Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1) Read online

  “Go back to sleep if you can,” her mother said. “We’ll be there in no time.”

  The thought alone of her favorite place and her favorite people was a comfort to Evie. She closed her eyes and drifted away again, knowing that in no time she would be with her grandfather. He would make everything all right, as only he could.

  When the jet landed at the private airfield, Evie was barely conscious. As the weightless dreams faded and daylight met her eyes once more, all that mattered, all that was clear was that her Papa Joe was in the cabin the moment the plane rolled to a stop. The lumber baron—a tall and sturdy man appearing less than his seventy two years, except for his snowy hair—was speaking with her mother, his only daughter. Then he turned to his granddaughter, and Evie felt the weight of his piercing gaze fall warmly on her. Though his expression appeared slightly more excited than normal, he approached her with his common delicacy.

  “Good afternoon, stranger,” he said kneeling by her seat. “You’ve had a rough morning, so I hear.”

  Evie nodded pathetically. “Yes, Papa.”

  “Well,” he began, taking Evie’s hand very gently, “I’m sorry to hear that. You know I hate to see you feeling badly. But, I can promise you the worst is over. You’re with me now, and I say you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

  Tears started in Evie’s eyes. To appear weak and helpless before anyone else would’ve been an insufferable shame for Evie the competitor. But her grandfather, Joseph Ludlow, was special, no matter how much she tried to downplay it to the rest of the family. In his presence she couldn’t help but feeling differently, and acting differently in accordance. Though she was no longer a child, a part of her felt forever a rosy-cheeked little girl before him; fascinated with him, and delightedly adored by him.

  Ever since her first meeting with her grandfather she’d felt a connection with him beyond all others. This was due in part by the fact that she didn’t see him often enough—the absence and fondness factor. Add to that the spell of his warm voice, the power of his eyes, the way he carried himself so straight, so confidently for a man of his age, so alert and in control of his world, and so dedicated to his family. But above these reasons Evie prized her grandfather because, in the absolute furthest reaches of her memory, Joseph Ludlow was the first man she could recall meeting. Ever. Period. If her own father had been in her life, things might have been different, but by sixteen Evie had long given up imagining that scenario. What she did have was the greatest grandfather in the world. Toward him, whether it was entirely intentional or not, she directed the majority of her affections. By him all others were measured, and of course fell short.

  Looking at him then through half-open eyes, all this passed through Evie’s mind. But all she managed to say was, “What’s wrong with me, Papa?”

  “Not a thing, my dear,” he answered like the old gentleman that he was. “Don’t worry yourself. After a nap in your old room and some good food, I think you’ll feel brand new. Better than new, actually. How does that sound?”

  “Oh-kay, Puh-puh,” Evie said with extra drawl, the trick she’d learned years ago to make her grandfather smile his perfect smile.

  The trick worked now as well as ever. Joseph Ludlow smiled as he prepared to lift her, saying, “Let’s get you to the house.”

  Papa Joe’s newest truck had soft, heated seats. Evie realized this as soon as he placed her aching frame gently in the passenger side. And as her grandfather drove, one eye on the road, the other on her, a warm sense of peace took her over. She didn’t see the mountains, the center of town, or the long driveway through the trees leading to the farm she so loved, because she was fast asleep.

  In her dream the race was on. Through the dark she ran swiftly. This time, over a familiar, well-worn trail on her grandfather’s property, she moved faster than a four-wheeler had carried her many times in summers past. Like her first dream, she was moving at that same incredible rate without the slightest fatigue. But unlike the first dream, her purpose seemed strangely clear. Urgently so, she knew exactly her destination, only not the reason.

  In a small clearing she slowed. With the night deathly quiet about her she walked on sparse grass and dry leaves; the ruins of nearly a dozen old structures fanned out on either side of her. Century old cabins, some were partially caved in, some fully collapsed into heaps. All were overtaken by brush and new growth of some sort—weeds, moss, flowers, and young trees sprouting where roofs had once been. These structures Evie paid little mind to, and did not stop her quiet march until she’d reached the destination she’d seen clearly in her mind—the single cabin that had been preserved, spared somehow by the slow demise of time.

  The light of the night sky shone through the thinned tree cover. In that pale glow the logs of the surviving cabin appeared rough and weathered, but still sturdy, and strangely, beautiful. She’d seen this small building many times, but never at night, never alone. Windowless, its only entrance was now black in shadow. There, to that black rectangle Evie had felt herself compelled to reach. She stopped several yards shy and stared unknowingly into the blackness.

  As a very young girl Evie had believed this secluded structure to be haunted—as was the small graveyard elsewhere on the property. At the time her theory was based solely on appearances combined with childhood imaginings. Now, as a young adult, she was set to discover just how accurate that childish belief had been.

  Before she could see anything at all, a sound caught Evie’s attention—a sound that reminded her of a long, heavy breath being taken, and with a sudden shock—a shivery, discomforting understanding—she realized that she was not alone. Taking several startled steps backwards from the doorway, she stopped firmly, holding absolutely still, listening, waiting for the sound to repeat. Before it did, her eyes caught movements.

  Inside, in the blackness beyond the doorway, she saw first a faint silvery blur, then a trace hint of green that reminded her of eyeshine. She watched silently as the blur continued to gather, to grow in that darkness, slowly but surely into a hazy shape. With the shape a differing sound also grew—a sound as something very heavy would make when moving deliberately slow, padding lightly. Both sight and sound continued their increase, until at last they merged into a single animate form—an unbelievable figure stalking towards her.

  Evie stood frozen with the detached courage of a dreamer as what began as an invigorating running dream spiraled into a nightmare. There before her, passing slowly out of the shadow into the dim light, she saw first the eyes and head, followed by the full frame of an enormous white wolf. His coat gleamed like frosted metal in the night; his breathing sounded as the low and distant chugs of a slow-moving train.

  Only when his snowy frame had fully presented itself from the blackness could she fully appreciate how truly enormous he was. His sides had scuffed the wood of the broken doorway in passing, and now standing unobstructed, the white giant’s raised head was higher than her own, his shoulders likewise. With mere feet separating them, for a time girl and wolf stood motionless, soundless but for their low breathing, green eyes staring into green eyes.

  In any other circumstance, any other dream, Evie would have run for her life—if her heart hadn’t already stopped with terror. But this dream was different; its origins were beyond her subconscious. Likewise, the creature standing before her was something beyond her own imaginings. She knew almost nothing of wolves but for the painfully obvious: this was no common animal.

  His presence was like standing opposed to a stately horse. But unlike a horse, he gave no indications of nerves, no hint of excitement; he was sternly confident, stationary as if carved from stone. His eyes were neither merry nor a menace; they were deep, penetrating, liquid-green eyes, almost knowingly expressive, and somehow seemed to hold Evie in place.

  But for the obvious, the dream could feel no stranger than that, as she stared Evie became aware of her absence of fear. It had been present at first, but in the following seconds had somehow dissolved und
er the wolf’s gaze. In its place now she felt awe, wonder, admiration near envy, and something else that she could only perceive as a strange sense of connection or familiarity. Such beauty, such nobility she would never have guessed could coexist in the body of such a capable killer. Yet there he was, little more than an arms-length away, standing dreadfully and splendidly beyond definition. She could not speak. She could not move. She could only stand in the grip of his gaze.

  However impressed she was, Evie lacked foreknowledge of her family history. Without that advantage she had no way of guessing that she was meeting the first of all wolves, the great father of her bloodline who answered only to One. She did not realize the honor of his silent gaze, his calm evaluation. Many before her had received far less courtesy.

  After their long exchange of the eyes, first to move was the wolf. Its presentation over, slowly it began lowering its great head.

  Evie knew what was to follow the moment he moved, but she gave no thought or effort to escape. A strange and resolute acceptance had taken her over, had seemed to pass into her by—somehow from—the wolf’s eyes. She understood that life as she’d known it was ending, but it was not to be feared, was not the end. He had invited; she had come willingly. He had tested; she had stood firm against the power of his gaze. Next was the passing of the gift, the inheritance of life beyond her wildest daydreams.

  As the wolf’s great bulk bowed lower, legs tight, ready to spring, the early rumblings of a thunderous growl started from deep in his belly. With those rumblings his face began to change. His lips drew back, revealing his terrible mouth, his ears went back, and his eyes narrowed. As the rumblings increased he took in a long breath that seemed to expand his already staggering size. And then with a sudden, violent shake of his head, the meeting ended; he opened his mouth wide and let go a savage growl—a deafening roar that rattled Evie’s very bones.

  In the same instant the silver shadow of a wolf leapt forth from the crouching white giant. Like the ghost of a ghost the shadow hung in suspense—a glimmering momentary arc bridging girl and beast—and as it began its descent, as if driven by a sudden blast of wind the shadow fractured, shattering as thin glass shatters into a thousand glittery pieces. In an icy flash it became a sheet of howling snow.

  As the sudden storm crashed against her Evie cowered for the first time, shielding her face with her arms as she screamed the dry and strangled scream of a nightmare. The night, the cabin, the wolf beyond the storm, all faded; her world went blinding white in a rush of roaring wind.

  That moment Evie woke with a sharp gasp. Sitting up tensely straight, she heard the wolf’s roar mingled with her dreamt scream fading in her head. Glancing around with wild eyes, to her great relief she recognized comfortable, familiar surroundings. She was tucked warmly into the big four-poster bed, in the room kept for her in the upstairs of her grandparents’ house. Her fever had passed. Her heart was pounding like a drum.

  -2-

  The town of Ludlow is scarcely named on a map. With just over three hundred citizens, its residents are far outnumbered by animals, both wild and domestic.

  Located within New Hampshire’s Great North Woods region, most of Ludlow’s visitors pass through during the fall foliage season or on their way to the grand hotel in the next town over. Although hearty campers and fishermen can sometimes be found in these woods during the summer months, most stay to the south, in the national parks of the White Mountains. But throughout the long winters many snowmobilers frequent Ludlow’s Convenience Store for gas, then cross the road for a hot meal at Grandmas Kitchen. The area’s only restaurant, The Kitchen is regarded in such circles for its large portions of good food at ridiculously low prices.

  A single road connects Ludlow to the outside world. Through the center of town it cuts straight, lined sparsely with houses, trees, and what few businesses the town can sustain—a typical old New England village. At the town’s heart is the convenience store, the restaurant, a small church, a two-bay firehouse, a U.S. Postal Service mailbox (the nearest Post Office is miles away,) and Ludlow’s Building & Farm Supply; Ludlow’s saw mill and logging headquarters is reached by a secondary road near the supply store. A half mile beyond the center of town the road narrows again, and the landscape becomes dominated once more by trees and rolling foothills.

  About a mile from the town’s edge an iron gate bars an otherwise unmarked gravel road; hedged by trees, the gravel road is long and topped with crushed blue stone. A few hundred yards beyond the gate, the trees around the road gradually thin and give way to fields of cow corn and hay, and acres of open pastures. The gravel road divides these fields; wooden fences mark and divide the pastures; large red barns with white trim house cows, horses, pigs, goats, chickens, a handful of geese, and several bison. On past the barns the gravel road continues up a slight grade. When the grade levels off there stands a long greenhouse, and beyond the greenhouse the lawns are green and the flower gardens are perfectly kept throughout the summer months. The road finally ends before a large house opposed by a garage with four bay doors. Elaborate for a farmhouse, with large windows, skylights and wraparound porches, the house is built of oak.

  In the upstairs of this oak farmhouse Evie woke with her heart drumming, a sound like howling winds fading in her head.

  Looking around as her heart rate settled, Evie saw late afternoon sunlight streaming into the room. As she moved she found that the aches and pains of the morning had subsided to a tolerable level, and as her eyes cleared she noted the woodwork, the familiar furnishings and rustic décor—a far cry from her colorful room in Alabama. With absolute certainty Evie knew where she was. But too, fading slowly from her mind’s eye, she saw with much confusion the dark woods, the moonlit clearing ... the wolf.

  The sound of the bedroom door slowly opening drew her attention. Evie saw her grandfather peering into the room.

  “I thought I heard you,” he said softly.

  “Papa Joe,” Evie whispered hoarsely.

  “The one and only,” he answered with a smile. “I was tempted to say good morning, but we’re closer to evening now. Tell me, Sleeping Beauty, how are you feeling?”

  “Y—you wouldn’t believe,” Evie stammered, running her hands through her long crimson hair. “I saw … I mean I dreamed … It was just crazy.”

  Joseph Ludlow took a seat at the edge of the four-poster bed. All but his eyes seemed calm and composed. “I know you had quite a dream,” he said.

  “That’s just it, Papa. It wasn’t a regular dream. I was here.”

  “Yes, you’ve been here for a few hours now.”

  “No, no, I was at home one minute,” she explained, mixing the two dreams together, “but then I was here at the farm. I saw the woods, the riding trails. I saw—”

  “Shh, settle down,” he said, leaning forward and hugging his granddaughter. “There’s no need to get worked up. All is well I assure you.”

  “But, Papa—”

  “Stay calm. You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty four hours. Your temperature was outrageous. It’ll take a while for you to adjust to everything.”

  Adjust? Evie thought, pulling back from the hug. I saw a monster. “I saw a wolf,” she blurted. “Out in the woods by the old cabins, there was a ginormous wolf. He—”

  “The cabins, you say?”

  “Yes. In your old cabin. I saw a wolf. He—”

  “Easy, easy; I know.”

  “No!” she said, almost in tears now. “I mean it. I saw him. I know I did.”

  “And I believe you,” Joseph Ludlow said calmly, but he could no longer restrain his smile.

  Evie eyed him suspiciously. “You know about the dream?”

  “I do.”

  “How?”

  “By my grandfatherly magic, that’s how. Yes I know about the wolf. What I don’t know is what he said to you. Can you remember? Anything at all?”

  “No,” she answered after a moment’s searching of her cluttered memories. “No, not reall
y.”

  Joseph Ludlow nodded and lowered his eyes momentarily. He appeared unsatisfied but asked no more questions. Then he raised his eyes again, and his smile returned.

  Evie watched him for a moment before she spoke again. He was smiling even though she was freaking out—just as her mother had done. Was this a joke? A bad joke? Were they all in on it? Was it punishment for missing her August visit? Or was she simply losing her mind altogether? “Did I talk in my sleep?” she asked cautiously.

  “You may have,” her grandfather replied, “but I never heard a word.”

  “Then how do you know about my dream?”

  “Just relax for now and try not to worry yourself. We’ve got a lot to discuss, you, me, and your mother. But there’s no fire to put out this minute.”

  “I’m not five,” Evie said in a stronger tone. “If I’m losing my mind, I need to know.”

  “I promise you’re not losing your mind,” he said gently.

  “A joke?”

  “No, definitely not. I wouldn’t joke about this.”

  “Papa, I’m scared,” Evie whispered. “I feel …”

  “Don’t be frightened,” he said softly. “You’ve never doubted me before. Believe me, Red; nothing is wrong.”

  “Then what’s happening to me? Why am I here? Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

  Joseph Ludlow took a deep breath as he stared at his granddaughter. Her eyes were flooded with new depths of green that pierced him deeply, as his own eyes pierced most others. “You really can’t wait?” he asked.

  “No,” she said with a hard face.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to have your mother and grandmother here, if we’re going to have a serious talk?”