Crowbones

EPILOGUE

Vicki

Michael and Ian Stern, Ineke Xavier, and I reached an agreement.

Ineke pointed out that winter around Lake Silence wasn’t prime tourist season—yet—and she’d be willing to rent her best en suite room to Michael at a reduced rate if he committed to renting the room for the whole season. Which he did.

Then she encouraged Michael to rent one of the lake cabins from me as his writing room for the same amount of time. Michael agreed to do that if he could share the cabin with Ian, who had rearranged his prior commitments so that he could be in The Jumble a couple of days each week to offer counseling to the terra indigene—or any human brave enough to come to The Jumble to talk about their fear of things that would eat them.

As part of his rent for the lake cabin, Michael offered to help with phone calls, reservations, and guests at The Jumble—when and if we had any. I offered to drop his rent a little more if I could read the chapters of his new book as he wrote them.

He said no.

Aggie would recover, but it would take a while. We weren’t sure why, but she wasn’t able to fully shift from human form to Crow or from Crow back to human, which meant her human form didn’t look all that human, and she didn’t want to be around strangers. That was one reason Michael had offered to help out at the reception desk, since Eddie was my only functioning, non-scary employee at the moment.

Aggie, even more than Jozi, needed time to recover.

I didn’t ask what had happened to Kira. Ilya had a look in his eyes that matched the look in Grimshaw’s, and they—and Julian—played more pool together than their usual weekly gathering. More like a survivors’ club where they chalked cues instead of talking about . . . anything.

To help with her recovery, Lara Sanguinati came to The Jumble once a week with Ilya or Natasha for our young-readers book club, which consisted of Lara, my employees, various residents of The Jumble, and Michael or Julian, who, along with me, provided the human element. Sometimes Dominique Xavier joined us to talk about a Wolf Team story, but I noticed she came only when it was Michael’s turn to be the human male in the group, so I think she was more interested in the writer than in the stories.

Michael reworked my brochure for a winter package, pointing out that the bridle paths through The Jumble would also be great for cross-country skiing. I’m not sure if we’ll get any bookings, but it’s worth a try—as long as the terra indigene don’t see humans on skis as a new toy to chase and nibble.

Julian found a couple of snow gliders—round thingies that were smaller and more lightweight than wooden sleds and could be used for sliding down a hill. The first day we got a few inches of snow, Lara and the Crows were out on the slope that ended at the beach, sliding and laughing until the adults standing watch got cold and made them all come inside.

Sproing and all the residents who lived around Lake Silence would recover, but I don’t think anyone will forget again how fast the terra indigene react to a threat—or who comes calling when humans don’t behave.

Two weeks after I was “almost dead donkey”—a phrase I’m sure will never be forgotten—two boxes arrived from the Lakeside Courtyard. One was filled with baked goods from a place called Nadine’s Bakery. The other was filled with new books. I’d heard of some of the authors but hadn’t purchased their newest titles because I didn’t want Julian to feel obliged to underwrite my book-buying habit more than he already did. And there were some authors I’d never heard of and wasn’t sure Julian had either, because the publishers were located in other parts of Thaisia.

When it came to books, someone in Lakeside had a very good pipeline.

Inside the box with the books was a note. An apology of sorts that read:

Ilya told Vlad that I scared you so much I made you sick, and Meg says I should tell you I’m sorry.

Meg was bleeding, so I’m not sorry I snarled.

Now that Nicolai has told us the story about how you helped him and the Hunter even though you were almost dead donkey, I am a little sorry I snarled at you. (Since everyone agrees that you’re human, we don’t understand about the donkey. Must be a human thing.)

Vlad and I are sending you these books as a way to say sorry for snarling at you and making you sick. I will try not to snarl next time, if there is a next time.

—Simon Wolfgard

P.S. Meg said I need to work on how humans say sorry. I said giving you books is better.

As I tucked in on cold nights with a cup of hot chocolate and a book—and sometimes with Julian as well—I decided I liked Simon Wolfgard’s way of apologizing just fine.