Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1) (4 page)

Evie said nothing; she only stared at
her white-haired, green-eyed grandfather, remembering the white-faced,
green-eyed wolf of her dream.

“Your Papa Joe is an old wolf,” he
continued. “Our whole family, and some others, makes up a large pack. These
woods around us for many miles are our territory. We watch over our territory
carefully, and do our very best to keep ourselves hidden from outsiders and
prying eyes; hence the need for secrecy regarding the children, who can be
unintentionally loose with their tongues.” Now he smiled faintly. “How’s that
for a quick summary?”

Evie watched him for a long time before
speaking. Her grandfather had loved to tell her stories as a little girl while
toasting marshmallows by the fireplace. And for such a serious man in so many
ways, he still loved jokes whenever possible. But right then Evie heard only cold
facts in his tone; saw only truth in his expression. In her mind one of her
many questions suddenly stood forth from the others. “Have you seen the dream wolf,
Papa?” she asked.

“Sure I have,” was his casual reply.

“How big is he?”

“Very big. Monstrous. I can’t say his
exact dimensions.”

“What color is he?”

“Whiter than snow. The whitest thing
I’ve ever seen. In the dark he nearly glows.”

“His eyes?”

“Oh his eyes are magnificent. Greener
than yours and mine together. Ghost green, some call it. They see right through
people.”

“Like night vision,” Evie muttered.

“Something like it,” her grandfather
chuckled. “But much better.”

Evie sat still, staring at her
grandfather as if she’d never fully appreciated all his features before. The
memory of the wolf, the green intensity of his eyes, fueled a suspicion she
could not shake. “Was it you I dreamed of?” she asked tentatively. “Are you
him
?”

“No,” was his honest reply.

“But you have the same eyes.”

“Oh no, mine aren’t nearly as wonderful.
I am only his descendent. Some of his splendor lives in me. But no, I’m not
him.
”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Evie gave up her questioning for the
moment, because all the while the conversation had gone on she had felt the
room beginning to wheel, and by now the sensation had grown unbearable. As she
sat motionless on the bed, the room spun round her as if she’d just stepped off
a merry-go-round. So when she could take no more of the spinning, and could
process no more of the strangeness, she slumped down and laid her head on the
pillow, muttering,
“
I’m dizzy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” her grandfather said.
“This is a lot to absorb without warning.”

Evie gave no reply. As she’d fallen back
on the bed a clump of her hair had blown over her face, and looking through the
clump before she brushed it away, something bright had caught her eye.

Slowly she lifted the hair between a
finger and a thumb, holding it a few inches from her eye. Mixed with her natural
deep red color she saw streaks of glittery white mingling sparsely with the red,
exaggerated by the sunlight streaming through the window. She took up more
clumps, pulled them to her eyes, and found more of the same. This process she
repeated several times. More clumps. More white. It was everywhere.

At that same moment Evie’s mother and
grandmother entered the bedroom. After hearing voices they had assumed Evie
would be hungry and thirsty, so they were carrying cold water and a snack. As
the door swung open they saw Joseph sitting on the corner of the bed trying to
console Evie, whose hands were flying through her hair in a fury, like she had
a bee caught in it. After drawing handful after handful over her face, she
looked as if she’d been taken up into a tornado and then dropped onto the bed
in a heap. “My hair,” she kept muttering. “Look at my hair!”

All that had been said, all that she’d
experienced so far, Evie could somewhat deal with. At the very least she could
close her eyes and shift her thoughts for a moment’s peace. They were dreams,
stories, words … nothing solid; nothing as personal as the hair that’d been
growing from her head every day of her life. But no matter how badly she wanted
to, she could not ignore her hair. Frosty white, she was surely not seeing sun
streaks. And the longer she stared, the more the sight of it seemed to sharpen
the words her grandfather had uttered. It seemed to say—almost to accuse,
“Wolf.”

-3-

In the upstairs bathroom of the Ludlow
house stood a large whirlpool tub—a modern tub made to appear antique. As a little
girl Evie had loved swimming in this tub, paddling against its churning waters
as if swimming against the current of a swift river. Nearing seventeen now, the
same tub felt much smaller. She could reach the opposite end with her
outstretched toes; its current soothed her.

Evie didn’t often pitch fits. But that’s
exactly what she’d done in the bedroom. The white hair had pushed her over the
edge, and it had taken both her mother and grandmother to restrain her when her
inclination to running kicked in. Her grandfather had left the room at that
point, handing off charge to her grandmother.

Of course, after not seeing her
grandmother in a year, a wrestling match was far from the ideal greeting. But
Evelyn Ludlow was strong for an old woman, and she emerged from the minor
skirmish no worse for the wear. The power of her grip had surprised Evie—so
much so that it had been the deciding factor in convincing her to give up her
struggle. Then the two women had steered her to the bathroom and started the
hot water in the tub, assuring her over and again that she was okay. When her
grandmother left the bathroom, her mother, the nurse, remained.

“Mom …” Evie began from the tub, as if
she was about to ask a question but then trailed off. She had expected another
soothing response. Perhaps that was really why she’d spoken—to get the
comforting response. But none came. Instead she heard the last sound she
expected; her mother began to laugh her funny, high-pitched laugh.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Janie gasped. “It’s
just … if I didn’t know better I’d swear you’d been to the party of the century
last night. You look
so
wrecked.”

Evie turned her head just enough to
glare at her, saying with her eyes as clearly as with words, “What the hell is
wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” her mother said between
breaths. “It’s been so tense; I just needed the release. I’m done now, I swear.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” Evie
muttered.

“I am,” she said after composing
herself. “Really I am. So will you, very soon.” Her voice bore hints of both
fatigue and excitement.

“Whatever ...”

“I’m being completely serious now,”
Janie said. “It started late last night. It almost always starts at night, when
we’re tired and have the least control over our minds.”

“What starts?” Evie groaned.

“The
change
.”

Evie shook her head weakly. First she’d
laughed at her. Now she was going into more wolf talk.

“I heard the commotion from your room,”
Janie continued, “and I just
knew
. I
called your grandfather before I even got out of bed. I was lucky to catch him
home at that hour. He was so excited to hear the news.”

“My room,” Evie whispered. Her mind at
present seemed only capable of grasping singular thoughts. “I remember being in
my room. I was mad. Really mad.”

“It shows,” her mother laughed.

“What shows?”

“Your room. You trashed it nicely.
Destroyed
actually.
And by the way, your favorite jeans.” She shook her head. “They didn’t make
it.”

That was right. Evie remembered stepping
into her favorite jeans just minutes before Numb Nuts called to cancel. She’d
gone straight to bed without even bothering to undress.

“You honestly can’t remember a thing,
can you?”

Evie gave no answer. She was staring up at
the wooden ceiling, at the knots and grains of the boards, trying to recall
something—anything more from the prior night. The day before was clearly intact.
The phone call was there, and still angered her. Getting dressed was there. Going
to bed was there. But nothing between then and waking outdoors would come clear.
The dream of meeting the wolf had obscured the earlier dream.

“It doesn’t matter,” her mother said
after a moment. “As far as first shifts go, yours was actually pretty mild.”

“Shifts,” Evie mumbled. “Mom, talk
normal.”

“Sorry,” Janie said as she stood from
the bench. “Don’t stress over it.
If you’re okay now, I’ll leave you alone
for a while. Maybe a little peace and quiet will help you think clearly.”

“I’m okay,” Evie assured her, though she
wasn’t entirely convinced of it herself.

“Come downstairs when you’re ready,”
Janie said from the doorway.

Evie nodded and continued staring at the
wooden ceiling.

Alone, Evie kept her eyes out of focus.
Lying with her head just out of the warm water, her mind darted a hundred
places at once. She felt bad for pitching a fit. But under the circumstances, who
wouldn’t? The memory of the dream still lingered in fragments. Then there was
her family to consider. If they, as a whole and as individuals, were to be
trusted—in sixteen years neither her mother, grandfather or grandmother had
ever given her a reason
not
to trust
them—she had no choice but to consider their words as true. Or at least
possibly
true. And if the story was possibly
true, she had no choice but to at least try to come to terms with the inevitable
reality of the situation.

Her head ached with confusion.

It next occurred to her that her entire life
up until that day had been a sham. Every fond memory seemed attached to a
question. Even her own personality was under suspicion. Was she a naturally
competitive girl who just happened to love running, or was she just living out
some predetermined role? Did she adore family and connections because it was
her nature, or had it merely been some sort of instinct at play? Or worst of
all, was this all merely the early stages of insanity? Perhaps she had finally
cracked under the pressure of school and sports and her social life and the hot
southern sun?

Just twenty four hours before, she’d
felt quite sure of herself.
Evie
Brooks
was synonymous with
confidence
. Now she was nothing but
questions. Who am I? Worse …
what
am
I?

Each time she looked down, her hair
answered,
“Wolf.”

Her finger tips were tight raisins now.
She raised both hands from the water and studied the wrinkles. They were very
human-looking hands with typical human fingerprints, exaggerated with moisture.
Nothing unusual. Then she noticed her nails.

Turning her hands for a closer look,
without a doubt she remembered getting French Tips Friday afternoon. Now her
nails were short, natural, and slightly grubby. According to the calendar on
the back of the bathroom door, it was now Saturday. If her memory could be
trusted, the dates lined up correctly.

The bath was no longer a comfort. Evie
climbed out and dried off, and wrapping herself in the soft robe set out by her
grandmother, she stepped out from the bathroom and went quietly down the hall.
Along the way she heard hushed voices carried up into the high ceiling of the
great room. Then they ceased.

“What if she runs wild?” her grandmother
had asked just before they all fell silent. For a second Evie was tempted to
pause and listen further. But instead she continued into the bedroom and closed
the door behind her. They would remain silent until they heard the door, she
was sure. And anyway, there was enough on her mind as it was.

Before the tall antique mirror she stood
gazing curiously. Her hair was black-red wet, but still streaked from root to
tip with the glittery white. The bath had eased her aches, but clearly it hadn’t
resolved the hair issue. “Great,” she muttered. “Just great.”

Untying the robe, she let it fall from
her shoulders and evaluated her hazy reflection. Nothing else had changed. The
same frame, the same milky skin reflected truly. Then she leaned closer.

With her face near the mirror, she
pushed her lips back and inspected her teeth. Her canines were of normal
length, though her bottom front teeth did appear a touch straighter. Or maybe
not. Maybe it was just the distortion of the century-old mirror; she hadn’t
seen herself in its antique haze for over a year now. She stared for several minutes
without reaching a definitive conclusion … until she noticed her ears.

Pushing her hair back on one side, she
noticed her ear. A closer look revealed a smooth earlobe with barely a dot of a
scar where the night before had been an earring—and not a cheap one. She
checked the other ear and found the same. “What the …” she thought aloud. “This
is getting
way
beyond funny.”