Cold Spell

“Neither do I,” I say. “But we’ll be fine. All of us. Me, you, them…”

“You almost died,” he says. “More than once, because of me. Right? I mean, I’m guessing—I don’t even know what happened to you. But you’ve got these… people and stories and you… you’re different now, Ginny, and I missed it.” He sounds crushed—not guilty, but something closer to scared. His voice sounds the way I felt when I saw him in the garden with Mora, when the possibility of him ending our love, our life together, our future, our dreams, was painful and raw.

“First off, I didn’t die,” I say. “Secondly, I saved the stories. Every one, so I could tell them to you. Before all this, I didn’t know I could survive without you, Kai. And sure, I’ve changed. Now I know… I can make it on my own. But that doesn’t mean I want to. It doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you.”

Kai exhales, something of a broken, relieved laugh on his lips, and leans his head back against the wall. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, then turns his head toward me. “Am I remembering right—I killed all the roses?”

“They might be fine,” I say, shrugging. “They’re tough.”

He nods, then drops his gaze to where our hands rest on the hotel floor, close to each other but not touching. Kai lifts his fingers, brings them down on mine delicately. “All of them?”

“I think so,” I say, nodding, and turn my palm over to meet his. We stare down at our hands for a moment, Kai running his thumb across the scar on my left hand, the one that matches his.

“I wasn’t strong enough for you,” he says, the words falling from his mouth as if they’re the ones he desperately needed to say.

I shake my head at him. “I didn’t need you to be.”

“When I said before that I loved her, Ginny, I didn’t mean that I stopped—”

“I know,” I say. I smile. “I mean, I might have doubted it for a minute there in Nashville. And when I got in a knife fight with you. But I know.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Remind me.”

“I love you,” he says, eyes hard on mine. In the end it’s always been us, together, but knowing it and hearing it, seeing it, feeling it, are different things. In a single, sweeping motion I pull Kai toward me and find his lips with mine. I kiss him the way I’ve wanted to for weeks, the way I want to forever, our arms around one another, breath hot, heads spinning. It’s hard to pull away, but when I do, I smile, because I know we’ll kiss like that again, and again, and again.

We sit in the hallway in peaceful silence, curled against each other, until I finally rise and offer a hand to Kai. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Do they hate me? I mean, since I almost got them killed, too?” he asks, voice weak. He gives me a worried look, as if he knows how silly this sounds yet can’t help but ask.

“Lucas and Ella don’t hate anybody,” I say. “And the others sort of hate everybody. But not really. Usually.”

Kai smiles a little, allows me to help him stand, and we go back into the hotel room. The others look up immediately, as if we’re walked in on a conversation. They eye one another as I lead Kai to the edge of the bed, where we both sit down.

“So… we’re taking bets.” Callum breaks the awkward silence, rolling a coin between his knuckles as he speaks.

“On?” I ask.

“Him,” he says, pointing to Kai. “We’re betting on whether or not you’re going to turn into a wolf again.”

“I’m not sure,” Kai says slowly, glancing at me. “I think… I could. If I wanted to.”

“I think you could, too,” Flannery says. “I’m positive. Try it.”

“Quiet, you can’t bait him,” Lucas says, throwing a pen at her. “Against the rules.”

“I’m just suggesting,” she hisses back.

The room stares at him, waiting.

“I’m not going to do it now,” Kai says, rolling his eyes. The Travellers grumble and slowly fish into their pockets, then slap money into Lucas’s outstretched hand. He grins, folds the money, and sticks it in his back pocket.

“And to think,” Flannery says, folding her arms and glaring at Kai, “I fought a werewolf for you.”

“Sorry,” Kai says, shrugging. “Maybe I can pay you back for it someday.”

Flannery snorts and shakes her head. “Not if I can help it.”

EPILOGUE

There were plenty of reasons to love the winter.

Fireplaces. Stews. But most of all—at least, this year, Ginny thought— Christmas.

Most of the neighborhood houses were covered in pretty but simple decor—candles in windows, wreaths on doors, and perhaps some tasteful white lights on a single tree in the front yard. Lucas and Ella’s house, however, was covered in lights of every color and size. Some blinking, some not; some white, some rainbow-colored; some trees covered in a strand or two, some trees covered in so many that it looked like the entire thing might catch fire. The lights looked out of place on the mansion, but no more so than the VW bus parked in the driveway.

Ginny pulled the station wagon up beside the van and jumped out, cringing at the temperature. It had been over a year, but there was still always something frightening about the first moment she stepped out into the cold. It passed quickly, of course—this cold was simple, easy. Something that could be ignored or beaten by a decent coat. Ginny inhaled deeply, let the air warm in her lungs, and then walked toward the front door. The house was glowing, and even though Ginny had only been here a handful of times in the past year, it looked—and felt—like home. She lifted a fist and rapped on the door, though there wasn’t much need—someone was already racing from upstairs to open it.

Flannery’s long dark hair was no longer a tangled, frizzy mess; it was curled neatly into long spirals. Her clothes were new—still mismatched and layered—but her eyes were bright and her grin as wicked as before. Flannery jumped down the last few steps, the impact rattling the framed pictures on the foyer walls. She flung the door open and yanked Ginny inside, hugging her hard.

“Your hair!” Ginny said when she pulled away.

Flannery snorted and motioned to her head. “I know, I know. It made Ella really happy to do it so… whatever,” she says.

“It did make Ella really happy. But Flannery also asked her to do it,” Callum said, walking down the stairs behind Flannery, grinning. Flannery turned around and punched him in the chest hard enough to make Callum cough. “Ginny,” he greeted her, wheezing a recovery.

“It looks beautiful, Flannery,” Ginny said. “Don’t you like it, Callum?” she added pointedly.

Callum looked at the two of them as if they were crazy. “Flannery,” he said, shaking his head, “is always beautiful.”

“Well played,” Flannery admitted, and leaned forward to kiss him quickly. She then turned back to Ginny. “He’s not here yet,” she said, answering the unasked question. “His flight got delayed.”

“How long?” Ginny asked, and Flannery shrugged.

“It can’t be more than an hour,” Lucas said, walking out from the living room. “Come on. Ella bought cake and is going to pretend she made it. Play along.”

“Seriously,” Callum says, nodding. “Play along. There was an incident earlier today. Though I don’t think you can smell the smoke anymore, can you? Or am I just used to it?”

They walked into the living room; Ginny caught a glimpse at the kitchen, where Ella was hurriedly throwing away a bakery store box. Upon seeing Ginny she rushed into the living room, hugging her so hard they toppled