Sisters Red Read online

  "So what brought you to town?" I ask.

  "Guitar lessons, actually," Silas responds. "I sort of got into experimenting with new things while I was up at Jacob's. I kept meaning to sign up for a guitar class before I left, but I put it off. So I made myself come down here first thing in the morning. Just had my first lesson."

  "Wow. That's impressive," I reply as I hand the cashier the two twenties.

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  Silas laughs, rich and smoky--Sarah and her friends stare our way, regarding Silas as if he's some sort of dessert tray and me as if they're sizing me up for a fight. He doesn't even glance their way, his eyes firmly on me. "Not hardly. After an hour and a half my fingers are killing me and all I can play is the first part of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.' Slowly."

  Silas takes my bag from the cashier and we exit the store. The street is even busier now; people with shirts that read "City of Ellison" are hanging red and green streamers from the lampposts in preparation for the Apple Time Festival this weekend.

  "Still," I continue, "guitar lessons. I wish I did something like that."

  "What do you mean?" he asks as we pause at the crosswalk.

  I shrug, turning to face him. "Just that you do something. Something other than hunt and the whole woodsman gig, I mean."

  Silas laughs again. "Yeah, well... I was never that into the whole woodsman thing. It was just sort of the default for our family. And hunting... I'm happy to hunt, but that doesn't mean I'm chained down to it. I do it because it's the right thing to do. The guitar lessons and all are just for fun."

  I frown. "I suppose..." I can't think of an argument that doesn't somehow cast Scarlett in a bad light, so I close my mouth. Silas nods toward the green crosswalk sign and lightly places his hand on the small of my back to urge me forward.

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  The touch sends shivers up my spine and the swoozy feeling takes over. Walk, Rosie, walk. Don't be stupid.

  Silas points several blocks away as we arrive on the opposite curb. "I can give you a ride home, if you don't mind waiting for a few hours. I've got to go see the power company about getting my lights turned back on."

  "I, um..." Sit with Silas for a few hours in the power company office? And then for another half hour on the ride home? I want to. I really, really want to. But what will we talk about? How long will it take me to start giggling like a moron? I can lure a Fenris--sway my hips, giggle lustily, bat my eyelashes--but I have no idea how not to look like a bumbling idiot in front of Silas Reynolds. Though in all fairness, it isn't often I see guys who aren't Fenris. How am I supposed to know what to do?

  "No, it's okay. I'll take the bus," I respond.

  I think I catch Silas's face fall a little. "Okay, no problem. I'll walk you to the stop, though?" he asks with a hopeful ring to his voice. I nod a tad too emphatically.

  We walk to the end of the street and linger beneath the bus stop sign silently for a few moments. Think of something to say, Rosie. Anything.

  "You can come to dinner again tonight," I say. Silas shakes his head.

  "I'd love to, really. But I actually have plans. Catching up with an old friend from school for an elegant meal at Burger King," he says sarcastically. "Though any other time--are you okay?"

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  "Me? Oh, yeah. So you have a hot date?" I tease him, hoping he can't detect just how far my voice fell. Of course Silas has a date. Silas always had a date. He stuck through high school, unlike his siblings, Scarlett, or me, and was the type never to be short of female company by the time his senior year rolled around. It frustrated Scarlett to no end, hearing that he was out on a date instead of hunting with her.

  "No. Not a date at all," he says firmly, as if it's important I believe him. "Just a friend from high school. Named Jason. And come on, Rosie, don't you think that if I were going on a date, I'd go somewhere better than Burger King?"

  I laugh in both relief and amusement. "I don't know. You always had a girlfriend before you went to San Francisco."

  "Not hardly. I lost touch with most of my high school friends a year before that, right after they all went to college. Couldn't you hear me crying at night from the loneliness?" he teases, shouldering me.

  "Oh," I say dumbly. I guess I wasn't paying attention, but then, it had never occurred to me to pay attention to Silas Reynolds before. "Why did you lose touch?"

  "Well," Silas says thoughtfully, "when it came down to it, we had nothing in common."

  I raise my eyebrows. "I know how you feel."

  "Lucky for me, I seem to have enough in common with the March sisters to keep me afloat without... you know, friends or family," he says.

  "Hey, we count as your friends," I interject.

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  "Also my family, it seems. Er, sort of," he adds quickly. The bus rounds a far corner and rumbles our way.

  "Anyhow, I have to admit, Rosie--you're a better cook than the guys at Burger King, so I'm sort of sad that my non-date is tonight. Or rather, that my non-date is with someone else, or... right. Never mind," Silas says.

  I smile as the bus's air brake squeals and the door opens, a rush of AC casting my hair back. "You should be sad--I'm making cookies. Though it's just ramen for dinner, so you aren't missing out on much there."

  "Cookies? Damn--" He's cut off by the bus driver's impatient glare. "I'll see you later, though, right, Rosie?"

  "Right," I say softly, trying not to trip as I'm getting on the bus. I slide into a seat by the air conditioner and close my eyes so I don't stare at him as we drive away.

  I can make only eight things, if you don't count ramen noodles and sandwiches. One of them is meatloaf. Another is Oma March's chocolate cookies. I smash the chocolate into one of her green glass mixing bowls and beat it carefully. I like using Oma March's kitchen things; it makes me feel closer to her somehow. Scarlett is nowhere to be found, but I suspect she's running again. I think she's trying to become as fast as a Fenris or something. Good luck.

  I lean against the oven, waiting for the cookies to bake. I made too many. So many that I could probably take some over to Silas's house.

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  Would that be weird? It's just bringing cookies to an old family friend. No big deal. Yes, do it now, before you change your mind.

  The oven buzzer sounds loudly, and I dump the hot tray of cookies into the basket, then fold the corners of the cloth over the edges. They probably won't stay warm, but still, they look prettier this way. I stop in the bathroom to brush my hair behind my ears and adjust my shirt. It's just Silas, I remind myself.

  I'm secretly both afraid and hopeful that I'll hear his car coming up the street behind me as I walk to his house. He lives in the middle of the forest that seems to start all at once, the road going from sunny and hot to dark and cool in a matter of moments. With the limbs swaying together in the breeze, it's almost like being underwater. Birdcalls seem to echo off the trunks, all of which are wide and impressive.

  Silas's house emerges like a castle built by nature itself. The logs surrounding the front door are heavily carved with lifelike images of bears and rabbits and turtles, almost as if they were once real animals that were frozen here. One of Silas's brothers carved them--Lucas, I think, or maybe Samuel--one of them was good with a rifle, the other at carvings, but it's hard to keep the Reynolds boys straight. It's obvious the cabin was originally small, but now rooms stretch high into the trees and off to the sides. That was Pa Reynolds's rule: if you want your own bedroom, build it yourself. The top rooms of the house have broad decks that reach out into the upper tree limbs, a few with sketchy-looking

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  tire swings hanging off the railings. Even Silas's sisters, who weren't in training to become woodsmen, had to haul timber to have their own space before they went off to boarding school. I barely got the chance to know them, but Pa Reynolds was scared at the prospect of raising three girls alone after Silas's mother died.

  His car isn't in the driveway, but I knock on the door anyway. No answer. I r
un my hand along the back of a carved wooden bear and then place the basket of cookies in front of the door. I linger for a moment longer...

  Someone is here.

  Behind me, I hear faint breathing. I spin around, hands darting to my waist, and I'm instantly grateful for Scarlett's obsession that I always carry my knives.

  "So sorry, miss. Didn't mean to frighten you," a young man says calmly. He looks at me from heavy-lidded eyes and presses his perfectly shaped lips together. He's not alone--another man stands silently behind him, hair hinting at gray, face mature and chiseled, something like an older movie star. The younger man is in an artistically torn T-shirt, his hair tousled like some sort of rock star. I'm suspicious, though--most people don't come out this far, unless they're bill collectors or Fenris.

  "You didn't," I lie. I lean against one of the carved rabbits and try to look casual, though I keep my hands near the handles of my knives. If they are Fenris, I want to be ready. "Are you guys looking for someone?"

  "Sort of," the young one says. "But it doesn't look like

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  there's anyone home." He grins at me kindly, moving to brush his shaggy hair from his face.

  "I don't think there is," I answer cautiously. "Maybe try back later?"

  "Yeah... yeah, we'll do that," the older one answers. "Thanks for your help."

  "No problem," I say a little too quickly.

  "Hang on," the younger one says. He steps toward me, thrusting his hands into his pockets sheepishly. "Can we walk you home at least? Seems dangerous for a girl to be out here all alone."

  "I..." I hesitate. His eyes are beautiful, a golden color that reminds me of autumn leaves. "I'm okay, really."

  "Really. We'd love to," the older one interjects. His voice is smooth, granite-like. He moves to slick his hair back.

  I clench my teeth. On the wrist of the older man I can see a pack symbol. Something circular--Bell, maybe? The younger man's would be hidden by the star-studded wristbands he wears, but surely he's a wolf too, right? I can never tell immediately the way Scarlett can. I still see the human first and have to find the wolf by way of the pack mark. She sees the wolf, and only the wolf.

  "Okay. Sure, walk me home," I reply, a little too boldly. I shrug my shoulders and force myself to flip my hair in what I hope is a carefree way. Alone. It's just me, no Scarlett. You can do this, Rosie. You've fought dozens of wolves. Lead them in, draw them to you, kill them.

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  I walk down the cabin's front steps, letting my hips sway a little more than usual; the older Fenris looks at me with what has become a sickening grin. I react exactly how I'm supposed to--by looking nervous. It forces the animal to take over, to hunt. But genuine goose bumps race up and down my arms as the younger Fenris takes a step closer.

  "So why did you walk all the way out here instead of drive? Not old enough?" he asks, his voice more guttural than when we first spoke.

  "I'm sixteen. How old are you?" I reply as we walk back toward the main road.

  The older Fenris laughs loudly, and the younger one's eyes sparkle with dark mischievousness. "He's forty-nine. I'm twenty-one."

  "A big age gap for friends," I say. The younger Fenris shrugs but doesn't say anything. I'm gripping the handle of a knife so hard that my hands have started to go numb, but I can't do anything until they change.

  I'm surprised that they haven't made their move by the time we reach the main road. If they attack here, I'll have them in open space. If I let them pull me into the tall grasses that line this section of the road, we're both at a disadvantage. They'll want to stay out here in the open, where I can't hide.

  "Uh, miss?" one of the Fenris says from a few yards behind me, though the voice is so snarled that I can't tell if it was the older or younger wolf. I whirl around and the older

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  wolf is half transformed, his dashing gray hair now snarled in greasy patches of gray fur, chiseled features now muscular jaws and wide-set ocher eyes.

  "Oh my... um... what?" I stammer.

  "My friend seems to be sick," the younger Fenris says, stepping closer as if he hopes to feed off my fear. The handsome indie-rocker look has transformed into a grin that's just a tad too wide for a normal human. I take a step back and fold my arms over my waist, trying to tremble as I secretly wrap my fingers around the handles of my knives. "I think there's something in the water here. But you know what I think would make him feel better?"

  "What?" I ask timidly.

  The younger Fenris races toward me, moving like a flood over dry earth. His nose starts to speckle with fur, and when he speaks, the scent of decomposition and death is so heavy on his breath that I almost choke. He stops only a foot or so from me and leans forward, clicking his long incisors together when he answers. "Eating you, my dear."

  He changes in one fluid motion, his human disguise melting away. I leap back and yank both knives from my belt just as the older wolf howls and steps forward. Both lower their heads and growl, baring their teeth and digging at the dirt with thick claws.

  Everything is still--the wolves, me, the wind. None of us wants to make the first move.

  Then, in the distance, faintly, I hear a familiar rumble. The bus, making another round. Both Fenris and I glance

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  down the road in frustration. No one wants a fight in plain sight of the bus; the wolves'll have to make the choice to take a large handful of humans or run. And Fenris hate to run, but they aren't stupid.

  The decision is made--the older Fenris propels himself at me, bounding off his back legs. I spin to the left, avoiding him, hands held out so that the tips of my blades skim his body. The younger Fenris growls and the older one grunts in response, a conversation I don't understand. I take advantage of his distraction and fling a well-aimed knife at him. He shies away at the last instant, but it still grazes the side of his face, shearing enough skin off to reveal raw pink muscles underneath. The bus rumbles closer--we all know time is up. I can't let them get away. Scarlett would never forgive me.

  While the older Fenris shakes his head as if he's trying to throw the pain off his wound, the younger one runs forward. He darts side to side, and when I try to follow, I become unbalanced. He lunges for my left just as I lean to the right, and I hit the ground so hard that I feel bits of gravel sinking into my cheeks and the hilt of the knife I threw underneath my hip. I roll onto my chest and see the younger wolf whipping around, jaws open. I yank the knife from underneath my hip and thrust it upward. He avoids it narrowly. I sit up as the older wolf rejoins the fray, just as the first hints of the bus's dust cloud creep our way.

  Stand up, stand up. I spring to my feet and spin around, kicking the older wolf solidly in the side of the head, then turn just in time to drive my heel into the chest of the younger 62wolf as he leaps for my neck. The gray-blue top of the bus breaks through the horizon. Come on, it's now or never, Scarlett's warnings repeat in my head. If they run, they'll be starving, they'll have to eat, someone will die. I wheel toward the old Fenris and throw a knife at him with all the strength I possess. It sinks into his chest with a sickening squelch, and the wolf collapses to the side.

  The younger wolf howls angrily, looking between me, the dying Fenris, and the bus. The bus is only moments away, and the driver might even see us by now. The young Fenris snaps his jaws at me and then leaps into the grasses. I hear his heavy claws padding through the briars and weeds. I could go after him, I could find him--no. I can't outrun him. He'll be long gone or he'll know enough to jump me. Think, Rosie, think.

  The bus starts to slow, and I realize there's a blue hatchback driving along in its shadow--Silas's car. I run to the fallen Fenris and yank my knife out of its side. I can't leave till I know I've killed it. Come on, die already. Its red-brown eyes are lined in hatred as it glares at me. The bus driver sees me, and her eyes widen at the sight of a girl looming over a dead beast, knife above her head. My eyes dart to Silas's car. We see each other at the same instant.

 
And the Fenris vanishes. He bursts into a cloud of black shadow that seems to scream in the sunlight before sliding under the pebbles in protest. I dash into the thick grasses in the opposite direction of the Fenris. I could have killed him sooner, should have killed them in the woods. What if I just

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  ruined our cover? What if the bus driver recognized me and calls child services? I'll have destroyed it all.

  Scarlett is going to kill me.

  The grasses whip past me and my eyes begin to water, in both frustration and pain from the leaves slapping against my cheeks. Silas's horn wails behind me and I hear him shouting my name, but I don't stop, far too ashamed to even consider seeing him right now. He's wrong about me. I haven't grown up; I'm still the stupid little girl I was a year ago.

  My heart is pounding and my skin sticky with sweat by the time I make it through the field. I trudge slowly toward our cottage, trying to breathe and get the tearstains off my cheeks. I should be proud. I just soloed, just killed a Fenris on my own.

  And also let one get away, one who will now be starving after trying to attack me.

  Also, let someone see me hunting.

  Also, I'm pathetic.

  I creep in through the back door, relieved to hear the dull thuds of Scarlett slamming the punching bag in the cellar-turned-training-room. I hurry upstairs, peeling away my wet and bloodied clothes. Once I'm in the shower with Screwtape standing guard on the bathroom rug, I cry. Silent, choked sobs of inadequacy. I have to tell Scarlett about the Fenris that got away. I have to warn her that a bus driver and social worker could come pounding on our door in a few days. I'll have to tell her, and then she'll scold me and insist on hunting down the other Fenris immediately. Selfishly, I'm angry because I