As they did every year for Soltide, his parents had chosen to stay at their four-story townhouse in Eldanhill rather than their sprawling estate at the winery farther north. His father preferred to be close to his business dealings this time of year. Not that Ancel minded. He enjoyed being in town for Soltide rather than among the kinai orchards or watching his father instruct the workers in the correct methods of kinai juice distillation.
Ancel skipped down Damal Way past matching houses with their oval, stained glass windows, sloping, tiled roofs, and double doors that appeared as if the architects modeled every home after the first one built. Flowers in full bloom among the well-tended gardens added splashes of color to the otherwise bland white paint of the brick edifices.
Old man Finkel stood outside his home, tending his roses. When he saw Ancel, the man’s eyes narrowed.
“Hello, Master Finkel,” Ancel said.
“Don’t hello me, boy. The only thing I want to hear from you is that you’re going to leave my daughter alone. If you don’t…” Finkel’s voice trailed off as he stabbed his shovel into the soft dirt.
Ancel nodded and hurried by the front yard before the man actually decided to use the shovel.
Not long after, he passed by the Jungs. Their daughter Shari was outside, playing with their black and white hound dog.
“Hi, Ance,” she called, her eyes glinting mischievously.
“Hi, Shari.” Ancel moved close to the wrought iron fence.
Shari came down to meet him, her hips swaying as she moved. “When will you take me dancing again?”
“Tomorr-” A gooseberry slapped the ground next to Ancel, the yellow fruit splattering onto his boots. Ancel looked up. Shari’s older brother threw another gooseberry.
“Stop it, Caron,” Shari yelled, whirling to face the youth.
Caron threw another gooseberry. “You know Da doesn’t want him around. Do you want me to go call him?”
“Look, Shari,’ Ancel said. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ll head on home. Maybe we can speak during school tomorrow.”
“I’d like that,” Shari replied as she walked away smiling, her hips swaying once more.
Ancel glared at Caron before he walked away, continuing on home. More familiar faces greeted him along the street. There was Miss Jillian Flaina, Irmina’s aunt, in one of her usual extravagant dresses, green silk with yellow Calvarish lace ruffles along the hem and bunched at the sleeves. Next to her strode old Rohan Lankon, his hat perched on his head in such a way that a slight wind might blow it off. They were involved in some heated discussion, and Jillian looked none too pleased. Ancel graced them with a bow, to which he received an icy stare from Jillian. What her issue was, he had no clue.
Ancel quickly forgot them as he saw Mirza’s father, Devan Faber, and Danvir’s old man, Guthrie Bemelle, across the other side of the street. To see the two of them together made him smile. Devan was as hard as the rocks he quarried, and Guthrie as soft as the gooseberry pudding his Inn was famous for. He shouted a greeting, but the men only gave him a half-hearted acknowledgement. They were both too engrossed in conversation to notice him. He wondered if they’d just all come from a meeting at his house. His father had a tendency to call these councils whenever he came to town, but usually they held them at Guthrie’s Whitewater Inn.
They must have been discussing what we saw in the Greenleaf. Spurred on by the thought, Ancel picked up his pace and took a left onto Tezian Lane. As he reached the stairs to his house, a loud sound somewhere between a rumbling grunt and a dog’s bark issued behind him. Ancel turned to the sound as a mountain of shaggy, white fur crashed into him. He pivoted while snagging fur by the fistful.
Hot breath filled with stale smells greeted Ancel. He’d avoided being knocked to the ground, but he couldn’t escape the hearty licking he received.
“Charra!” Ancel wheezed. Laughter poured out from him as his daggerpaw’s rough tongue continued to bathe his face. “Stop it, boy.” The licking continued unabated. “Sit,” Ancel commanded. “Let me take a look at you.”
The daggerpaw cooed and sat back on his haunches, his jaws spread in a toothy grin. Ancel stood and brushed himself off. Charra nuzzled into Ancel’s chest, his soft hackles swishing with the move that felt more like a stiff head butt than a playful nudge. Ancel lost his balance momentarily before using Charra for support once more.
“Well, you’re as fine as ever.” Ancel brushed at a red stain on Charra’s lower jaw. “And I see you’ve been in the kinai again. Naughty boy.”
Charra whined.
Ancel chuckled. “It’s fine, boy. Come.” Without waiting Ancel walked up the stairs to the double doors.
Charra’s low, rumbling growl stopped Ancel in his track. The daggerpaw stood stiff as a frozen board where Ancel left him, his eyes riveted on something down the empty street.
Frowning, Ancel followed Charra’s gaze. Memories from the encounter in the Greenleaf Forest rose fresh in his mind. But all he saw were the eight houses, four per side, the gardens, and the empty road. People passed by his street and the one that intersected another lane further on. Nothing appeared out of sorts that would make Charra act as he did. Not that the daggerpaw needed any excuse for his moods, but the creatures in the Greenleaf whatever they were, had only made Charra’s temperament worse.
“Charra.”
Nose quivering, the daggerpaw cocked his head for a brief moment, but his attention remained on Tezian Lane.
A prick nagged at the edge of Ancel’s consciousness like an annoying splinter in his finger. Eldanhill’s noises played a muted buzz in the background. Somewhere on an adjoining street came muffled barks.
Ancel’s brow knitted. Where were the neighbors’ dogs? Normally, they would be in the gardens barking and howling at Charra from behind the safety of their fences. Now, they were nowhere to be seen. Ancel raised his foot to step down the stairs when Charra turned to him with a low coo.
The dog across the street started barking. Moments later, it came dashing through the hedges, jumping at the fence and snarling at Charra. The daggerpaw padded up the steps to the doors as if nothing happened. The chill and tension eased from Ancel’s back as the other neighborhood dogs soon joined in a yelping chorus.
Ancel let out a breath, took one last look down the street, and pulled open the front door. Sweet smells of cooking wafted out to him. His mouth watered, and he found himself licking his lips as he paused for a moment to allow Charra to push past him as usual. Instead, the daggerpaw faced the street, stretched, and lay on the landing.
“Have it your way,” Ancel said with a shake of his head. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“About time.” His father’s resonant voice echoed down the long hallway as Ancel wiped his feet on the mat. “Your mother’s cooked up a quick meal. She was becoming worried you were off playing the fool with your friends again.”
“No, Da.” Ancel shed his short cloak and hung it on the stand with the others. “I hurried home as fast as I could.”
Stefan waited for him down the hall. When Ancel reached his father, the older man gave his school uniform a quick inspection, allowing only his penetrating emerald eyes to move. His father paused at the stains on Ancel’s trousers where some merchant’s plums had found their mark. A ghost of a smile touched his father’s lips before he tilted his head to meet Ancel’s eyes. Ancel swallowed.
“I suppose those two told you about the trip to Randane?”
Unable to hold his father’s knowing gaze any longer, Ancel dipped his head, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Yes, they did.”