Shiver Trilogy (Shiver, Linger, Forever) by Maggie Stiefvater Page B
Authors: Maggie Stiefvater
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behind me opened, letting in a gust of steam that smelled like Grace’s soap. Grace stepped behind me and rested her head on my shoulder; I breathed in the scent of her.
“Looking at yourself?” she asked.
My fingers, flicking between the photos, froze. “I’m in here?”
Grace came round the side of the bed and sat down facing me. “Of course. Most of them are of you — you don’t recognize yourself? Oh. Of course you wouldn’t. Tell me who’s who.”
Slower, I paged through the images again as she shifted to sit next to me, the bed groaning with her movements. “That’s Beck. He’s always taken care of the new wolves.” Though there’d only been two newly made wolves since me: Christa and the wolf that she’d created, Derek. The fact was, I wasn’t used to younger newcomers — our pack usually grew by other, older wolves finding us, not by the addition of savagely born newbies like Jack. “Beck’s like a father to me.” It sounded weird to say it like that, even if it was true. I’d never had to explain it to anyone before. He had been the one to take me under his wing after I’d escaped from my house, and the one who carefully glued the fragments of my sanity back together.
“I could tell how you felt about him,” Grace said, and she sounded surprised at her own intuition. “Your voice is different whenever you talk about him.”
“It is?” Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Different how?”
She shrugged, looking a little shy. “I dunno. Proud, I guess. I think it’s sweet. Who’s that?”
“Shelby,” I said, and there was no pride in my voice for her. “I told you about her before.”
Grace watched my face.
The memory of the last time Shelby and I had seen each other made my gut twist uncomfortably. “She and I don’t see things the same way. She thinks being a wolf is a gift.”
Beside me, Grace nodded, and I was grateful to leave it at that.
I flipped through the next few photographs, more of Shelby and Beck, until I paused at Paul’s black form. “That’s Paul. He’s our pack leader when we’re wolves. That’s Ulrik next to him.” I pointed to the brown-gray wolf beside Paul. “Ulrik’s like a crazy uncle, sort of. A German one. He swears a lot.”
“Sounds great.”
“He’s a lot of fun.” Actually, I should’ve said was a lot of fun. I didn’t know if this had been his last year, or if he might still have another summer in him. I remembered his laugh, like a flock of crows taking off, and the way he held on to his German accent, like he couldn’t be Ulrik without it.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked, frowning at me.
I shook my head, staring at the wolves in the photographs, so clearly animals when seen through my human eyes. My family. Me. My future. Somehow, the photographs blurred a line I wasn’t ready to cross yet.
I realized Grace had her arm around my shoulder, her cheek leaning against me, comforting me even though she couldn’t possibly understand what was bothering me.
“I wish you could’ve met them,” I said, “when every body was human.” I didn’t know how to explain to her what anenormous part of me they were, their voices and faces as humans, and their scents and forms as wolves. How lost I felt now, the only one wearing human skin.
“Tell me something about them,” Grace said, her voice muffled against my T-shirt.
I let my mind flit over memories. “Beck taught me how to hunt when I was eight. I hated it.” I remembered standing in Beck’s living room, staring out at the first ice-covered tree branches of the winter, brilliant and winking in the morning sun. The backyard seemed like a dangerous and alien planet.
“Why did you hate it?” Grace asked.
“I didn’t like the sight of blood. I didn’t like hurting things. I was eight.” In my memories, I seemed small, ribby, innocent. I had spent all of the previous summer letting myself believe that this winter, with Beck, would be different, that I wouldn’t
“Looking at yourself?” she asked.
My fingers, flicking between the photos, froze. “I’m in here?”
Grace came round the side of the bed and sat down facing me. “Of course. Most of them are of you — you don’t recognize yourself? Oh. Of course you wouldn’t. Tell me who’s who.”
Slower, I paged through the images again as she shifted to sit next to me, the bed groaning with her movements. “That’s Beck. He’s always taken care of the new wolves.” Though there’d only been two newly made wolves since me: Christa and the wolf that she’d created, Derek. The fact was, I wasn’t used to younger newcomers — our pack usually grew by other, older wolves finding us, not by the addition of savagely born newbies like Jack. “Beck’s like a father to me.” It sounded weird to say it like that, even if it was true. I’d never had to explain it to anyone before. He had been the one to take me under his wing after I’d escaped from my house, and the one who carefully glued the fragments of my sanity back together.
“I could tell how you felt about him,” Grace said, and she sounded surprised at her own intuition. “Your voice is different whenever you talk about him.”
“It is?” Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Different how?”
She shrugged, looking a little shy. “I dunno. Proud, I guess. I think it’s sweet. Who’s that?”
“Shelby,” I said, and there was no pride in my voice for her. “I told you about her before.”
Grace watched my face.
The memory of the last time Shelby and I had seen each other made my gut twist uncomfortably. “She and I don’t see things the same way. She thinks being a wolf is a gift.”
Beside me, Grace nodded, and I was grateful to leave it at that.
I flipped through the next few photographs, more of Shelby and Beck, until I paused at Paul’s black form. “That’s Paul. He’s our pack leader when we’re wolves. That’s Ulrik next to him.” I pointed to the brown-gray wolf beside Paul. “Ulrik’s like a crazy uncle, sort of. A German one. He swears a lot.”
“Sounds great.”
“He’s a lot of fun.” Actually, I should’ve said was a lot of fun. I didn’t know if this had been his last year, or if he might still have another summer in him. I remembered his laugh, like a flock of crows taking off, and the way he held on to his German accent, like he couldn’t be Ulrik without it.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked, frowning at me.
I shook my head, staring at the wolves in the photographs, so clearly animals when seen through my human eyes. My family. Me. My future. Somehow, the photographs blurred a line I wasn’t ready to cross yet.
I realized Grace had her arm around my shoulder, her cheek leaning against me, comforting me even though she couldn’t possibly understand what was bothering me.
“I wish you could’ve met them,” I said, “when every body was human.” I didn’t know how to explain to her what anenormous part of me they were, their voices and faces as humans, and their scents and forms as wolves. How lost I felt now, the only one wearing human skin.
“Tell me something about them,” Grace said, her voice muffled against my T-shirt.
I let my mind flit over memories. “Beck taught me how to hunt when I was eight. I hated it.” I remembered standing in Beck’s living room, staring out at the first ice-covered tree branches of the winter, brilliant and winking in the morning sun. The backyard seemed like a dangerous and alien planet.
“Why did you hate it?” Grace asked.
“I didn’t like the sight of blood. I didn’t like hurting things. I was eight.” In my memories, I seemed small, ribby, innocent. I had spent all of the previous summer letting myself believe that this winter, with Beck, would be different, that I wouldn’t
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