Indigo Moon (11 page)

“Greens?” Jenna looked over.

“Yes. Whatever vegetables you have in. Can you spare any?”

Jenna gave a short bark of laughter. “It’s clear you’re new.” She went back to her foraging. “There might be some carrots. Joey likes to crunch on them from time to time, like a big rabbit. But then he’s hopping about like a big rabbit anyways.”

Isabelle was surprised. It didn’t seem an unreasonable request. Fruit and vegetables were an important part of a healthy diet. How could Jenna have worked in catering and not keep greens? She came to a side door next to the big stove. It was the equivalent of the bathroom in the bunkhouse. The door stood ajar and frigid air wafted through. Expecting another bathroom or maybe a larder, Isabelle gave the door a gentle push; it swung open to reveal the room beyond. She froze.

It was indeed a larder of sorts. A meat locker. Tiled throughout, like the washroom, in basic white tiles from floor to ceiling, and with similar drainage holes in the floor. But instead of baths and basins, this room was empty, barring several huge hooks driven into the ceiling. From each hook hung the headless carcass of an adult deer. The freshest still dripped blood onto the floor where it pooled in huge coagulating puddles around the drain holes. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed a surge of bile.

“Fresh game.” Jenna’s voice came from behind her. “Needs to hang.” She reached over and closed the door with a firm click.

“Why are bits missing from the carcass?”

“Huh?”

“The legs. They have their forelegs missing.”

“No meat worth having on the foreleg. Here’s your stuff,” Jenna said gruffly. She pressed a cotton shopping bag into Isabelle’s hands. It was clear the visit was over and it was time for Isabelle to head home. Jenna clearly had a day of chores on her mind, and entertaining Ren’s guest was not one of them.

“Thank you.” Isabelle hefted the heavy bag in her hands. “I promise to replace everything as soon as I can get to a store. Where’s the nearest one, by the way?”

Jenna looked at her peculiarly before turning away and heading for the door.

“Get Ren to take you there.” She side-stepped the question. “I better go and untangle Mouse’s hair.” She sighed. “Get ready for some squealing.”

Isabelle followed her out. She didn’t want to go back to Ren’s cold cabin just yet. She wanted to stay and help bathe Mouse and chat with Jenna. She liked her company and knew that under all that brusqueness beat a heart of gold.

These young people were interesting and fun and just what she needed to pull her out of her own maudlin melodramas. It also helped her form a picture of Ren’s home life. Jenna and Joey were in their late teens, Patrick in his early twenties. How long had they been here, and how had they arrived? What did they do? Did they all work for Ren and the fisheries?

“You come along for dinner tonight. The boys are going down to the station this afternoon and I’m planning dinner for about six thirty. That okay with you?” Jenna asked just before they parted.

“I’d love to,” Isabelle said. Her heart gave a happy little flip. This was a welcome gesture and she greatly appreciated Jenna’s overture.

She watched Jenna head back to the bunkhouse, her stride full of strength and purpose. Although she had been politely welcomed and generously provided for, Isabelle knew she had also been kept at arm’s length. Trust was a big thing here. She had seen it in Mouse’s corralling of Joey’s loose tongue, and Jenna’s wariness, and even, to some extent, in Patrick’s bossiness. They were all careful around her.

Full of thought, she trudged up the track to the crescent of trees that hid the cabin from the buildings below. She had just entered the canopy of fir when she heard Ren. Her voice was low and held barely contained anger. Isabelle stopped dead in her tracks.

“We don’t even need this meat.” Ren’s voice was hard. “It’s a stupid, needless kill.”

Isabelle dipped her head and slunk to a crouch. From under the lowermost branches, she could just make out a small group of people standing several yards away. She could see Joey balancing on his crutch, looking very shamefaced. Beside him Patrick slouched, red-faced and sullen. A tall young man Isabelle had not seen before stood next to him. He was slight and dark skinned, and looked younger than Patrick but older than Joey. He stood square to Ren, taking the force of her anger unflinchingly. He held a red fox by its tail, and Isabelle’s heart constricted with compassion for the dead animal. Flame-furred and full-bodied in its winter coat, it dripped blood on the snow from a large tear in its throat.

“I’m sorry, Ren,” the new boy said, his voice passionate with apology. “It was such an easy kill, and I never thought—”

“It’s lactating,” Ren interrupted him, waving a dismissive hand. “So you’ve killed its kits, too,” she said with disgust, then walked away leaving the three young men standing.

There was a moment of silence before Joey wobbled over and gave the boy a pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, Noah. She’s been cranky since the fuckup last week,” he said.

So this was Noah, Isabelle thought. Now all Ren’s group was accounted for.

“Guess I better get it skinned for Jenna,” Noah mumbled.

“Way to go. She’ll be so impressed with a fox fur. Maybe next time you can kill a mink,” Patrick said.

“Oh, shut up, prick,” Noah snapped. Joey gave a sharp snort of laughter that was quickly quelled. They began to move away.

“You’re the prick for getting Ren mad,” Patrick bit back.

“If Ren’s mad at anyone it’s you.
You
destroyed the books,” Noah said.

“I told you. It was an accident.” Patrick said. He was huffing. “I got confused.”

“You always fuck up.” Then Noah relented and took the sting out of the brewing argument. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Ren’s moody all the time since that woman arrived.”

“I met her. She’s nice,” Joey said. “I showed her my scars.”

Noah’s and Patrick’s guffaws drifted back up the slope. They were out of sight now but their voices carried clear.

“Did she admire her handiwork?” Patrick said before they moved out of hearing range.

Isabelle emerged from the trees and stared after them in shock. By her boot a sad trail of scarlet drips showed the path the boys had taken.
Blood on snow
. And Joey’s mashed-up injuries.
Blood on snow.

It came back in a flurry, her fear and panic. The thump of her car hitting flesh and bone. The jerk of the seat belt across her chest, the engine almost stalling. She remembered an agonized roar as a ball of fur and fury slammed against her windshield cracking the glass. What the hell had she done?

She’d hit an animal with her car. She’d crashed and injured herself. But what did Noah and Patrick mean about her handiwork? She had not hit Joey; he’d had a hunting accident. Hadn’t he told her so himself?

Was this the secret of why she couldn’t go home? Why she felt like a bad person when she looked in the mirror? Because she’d driven into the boy?

Isabelle felt sick to her guts. She walked back up the slope and thought through this most recent flashback. It was bloody and nauseous. She was certain that it was an animal she’d crashed into—some huge, unrecognizable, bearlike creature. Not Joey. She realized with relief she had not run Joey down, but she had certainly hit some sort of animal.

Ren checked the nest hole. No Mouse.

“Don’t tell me she did what she was told for once.”

She strode over to the bunkhouse. With each step her temper cooled and she felt ashamed for shouting at Noah. She had to stop these knee-jerk reactions every time something went shit side up. He’d been hunting; it’s what she’d taught him to do. Now she would have to teach him about seasonal selection. In fact, she’d better teach them all that. And not just about killing, but the gestation cycle of every goddamned mammal in the forest.

Mouse’s singing greeted her as she entered the bunkhouse and she couldn’t help smiling. Her trilling echoed in the bathhouse acoustics.

“I thought you hated bath time?” She stuck her head around the door just as Jenna applied the final rinse to Mouse’s hair.

“I do. I hate smelling clean.” Mouse surged out of the tub, ignoring Jenna’s scolding. Water sloshed everywhere.

“Come here, water rat. Let’s mop you up.” Ren grabbed a big white towel and wrapped it around Mouse, then scooped up her squealing bundle and took her back to her bunk, where Jenna had already left out clean clothes.

“Stop wriggling, you little varmint.” She began to dry Mouse with a flurry of brisk rubs and tickles. Jenna leaned against the bathroom doorjamb and watched as the bath water gurgled away.

“Isabelle called down and collected some groceries. I think you’ll be eating at your own place for a while,” she said, watching Ren with inquisitive eyes. Ren hesitated, and Mouse took the opportunity to wriggle out from the towel and pull on clean clothes.

“She did?” Ren was surprised Isabelle was out and about so soon and anxious that she was meeting the pack without Ren to make introductions. “Good.” She was unsure how to react.

“I saw her, too,” Mouse piped up, not to be outdone.

“Do you like her?” Ren asked, sliding home the zipper on Mouse’s top.

“Yes. She told Patrick off for shouting at me and Joey.”

“Did she, now? And what did you and Joey do for Patrick to be shouting at you?”

“I saw her smelling your stuff,” Mouse said, slyly changing the subject. “She held up your socks and went pooooooo.”

“She what!” Ren cried in mock anger. She grabbed Mouse and swung her upside down holding her by her heels.

“She did. She did.” Mouse placed her hands on top of Ren’s feet and they walked around the room like that, Ren taking giant steps with Mouse doing a handstand on her boots.

“I’m gonna bite your knees.” Mouse laughed uncontrollably.

“And I’m gonna bite your butt.” Ren smacked her on it instead. “Were you snooping around my cabin last night, young lady?”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“I saw her pawing at your clothes.” Mouse was adroit at turning attention away from her own misdoings. “She was chewing on them. Don’t you feed her?”

Ren righted Mouse and set her on the ground. “Enough, your hair is too long for this. I’ll end up stepping on it. Mouse, keep clear of my cabin, all right? I want Isabelle to take her time settling in. No surprises, okay?”

“Okay.” Mouse straightened her clothes. “I like her,” she announced, as if that was all there was to it.

Ren growled. “Haven’t you got a math assignment to hand in today? Better get to it.”

Jenna shooed Mouse to the door. “On you go. Your books are on the kitchen table. I’ll be over in a minute and we’ll bake cookies after you finish, okay?”

When Mouse had scooted off she turned to Ren. “Isabelle looked a little lost this morning. Asked lots of questions and needs even more answers.”

“The answers are the hard part, Jenna.”

“Her memory will come back when the shock starts leaving her system. It’s best she hears it from you than figures it out for herself. That would be mean.” Jenna’s voice was soft, but her eyes held worry and a little admonition.

Ren bristled at the subtle warning. They both knew how mean it could be. “I won’t hurt her.”

“The hurting’s already been done, Ren. Your job is to make it better.”

“How’s the cough?” Ren asked her.

“That last tincture seemed to help more.”

“Any blood?”

“A little. Not much. I’ll be okay. You better concentrate on that new girl.” Jenna gave Ren a cryptic look before leaving to catch up with Mouse.

“You’re both invited to dinner tonight, by the way. I happen to like her, too,” she called over her shoulder.

Ren sank down on the edge of a bed and rested her elbows on her knees. Jenna’s cough had her worried. She was running out of ideas, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped. She’d look through the almanac again tonight and see if anything else caught her eye, but her choice of herbs was limited in winter.

She was pleased Mouse and Jenna approved of Isabelle. It was important they all got along. Her little group was too small for confrontation. That could pull it apart. She thought of Patrick and his prickly behavior with the others. There would be a run-in soon if she didn’t act now to pull his claws in.

She felt weary and a little lost herself. Running a young pack was exhausting. She looked around the narrow room with its rows of cots, bare walls, and meager personal possessions. It was not a home, and she hadn’t a clue how to make it one. Jenna had worked wonders with the kitchen but seldom moved out of it. She was content in her domain and in sharing the comfort she’d created with others. Before Jenna arrived, the cookhouse was a wreck of a building. Not that Ren or any of the boys had cared.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she murmured. “Why is this is so damn hard?”

Was she wrong to even try? What choice did she have? She dreaded to think where Mouse or Jenna, or any of the others, would be without this place. Most likely dead.

Not many ferals survived on their own. They just didn’t have the skills. With their humanity in meltdown and their wolven side spasming out of control, they were a danger to themselves and everything that crossed their path, if they even got as far as full transmutation. Like a robust cancer, the wolven contagion reproduced quickly at a cellular level throughout the host body. The human genome was supplanted by wolven DNA flushing through the cells, reprogramming them. Lycanthropy was a fragmentation of the human self at its cellular core, not some wild call of the moon. The body either re-oriented to the invading DNA or became totally apoptotic. If victims did survive this dismantling of their physiology, the psychological stresses of that first change usually tipped them over. It was survival of the fittest, both physically and mentally, and what made you the fittest was a strong pack. An Alpha with any gumption should be able to nurture her initiates through this torment. The old Garoul almanac sitting in her kitchen had been a lifeline for more than one of Ren’s strays.