Wild Hearts

by Bridget Essex

  “If anyone even comes by here,” she'd said with a shrug before shutting off the car's engine.

  Silver implied a few times on the trip up that we were headed to a place no one really went.

  No human, anyway.

  (I...don't know if I'm ever going to get used to hearing stuff like that.)

  I turn, and I sniff the air, too. I raise my nose, inhale deeply. My sense of smell, always extraordinary (which I suppose I know why now, being a wolf and all), can pick out the heady metal of the encroaching snowstorm.

  I can pick out the different frozen stages of decay on the forest floor, beneath a thick blanket of winter.

  I can pick out the perfect cologne that rises off of Silver in heady waves.

  Today she's wearing actual cologne, something dark and woody, but beneath it is the perfume of her own skin...

  It is intoxicating, and it pulls me in. So I turn toward her, offer up a smile...

  But that's when I scent something else.

  Someone else.

  Silver's turning to grin at me, but she catches my expression, cocks her head.

  “What's wrong?” she asks immediately.

  Her smile is gone.

  I shrug a little, uncomfortable. “Nothing...nothing's wrong...I just thought...” I inhale again, deeply. “I thought I smelled something,” I tell her unconvincingly.

  “Like what?”

  I shrug again.

  There was a musky undertone to the wind, just then.

  I didn't recognize it, and I didn't like it.

  I didn't like it the second I inhaled.

  Silver turns her nose in my direction, inhaling deeply. Her brow furrows, her head to the side.

  “I can't make out anything out of the ordinary,” she tells me, but worry is etched plainly on her face. “Can you describe it to me?”

  “It's silly, it's probably nothing,” I promise, but she shakes her head, adamant.

  “Instinct is important. Instinct is what separates a live animal from a dead one. And we are all animals, aren't we?” She gives me a lopsided grin. “Some more than others,” she acquiesces, and she offers me a soft chuckle, sliding the other backpack strap over her other arm and up and onto her shoulder.

  She presses: “What did it smell like to you?”

  Bad.

  It smelled bad.

  I shrug. “...Musky?”

  She puts her head to the side, but her expression softens. “That's the mark of werewolf territory.”

  I nod.

  Sure, that makes sense. It's a simple explanation and isn't the simplest one the right one?

  But I glance over my shoulder as Silver steps forward.

  I feel...unsettled.

  “We're almost there,” she assures me quietly. Her body blocks the slicing wind and shelters me for a moment. I lean forward, rest my head against her shoulder, and I relax. It's only for a heartbeat or two—we don't have much time, I know—but, still.

  The simple action fills me with comfort.

  The heat of Silver's body encompasses me with a welcome brightness.

  I look up into her face, and I'm about to smile, about to say a joke, something random, throw away...

  But then I look into her eyes.

  My mouth opens. I feel like I was just punched, a fist landing in my middle and knocking all the air out of me.

  “What's wrong?” Concern marks every syllable out of Silver's mouth with sharpness, and her hands are at my waist, steadying me.

  My head feels light, full of bubbles, floating. I reach out and steady myself against her.

  I felt...

  I felt her.

  I felt the glow of warmth coming from Silver as she gazed down at me. Not because I was looking up at her face and could see it reflected there...

  No.

  This was a visceral feeling, like Silver was suddenly part of my body, like she was inhabiting the same inches of muscle and bone inside of me as I am.

  I know it sounds impossible, but—just now—it felt like we were both occupying the same space.

  That we'd somehow merged into one creature.

  I felt the warmth, and I knew it for what it was.

  Love.

  Silver was looking down at me with love.

  I look up at her now. I can breathe again...

  What...what just happened.

  What was that?

  It's happened to me before. Like the guy in the convenience store and his toothache. When I'm around people sometimes, I can feel what they're feeling.

  I've always chalked it up to coincidence. Just an odd set of circumstances that my tooth is suddenly aching—when I never, ever get toothaches—around a guy who then tells me his tooth hurts, too.

  Just coincidence, I'd always told myself.

  But this...this didn't feel like coincidence.

  I'd felt part of her. Not in some woo woo way, like we're all part of the same universe, like we're all one...

  No.

  This was raw.

  This was real.

  We were, in that moment...together.

  Yes, this has happened to me before. But never quite like this.

  And certainly not as strong.

  I look up at Silver now and see that her eyes...they're glowing. My own eyes narrow as I consider her.

  Silver can do magic. Actual, legitimate, real magic.

  So could my mother.

  She put the lock on my heart after all...didn't she?

  So...what if what just happened...

  What if it's magic, too?

  Silver breaks me out of my reverie by curling her fingers tightly around my elbows and tugging me toward her, concern in every inch of her face as she stares down at me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks again.

  I nod slowly. “I...I think so.” And then I look up at her, filled with wonder. “I just...I think I just felt what you were feeling.”

  She stares, mouth open. “What?”

  “I...don't know how else to explain it. I felt like we were...the same person, almost. I was inside of you and you were inside of me, and I felt what you were feeling...you were feeling...” My cheeks start to feel flushed, but I soldier on anyway. “You were feeling love.”

  For her parts, Silver doesn't blush.

  It don't think she ever feels anything with less than her whole heart.

  And she's certainly never ashamed of it.

  But she's looking down at me, and her mouth is turning up almost imperceptibly at the corners.

  She's gazing at me in wonder.

  I wrinkle my nose, suddenly very self conscious. I'm about to explain it away, throw some logic at it, try to figure out a solid, grounded reason for what just happened...

  But Silver is nodding slowly. And her smile is bright as she adjusts the backpack's straps on her shoulders.

  “Maybe that's your magic,” she says with an easy shrug.

  There.

  Just like that.

  An impossible sentence.

  But it still makes sense to me, impossible or not.

  I open my mouth, then I shut it.

  There's something so easy about Silver. She doesn't second guess what she says, doesn't second guess what she does...she moves through the world with this surety and grace, and it's honestly amazing.

  I'm not only impressed by it...

  I'm attracted to it.

  “My magic,” I repeat, whispering the words.

  They taste...delicious.

  “We'll know soon enough, won't we?” Silver reaches out and takes my hand in hers. “Come on—we're so close.”

  I nod, squeeze my fingers through hers.

  And, just like that, we walk into the woods.

  Together.

  It's around noon, so it should be much brighter here, beneath the trees in the woods. The sun was out just a little while ago, but now the gray clouds, heavy with unshed snow, are beginning to blot out the light.

  All I can smell now is t
he snow in the air.

  I keep glancing over my shoulder as we walk deep beneath the trees.

  Yes, that moment with Silver was magical (literally), but it'd be impossible to forget my earlier unease.

  There is, of course, nothing behind us. Nothing but more trees and snow, and the outline of Silver's car, though that soon gets swallowed up by branches, bark and snowbanks.

  Our breath hangs in front of us, suspended in the air, the heat and chill finding it hard to mix. Apart from our breathing, the sound of our boots and shoes crunching in the snow, the forest is surprisingly quiet.

  Silver is going a little slower than usual, I can tell—she's setting her pace to match mine, because I'm still sore from all the recent running, sore, also, from how we moved together last night...

  And, let's be honest, this morning, too.

  I'm lost in thought, letting those thoughts hop and jump from one subject to another, anxiety thrumming just beneath my skin. The warmth and solidity of Silver's hand helps—it keeps me tethered to the moment—but only just.

  It's because I'm lost in thought that I'm not paying attention.

  Silver stops.

  So I stop to.

  I lift my chin, gaze ahead of us.

  And then my blood is pounding through me, instant adrenaline catching like a match dropped on a pile of tinder.

  Through the trees the outline of a chain link fence is visible, and just beyond that, skulk the shadows of concrete buildings.

  But that is, of course, not the very first thing I notice.

  Because, between us and that chain link fence, they stand.

  Their noses are lifted to the wind, the chill breeze moving almost imperceptibly through their fur.

  Wolves.

  A pack of wolves.

  Chapter 19: Relations

  Silver casts a sidelong glance at me, then gives an encouraging smile.

  “We're here,” she says, voice low.

  Then she nods to the wolves.

  “Hey, guys!” Her voice is light, cheerful.

  I cast her an incredulous glance.

  I know that she probably knows these wolves...these, um. “Guys.”

  But it's still an absurd moment in my life.

  It gets even more absurd, because one of the wolves takes a step forward. This wolf is slighter than the others with a very pretty mottled gray coat.

  But I hardly get to admire the wolf's fur...

  For the wolf begins to transform.

  It's an uncomfortable thing to watch, though I can say from experience now that it's much more uncomfortable to go through it yourself.

  Still...the end result of this is a tiny, naked old lady...

  So this might actually be the more uncomfortable thing.

  Give or take a little discomfort.

  It's my great-aunt, Fanny.

  She rises into a standing position, and she groans a little, placing her hands at the small of her back as she stretches.

  Then she's holding her arms out to me like she wants to embrace me.

  Silver casts a sidelong glance my way, then covers her mouth with her hand, though she can't hide her chuckle.

  I guess I must be blushing a little, because then Fanny is chuckling, too.

  “You'll get used to this, I promise,” she tells me, waving down at her nude self. She gives a chuckle and a wink. “Welcome, kiddo.”

  “Um. Thanks,” I reply, being very careful to keep my eyes on her face and feeling the discomfort of the moment solidify in me permanently.

  I'm not a prude, I promise.

  But I'm also not a nudist by any stretch of the imagination.

  Naked Silver?

  Sure.

  In fact: yes, please.

  Naked great-aunt?

  Well, that's definitely one for my therapist.

  I don't hug said naked great-aunt, and I don't think she takes it personally as she shrugs, giving me another quick grin. “Suit yourself. Welcome to the Bridge Pack Compound. This,” she says, gesturing to the rest of the wolves, who—for the moment—are staying wolves, “is some of the Bridge pack.” When she looks back at me, she's beaming, her smile huge and bright. “Your pack, kiddo.”

  I flick my gaze past Fanny and to the other wolves. They're all different. Shades of white, gray, brown, a very pretty sorrel and black meld together in front of my eyes. They stand at different heights, some are muscular, some are slight, some are round.

  They're as different as people, I realize starkly.

  Because they're people, too.

  Just...very different kinds of people.

  My head is swimming. I knew I'd be overwhelmed by this, but confronted by a pack of wolves...well.

  I'm in over my head.

  Silver must sense this, for she wraps an arm about my shoulders, drawing me close to her.

  “It's kind of chilly to be chatting away out here, Fanny,” she drawls, her voice warm, but pointed. “Maybe we should move this on inside?”

  My great-aunt doesn't seem phased much by the cold, but agreeably shrugs, jerking a thumb back over her shoulder.

  “Right this way,” she tells me.

  And then she turns and saunters—buck naked—through the knee-high drifts of snow.

  She breaks a path, and we follow.

  The other wolves watch us go, but not for long. One by one, each separates from the others, smoothly moving beneath the trees again.

  They dissolve into the woods.

  “They're lookouts,” Silver tells me when I cast a questioning glance back over my shoulder. “They make sure that nothing and no one finds us out here.”

  Which is, I suppose, a comforting fact.

  But still, a chill runs through me as I see the shadow of a particularly dark wolf melting between two conifers.

  I know I'm just not used to this. And that this is all going to take some getting used to.

  But the heavy gray clouds are beginning to open, fat flakes drifting down all around us.

  The chill seems omnipresent here, the cold of the wind, of the winter, seeping into my bones.

  It's hard not to be shocked by the idea that I'm up on the mountains in the middle of nowhere...

  With a pack of wolves.

  Who, I guess, are...family.

  It's a tough pill to swallow.

  I'm doing the best I can.

  Silver's arm is still wrapped warmly about my shoulder, and as I feel myself drifting further into thought, she squeezes me gently, bringing me back to myself.

  “Hey.” She gives me a lopsided grin. “Stick with me, okay? I'm right here with you.”

  And then, voice softer, “we'll get through this together, yeah?”

  Together.

  I settle back down into my bones again.

  The worry and anxiety are still there—of course they're still there—but they've been warded off just a little by the warmth of this woman.

  I glance up at Silver, and when she gives me that little grin...

  My heart rises inside of me.

  I can feel her warmth, feel it radiating into me.

  Just like sunshine.

  Just like light.

  The chain link gate is pulled back, revealing a gravel path mixed with ice and snow. We follow it. There are several all terrain vehicles parked beneath a temporary tarpaulin structure ahead of us. Four wheelers sit in staggered rows next to Jeeps and some off road machines I don't recognize. All the vehicles are either shades of camo or a matte black. Efficient. Practical.

  The buildings ahead of us are squat structures built of stained cinder block and corrugated metal that's rusting heavily. The buildings have also been painted a matte black so that they blend into the forest, I would assume, when the trees are in full leaf. Now, they look dingy and dull beneath the falling snow.

  Fanny gestures to a rolling door set in the closest building, and she pushes it open. Silver and I enter first, with Fanny close behind.

  The sun had already hidden away behi
nd the snow clouds. The day wasn't particularly bright, but snow has a tendency to reflect light.

  It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the newfound shadows.

  If I thought the outside was drab...well.

  My stomach turns inside of me as I glance around at the run-down walls, the rotting floor, the ceiling with its holes that snowflakes drift through.

  There's some furniture, but all of it looks like it was picked up on the side of the road after a torrential downpour and a few weeks outside. Things are rusted, worn down, full of holes and stained.

  Everything I can see puts me in the mind of an abandoned building, deep in the woods.

  One that hasn't been set foot in for years.

  But...maybe they want it that way?

  I try to grasp at any straw I can think of, but I don't have much time to consider a (somewhat) logical explanation, because Fanny is padding past me, shrugging an old terrycloth robe onto her shoulders.

  “What do you think?” she asks, flashing me a smile.

  Even as I try, desperately, to return that smile, I can't hide what I'm feeling.

  I'm pretty sure my expression says it all.

  Fanny chuckles again.

  “We don't do a lot of maintenance on the property on purpose. We want to make sure that we're not discovered.” She gives a little shrug. “This isn't where we spend most of our time anyway.”

  “That's...good,” I hazard, and Silver gives me another little squeeze before letting me go. She takes the backpack off, setting it on a couch that looks like it survived a world war...or two. The springs in the couch give a groan of protest as she flops down beside the backpack, propping her feet up on a bucket that's upended on the floor.

  “Where's Marie, Fanny?” asks Silver.

  Fanny gestures behind the couch, toward the far shadows of the big building...

  And that's when I see the figure prowling toward us.

  There's no mistaking who this is.

  Marie.

  My grandmother.

  I know who she is on sight, couldn't help but know her. And instantly.

  Because she looks like my mom.

  My breath hitches in my throat, and a few waves of nausea pulse through my body. I take a shaky breath in.

  Nausea's a symptom of shock, and that's what I'm feeling pretty strongly right about now.