Winter's Shadow (20 page)

One final push and the wagon filled with the sound of infant wailing. There was something about the sound that Madeleine, even in her exhausted state, recognised as being strange. The plaintive cries sounded like they were looping in on each other, one beginning even while the other still rang out, creating a disconcerting doppler effect.

Ariman’s calm features twitched into an uncharacteristic expression of surprise. Using the last of her strength, Madeleine raised her head and peered down with awe at Madame Provost.

There was not one but two crying infants writhing in the old woman’s arms!

Twins . . .

Winter sat in English, left hand propping up her chin while she took notes with the other. Mrs Lathkey had asked the class to critique the creative writing assignments being read aloud; however, the scribbles that filled Winter’s page were only for show. She wasn’t listening to Billy Gleeson as he stuttered his way through his awful prose. She could barely keep her eyes open. The cats had returned last night.

Yesterday morning, Winter had awoken to the pleasing sound of the ocean rumbling in the distance. The unearthly screeching that had kept her up until the early hours of the morning had stopped. When she looked out the window there was no sign the cats had ever been in her backyard, save for a few tufts of fur bouncing over the grass like miniature tumbleweeds.
The surreal vision might as well have been a dream.

She’d spent the rest of the Wednesday trying not to obsess over the conversation she’d had with Blake on their driveway. All he’d said was that he would consider joining her at the surf club on Thursday night. Still, the possibility of seeing him so soon – especially in circumstances that could be construed as date-like – was so deliriously intoxicating that Winter had found it difficult to think about anything else. School had dragged on interminably, her state of nervous anticipation only making the hours seem longer. Thursday couldn’t come soon enough. By the time she’d arrived home, she’d felt drained and stressed; all she wanted was to get a good night’s rest.

The commotion had started a little before eight while she and Lucy were eating dinner. Both were carefully dodging the topic of Blake when the sound of feline screeching outside offered a not entirely unwelcome distraction. Looking out the living room window, they’d witnessed a surreal sight similar to the night before – their backyard heaving with cats. Except this time there seemed to be more of them. Even after Lucy had turned the hose on them, the cats hadn’t fled, and Winter had been forced to endure another night of poor sleep.

As she’d sat at the breakfast table this morning, blearyeyed and groggy, Lucy had broached the subject of calling in pest control to do something about the cats. Winter had talked her out of it. She couldn’t explain her reasons; the cats were a nuisance, but some instinct she didn’t
fully understand led her to believe there was a reason for the cats’ presence. It wasn’t some random coincidence they’d congregated in her backyard. They were there for a purpose.

Thinking about the cats and wondering why she felt oddly protective of them, Winter was distantly aware that Billy Gleeson had finished his story and was sitting down. She felt a moment of mild panic as Mrs Lathkey surveyed the class for someone to pick next. Of course Winter hadn’t done her assignment – in fact, she’d forgotten all about it once she’d left the classroom on Monday. What with Blake, the cats, and her lack of sleep, she hadn’t had the mental energy to contemplate something as trivial as homework. Still preoccupied with crafting an excuse, she felt a glimmer of relief when Sam was called on to read his work. She was saved for the time being. She hoped his story was long enough to last until the bell rang.

As he began to speak, Winter found herself, despite her tired, muddle-headed state, becoming entranced by his story. Set in the French countryside in the late seventeenth century, Sam’s story was told through the eyes of a teenager named Stephen Pascal, who was forced into a wolf hunt by his father and brothers as a cruel rite of passage. As Sam drew near the conclusion of his story, Winter thought she detected a trace of melancholy behind his words. Almost as though the story meant more to him than a creative writing exercise.

‘. . . Damien followed the wolf into the cave, and stood with his rifle aimed at the animal’s twitching snout. Its
bright yellow eyes glowed balefully in the darkness. Behind him he heard his father urge him to pull the trigger. “
Do it, Damien. Kill the beast
.” However, he hesitated. After all, this animal wasn’t evil, despite what his father and brothers had declared. It was simply obeying its instinct as a predator. It didn’t hunt for pleasure or cruelty, only for sustenance. It was dangerous, yes, but not a monster. Who was he to sentence it to death?

‘“
What are you waiting for?
” his father demanded shrilly. Damien heard his two brothers’ sniggering echo through the cave. They thought he was a coward. Maybe they were right.

‘Offering a silent apology to the wolf, Damien closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening, and the smell of gunpowder filled his nose. When he opened his eyes, the wolf’s body was crumpled at the back of the cave. It seemed he was his father’s son after all.’

Sam looked up at Mrs Lathkey. ‘That’s all I wrote.’

Mrs Lathkey pushed her glasses back up from the tip of her nose. ‘Very interesting, Sam. Not exactly what I had in mind when I set the assignment, but entertaining regardless. Thank you, you can sit down.’

Sam nodded and closed his notebook. Winter noticed Jasmine offer him a supportive smile. Evidently her rage over his indiscretion with Becky Lane had passed. Mrs Lathkey crossed to the front of the room. ‘Who would like to read a section of their assignment next?’ Predictably, nobody volunteered, much to her evident frustration. ‘C’mon, people, one of you must be proud of your work.’

Winter ducked down in her chair, praying that she wouldn’t be called on. Just as Mrs Lathkey turned in her direction, the bell rang for the end of the period. Winter let out a sigh of relief and began to pack her books away. It was a lucky escape. She’d have to remember to do the assignment when she got home today, because she doubted her luck would hold.

Winter sat in the cafeteria, her eyes fixed on her plate of food and not on the nauseating spectacle opposite her. Whatever problems Jasmine and Sam had been experiencing seemed to have been well and truly cleared up, judging by the way Jasmine was lavishing attention on him now. Winter had to stifle her gag reflex as Jasmine seductively fed Sam fries from her plate. It never failed to astound Winter how quickly her friend could accelerate a relationship. Sam had only started at Trinity on Monday, and here it was, just three days later, and Jasmine had already generated a lover’s quarrel and the obligatory makeup session. If she continued at this pace they’d be married and divorced by the end of the week.

Jasmine shook her head, marvelling at Sam. ‘I just can’t believe that story came out of you.’

Sam seemed bemused. ‘Why? You thought I was an idiot?’

‘As a matter of a fact, I did. A big, beautiful idiot.’

Sam tried to look upset, but couldn’t hide his grin. ‘I’m sorry for exceeding your expectations.’

‘So you should be. If I’d known you were such a nerd I wouldn’t have asked you out.’ Sam threw a chip at her, which Jasmine laughingly deflected. Her demeanour suddenly grew serious as something beyond Winter’s shoulder caught her attention. ‘Speaking of nerds . . .’

Winter heard footsteps coming up behind her.

‘Hi, Winter,’ Harry Francis said, ignoring Jasmine’s look of distaste.

‘Harry. Everything okay?’ Winter hadn’t expected to see Harry until her services as photographer extraordinaire were required for the next
Trinity Times
issue.

‘Yeah, everything’s fine.’ For once he didn’t seem to be regarding Winter with condescension. His aspect wasn’t exactly friendly, but it was certainly friendlier.

‘You don’t happen to still have that weird photo you showed me on Tuesday, do you?’

Winter relaxed – so that’s what he wanted. The graveyard photograph! She remembered how impressed he’d been by her odd picture.

‘I think so. Why?’ She was pretty sure the photograph was in the back of her diary where she’d left it.

‘It’s just that I was in a chatroom last night talking to a guy who expressed some interest in seeing it. He offered me fifty bucks, actually.’

‘You’re serious?’ Winter couldn’t believe there were people out there who would pay money for such a thing.

Harry nodded. ‘I’ll give you twenty for it.’

Winter pondered his offer for a moment before deciding that there was no reason to keep the photograph. She might as well get some money for it, even if it sounded like she was getting the short end of the deal.

‘Sure. Why not?’ She pulled her diary out of her bag and turned to the back, expecting to see the photograph nestled there. It wasn’t. Frowning, Winter fanned the pages of the diary, hoping the photograph would fall out, but was disappointed.

‘That’s weird,’ she said, digging into the bottom of her bag in case the photograph had fallen out and got mixed up in the detritus. ‘It’s not here.’

Harry seemed a little deflated. ‘Well, if you find it, let me know.’ He left Winter feeling confused. She was positive she’d replaced the photograph in the diary after showing it to Blake in her garage. Where could it have gone?

Jasmine and Sam were watching her with curiosity.

‘What was all that about?’ Jasmine asked, picking up a fry and dipping it into the ketchup.

Winter shrugged, but couldn’t completely ignore the sense of unease in the pit of her stomach. ‘Nothing.’