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Chapter 24
Dorian
“It’s beautiful out here,” Mr Harding remarked from the seat next to me on the bus. He had been gazing outwards for most of the journey, pointing out villages and tourist spots he had visited before. “There’s the most amazing cemetery…” He fell silent. He’d talked about how Margo had been drawn to cemeteries as a child before she started taking her prescription. “You know, the people who live near there believe that death is a beginning, not an end.”
“What do you believe?” I asked him.
“I don’t know anymore.” He stared at nothing, his chest rising and falling in a panicked rhythm.
“We don’t know a lot of things. That’s why I’m not leaving without answers. There’s no way I’m going home until I find a way to help Margo.”
He smiled at me, a sympathetic, pitying smile. “It shouldn't be long now.”
We had already been on the bus for hours, and it was driving me crazy. Finally, we made it to a picturesque village and got off with the rest of the tourists. That’s where we split up as our directions took us outside the village, where it extended haphazardly, dotting the landscape with small farms. This remote part of the country was like another world, a world that reminded me of my childhood. The air smelled familiar, and the mountain range of the Carpathian's was close enough to fill my thoughts with memories long-forgotten.
Lena lived in a place with no electricity—other than some solar panels in a few lucky places—and the ground crisped underfoot with frost. Winters were so hard that it was difficult to believe people could survive on their tiny farmlands, but I knew from experience that people could survive almost anywhere and anything.
Ryan laid a hand on my shoulder. I was sure he felt it, too, the call of old memories. He’d spent more than his fair share of time in similar places, hiding, hunting, desperate to survive. The old alpha had kidnapped his daughters to make Ryan do his bidding. We all had things we would like to forget.
Mr Harding held a map in front of his face, eager to get his bearings.
“Do you know where we’re going, Mr Harding?” I asked him as a small group of giggling children ran past us.
“Oh, call me, Niall.” He nodded ahead of us. “Her house should be this way. The woman at the church said it has a blue door, that I wouldn’t miss it.”
The children followed us for a few minutes. I turned back to them and pointed at the closest house. “Lena?”
They scattered immediately. A girl wearing a spotless white dress that had been colourfully embroidered at the edges was too slow. She nodded, her eyes wide with fear and curiosity. Then she darted off as if she had suddenly received permission to move.
“It’s time,” Niall said, though he sounded nervous. I led the way to the house, unable to contain my excitement.
The air smelled like horses, and the front door of Lena’s house was indeed blue. A solitary chicken ventured out of a small coop, pecking at the hard ground. An old well dressed with weather-worn ornaments took centre stage in the yard. The entire property was enclosed by old, but well-made fencing.
Byron stopped in front of the ornate wooden gate. It was engraved with images of animals, predators mostly, like the brown bears that lived in the nearby mountains. A couple of teeth hung from a silver chain along with some kind of religious medal.
“Wolf teeth.” Byron touched them, his tone surprised.
“For protection.” An old woman stepped towards us from the yard, making me jump. How had she managed to sneak up on us, of all people? Her eyes were rheumy, but she was looking directly at Niall Harding as though she knew him well.
“Lena?” Ryan asked.
Her gaze didn’t falter from Margo’s father. “I expected to see you again, though a lot sooner.”
“I have questions,” Niall said. “About my daughter. Where she came from.”
She glanced towards the mountains, pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and then finally nodded. “I’ll answer your questions.” Her focus turned to Byron. “You should come inside then. Before it starts to get dark. I sleep early at this time of year.”
She opened her gate, inviting us inside. Those wolf teeth clicked together, sending shivers up and down my spine. A hen pecked at my boot then ran as the old woman made a sound of irritation, clapping her hands.
Pots and pans hung from a barren tree next to the house, the metal gleaming in the cold sunlight. The large blue door opened slowly, resisting Lena’s effort to push it.
“Hurry,” she said. “Before the cold steals all the warmth away.”
Inside, the house was dark after the bright wintry day, but my eyes quickly adjusted.
Pictures hung all over the walls, covered with scarves. The tiled walls were bright and colourful, though the space felt cold until we sat in the crowded living room on comfortable mismatched chairs. A burning range soon chased away the chill. In an odd way, the place reminded me of Margo, constantly fighting off the incessant cold. Feeling homesick, I hoped she was keeping warm without me.
Lena sat back in her chair and sighed, eyeing all of us, one by one.
