It was twice as far to the clearing as usual; Edythe took a long detour, making certain my scent wouldn't come anywhere near the path Jules would be taking to mask my scent later.
I was on Edythe's back naturally, with the bulky backpack strapped around my shoulders, but Edythe had winched it in such a way she still took most of its weight.
She came to a stop at the farthest end of the clearing, then let me down, taking the pack from me and slinging it casually over one shoulder.
"Okay," she said. "Walk north. Make sure you touch as much of the trees and foliage as you can. Archie knows the path they'll take, and we'll intersect it before long."
I stood there a minute, not wanting to admit I hadn't the slightest clue which direction was north.
"That way," she said at last, pointing, and I heard the smile in her voice.
"Right," I said. Staring straight ahead, I walked into the woods, and the shadow of the trees immediately blotted out the warm sunlight above.
It was chillier here, and I was glad I had my jacket, and that my winter coat was stored rolled up in Edythe's enormous pack. Even though it was June, I had little hope Archie would turn out to be wrong about the snow. The wind still hadn't let up, and whipped furiously between the trees, rattling the leaves. Strangely, I found myself thinking of the old Quileute legends—it was almost like there was an army of spirit warriors nearby, kicking up a howling in preparation for a battle.
I kept my hand out, walking very slowly and putting my bare skin against everything that came close enough. Rough tree bark, blowing ferns, moss-covered rock—anything.
Edythe maintained about twenty yards of distance from me, so her scent wouldn't interfere with mine, walking in a parallel line.
I carefully put my hands on everything, trying to make the trail stronger. "Anything else I should do?" I called.
"That's perfect," Edythe called back. "Just keep doing what you're doing."
"Let me know if I can do anything else."
We went a short way more in silence when Edythe said, "Really, don't let what Archie said bother you. Just tell him to mind his own business and butt out."
I knew now was my chance to stand up and be a man, start figuring out what kind of wedding Edythe would want, and insist on it. But as an image of me in a formal suit—looking about the same level of awkward as Charlie, and trying to stutter out the full vows after a grave-faced minister—inserted itself uninvited into my thoughts, I wilted and couldn't get it out. Instead, I concentrated on a fern I'd reached out to grab, staring down at it as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. I shrugged.
"Really," Edythe said again, firmly. "The only daydream of mine is marrying you. The particulars don't matter. I want what you want."
I glanced at her, then looked away. What I would want was a quick trip to Vegas without all the finery and attention. If not that, and we absolutely had to include people—only my parents and her family. Short and with the least possible opportunity for me to trip over something and make an idiot of myself.
And yet...those options which I'd taken some comfort in entertaining before didn't sound quite so good now. Not when I knew there were other choices that could potentially make Edythe very happy. I felt like I was in a catch-22—on the one hand, every fiber of my being rebelled against the idea of a traditional wedding, and the attention and finery and everything else that went with it. On the other, would I ever have a chance like this again, to give Edythe something I knew she would want?
I mentally grumbled to myself. I knew I would give in. No, I'd probably actively go to Carine and the others to make sure it was a traditional wedding they thought Edythe would like. But I wasn't completely mentally ready to throw myself into that just yet, so I just shrugged again.
It took me a while to reach the spot where the newborn army would be certain to cross my trail. Edythe kept pace with me, never showing the slightest sign of impatience.
When we headed back, Edythe led a bit and directed, to make sure I stayed on the same path I took going in. For the most part I was careful where I put my feet, but when we neared the clearing and I saw the bright light up ahead, I got distracted, and I caught my toe on a tree root. I managed to get a hand out to catch myself on a low-hanging branch before I could fall, but one of the twigs sticking out gouged into my palm.
I turned my hand over to examine the damage and grimaced as I saw I'd managed to draw blood.
"Are you okay?" Edythe asked, sounding concerned.
I quickly stuffed my hand in my pocket. "Fine," I said. "Just a scratch. You better stay over there..."
I'd no sooner uttered the suggestion than Edythe was at my side. She produced a first-aid kit from one of the side pockets of the pack.
"I thought we might need it," she explained.
I stretched out my good hand for the white box. "Thanks."
Edythe didn't hand it over. "Let me see it," she said, reaching for the hand in my pocket.
I remembered the way Jessamine had reacted when I'd gotten a paper cut, and even though I didn't have any fear of Edythe losing control that way, it just made things harder on her than they needed to be. Even if a heroin addict had been clean for ten years, it only seemed common decency not to leave a syringe lying around.
I started to pull back. However, in spite of my worries, I suddenly smiled as I got an idea.
"Hey," I said. "Hold your breath and close your eyes. I know what we can do with this." I turned my back on her, taking my hand out of my pocket as I headed again in the direction of the clearing. I touched the things around me again, this time rubbing my hand more vigorously—a tall rock, a branch, a few leaves. I wasn't bleeding much, but I looked at the few smears of dark red in satisfaction. If the newborns were as blood-crazy as Jessamine had described, this would really get them going.
I heard Edythe sigh as she trailed behind me. "You're going to get that cut infected," she muttered, with obvious disapproval. Clearly neither holding her breath nor closing her eyes as I'd instructed her.
As she spoke, I broke through the trees and came to a stop. I turned my head to frown back at her. "Hey. I thought I said..."
Edythe's skin was glittering as she emerged from the shadow of the trees behind me. She rolled her eyes. "I think that's beyond more than enough," she said. "So come over here and let me clean it before it turns green and Carine has to chop it off. Then you'd really look like you'd had a run-in with a vampire."
"Yeah, okay," I said. I once again extended my good hand for the first-aid kit, but Edythe only raised an eyebrow and held the kit out of my reach.
"I can take care of it," I insisted. "You don't have to torture yourself."
"Who says I'm torturing myself?" Edythe asked. "Trust me, Beau, if there's something I can't handle, I won't hesitate to tell you."
Seeing no other argument I could make, I reluctantly uncurled my bad hand, holding it out palm up.
Edythe took my hand very gently in hers, and I watched as she began to carefully clean the wound. A slight smile was playing on her lips and her breathing remained steady and even. She was completely relaxed.
I could only stare at her, confused.
Edythe glanced once up at my expression before continuing to clean the wound. "Something wrong?" she asked lightly.
"Well..." I began slowly. "I mean, doesn't it bother you?"
Edythe's slight smile was still in place. "You mean the sight of your blood? The smell? No, not really. Not the way it used to."
I was amazed. The only vampire I'd seen able to be around fresh human blood without some kind of reaction—stiffening of the shoulders, body tensing—was Carine, who had centuries of practice as a nurse, then doctor. And my blood was especially potent to Edythe.
"When did that happen?" I wondered. Now that I thought about it, I wondered when was the last time I'd seen her hold her breath. But all I could think of was my birthday last September.
"I lived through twenty-four hours thinking you were dead," she said calmly as she swabbed my cut with disinfectant, making me wince. "That changed my perspective on things a little."
Edythe must have sensed my disbelief because she laughed softly and elaborated in a murmur, "You...probably can't imagine what I went through when I thought... Well, there are no words. Twenty-four hours may not seem like a long time, especially for a human. But—I think it was about as close to experiencing an eternity in hell as our kind can get."
She sighed as she smoothed a bandage over the wound, then lifted her eyes back to mine and smiled.
"So you might say that, the thought of hurting you in any way was always repugnant to my higher, noble mind, but now it's also repugnant to the selfish, baser parts of me, too. A natural instinct for self-preservation."
"Oh," I answered. It was all I could think of to say.
The wind suddenly tore through the clearing, making me shiver.
"Okay," Edythe said, unslinging the pack and drawing out my heavy winter coat. "I think our part is done. Now all that's left is for us to do a bit of camping."
"Fun," I muttered.
Edythe took my good hand and started to lead me in the direction of the opposite end of the clearing.
I was about to ask where we were supposed to meet Jules, when Jules suddenly appeared, stepping from the cover of the trees. As always she was dressed only in a pair of biking shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and even as another icy wind tore through the clearing, she didn't react. She had a large winter coat slung over one arm. She regarded us warily, silent as a wraith.
Edythe's expression could have been carved in marble, and I knew this was one part of the plan she didn't care for.
As we got close, I called casually, "Hey, Jules."
Edythe said politely, "Hello, Julie."
Jules ignored the greeting and, all business, said, "Okay, where do I take him?"
Edythe drew a folded laminated map from the side pocket of the pack. She handed it to Jules, who opened it without expression and studied it a moment.
"We're here now," Edythe said, reaching over to touch the spot. Jules flinched at the movement so close to her and went still before she mastered herself.
Pretending not to have noticed, Edythe continued evenly, "And then you'll be going up here." The tip of her finger traced a serpentine path around the elevation lines. "It will be roughly nine miles. When you're about a mile away you should cross my path and that will lead you to the correct spot." She added, "You can keep the map if you need it."
Jules stared down at the path a moment longer, then folded the map in two and handed it back.
"No thanks," she said coolly. "I know the area well enough."
Edythe took the map back. Her eyes flickered between me and Jules, looking wary. I knew she didn't like leaving me alone, in anyone else's protection.
"I'll take a longer route," Edythe said. "I'll see you in a few hours."
"See you," I said.
Edythe took a step back, though her eyes remained on us for a moment longer. Then she turned and disappeared into the trees.
Almost as soon as Edythe was gone, Jules dropped the whole hardened-warrior act and her mouth split into a wide grin.
"Yo. What's up?"
I snorted, shaking my head. "Oh, you know. The usual."
"Bunch of vampires trying to kill you," she said, nodding.
Jules shrugged on the parka. "Well, I guess we better get going." She bent slightly at the knees and gestured for me to climb onto her back.
My mouth twisted. Stupid as it probably was at this point, I still hadn't forgotten the incident at La Push.
At last she said, "We don't have all day, you know." She suddenly grinned and flexed her arms in front of her. "Unless you'd rather I carry you like this. Princess style."
Grumbling, I slowly approached, then tentatively got up on her back. She secured my legs, gripping my knees, and reluctantly I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. I was glad of the parka so at least my bare skin wasn't coming into contact with hers.
"I thought you didn't get cold now," I said, tapping the padding as she took off at a brisk jog that didn't seem possible in the dark, uneven forest. With well over a hundred pounds of weight on her back, a normal person probably would have cracked an ankle.
"I don't," she said. She spoke steadily, not the least out of breath. "I brought it for you, in case you weren't prepared. I really don't like the way the weather feels. It's making me edgy. The animals can feel something coming, there's no activity in the forest. It must be a pretty big storm on the way..."
Jules didn't slow down, even as the ground began to slope more and more steeply up, her feet instinctively finding the best footholds on the pathless dirt ground. She didn't even seem to need her arms for balance, though she paused a couple of times to readjust her grip, making sure I wouldn't slip off.
She glanced down at my arm around her shoulders, and beamed when she noticed the leather bracelet still on my wrist.
"Still wearing it? Haven't thrown it away yet?"
I shrugged against her back, for some reason annoyed by her tone. "Guess so."
"When are you coming back down to La Push?" she asked. "It's been a while. Your bike needs riding again."
"I've had a lot of stuff going on," I answered shortly. "And even if I didn't, I don't know I'll be going back."
Jules laughed. "I thought you forgave me."
"Forgiveness and trust are two different things," I muttered.
"Guess that means it's been on your mind a lot," she said, a grin in her voice. "Mine, too."
"Can we please not have this conversation now?" I said, scowling.
"So when do you want to have it?" she asked.
"Preferably never." I sighed. "Look, I'm willing to let the whole thing drop if you'll just let it go, but—you keep bringing it up. Why can't you just let things go back to normal? Don't my feelings count for anything? I've asked you politely to cut it out and you won't."
"I'm doing this for your own good, Beau," Jules answered. "Think about it—you've only experienced one relationship in your entire life, and she's not even human. You haven't let yourself know anything else, and you're ready to throw away your life for her. If I let you go without a serious fight, I'd never forgive myself."
"There's a difference between fighting and just being pushy," I said. "How would you feel if some guy suddenly kissed you out of nowhere? Say you're looking the other way and your guard's down a second and, say...say Lee kisses you. You think that's just okay?"
I don't know why I seized on Lee's name. But he was the only guy I could think of Jules knew that was technically single.
Jules wrinkled her nose. "I'd punch him in the face, and he'd never think about pulling that again. Problem solved."
I sighed. "The point is you wouldn't like it, right? Him coming in and invading your personal space?"
Jules pursed her lips. "I guess I sort of see your point. But the thing is, you don't look at me like how I look at Lee."
"How do you look at Lee?" I asked. I added, "I already know he's part of the pack, so you can tell me the truth."
Again, Jules wrinkled her nose, mouth twisting. "I felt kind of bad for him at first—we all did—but honestly, after getting to know him a little, I've had slime on the bottom of my shoe I've liked better."
I asked the followup question. "And how do you think I look at you?"
Jules considered for a minute.
"You know that story I told you about Sam?" she asked at last. "About how she fell in love with Elliot, but she couldn't admit it for a long time because she couldn't accept the idea of betraying Lee?"
"Yeah," I said cautiously.
"I think you're a loyal guy, Beau," she said. "You couldn't stand the thought of your feelings...betraying someone. Being dishonorable. I think that's why you keep clinging to this idea all your feelings for me are just as-friends. You just can't admit to yourself how you really feel."
I glared at the back of her head. "And that's your theory?" I demanded.
Again, I could hear the smile in her voice. "How else do you explain how nervous you get when you're around me? You don't get like that when I'm in my wolf form. Maybe because I don't look like a girl."
"Or maybe because as a wolf you can't talk, and I know I don't have to be bombarded with insane theories," I muttered darkly.
"You'll probably be upset when you realize," Jules said with a sigh, ignoring me. "And you'll feel guilty, like Sam. But it'll be better if you realize before it's too late. Lee may be a hollow, bitter shell of a guy, but even he knows the only worse situation he could have than the one right now is if Sam insisted on keeping herself bound to him when she really loved someone else."
"You're deluded," I muttered. "Seriously."
Jules grinned. "Don't worry, I'll keep it toned down for now. I won't tick you off too much, or I might start a fight with your vampire girl. As much as I would love that, I'd hate to leave them one short tomorrow."
I was quiet.
Jules misinterpreted my silence. "Yeah," she said, sighing. "I know you think she could take me."
I thought I'd just about gotten over the needles in my conscious, accepted my decision and moved on. But at this, the guilt suddenly seared to life in my chest, almost as sharp and overpowering as the first time.
Jules glanced back over her shoulder, worried by my silence, and when she saw my expression her brow furrowed, and the teasing bravado disappeared.
"Hey," she said. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" She slowed slightly, going more at a walk than a run now. "Hey," she said again, more urgently this time. "I'm just joking around... Don't worry. I'll be nicer. We can forget about the vampire-werewolf thing and just be you and me, okay?"
For a moment I couldn't seem to speak, but then I realized Jules would know soon enough when Edythe didn't leave to go to the battle tomorrow.
I turned my head away from hers, staring into the shadowy forest around us, feeling the cold wind sharp against my face.
"I'm not such a good, honorable guy as you think," I said suddenly, quietly. "I...I did something pretty sick."
Jules slowed even more, and the one eye of hers I could see looked very concerned now.
I forced myself to continue. "Edythe...isn't going with the others tomorrow." My voice was hoarse. "She's going to stay with me. I guilted her into it."
Jules was silent for a moment. Her silence scared me more than anything, and I found myself talking just to fill it.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. I just...I just couldn't deal with it. But it's dangerous and now they're going to be a fighter short—if someone gets hurt—killed—it'll be because of me."
Jules had picked up her pace again, and she was frowning at the forest in front of her. "I don't get it," she said at last. "You think there's a hole in the plan? You think there's a chance they'll find you?"
I shook my head. "It's not that. It would be better if it was. But...I just didn't want her to go. I couldn't stand the thought of Edythe there, in the thick of the battle."
I said quietly, "I'm...afraid of myself. If I'm capable of something like this...making Edythe choose between me and her family, putting them at risk—what else am I capable of?"
Jules kept running, and there was no sound but her even breathing, and her light footfalls on the forest floor.
At last, Jules snorted. "You are a such a worrier. I bet you've just been letting it eat away at you, like an idiot. She would be perfectly fine if she went—unfortunately—but it's not like we need her anyway. Just relax tomorrow, we'll take care of everything."
I felt my irritation rise. For some reason, which I could not have fully explained even to myself, I didn't want her to dismiss it. I wanted her to understand just how bad I was.
"What if it was you?" I challenged suddenly. "What if I asked you to stay? Asked you to stay out of the battle, and leave it to the rest of your pack to risk their lives without you. When you're the Beta, one of the strongest, and they need you."
Jules was quiet, and I couldn't even hear the sound of her breathing now.
"That's what I'm doing to Edythe," I said. "I know exactly what I'm doing, and yet—I can't get myself to do anything else. It's like there's this monster inside me. A monster who will do anything to get what he wants. What would you do if I did that to you? What if I guilted you like that, tried to make you decide between me and your family? What would you do?"
Again Jules didn't answer right away. She stared straight ahead so I couldn't see her face.
At last she said, slowly, seriously, "I wouldn't stay. Even if you begged me. I would still go."
I nodded slowly, accepting that.
"But," Jules said, and her voice was earnest, "that doesn't mean I would be choosing my family over you. I'd do it for you as much as for them—because when everything worked out fine, you'd forgive me for leaving, and you'd be better off. You wouldn't have to feel guilty then."
I didn't answer, and she continued, "Beau, try as hard as she might, she doesn't understand you. She never understands what you really need. Before, she went off and abandoned you because she thought that was what you needed. Now she's just giving you what you say you want, when you don't even really know yourself."
I was quiet for a moment. My mouth turned down into a frown. "And you do know what I need?" I said skeptically.
Jules grinned. "Maybe."
I sighed and my annoyance faded. "I'm pretty bad, aren't I?"
"The worst," she agreed, though her voice was still amused. "But I kind of understand. Sort of like I would never, in a thousand years, let you be in that clearing tomorrow, even if it did give us some sort of advantage."
She shot me a sideways look over her shoulder.
I didn't answer.
"Yeah," she said, "don't pretend like you haven't been thinking about it. I can imagine what you were scheming before your vampire shut it down. Good for her. Finally she's good for something."
I scowled. "If I was there, I could distract them."
Jules snorted. "If you were there, I'd be so distracted I don't know what I'd be doing. Honestly, there's no point even thinking about it. If she hadn't already vetoed it, I would have. Better she keeps out of the fight than you're in it."
Jules added after a moment, a little more gently, "Anyway, I just meant to say I kind of understand. I still think you're making a big deal out of nothing—we all know what we're doing and we'll take care of it, no problem—but I get why you're doing it. I'm just saying if it was me you were asking, you'd probably be better off in the long run."
She ran for a minute or so, neither of us saying anything. At last I heard myself say, quietly, "If I knew of a way to get you to stay, too...I'd probably do it."
I felt Jules hesitate in mid-step, before she continued on, redoubling her pace. Her voice was light as she said, "No you wouldn't. You'd be fine. You'll have your vampire."
"You said I'd be better off in the long run," I said, still in a low voice. "Maybe you're right. But until it's over, I'll be sick—sick with the thought you might not..." I couldn't make myself finish.
"Why?" she asked. The word came out sounding strange. Like she meant it to be light and teasing, dismissive, but it came out low with emotion instead.
"Because," I said quietly. "Because even if it's not how you want, I—care. About you. I think you know how much—you're my best friend, and if something happened to you, I really don't know what I..." I couldn't finish, and just let the thought trail off.
Again we were both quiet for a moment. Then Jules sighed.
"You'll realize it eventually," she murmured, almost to herself. "You'll have to."
I knew what she meant, but I didn't want to break the moment to point out again she was delusional. So I stayed was quiet.
We traveled in silence again for awhile. I tilted my head back to gaze up at the sky, and was startled to see a solid, purple-black wall of cloud approaching from the west, so dense it cast a deep shadow over the forest, making mid-afternoon look like late evening, almost night.
"Wow," I muttered. "That looks nasty. You better hurry, Jules, you'll want to have time to get home before that hits."
"Don't worry, we're getting close," she said, and she was moving even faster than before, almost flat-out sprinting. Her breathing was still even, but more labored now, and she had to fit her words in between steady intakes of oxygen. "I just picked up her scent."
She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, and no need for time to head back, because I'm not going back tonight. I'm sure your little bloodsucker will want to stay in touch with the rest of the pack, and Sarah won't be getting here until tomorrow morning."
"You're...staying?" I demanded. I suddenly had a nightmarish vision of me, Edythe, and Jules all spending the night in a tent together—the image made me shudder.
Jules glanced back, reading the horror on my face, and rolled her eyes. "Not in the tent, obviously. I'll take the storm over the smell any day. I'll just be close if you need me for anything."
She paused, then added, changing the subject, "By the way. How did you find out? I mean, that I was the—" She broke off, then shrugged under my arm. "Guess it doesn't matter."
"What?" I said. "You mean that you're the Beta of the pack? Oh, Edythe told me. She found out same time she found out about Lee, at the training meeting."
"She sure found out a lot," Jules muttered darkly. "Ugh, you're lucky you can keep her out. If she was in your head all the time like she is everyone else's, I'd be surprised if you didn't go insane."
I didn't answer. I didn't like it when Jules talked about Edythe that way, but if I was being honest, I'd thanked my lucky stars more than once for that quirk that kept her from seeing my innermost thoughts. I sometimes wondered if Edythe would still feel the same way about me if she could see my thoughts as she did everyone else's. What if she saw how boring and ordinary I really was? Or how selfish and petty I could be?
I decided to turn the conversation back around. "So, you, Beta," I said. "That's cool. How come you didn't tell me? Sam didn't let you?"
"Just didn't seem important," she said, shrugging again. "It's not really a big thing. Like I said, Sam's the Alpha. She probably should have picked one of the others to be the Beta, one of the ones who phased sooner than I did, but she picked me instead...mainly because of my lineage. Like I said, no big deal, really."
"Lineage?" I said, frowning.
Jules nodded. "Because I'm a descendent of Elda Black, and she was the last 'Alpha' of the pack, the last chieftess of the tribe. Now that Sam's the Alpha, technically that makes her the new chieftess of the tribe...weird, isn't it? All those strange old traditions."
She chuckled, though for some reason, she sounded a little uneasy.
I considered. "But if this whole thing is determined by lineages, and Elda Black was the last chieftess...well...wouldn't that mean you should be the Alpha? Chieftess, whatever?"
Jules didn't reply. Instead she gazed up into the darkening sky, as if she'd suddenly found something up there that needed her attention. At last she said, "Sam's the best person for the job. I may not always agree with her on everything, but she's a natural leader."
"Was her great grandmother a chieftess, too?" I asked, curious.
Jules shook her head. "No. There's only one chieftess of the tribe. One Alpha."
"So..." I said slowly.
Jules was unusually tense under my grip. Then she suddenly slumped and sighed. "Okay, yeah. According to the lineages stuff, I should have been the Alpha."
"But Sam changed first," I said. "So she's Alpha instead."
Jules still seemed uncomfortable. "Sam offered it to me. I could have taken it if I wanted to, but I...just didn't want to. I didn't even want to be Beta, but the others all kind of voted me in."
"Why not?" I asked. I thought about all the times Jules seemed to chafe under Sam's orders, how she hated to be controlled. It seemed like it would be the perfect way to get free of all that.
Jules shook her head. "I didn't ask for any of this, you know. I was just a normal teenager, doing normal things, and then suddenly I was in this war I didn't even know existed. I was happy with my life before, and suddenly I felt like I'd lost everything. I didn't want to be there. I didn't feel up to shouldering the responsibility of being one protector of the tribe, let alone the pack's leader."
We were quiet as I considered that. I remembered the anger, the bitterness in her face back then. That look I'd come to associate with Sam.
"And...how are things now?" I asked in a low voice, almost afraid of the answer.
Jules shrugged. "I told you before, things are better now. Once you knew—well, I didn't feel like I'd lost so much. A part of me still hates that I never had a choice, but I've mostly accepted it now. I'm even glad, just a bit. I'm glad some of us have this power to protect the tribe when the tribe needs it. Someone has to do this job—the way I see it, might as well be me."
I gazed at the side of her face as she gazed straight ahead with determination. And I thought I saw something there in her dark eyes. A solemnity, a quiet strength. In the face of my friend, with the smile lines at the corners of her eyes, I saw for the first time the barest hint of a leader. Tall, resolute.
"Tell me if they ever make you chieftess," I said. "I want to come to the ceremony."
Jules rolled her eyes, sarcasm back in place.
The sky was dark above us now, and the wind howled through the treetops. I began to see small flurries of white whipping around us, and the wind was so chilling it sent a shiver through my whole body.
Jules ran in silence now, sprinting hard, and I felt the strain of her muscles working beneath me. Barely minutes later, her dash took her around the side of the a stony peak, and I sighed with relief when I caught sight of the little tent nestled up between the rock, sheltered somewhat from the powerful wind now blowing large flakes of snow.
Edythe was there, pacing back and forth, looking agitated. But the moment we appeared she stopped, turning to look at us, and an expression of relief broke across her face.
Moving too fast for human eyes to follow, in a blur of motion she was suddenly beside us.
Jules flinched back, startled by the sudden movement, then scowled. She let me down, and as my feet connected solidly with the ground, I wobbled a bit, as they'd started to fall asleep.
Edythe reached out a hand to steady me. Then her eyes shifted to Jules. I tensed, ready for her to say something scathing.
However, there was nothing but gratitude in her face when she said, "Thank you. That was faster than I expected."
Jules's face was now completely blank, no emotion. "Get him inside. It's going to be bad—How secure is that tent?"
"I all but welded it to the rock."
Jules nodded. "Good." She turned her eyes up to the sky, now completely black with the storm. Bits of snow swirled here and there.
Wordlessly, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on a low, stubby branch, and kicked off her shoes. She closed her eyes and I knew she was about to change.
At Edythe's beckoning, I turned and followed her into the tent.