolia tree to try to get a better view of his face now that he's in the moonlight. He's young. Very young--Rosie's age, even. His hair is blond, cheeks round, and he's got the gangly appearance of a boy just shooting through puberty who could be in a garage band or the like.
Rosie shrugs and twirls a strand of hair in her fingers. "I'm los
t, thought I'd cut through here. Aren't you a little young to be out this late anyway?" she asks in a voice that's equal parts sexy and sweet.
"Maybe," the boy says in a voice more mature than his baby face implies. Rosie falters a little, and I see her scan over him again. She's not certain he's actually a Fenris. She catches my eye briefly, only a flash of a moment, but I nod. He has no soul.
"How old are you, then?" she says, taking a step backward, away from the street. She lets her hips sway alluringly.
"Let's call it fourteen," the Fenris chuckles, taking a few slow steps toward her. His fingers twitch, and even from here I can see his nails inching forward into points. He busies his hand, sweeping fingers through his messy hair. It'd be enough to make most young girls swoon. Rosie plays along beautifully, biting her lip and giggling.
"Fourteen? You are young," she answers. I see a wave of
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pity cross her face; she tends to feel sorry for the younger ones, wonders who they'd be if they weren't wolves. The Fenris laughs, his voice hoarse and lacking humor, his hair a little darker. Rosie takes another step backward. A large fountain surrounded by flowers blocks my view of her. I strain to see, but then the Fenris steps forward and they're both out of my sight.
"Damn, we have to move," I whisper.
"Wait," Silas answers, clapping a firm hand on my shoulder and pulling me backward. I glare as I almost topple into him, but then I look in the direction in which he's nodding. Across the park, out of earshot but visible in the darkness thanks to a streetlight, is a group of three guys. They fidget and dart their heads around in a very animal-like way, and I catch one lifting his nose toward the air to catch a scent on the breeze. "What do you think?" Silas asks.
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