The Mountain's Shadow Page 16

  The hiss of a match startled me, and I noticed Leo leaning against the railing in the shadows with a cigarette in his hand. He appeared lost in his thoughts. I thought about leaving, but I decided to stay—it was my house, after all. He didn’t hunt here.

  “Are you the civilized Doctor Leo or are you the boorish Werewolf Leo?”

  He hunched his shoulders as though I’d thrown a rock at him. “Would you believe neither?”

  “What are you, then?”

  A long drag from his cigarette. “I’m not sure. I get in moods. Then I have those outbursts. It’s like the primitive part of my brain takes over.”

  I tried to hold my breath against the cigarette smoke, but I coughed anyway. “It’s the impulse control part of CLS—the part that takes over the brains of its victims around the full moon and makes the kids do crazy stuff at night.” But those were kids, and this was a full-grown man of tremendous strength.

  “Oh, is that all?”

  I ignored the sarcasm. “And it’s not so bad for Ron?”

  “He’s different. We’ve always been like night and day. I was always the one getting him into trouble. He’s more of a follower than a leader, but he’s also a survivor.”

  “How so?”

  “He’ll do whatever needs to be done to preserve that golden hide of his. You know, he’s the one who told me about you. That you’re the famous Joanna Fisher, CLS researcher and that I had been an idiot to confront you right after my transformation. You see, I knew you’d been watching us. I could smell you on the night air.”

  “And Ron was watching you? Oh, and I was the famous CLS researcher.”

  “He’s never far away.” He took another drag at the cigarette. He blew the smoke out slowly, and I watched as it rose and dissipated. “So you lost a lot, too.”

  “I lost my career.”

  “And gained a fortune and an estate. Seems like a good-enough trade.”

  “For all the good it’s done me. I don’t even know exactly what happened to my grandfather. Until I find out something certain, I only feel like I’m staying here, not that it’s truly mine.”

  “How well did you know your grandfather?”

  “Not very. I spent summers out here after my brother died. He took care of me, we’d go for long hikes, and then he’d fix these great, fancy dinners in the old kitchen.”

  Leo almost smiled. “He did love to cook. He’d feed me and Ron after a long night when we were first learning to hunt. That was before the others joined us.”

  “Is that why he redid the kitchen?”

  “That’s a good question. He seemed to be preparing for something those last couple of months. He said he’d need to do some field research and that the house needed to be ready if he was going to be gone for a while.”

  “Ready for what, I wonder?”

  “Who knows? He was pretty secretive.”

  “And what do you know about Gabriel?”

  His lips curled in a sneer. “He appeared around here about a year ago and ingratiated himself to Charles. He tried to be part of the pack, but his English sensibilities just didn’t fit in. So then he agreed to be a lab rat for whatever your granddad was working on.”

  “Any idea what that was?”

  “No. Just that it had something to do with CLS. Gabriel had it from childhood, you know.” He stubbed the cigarette out on the railing, and I winced for the wood.

  “Yes, he told me.” That made for an interesting new angle on the pack...and Gabriel with all his secrets. “And I thought doctors weren’t supposed to smoke.”

  “They’re not supposed to turn into werewolves, either.”

  “Touché.” I realized that we had been conversing like two normal human beings. Of course, the insight then gave way to awkwardness.

  “Well, I guess I’ll go on in, then,” I said. “I’ll tell Gabriel that the two of you will be staying in the same guest rooms. How did you like the ones you slept in this morning?”

  “They were comfortable. It’s amazing that your grandfather built such a big house for just himself.”

  I looked back over the lawn, the imaginary party imposing itself on the broad expanse. “I agree. I’m happy to be able to share it. I don’t think he would’ve minded.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” I think.

  I turned back at the door to glance out into the night and saw Leo had dropped his customary scowl for a small smile. My cheeks grew hot when I realized I had caused it. I probably wasn’t supposed to see his grin, but it helped dispel any doubts as to the wisdom of letting them stay. Now if only I could convince Gabriel of that. The butler, however, was nowhere to be found, but when I checked the upstairs bedrooms, all of them had been prepared for the night. A wave of sleepiness overcame me, and I decided to turn in.

  In my dreams that night, I was back at Andrew’s funeral, and his loss was fresh in my mind and heart. He had always been by my side, my twin brother. I would say it was like having a shadow, but it was more like I was the shadow, and he was the real thing, the full person, the class clown and center of attention. I was just the shy sister—the studious, quiet one who hung in the background, more than content to let him have the spotlight. His death left a huge hole in more lives than just mine and my parents’. So many people came to his funeral, all of his friends, even ones I didn’t know he had.

  In my dream, I was there, and it played out in vivid detail. I grew weary of all the condolences, all the tears, the way the people looked at me like they were just now seeing me, the shadow without a body, so I had closed my eyes, put my head on my arms on the table, and opened my ears. My mother, deep in conversation with another woman, didn’t notice, or I would have had my ears boxed for such insolent behavior.

  I heard a conversation behind me. This particular little boy, a redheaded kid whose striking dark orange hair made him stand out, sat with his mother. I had noticed them earlier.

  “See, Michael?” I heard the mother’s nasal voice. “This is what can happen when you go running alone in the woods at night.”

  A snort. “Andrew’d had his tonsils out. That’s what killed him.”

  “Even if you’ve always been ridiculously healthy, it doesn’t mean you’re invincible. You have to stop sneaking out, or the next funeral is going to be yours.”

  I started awake. Those were harsh words, but the woman had been worried. I wondered what had happened to them, to the little boy. I searched my memory for the last name but came up blank. I wondered if he was still alive and if I could talk to him. He would be my age, maybe a little older.

  I bit my lip. That would mean a conversation with my mother, and that was something I wasn’t ready to do yet. My father had passed away when I was in high school, but by that time, my parents had been divorced and I hadn’t seen him in years. He had never had much use for me anyway.

  But there was one thing I could do. The phrase “ridiculously healthy” had sparked my curiosity and connected another strand to the web in my brain. I put on my robe and crept down to the study.

  The box with the letters sat on the small end table by the armchair. I pulled out the top one and started reading.

  Dear Grandfather,

  Something awful has happened. Andrew had his tonsils out, and he ran away the day after. I went to his room to bring him ice cream, and he was gone. They found him in the woods, covered in blood, and he was dead…

  Tears pricked my eyes. It had taken me weeks to be able to write that letter, a child of nine. I couldn’t read that one yet, not with the new grief on top of the old. I pulled out the next one.

  Dear Grandfather,

  Mama says I may spend the entire summer with you this year! I’m so excited! Ever since Andrew died this spring, I have been so lonely. There hasn’t been anyone to talk to besides the dog, and he doesn’t talk back. I’m looking forward to lots of long walks in the woods and pretend balls with Mr. Bear. You don’t have to do anything special for me, I promise you I’
ll be good company, just wait!

  Love,

  Joanna

  That was the summer after Andrew had died, the summer my grandfather had bought Mishka for me. He had known that my parents’ marriage, never good to begin with, was on the rocks because my father’s friend had operated on my brother. My mother never forgave him even though the cause of death was some strange reaction Andrew had to the anesthesia.

  Dear Grandfather,

  It’s actually snowing for once, and I’m stuck in bed with a fever of 102, and Andrew said he would bring me a snowball, but he’s still outside playing with his friends. It’s not fair—we probably won’t get any more snow for years, and I’m sick! Mama says it’s because I have a delicate, ladylike temperament, but I know it’s because Andrew is “ridiculously healthy”, like Dad always says. Is that normal, for doctors to have a sick kid and a healthy one? I think this is the fourth time I’ve been sick since school started! I want to take some of my snot and look at it under the microscope you sent me for Christmas (thank you, thank you, thank you!), but Mama says that’s gross, and Dad says that being a pathologist doesn’t pay like it used to, whatever that means. I think I might wait until they’re not home and try it.

  Love,

  Joanna

  “Ridiculously healthy…” There was that phrase. An idea formed in the back of my mind, something that my grandfather had figured out and was trying to tell me. I kept reading, but most of the rest of the letters were childish things, news of my school and science-fair successes, and Andrew’s escapades.

  Dear Grandfather,

  Last night Andrew showed me how he likes to climb out his window at night and go running through the woods behind our house. I told him there are snakes out there, but he doesn’t care. He says he can’t breathe in here when it’s a pretty night. Last night the moon was so big that it was almost like a cloudy day instead of nighttime…

  Dear Grandfather,

  Andrew got to play the Big Bad Wolf in the Second Grade play, Little Red Riding Hood, and he was so excited he wanted to sleep in his costume. He said his teacher told him it would help him to “get into character”. I think it’s silly. I’m just a forest flower, so it doesn’t matter much anyway…

  Reading the letters reminded me I hadn’t had a very interesting childhood, but my twin brother had. He had come home from the hospital with a wild streak, Mama said. He had been the one to climb out of his crib, to run before he walked, and to get in trouble at school.

  I put my head in my hands. Impossible! Not my brother. I tried to think back to the night he disappeared—a cold, clear February night—when the full moon made everything stand out in silvery relief. I had been downstairs watching TV with my parents and felt guilty because I got to stay up late, and Andrew, having just come home from the hospital after having his tonsils out, had to go to bed early. They had never gotten infected, but they were so big that the doctors were worried anyway. I went to take him some ice cream, and he was gone.

  The full moon.

  He had just come home.

  Could Andrew have had CLS? Was that the root of my obsessive interest in it? I put my head in my hands. It made sense, crystal-clear, full-sun, spotlighted sense.

  “Joanie?” Leo stood at the door. “Are you okay?”

  “My paradigm has been shifted.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe, a smile on his lips. “I know the feeling.”

  “I think my brother may have had CLS. That that’s what the Landover Curse is. My grandfather must have had it, too.”

  “We were wondering when you’d catch on. You’re no dummy, but there’s no messing with denial for some people.”

  I realized that we were alone, the rest of the house asleep. The thought gave me a thrill along my arms that made all the little hairs stand on end.

  “So this is the old man’s study?” he asked and looked around at the books.

  “Yep. Actually, it’s my study.”

  “I guess it is now.” He walked in and stood beside my chair so as to get a better view of the bookshelves.

  Once again, I was aware of how he towered over me, his heavy black brows moments from drawing over his eyes in stormy anger. A flush warmed my face.

  “Don’t you have a ton of books at Peter’s house?”

  He ran a finger along my jaw and then picked up my left wrist, almost as though studying it. It was still bruised, but the pain had subsided.

  “I’d rather be doing than reading.” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.

  “Is that why you were going into orthopedics?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe.” He leaned down so that his face was only inches from mine. “You know they call us the cavemen of medicine?”

  “Oh, really?” I could feel his breath on my nose and cheeks. The image of him bonking me over the head with the Encyclopedia of Magic and Witchcraft and dragging me upstairs to have his way with me came into my head.

  “Oh, really.” His eyes locked on mine. A little thrill moved in my chest—he’d had the same thought, I knew it!

  A knock startled us, and Lonna poked her head around the door. “You guys couldn’t sleep either?” she asked.

  I shook my head, my cheeks hot. “We were just discussing the, ah, charts and the vaccinations.”

  “I may start looking at them since I can’t sleep. Leo?” She arched an eyebrow at him, and the familiar resentment stabbed through my chest.

  “I believe I can go back to sleep now, but thanks.”

  I tried not to look at Leo, but I couldn’t resist a small glance. Laughter danced in his eyes as he wished me sweet dreams and walked out of the study.

  “I think I can go to sleep now, too.”

  Lonna shrugged, but a smile played at the corner of her lips. “Suit yourself.”

  “Good night!” I heard the library door close and was happy to be left alone with the shifting sands of insight.

  Andrew had CLS. My grandfather might have had it as well. So where did that leave me? Still with more questions than answers, one of which was why Lonna tended to appear whenever things were about to get interesting with me and one of the werewolf men. It was like she was trying to protect me from myself while she was the one with the bad taste in men, and that was the nice way of putting it.

  I powered down my laptop, piled the papers into neat stacks, and turned off the desk lamp with its green cover. Why is it that only one of us gets to have fun? As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the moonlight streaming in through the windows, I closed them and thought I caught a whiff of Leo’s scent, soap and rain and woods. Nothing of dog, thankfully.

  “It’s a good thing I smell like a dog,” he’d said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found you.”

  I smiled at his quip and at the thought that he’d been looking for me. Him, not Gabriel. Had they argued over who got to come rescue me? Or had Leo just made his decision and struck off, all dark energy and determination?

  Don’t kid yourself, Joanie, I told myself. He’s way out of your league... Or is he?

  I crept into the hallway, careful not to step on any of the creaky boards I remembered from my childhood, but a few new ones had appeared. The reawakened scientist in me couldn’t help but ask the questions: How old is this place? Did Grandfather build it or inherit it? Why didn’t I ask these questions when he was alive? Grief swept over me like nausea, and, eyes blurry, I banged my ankle against the umbrella stand by the front door. I caught it just before it fell and waited a moment for the silence to reassert itself, my heartbeat in my ears and throat. I cringed, sure one or all three of the werewolves would come charging down the stairs and tear me apart before I could get out, “No, no, it’s me, it’s Joanie!”

  But there was nothing, just a breeze outside chasing the first of the fallen leaves across the driveway and a chorus of crickets.

  I put the umbrella stand back in the spot it had occupied for decades and swallowed the tears that came to my throat. This
stupid four-sided brass bucket had had more stability than I ever would. I sat on the bottom step and sobbed as quietly into my hands as I could, not wanting to wake anyone. I couldn’t take Lonna’s pity or Gabriel’s questioning or Leo’s guilt trips. The day’s conversations came back to me, how others had lost so much more.

  “Fuck you, Leo,” I muttered into the darkness and wiped my cheeks with my hands.

  “Is that an invitation?” He stood over me, leaves in his hair, and I could see from the look in his eyes that he had just come back inside.

  I gasped and tried to crab-crawl up the stairs, which didn’t work with my injured wrist. After scrabbling for a moment, I curled up on the bottom step, my hand cradled against my chest.

  “Don’t hurt me,” I said.

  He sat beside me and gently helped me to a sitting position.

  “Let me see,” he said.

  I arched an eyebrow at him.

  “I had just changed when I heard a crash in here. What did that poor umbrella stand do to you, anyway?”

  “Probably not enough to deserve being kicked,” I said, but I gave my wrist and hand over to his gentle tug. He examined it, poking and prodding, and I couldn’t help but imagine his hands were investigating something else.

  If he could sense—or heaven forbid—smell my change in mood, he didn’t say. “It’s just a nasty bruise, but you need to do a better job of keeping it still. I’ll get you some ice.”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “If you were, you wouldn’t be kicking umbrella stands and crying at the foot of the stairs.”

  I sighed and pulled my wrist away from him. “I’m just tired of people trying to make me feel guilty for not having CLS and for it not taking away everything. So what if I have a manor and a fortune? My grandfather, the only person who cared for me, is gone.” I curled up with my knees to my chest.

  He ran his hands through his hair, and a few leaves scattered around us like silver tears in the moonlight. “He’s not the only one,” he said.