Loki's Wolves (3 page)

“And she doesn’t like you being out this late. I won’t tell if you don’t,” Jordie said, with the sort of bargaining powers that had kept him in gummy bears for months.

She rolled her eyes, but she still said, “Deal.”

After she’d pulled the door shut, she went back out to the living room. Mrs. Weaver had gathered up her knitting needles and was slipping on her shoes. They said their good-nights, and Laurie curled up on the sofa with her math homework.

The sound of the lock turning woke her. Sort of. Sleepily, she let her mom direct her to bed. It wasn’t like Laurie usually worried, but the whole episode with Fen tonight had freaked her out a lot. If Matt would’ve stayed out of it, she could’ve talked Fen into leaving the shield alone.
Maybe.
Either way, though, Matt didn’t need to throw that light thing or whatever it was he did.

“Saw Fen,” she told her mother.

“Laurie…” The tone that her mom always had when she talked about Fen was already there; even half-asleep, Laurie heard it. It meant
Fen’s bad news, stay away from him.

“He’s family,” Laurie murmured as she crawled into her bed.

Her mother pulled a cover over her. “One of these times he’s going to get you into the sort of trouble you aren’t ready for. Then what will you do?”

“Handle it.” Laurie snuggled into her bed. “I can handle it.”

A few hours later, Laurie woke with the vague sense of suffocation, which wasn’t entirely unexpected because she had woken up as a…
fish
—a salmon, to be precise.

I am a fish.

She’d gone to sleep as a perfectly average thirteen-year-old girl and woken up as a fish, and as much as she’d like to try to figure out how that had happened, she had a more pressing concern: air. Salmon needed water to get that, and since she was a girl when she’d crawled into her bed, she was now a fish nowhere near water.

Her fishy eyes spied a sports bottle, and she felt a flicker of hope, but the lack of thumbs and the inability to put a salmon in a bottle made that useless as far as solutions go.

She flopped around on her bed, torn between trying to figure out how not to be a fish and trying to decide if she could flop her way to water—and trying to wake up for real because the odds of this being a bad dream seemed pretty high… except she felt awake.

I can’t be a fish. It’s a dream. No. I’m really a salmon.

The only water nearby was the toilet, and flopping her way into that germy thing sounded gross… but the need for air outweighed the sheer nastiness of trying to swim in a toilet.

With a burst of energetic wiggling, she managed to launch herself from her bed. She hit the floor, her fall cushioned by the piles of clothes strewn all through the room. She wriggled her way across the clothes, books, and accumulated junk on her floor—and hit the closed door.

I need help. I need Fen.

If fish could cry, Laurie would be weeping. The thought of dying as a fish, of her mother finding a stinky dead fish on the floor, was far from good.

Where is Fen?

Her cousin should be here; he should help her. That’s how it worked: they helped each other, but he wasn’t here, and she was going to die. Her gills opened and closed rapidly as she panicked, too exhausted to even try to figure out how a salmon could open a door.

The door opened, and Laurie stared up at her rescuer.
Not Mom. Not Dad. Not Fen.
Her little brother stood in her doorway. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Because I’m a fish,” she said.

Jordie stared at her. He opened his mouth, apparently thought better of whatever he was going to say, and closed it. He shrugged.

“Can you open the bathroom door and put me in the tub? My fins—”

“You’re kind of weird.” He turned away.

“Is she awake?” Her mother called.

“Yeah, but she says she’s a fish,” Jordie yelled back to their mother.

Laurie took a deep breath… and realized that she had no gills. “I can breathe!” She looked around her room. The bedcovers were tangled, and she was on the floor. It had been a dream—a vivid dream, but not real. Girls don’t turn into fish. She went over and sat on the bed—and was still sitting there half-dazed when her mother walked into her room.

“Honey? Are you okay?” Her mother leaned down and kissed her forehead, checking for fever. “Jordie said you had a bad dream.”

“I was a fish,” Laurie said, looking up at her mother. “Fen wasn’t here, and I was going to die because Fen wasn’t helping me.”

Her mother sighed and sat next to her. Silently, she pulled Laurie into a hug and rested her cheek against Laurie’s head. After a minute, she said, “You can’t count on boys, especially your cousin Fen. I know you care for him, but Fen’s trouble. He has no one teaching him right and wrong, and the way he’s been raised…”

“We could let him live here,” Laurie suggested.

Her mother’s pause held the things her mother wouldn’t
say—that she disliked Fen, that that side of the family made her uncomfortable, that the only reason she let any of them into the house was because she still loved Dad. Finally, what she did say was, “I need to think of what’s best for my kids, and having Fen around Jordie isn’t what’s best. I’m sorry.”

Laurie pulled away, got dressed, and walked out of the room. She didn’t argue with her mother. That was something she tried not to do. She felt like she started enough trouble without meaning to, so causing problems on purpose was a bad idea. She stayed quiet. She wanted to tell her mother about the dream, but she felt silly. She’d wait and talk to Fen. He was her best friend, her almost-brother, and the only person who wouldn’t think she was crazy for worrying over fish dreams.

Maybe.

F
en spent the next day expecting the sheriff to come grab him and the evening hiding in the damp of the park looking for a chance to get the shield. Even though Thorsen apparently hadn’t specifically ratted him out, he obviously had said something because there were patrols around the longship all night. Fen had tried to get the job done, but he’d failed.

And he wasn’t much looking forward to telling Kris, but when he trudged home from the park and saw the rusty pickup truck, he knew he had no choice. His cousin was home from wherever he had been the past few days.

Fen didn’t ask too many questions about where Kris
went. Lesson number one in the Brekke family: what you don’t know, you can’t spill. It wasn’t a matter of trust, really, just common sense. Brekkes looked out for themselves first. They might do a good turn for someone—or not—but they weren’t foolish enough to go sharing things that could land them in hot water.

He crossed the pitted gravel drive and stood in the doorway to the garage.

“Fen? That you?” The voice called out from under the shell of an old car. Kris had been working on it for the better part of the year. Music blared from an old stereo. Like everything in Kris’ place, it hadn’t been in good condition for years.

“Yeah.”

“Grab me a beer.” From under the car, one greasy hand pointed in the general direction of the rust-covered refrigerator in the back corner of the garage.

Fen dropped his bag on the floor. He shoved it to the side with the toe of his boot and went over to the fridge. The door creaked, and the old metal handle clacked as he opened it. He pulled out a can of beer and popped the top. He didn’t understand why anyone drank it. Kris gave him some one day, but it was gross. Beer tasted like how he suspected dog urine would taste, but everyone in his family drank the stuff.

“I heard that top pop, boy. It better be full when you hand it to me,” Kris said.

Fen walked over and held the can out. “It is.”

“Good pup.” Kris slid out from under the car. He lay stretched on the creeper, grime, oil, and grease covering him from boots to bandanna. He was in his twenties, but now that Fen was in middle school, one of the aunts had decided Kris was old enough to keep Fen this year. It was a lot better than the year he’d spent with Cousin Mandy. She was older than dirt and had some crazy ideas about how many chores he should have. Kris, on the other hand, was young enough to remember hating chores. He gave Fen things to do, but they weren’t exactly chores most of the time.

Kris sat up, grabbed the can, and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with a grubby hand. “So did you get it?”

“No.”

Kris frowned. “It was a simple task, boy. Go steal a shield. Easy stuff.”

“Thorsen… Sheriff Thorsen’s son Matt was there yesterday, and today there were patrols all day.” Fen squatted down so he was eye to eye with Kris.

“The last thing I need is Mayor Thorsen or the sheriff to come around here asking questions. You need to stay clear of that kid.”

“I know, and I did. Last night was the only time Laurie could be there, though, and I need her to be a part of the job,” Fen added. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to get the job done. You better figure
that out fast, boy.” Kris finished his beer and crumpled the can. “If you don’t pay your dues to the
wulfenkind
, there won’t be anything anyone can do to help you.”

“I heard you the first three times you told me,” Fen snapped.

“Don’t be smart.” Kris stood and walked back to get another beer. “Bet there aren’t as many patrols during the day.”

“I have school,” Fen started.

Kris opened the second beer. “You think the
wulfenkind
are going to care that you had school?”

“I could try again tonight,” Fen suggested. “But what about Laurie?”

Kris nodded. “She
did
help, so that term is met. Go get it on your own, and if you can’t get it tonight, you miss school tomorrow.”

“Right,” Fen said.

“If you don’t get the job done, Laurie will have to meet them,” Kris threatened.

Years of protecting his cousin made his answer obvious. He said, “I’ll get it. Promise.”

Fen heard the alarm go off in the middle of the night, far too few hours after he’d set it. It was one of those horrible clocks that ticked, and the alarm was a little hammer that smashed back and forth between two bells.
Like Thorsen’s little Hammer trick.
Fen threw the alarm at the wall.
Like I could throw him.
Even as he thought it, though, Fen scowled. The sad truth was that Fen couldn’t toss Matt at a wall. Thorsens were unnaturally strong, and even though every Brekke had a few extra skills of their own, they also knew not to tangle with Thorsens. Well, not
every
Brekke knew it. Laurie was still clueless. Fen had only known what was up for a few years, and he’d done his best to play dumb.

Like the Thorsens think we all are.

After Kris snarled about the alarm—and the
thunk
of the alarm hitting the wall—Fen figured he’d better make as little noise as possible. He carried his boots to the front door. When he stepped outside, he held the screen door rather than let it slap closed. A rush of relief hit him when he turned to face the darkness. He could pretend it was just because he’d avoided Kris’ temper, but the truth was that Fen always felt a bit of stress vanish when he stepped outside. Wolves, even those in human skin, weren’t meant to be inside. This time of night was the best. Most people were in their beds in their homes, and the world was his.