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So he finally started to talk again. He'd heard I was Canadian and asked where I was from, tossing in a few barbs about Toronto, which is our version of New York--everyone who doesn't live there has nothing but contempt for everyone who does. When he found out I reported on Canadian affairs, he asked for news of his home province--the ongoing sad state of the fisheries, the new offshore oil projects.
Wherever we were going, it was a long trudge through difficult landscape. But Morgan didn't have a problem traversing it, a fact he liked to point out every time he had to slow for me.
"Do you hear that?" I asked when a low moan set the hairs on my neck rising.
"Wind."
"No, I've heard wind, and that's not--"
"Trust me, up here, the wind does things you've never heard before. Sometimes I swear I hear voices. Entire conversations. I go to check it out, and there's no one there. I tell myself it's the wind, but..." He shrugged.
"There's something out here, isn't there?"
He hopped a fallen log buried under the snow. "There are a lot of somethings out here. Those beast-shifters are just the beginning. Voices, lights..."
"I've seen the lights. They led me onto a frozen river last night--one that wasn't frozen nearly well enough."
"I don't doubt it. I've had them lead me nearly over a cliff, and I've had them light my way back to the wolf pack. Capricious little buggers. I find tracks I don't recognize, scents I can't place, catch glimpses of shadows. Alaska's the last frontier--for man, beast and spirit alike. Now we'd better pipe down. The cabin's just ahead."
"Are you going to tell me who's responsible?"
A flashed grin. "No, I'll leave that up to your nose. See how long it takes you to figure it out."
As trustworthy as Morgan seemed, I couldn't help feeling those niggling pricks of paranoia. But now it took only one strong sniff to know he was playing me fair.
"Eli," I said.
"Is that his name? The young beast-shifter?"
I nodded. I glanced quickly at Morgan. "The girl. He didn't--"
"Rape her? No. Nothing like that, or I would have interfered. He found her and took care of her. She's not his prisoner, though she's probably not in any shape yet to think about leaving. But I suspect teenage infatuation--and teenage hormones--are at the root of this particular act of altruism."
"Damn." I sighed. "You were right then. This is a situation. I guess the first thing to do is get a look at the girl." I checked the wind. "No sign that Eli's still here."
"I've got your back."
"Thanks."
I moved forward, straining to see a building in the distance, and suddenly there it was right in front of me--a tiny wood log cabin, nestled among the trees.
I pulled back and took a good sniff. Still no sign of Eli. The scent of wood smoke lingered in the air, but none came from the chimney. All the windows were dark. I crept forward, Morgan at my heels. As quietly as I moved, though, he was quieter. I hesitated, then motioned him forward. I hated giving up the front spot, but the quietest tracker should lead.
Morgan took no more than a half-dozen steps before he stopped, swore and strode forward.
"Wait!" I called. "If you spook her--"
"Can't spook her when she's not here."
He wrenched open the cabin door. I peered around him into the dark, dank depths of the cottage. The empty depths.
Morgan swore again. I joined him. "If she escaped and she's out here alone..."
Morgan was already crouched, checking out the trail. He brushed past me and hunkered down outside, moving about until he'd covered the area.
"She's not alone," he said. "Eli relocated her. In the last hour, too. I tried not to get too close, but I wanted to get a look at her, make sure she hadn't been bitten."
My stomach twisted. "Had she?"
