* * *
* * *
We hit the road again, interstates and farmland eventually turning into coastal cities marked with ironworks and rocky shores, which turned into divided highways through tall and pointed trees.
It was two hours before dawn when Connor pulled off the main highway, taking a silent and dark road that seemed to run parallel to it—probably the old main road Marian had mentioned—to a spur that led to the former Superior Shore Resort & Lodge, according to the peeling sign at the edge of the drive.
The drive was narrower than the road had been, and rutted with potholes. It wove through the property around cabins of assorted sizes, past overgrown lawns and wild-looking shrubs. Connor brought the bike to a stop in front of a stand-alone cabin near what looked like the edge of the property. He turned off the bike, and we pulled off our helmets and sat for a moment in the quiet that embraced us.
Wordlessly, we climbed off the bike. Connor walked into the grass and turned a quiet circle as he took in the grounds, or what he could see of them in the darkness.
The cabin was a neat rectangle of honed logs with a steeply pitched roof. A couple of steps led to a small wooden porch held up by wooden posts, a white rocking chair moving subtly back and forth in the breeze.
When I looked back at Connor, his brow was furrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, still frowning, and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a few years since I’ve been back, but it’s not as well-kept as it was. The potholes, the grass. Maybe the young guns had a point there.”
“I like it,” I said, and he looked back at me. “It looks real. Lived in and homey.”
“Is ‘homey’ what vampires say when they mean ‘shabby’?”
I grinned at him. “Good to know you think I’m tactful, at least. How does the clan support itself? I mean, they had to buy this land, right? Buy food, at least what they don’t hunt or scavenge?”
“They work,” Connor said. “They pooled money to buy the resort, and everyone puts in for the mortgage. They spend some money on their needs, put some money into the communal pot. Elders are retired, so some of that pot supports them directly. And they don’t live extravagantly, as you’ve seen. Shifters aren’t much into material possessions.”
“Because they have the moon and the woods and the cheese curds?”
“Not necessarily in that order, but yeah. For their security, vampires prefer to live high. To have the protections of wealth. Shifters prefer the opposite. To blend. To go unnoticed.”
We took our bags and walked to the door, and he pointed to the large dark green shutters installed over the windows. They looked like slatted ornamental shutters but for wide hinges that would allow them to close and hooks that would keep them that way. “Sunlight protection.”
“That’s a relief. Does the clan get a lot of vampire visitors?”
He looked back at me, eyes full of meaning. “No.”
He’d put thought into this, I realized. Thought and time to make sure I’d be shielded if I decided to come. Warmth spread through my belly.
Connor flipped up the welcome mat with a booted toe and flicked out the key someone had stowed there. He unlocked the door, held it open for me. “You’re invited in, if you need the invitation.”
“Only by etiquette,” I said. “Not magic.”
Inside, the decor was simple, a mix of vintage outdoor prints and gear and North Woods kitsch. The wooden walls gleamed golden beneath brassy light fixtures. There was a couch in front of a fireplace and a dining table in front of a small kitchen. The table was small and forest green with matching ladder-back chairs, all of it well-worn, the corners rubbed down to pale wood from hands and feet and legs, the corners softened by others’ lives.
It smelled of woodsmoke and cinnamon and, beneath that, wolf. Magic and pine resin and loamy soil. The scents of wilderness and wild.
“Why did the resort fail?” I wondered, putting my backpack on the small kitchen island.
“They built the divided highway we came down,” Connor said, dropping his duffel onto the floor. “That pushed traffic off the scenic route, and hotels that weren’t close enough to the highway failed. The clan took advantage.” He looked up, gestured toward the hallway. “The bedroom’s down there. You can take that, and I’ll take the couch.”
I hadn’t been sure how we’d handle the sleeping arrangements, and appreciated that he was willing to make the sacrifice. But I didn’t need to be coddled. “We can flip for it.”
He pointed to the sliding-glass patio door. “That doesn’t have shutters, but the bedroom does. So this isn’t chivalry. Or not just.”
“In that case, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He smiled at me, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that we were alone together in a cabin in the woods of Minnesota.
“You want something to drink?” Connor asked.
I grinned at him. “Is it last night’s beer, or . . . ?”
Connor grinned. “Local. Much paler than the Pack’s version.”
“Then I’ll take one.”
While he checked the refrigerator, I walked outside the small porch. Firepits along the curving lakeshore winked like jewels among tall and stately evergreens. And beyond them, the sound of soft waves filled the air.
I walked toward the lake, footsteps crunching over a mulch path that ribboned along the shore. Water lapped, slowly and steadily, against the rocks, and crickets chirped in the grass nearby.
“It’s peaceful out here,” I said quietly when Connor moved behind me. “And shifters really like fires,” I said, gesturing toward the closest firepit, where Adirondack chairs circled licking flames.
“It’s part of lake life,” he said. He handed me a bottle, then clinked his against mine. “Fire keeps away the chill, smoke keeps away the bugs, and it’s a chance to connect with friends, especially when you’re preparing for a long winter indoors.”
I sipped the beer, liked it immensely. It was lighter and crisper and went down a lot easier than the Pack’s brew.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do with an entire growler,” I muttered, and caught his soft laugh.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” I said. “But we aren’t craft beer aficionados. We drink cheap pink wine out of plastic cups.” I looked at him. “Did you know they make chocolate wine?”
His lip curled in distaste. “That’s disgusting.”