Cold Spell

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It’s late—three or four in the morning, and my breath forms bright white clouds as a group of Travellers escort Flannery and Callum back to his RV. It’s covered in Christmas lights, and someone has painted flowers on the door frame. Flannery looks pale, and I want to follow her, but Brigit is watching me carefully. I swallow, turn my back on Flannery, and head back toward Brigit’s RV. I hear Brigit finish her conversation; I glance over my shoulder casually, looking just far enough to know she’s following me. When I reach the trailer I walk immediately to Flannery’s bedroom, pull on one of her hoodies to fight the temperature, and get in the bed on the floor. Brigit opens the trailer’s main door, and a series of sounds tell me she’s taking jewelry off, opening cabinets and drawers. I jump when she suddenly flings open the door to Flannery’s bedroom, her shape illuminated by the lamp in the kitchen.

“You can sleep in her bed, you know. She lives with Callum now,” Brigit says, then shuts the door. The brusqueness of her words fully ignites the feelings that have been smoldering in me all day. I jump up and follow her out into the kitchen, letting Flannery’s door bang into the wall behind me. Brigit is steeping a cup of tea, rubbing her temples. When she sees my expression, she scowls.

“Gonna come in here and go all buffer on me?” she says, motioning to me. She sounds as if she’s prepared for this argument. “Call me a monster, a bad mother? Save it—I see your news programs. I know what you think of traditions that aren’t like your own.”

“She didn’t want to marry him,” I say, shaking my head. “That has nothing to do with tradition. She doesn’t want him; it’s simple.”

“She loves him,” Brigit says. “You know how lucky she is, that she loves the man she’s marrying?”

“But she didn’t want—”

“Don’t think for a second you understand us after a few days,” Brigit snaps, sloshing the tea from her cup. “Most of these Traveller girls, they’re not going to be professors or lawyers or surgeons. They’re going to be housewives. Except for Flannery. She’s the one with a real future—she’s going to be queen. But there’s not a man in this camp that wouldn’t take it from her. They see a single woman as weak, while a married woman as strengthened by her husband. Trust me”—she points to herself—“I know. Flannery deserves better than the reign I’ve had. Isn’t that what every mother wants for her daughter—a better future than her own?”

I stay quiet; if Flannery herself can’t convince Brigit that she’s strong enough to rule anything on her own, from bears to deer to a clan of Travellers, then I doubt I can. I swallow as Brigit sits down at the kitchen table.

“What’s going to happen to me?” I ask.

Brigit lifts an eyebrow, then shakes her head pityingly. “You haven’t already decided? That’s the problem with buffers, Ginny Andersen. You let the world determine your fate.”

I firm my jaw. “So I’m a blessing, then?”

Brigit shrugs. “You’re a curse. I wanted to leave you in the woods, let the Fenris have you, but Flannery made a bargain. She marries Callum without pitching a fit to the clan, and you stay here.”

I nod faintly and walk back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I lie down in bed—the one on the floor, not Flannery’s—and stare at the ceiling. I hear Brigit finish her tea, put the cup in the sink, and then pause at my door for a moment, listening. I lie still, and Brigit eventually goes to her own bedroom. The trailer falls silent, though I can’t tell if she’s actually asleep or not. Any minute now, threads of gold and violet will appear in the sky. There’s not much time.

I sit up in bed.

I don’t know if Brigit’s right—if I’m a curse, or a blessing, or neither. But she was definitely wrong about one thing: I’m not letting the world—or anyone in it—determine my fate. Not anymore, at least.

I pull Flannery’s window open; the cold air rushes in, biting my arms and neck. I can see the forest from here—are the Fenris there, waiting? I have to move either way; there’s no time to dwell on the fear. The window frame is sharp—I can feel it bruising my hands as I heave myself up onto it. I hold my breath, listening for the sound of Brigit rising, moving, coming after me. Nothing.

I drop to the ground. It’s so cold I feel a shock run from my feet to my hips as I hit the dirt. I reach into the hoodie pocket and find Flannery’s knife—I stashed it in there hours ago—then run.

The camp is quiet, and I’m grateful for the snow that’s still thick between trailers—it mutes the slap of my feet. I’m exhausted, my vision watery, but I keep moving. There, ahead—Callum’s trailer. It’s dark and still, like everything else, but I grip the knife even tighter in my hand as I approach. Something in the woods rustles, and my breath catches in my throat; I hold the knife ahead of me, keeping my eyes trained on the branches. I exhale. It’s nothing, just snow falling from the trees. I turn back to the flower-painted door. Now or never. I hold my breath, turn the handle, and then push the door open.

I jump back. Flannery and Callum are awake, sitting at the head of the bed with a foot or so between them. They’re wearing the same clothes I saw them in last—Callum in a suit and Flannery in her wedding dress. There’s a candle lit on the nightstand, making their bodies soft and shadowy.

“Ginny?” Flannery asks, making a face.

“Hi,” I answer, because I don’t know what else to say.

“What are you doing here?” Flannery says slowly. I step through the door frame, and her gaze falls to my right hand. “And what are you doing with my knife?”

“I’m… I’m kidnapping you,” I say, brandishing it a little.

She raises her eyebrows and looks over at Callum. For a moment he’s still, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s surprised, or because he’s working out how best to fight me off. But then he laughs, a quiet sound, under his breath and guarded.

“What’s so funny?” Flannery asks.

“I was just thinking about what I’ll tell everyone tomorrow,” he says. “My wife ran away with a buffer. While wearing her wedding dress.”

Flannery laughs this time, and I can hear the relief in the sound. In lasts only a moment, though, and then they’re still, staring at one another, as if I’m not in the doorway wielding a knife. Callum moves first, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

“Go on. I’ll buy you some time,” he says swiftly, calmly.

Flannery looks at Callum incredulously. “I can’t just… I can’t just leave.”

“You can,” he says firmly. “Unless you want to stay. Do you?”

“Yes,” Flannery says automatically. “This place is mine.” I’m not sure what she means by mine—her kingdom? Her home? I’m not sure she knows, either.

Callum pauses and asks a different question in a softer voice. “Do you want to stay if it means you’re forced to marry me?”

And Flannery hesitates.

“Go,” Callum says.

“I was that bad in bed?” Flannery says, trying to joke. The tears in her eyes betray her.

“Look, our first fight as a married couple,” Callum says drily, and this finally gets a laugh from Flannery’s throat. He smiles at her. “Also, you’ll need to punch me.”

“Why?” I ask.

“It needs to look like I fought back,” Callum says. “If they think I let her leave, they’ll shun me.”

“How about instead of getting punched in the face, you come with us?” I suggest. Callum falters, looking away.

“You still don’t get it,” Flannery says, shaking her head at me. “This is our home. These people are family. And the world out there… well. It’s not a world that makes it easy for a lone Traveller. But…” She looks down, balls her hand into a fist. “I… I just… I can’t stay.” Flannery then swings her fist forward, punches Callum hard in the face. The impact makes a loud crunch sound, and Callum goes down, crashing onto the floor of his trailer. Flannery lifts her chin and studies him as he wobbles to his feet.

“Is that gonna bruise?” she asks hurriedly. “I can do it again.”

“It’ll bruise.” Callum winces. “Goddamn, Flannery. You never do anything halfway.”

“All right,” Flannery says, spinning around to me. “Let’s go.” I nod and dart for the door. I can already see the idea of the morning on the horizon. I jump from the edge of the trailer’s door to the ground, icy and crunchy under my feet. I look over my shoulder to say something to Flannery—

They’re kissing, Flannery’s arms slung around Callum’s neck, his hand resting on the small of her back, and I find I can’t possibly speak and ruin it. Flannery looks small beside him, a body at odds with her personality, and when they break away they look at each other for a moment that lasts for years. Flannery inhales and shakes the sentiments away.

“Put some ice on that,” she says, rubbing his eye with her thumb so hard he winces again. Then she springs out of the trailer after me, and we dash away together.