13. The Child

Night fell, and Liath was snoring upstairs before Andrew tried to call Micah from the red landline next to the lamp. It went to voicemail. His stomach twisted with guilt. It certainly was not so late Micah would be asleep, and it was hard to imagine him missing all Andrew's calls without noticing. Even if he was still in Lilydale, Andrew would have expected him to at least try to answer.

Perhaps, Andrew thought with a surge of fear, Micah was done waiting for him to come home. He thought back to their conversation in Micah's room where…where he'd told him to sleep with other people, like an idiot. Like a coward. If Micah had listened and sought out a new sexual partner, it would take all of Andrew's self-control to not resent him for it. And yet this was what he claimed he wanted. For Micah to be free. If that turned out to be best for him, Andrew…simply had to accept it. The thought brought a rush of bile to his throat, sharp and coarse and sour. Cowardly fool. He was going to die alone now.

He hugged his arms across himself, trying to bring down his heart rate. His hair was wet from a shower under water that tasted like iron, and braided on top the way Chamomile had taught him, so he'd tied the hood of his sweatshirt tight to keep the cold off. His cheeks were sticky with a frostbite poultice Liath had at the ready.

Even before the worry about Micah seeped back in, he didn't feel tired at all. The day had been too novel, too wild for him, leaving him with an emotional high and his brain spiraling. The work and insight it took to tap into his own natural connection to the wilderness was exhausting, but…he could feel it. Nature spoke back to him, made him slip between the cracks of the sky and the bark of a tree and the grains of snow. It felt like he'd turned on another frequency of existence like donning a pair of 3D glasses at a movie, hitherto denied to him just because he didn't know how to look.

Holding the polished agate over his head so the translucent parts turned to fire in the moonlight, Andrew tried dialing Micah's number one more time, but it still went to voicemail. Then he picked up his phone and rummaged through the settings to see if he could do anything to boost his service signal. But the X in the corner tray remained, and he shook his head and powered it down.

He slid onto his back and stared at the vaulted rafters, counting whorls absently in the weak light from the moon that shone inside. His eyes traced the white moonbeam back to the window and tried to find the stars, but the moonlight cast shadows on the interior of the cabin, which flashed on the windowpanes and obscured the view. It made him almost pine for the stars.

With a sudden burst of resolve, he unzipped himself from his sleeping bag and padded to the front door. He pulled on his wool gaiter under his sweatshirt hood and his jacket hood, and then wrapped his head up in a scarf before he pulled the orange snowsuit on over all of it.

After breaking two packets of instant heat and jamming the crinkling plastic bags in the toes of his boots, still damp inside, he stuffed the boots onto his feet. Then he broke two more packets that he held in his palms and sank his hands into his multiple gloves and mittens.

When he stepped outside, he was reminded that this was the North Shore in the middle of the night. The cold bit through his gear in an instant. But he settled in with the discomfort. He crunched through existing footprints until he was away from the cabin on the other side of the hill from his idle snowmobile. He plopped down cross-legged into the snow, and then tilted back his head and gazed at the stars. There was some light pollution eastward and southward from the surrounding towns, so the stars still didn't quite compare to that night in Montana. But winter starlight was especially bright, like the veil between the earth and heavens was thin and pierced by a million needles of brilliant light.

He let his mind wander, allowed his thoughts to roll over him with a menagerie of feelings that came and went. Worry in his stomach, anticipation tight in his groin, anger in his forehead and his jaw, sorrow heavy on his shoulders. They were all back, after he'd been numb to them for months. It hurt more to feel, but he was alive again.

A soft sigh drifted into his ears. Andrew dropped his head immediately, heart fluttering with excitement. A dozen paces away, that familiar cloud of living snow crouched silently and watched him with sunspot eyes. When Andrew remained still, blinking slowly, the form took a cautious step toward him. It fell under a beam of moonlight, which spilled like milk over its shaggy coat. Andrew smiled slightly as a pair of golden lupine eyes blinked back at him. It stalked toward him slowly, one large clawed paw at a time.

He might get eaten. That was a choice, he supposed.

The wolf approached him with its nose quivering. Its face was round and tufted. One furred, gray-tipped ear swiveled to the side.

"Hello, Fionna," Andrew said softly.

The wolf's other ear swiveled in recognition when he said her name. Keeping her keen eyes on him, she lowered her head and sniffed his hand on his knee, a paw crunching in the snow near his foot. The moonlight turned her heavy winter coat to tones of silver and charcoal, with pale white around her eyes and under her chin. She stretched out her neck and sniffed at the exposed skin around his eyes with warm and damp breath ghosting over his cheeks.

A cloud clamped over the moon, washing darkness over him and the snow. He blinked until his eyes adjusted to behold a girl in the wolf's place. Her eyes were unchanged, precious metal gleaming behind long, dark lashes in the middle of an oval face with full squishy cheeks. Her lips were dry and cracked but quirked slightly with a curious grin. A mane of tawny hair fell down to her shoulders and got lost in the fluffy parka that her wolf pelt had become. Her movements were no more tamed now that they were bound within the body of a girl; she was crouched in the snow, head cocked to the side, crawling toward him on all fours.

Slowly, Andrew raised his hand to give her the same kind of little wave he'd done the day before by the lake. She froze, eyes flicking to his hand as she settled back on her knees and raised her little stubby fingers back. The girl would have fit in with primary school children and was built thick around the middle, but her limbs looked knobby and stretched out. As Andrew set his arm back on his knee, the girl crawled closer. She stretched out a finger ending in a sharp dirt-clotted nail and tugged down his mask under his chin, peering thoughtfully at him. Andrew swallowed a gag at her foul canine breath, a grin climbing onto his lips at the absurdity of the encounter.

"Boy Liath," said the girl, her husky voice like a bark.

Considering the sentiment with a slow nod and a shrug, Andrew pressed his hand to his chest and said, "Andrew. Liath is my mother."

"Mo-ther." Fionna's head bobbed. She pressed her hand to her chest in imitation and then peered up at Andrew as she tipped herself over into the snow and rolled on her back with glee.

"You must not be cold," he said with a laugh. In response, she reached for her head and gripped her messy bangs, giving them a ferocious yank and shifting back into her wolf body as if donning a cloak. Andrew shook himself as goosebumps scattered across his skin, scratching his cheek and pulling his mask over his mouth. The wolf's long legs kicked toward the blanket of stars as she shimmied along her back, her long mauve tongue lolling out from between her ivory fangs. When he was about to reach out a tentative hand and touch her furred ribcage, she shot back to her feet and wound her way behind Andrew, dropping her weight against his spine so he jerked forward. It forced himself to his knees, which elicited a joyful yip that could have come from a domesticated puppy. Urged on by her excitement, Andrew stood up as she circled around his legs with her thick, heavy tail swishing. He reached down and patted her back, which was sturdy and warm enough for him to feel through his layers of gloves. She wove around again and butted the crown of her head into his palm. He scratched behind her ear and down into her cheek, barely able to penetrate the fur, although she leaned hard into his hand, whistling like a screaming tea kettle. She reared back and threw off her wolfskin so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

Andrew gasped as he stuck out a foot to keep his balance, grasping the girl's waist. He tried to straighten, but so true was her grip that he simply lifted her off the ground. Swinging her legs around his waist, she clung to his shoulders as she kept whining, sounding barely human. Andrew held onto her as his heart climbed into his throat. How many years had it been since this little girl touched someone? How many times did she run into humans who chased her away or screamed when they saw her as a wolf?

After a few minutes embracing under the moonlight, Fionna slid back onto the snow and blinked up at him. She pointed down the hill and hopped up and down.

"Oh, I can't leave…" he began. But maybe that wasn't true. Maybe it was time to go home. And to tell Micah he'd never wanted a break in the first place. He was just…broken and doubtful.

Fionna threw on her wolfskin and scooped her lower jaws through the snow, munching on it like a sno-cone. Understanding, Andrew crouched, picked up a clump, crushing it into a ball.

"Ready?"

He tossed the snowball into the stars; Fionna threw back her head, mouth open as she leapt into the air and caught the snowball before landing with an elegant thud. He laughed as she pranced in a circle and opened her jaws until he crouched to do it again.

Andrew climbed back into the sleeping bag on the couch not long before daybreak. His hair was slightly frozen, as were his toes. His legs hurt, sore from running through the trees with a wolf pup. He could feel his cheeks were hard and wind-chapped again. Once he rolled onto his side, he was asleep almost at once.

Something was wrong when he woke up. The ocean waves seemed louder than when he'd fallen asleep. But…no, that wasn't quite it. Andrew blinked and rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand. Liath stood across the room over the kitchen island. He started to sit up, jostling the cord around his neck so the cold twist of wire brushed the hollow of his throat. It felt…lighter. Confused, Andrew looked down.

The vial was missing.

Moving carefully so he didn't make a sound in the sleeping bag, Andrew slid his legs over the edge of the couch. His toes hit something odd and he looked down. There was a white sound machine producing ocean waves on the floor at the foot of the couch. A childlike part of Andrew wanted to believe that Liath wanted to let him sleep. She no doubt had seen all the footprints—man and wolf both—tracking over the hills outside her cabin.

But…

History was not friendly to this belief.

He stepped lightly across the deerskin rug until he could see over his mother's shoulder. Liath gripped the uncorked vial of Micah's blood between her thumb and forefinger as she swilled a potion bottle in her other hand. She held the glass over the open flame of the bunsen burner, watching the deep red liquid bubble inside.

Andrew reached over and snatched the vial out of her fingers.

She gasped and spun around. "A-Andrew! I…hoped you'd sleep—"

"The fuck are you doing, Liath?"

She looked down at the potion bottle in her fingers. She opened and closed her mouth and then looked back up at him without speaking.

Teeth gritted, Andrew growled, "I asked. You. A question."

Liath's shoulders hunched; she grew guarded. "I…wanted to experiment."

"What is Micah's blood supposed to do?" he demanded, hot indignation rising in him.

Liath hesitated. "Fae blood is said to have many powerful properties. I want to find out what."

"Were you hoping it would make you high?" sneered Andrew.

Liath flinched. Her earth-brown eyes hardened into coal. "I don't know what you expected from me, Andrew, but I was bound to disappoint."

"You're right." Andrew ripped the bottle out of her other hand and cast it onto the floorboards to shatter at their feet. "Enjoy the rest of your pitiful life, Mother." He gathered his things and threw open the front door, barely stepping into his boots and marching down the steps outside in just his jeans and sweatshirt. Andrew threw his backpack and sleeping bag in the trailer of the snowmobile, climbed onto the seat, and tore into the wilderness.

Once the cabin was out of sight, he released the clutch. "Fuck!" he roared, climbing off the snowmobile, kicking clods of snow. He screamed again at the heavens until his throat felt raw.

Then he dropped onto the snow, burying his face in his forearms, letting heavy shudders wrack his body until he didn't know if it was grief or the cold.

The wolf snuck up on him—he jumped when her wet nose thrust into his ear, loud and hot. Andrew's head shot up.

Fionna's golden eyes beheld him with her canine eyebrows lifted. Her tail wagged slightly, her ears cocked sideways, and then she stuck her neck out and licked his cheek.

She put her head on his arms and forced him to inhale the musk of her fur. Hesitantly, Andrew pressed the side of his face into her scruff and leaned his arm on her shoulder blades. Of course now his eyes were burning. He and the wolf stayed in their strange but comforting embrace until his fingers and cheeks were numb.

"Excuse me," Andrew managed with a sniff. "I have to go home."

Fionna scooted away from him when he spoke, but stayed near as he dressed properly in his winter gear. She whistled again as he climbed onto the snowmobile and put on the helmet.

"I can't stay with Liath anymore," said Andrew. "She isn't healthy for me." He revved the engine into life.

Fionna gave a whine of protest.

"I'm sorry," said Andrew. "There's someone I have to get home to. Hopefully."

The wolf scampered under a hemlock, bringing the two of them full-circle. He gunned the snowmobile past her, but she shot back out from under the tree and ran after him, her legs pumping, her tongue flapping out of her black lips.

At first, the sight of her made his heart drop with dread. What was he supposed to do with a wolf attached to him? If he couldn't get her to go back to Liath, she'd be wildly vulnerable to being spotted by humans, who could panic and likely shoot her. Leaving her to fend for herself didn't seem like an option, and bringing her back to Liath would mean he would have to see her again. Even if he were at his most noble, instead of angry and lovesick, he couldn't bring himself to do that. With another quick glance at Fionna, he cut some of the gas. She did a little leap to thank him.

The edges of buildings emerged after an hour. He slowed down and searched the trees around him for a glimpse of Fionna. Finding her obscured behind a pair of spruce, Andrew called, "Fionna, you have to turn back. I don't want people to see you." He swallowed and added more softly, "Thank you for your friendship. You were the best part of this trip."

Fionna emerged with her head low and her ears back. She padded across the muddied snow toward him and set her chin on his knee. Chest tight, Andrew slowly lifted his hand and scratched her heavy scruff while she released another low, sad whistle. Then he gripped the handlebars again and briefly revved the engine. Fionna picked up her head, pointed her maw toward the heavens, and let out a short howl. The hairs on the back of Andrew's neck stood up. He gritted his teeth with resolve and sped onward.

It was surreal being back in the fluorescent lights of the ski shop. He returned the keys and the trailer as if in a dream, and didn't put up a fight when they said they weren't returning the rest of the week's money. He pulled off his hat and scarf as he made his way with heavy steps back to his Saturn in the parking lot, staring up at the lightly falling snow.

Maybe he shouldn't have stormed out of the cabin. Maybe he was proving to himself he hadn't changed a bit since he was a teenager. That it was so easy to betray him, and for him to turn away. But she'd taken the blood ward off his neck in his sleep, and ruined it…proving she hadn't changed since he was a teenager, either. They were both still so toxic to one another, bringing out their worst sides, falling into old patterns almost immediately.

For a moment, overwhelming disappointment, renewed abandonment, frustration and guilt misted his eyes, but he shook himself and rubbed his face. There would be plenty of time on the drive home to cry. Plenty of time to try to guess whether or not Micah would forgive him. Plenty of time to hope that by the end of the day, he would be in Micah's arms, feeling his heartbeat against his cheek.

Peeling off his snowsuit, Andrew opened the driver's door on the Saturn. He packed everything back into the trunk and slammed it shut with finality.

"Bark!" exclaimed a little girl's voice. Andrew spun around just as the wolf girl threw her skinny arms around his waist and squeezed him with disproportionate strength.

"Fionna, I told you…oh, you probably can't understand me, can you?" He patted her head, trying to pry her arms off him, but she kept her hands clasped and growled softly until he let her go.

Fionna blinked up at him with shining yellow eyes and a quivering chin. Her hair was pushed back from her forehead and behind her very human looking little ears. In daylight, it looked like she wore a luxurious fur coat and suede pants. But she was barefoot, her feet scarred and callused. Her lips were grayish and chapped, and her cheeks were coarse. As a human, she looked woefully neglected, destitute. How was she supposed to know her human body needed more grooming than she did as a wolf? He wasn't a good judge for how old she would be as a human, but now that he could see her better, she didn't look over ten.

"Alone," she yipped sadly, shaking her head.

"Okay, okay. Let me look at you." He started to crouch, and she let him go but held onto the hem of his coat. He squatted next to her, Fionna all but nestling into his chest.

"I thought Liath took care of you," he said. "Sort of."

"Alone," she whimpered again, and then burrowed against his collar. Even her hair smelled like sweat, like dog, like sap from hemlocks. But then again, she'd probably never had a bath.

"Mum must not have been great company for you, eh?" Andrew said softly. "I think she tried to keep you wild. I get it, but…that's not enough for you, is it, child? You're bound to get yourself in trouble up here, I bet. And anyway, it doesn't feel right, leaving you behind as a little human who looks this rough." Fionna looked like she was posing, rocking on her heels, hands behind her back, blinking her large eyes. Like a child wanting to get adopted. "You wouldn't be able to scare anyone in Lilydale though," he mused. "You wouldn't even be the most feral thing there." Andrew snorted, "Chamomile."

She stepped back from him and pawed his cheek with cold fingers. "An-roo," she said. "Fionna." Then she pointed to his car. "Come…come with." She nudged his hand with her forehead.

He sighed, "Honestly, Micah would love you." While she watched him expectantly with her saucer eyes, Andrew grabbed the handle to the back door and pulled it open. "Come on then, little one."

Fionna bounced in a circle and yipped, and then clambered on all fours onto the bench in the backseat. She folded up her limbs and sat tall and proud with a lopsided grin.

Andrew reached into the backseat and pulled the center seatbelt out and around her. She growled at him, but he gave her a dirty look and proceeded to buckle her in. Fionna leaned against the seatbelt with another little growl, pulling the shoulder harness into her mouth and gnawing on it.

"Stop it," said Andrew, just sharply enough for her to infer his meaning from his tone. "We have a long drive." He put the strap back down onto her shoulder. "You should sleep, or else just relax, okay? I can get you something to eat and drink. But otherwise, I'm eager to get home."

As if she understood all this. But she certainly liked staring at him while he talked, like she'd never gotten to listen to a human speak for very long.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here?" he asked.

"An-roo and Fionna," she said with a furrowed brow.

"Okay. Okay." He held up his hands. Then he closed her in the backseat; she leaned forward to watch him in alarm until he got behind the wheel and closed his own door. The car took two tries for the engine to turn over. Fionna jumped, gasping and grabbing the bench.

"You're safe," he said in a soothing tone. It took her a moment, but she slowly relaxed and leaned back, biting her lip with her small human teeth. In the mirror, Andrew watched her pick up the snow scraper from the floor by her feet. She gave it a swashbuckling wave, giggling.

"No," growled Andrew. She put it down almost at once, still biting her lip, a dimple appearing in her cheek. "Oh dear god," he muttered, rubbing his face. "You're an adorable little rascal, aren't you?"

She yipped several times and kicked a bare foot into the back of his chair. Then when he put the car into drive and backed out of his parking spot, Fionna's eyebrows shot up. She grabbed a fistful of the seatbelt as she bared her teeth with displeasure.

"Hey, get used to it. It's safe." He paused and said, "Magic."

Fionna blinked and found his gaze in the rearview mirror where she stared at him for several long seconds. She had shaggy taupe brows that lowered on her forehead as she repeated with a nod, "Magic."

"I hope you understand we're not coming back here for a good long while," Andrew told her as he turned onto the highway. "I'm not coming near that woman ever again. Say ‘bye, Liath.'"

Fionna turned in the seat and looked through the back windshield. She touched her dirty fingers to the glass and repeated, "Bye, Liath."

Andrew's heart wrenched, and he swallowed again, more painfully this time. But he focused on the road as he got up to highway speed, and then some, more than willing to speed if it would get him home to Micah any sooner.

Fionna fell asleep with her head against the bench when Andrew was flying down Highway 61. He plugged his phone into the auxiliary cable and then started a call to Micah.

It went to voicemail.