Cold Spell

lips, about to speak again, when there’s a hissing sound, the knot on the door being pulled free. Two men walk inside, one gaunt and stringy, the other old and thick.

“Sreego,” one says. “How are things with the buffer?”

“They’re fine,” Brigit says. “They’re always fine. Out, both of you.”

“This ain’t the time to be dealing with buffers. Get rid of her so we can get back to the matter at hand,” the gaunt one says.

“Unless Flannery has a ring on, there’s no matter at hand yet,” Brigit hisses. “And unless you want your gas share cut, you’ll get out of my house.”

“Look, Brigit,” the other one says. “All we’re gettin’ at is Flannery is a bit hard to deal with without you, so rather than questioning this buffer, let’s get rid of her and move on.”

I swallow, not entirely sure what “get rid of her” means.

“I know how desperately you’d both like Flannery to marry your boy, and get my crown for your family,” Brigit says threateningly. “Believe me. Everyone knows, with the way you two whine. And should my daughter have a moment of complete stupidity and choose one of your rats, then perhaps I’ll want your opinion on matters like this buffer. But until then: You. Are in. My house.”

They glare, eyes hard and angry, an expression Brigit reflects with twice the intensity. Finally, they turn and leave; a blast of cold air wafts from the tent flaps over to me.

“Assholes,” Brigit mutters after them. “I give them the best twenty years this clan has ever seen, and they still can’t get over the fact that I’ve got tits. And Flannery wonders why I say she’s not strong enough to take them on alone…”

“What’s going to happen to me?” I ask meekly, my mouth cottony and my lungs broken.

“For starters,” Brigit says, rapping her fingers on the cookbook again, “you’re going to tell me more about this snow girl.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I explain Mora as best I can to Brigit. I lay out the magazine clippings, tell her about Kai, tell her about Lucas and Ella—though I leave out the details there, to keep them safe. Brigit listens, barely moving, and when I’m finished she sits back on the loveseat across from me. I notice there are tattoos on her arms and on the interior of almost every finger, symbols and shapes and words I don’t recognize.

“That’s everything,” I say when she goes an uncomfortably long time without speaking. “And it’s true. I swear.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Brigit answers. She reaches forward, flips around in the cookbook for another moment, and then speaks slowly. “I know about this girl. Your Snow Queen. Grohkta- Nap.”

She pauses and closes the cookbook gently. “She took your boy. Kai.”

“Yes. So you believe me?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Brigit says. “I can’t pretend I’m not angry. I thought she was only taking Traveller boys, lately. Didn’t know she wanted buffers.”

“Wait, what?”

“Grohkta-Nap. I won’t question her choices, of course,” Brigit says, casting her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. “I just hoped she’d choose another of ours, when she needed a new guardsman.”

“You… wanted?” I shake my head. “She steals boys. She turns them into wolves. She keeps them forever.”

“No—she keeps them till she finds better ones. And she does far more than make them wolves. She makes them gods,” Brigit corrects. “Like her. Well, not like her, but more like her than we are, anyhow.”

“Are you crazy? She’s the queen of beasts. She controls the other werewolves, the Fenris. They attacked me—”

“She’s our only protection from the Fenris,” Brigit says, and now her eyes light up angrily, as if I’ve said something deeply insulting. “And with the way you talk about Grohkta-Nap, it’s no surprise she didn’t protect you from them. It’s by her grace they didn’t kill you.”

I fall silent, though I can feel a thousand words at a thousand different volumes trying to rise from my lungs. Brigit stands and crosses her arms.

“The question,” she says, “is whether you’ve come to us as a blessing. Grohkta-Nap took your boy, let you live, and led you here. That’s gotta be something. Or… are you a curse she’s bringing down on my people? Sent to tell us she chose a buffer instead of my boys, to warn us about the Fenris coming…”

“I’m just Ginny,” I say, voice breaking. “I just didn’t want them to take the cookbook.”

Brigit shakes her head at me, as if she pities my stupidity. “Nothing happens because of ‘just.’ So, you’ll stay here until we work it out.”

“You can’t… I’m not just staying here,” I say shrilly.

“Oh, no one here just stays,” Brigit says. “Plenty of people here would kill for an extra pair of hands. It’ll be a nightmare deciding who gets to keep you.” She moves toward the tent flap to leave; I jump to my feet and sprint for the door. I’m running for it, I’m fast, I can make it somewhere. I burst past Brigit, stumbling from the darkness of the tent into the bright white world outside. My feet hit the snow, I don’t care, I step forward—

And realize there’s nowhere to go.

We’re in a clearing surrounded by trees, tall, bare oaks that stretch their fingers to the now-dark sky. There are campfires everywhere, and I hear someone playing an instrument, a guitar maybe, backed by a harmonica. But mostly, I see people. People everywhere, dressed in worn but colorful clothes, smoking cigarettes and fighting, laughing, and singing. Hundreds of them, spread out among dozens and dozens of RVs and tents and campers.

Bracelets is in front of me, leaning against a post that holds the tent’s “porch” up. He looks at me warily, silently asking me not to make him chase me into the trees.

“You can run,” Brigit says, “but see those people? They’ll stop you. And if they don’t—” She points into the distance, to the line of trees. “See the forest?”

I nod.

“Those trees are full of teeth and claws. Run in there and see if Grohkta-Nap protects you from the Fenris a second time. She may be a goddess, Ginny, but I’d rather not test her patience, especially after questioning her power.”

I sink to my knees.

“My parents will be looking for me,” I hiss at Brigit. “They’ll find me.”

Brigit studies me for a minute, then brushes past me, walking out into the snow. As she moves away, she calls over her shoulder, “Don’t lie to me, Ginny Andersen. No one’s looking for you.”

They’ve given me a pair of shoes to wear, and the fire is warm, at least. Everyone is gathered in a circle around it, a sea of smudged cheeks and bright eyes. A blonde girl with bright cheeks is wearing Mora’s coat proudly, modeling it so other children can admire her. Across the fire from the girl, Brigit and a dozen boys my age talk. The boys have thick muscles and tanned faces, and old T-shirts peek out from behind scarves and coats. I feel as if I’m trapped in a movie, a play that isn’t my life.

“Listen up,” Brigit calls out. The crowd quiets, and all faces turn to her. “This buffer is staying with us for a bit, till I work out what to do with her.” She pauses while two dogs get in a squabble, waiting for them to be calmed by their masters. When they are, she continues, sounding annoyed. “Name’s Ginny. Don’t know if she’s any good at cooking or cleaning, but she’s young, she’ll learn. One from each family who can afford another mouth, winner gets her. No knives, no chains, no brass knuckles. Clear?”

Her words are blunt, though I’m still not quite clear what’s about to happen. I look at her—she made no mention of the Snow Queen, of Grohkta-Nap, and from the way Brigit glares at me, I can tell I’m not to bring it up. I suppose that, if she ends up thinking I’m a curse, she’ll want to get rid of me easier, and if I’m a blessing, she’ll