The Winter Wind, as usual, whispered of gray skies and flurries. It left a chill in its wake, fathers pulling their coats tight around their necks and mothers wondering if their children were dressed warmly enough when they'd went off to school that morning.
Children didn't often notice the cold on the wind-they were too busy pulling pigtails or making mud pies or playing tag to afford their attention to something as trivial as a cool breeze. They were unlikely to notice the temperature at all until the snow began to fall. Even the intricate, icy paintings that might appear overnight on the windowsill were often overlooked by the younger kids, despite their sure sign that snow was soon to follow.
That never stopped Jack Frost from painting them, an act so intrinsic to who he was that it came to him as naturally as breathing. For centuries, his ice patterns had been his identity-his signature in a world that didn't believe. Now, they served not as a reminder of his anonymity but as a prequel of things to come, a hint of mischief-Jack's way of drawing on the walls when the adults weren't looking.
So, when Jack's intricate patterns began to spiral across the window panes of Burgess, Pennsylvannia and the Winter Wind chased away his warmer Autumn cousin, anyone paying attention would have known that Jack Frost was coming home.
Jack's laugh was almost as synonymous with the Winter Wind as was the cold. He rocked lightly back and forth, uplifted by the first friend he could remember, one more invisible than he'd ever been. Despite the way they worked together, Jack had never seen the Winter Wind any more than he'd seen the Man in the Moon, but he'd never doubted the wind was alive and that theirs was a partnership more than anything else. This partnership was finally bringing Jack back to Burgess, and he couldn't be happier.
He relaxed as the town rose up on the horizon, one hand slipping into the pocket of his sweatshirt, the other clasped around his staff, and he spun a few times. Snowflakes sputtered into existence around him, spiraling in his wake, then disappearing as they drifted too far away.
Children's laughter greeted him, and he laughed right back, his grin broad across his face. "Best welcome I know," he cheered, and the wind blew faster in answer to his unspoken request.
It was a weekend, so there was no need for a snow day. Jack twirled his staff as he flew into Burgess proper, skimming over the rooftops of the suburban houses. The leaves, still visible on the ground and most of them piled neatly into heaps beneath the skeletal trees, leapt up in response, crisping with a sudden frost and twirling in a chaotic, unorganized dance in all directions.
Jack flipped onto his back, cackling with pleasure as they settled across the browning grass. Tomorrow, he'd bring on a blizzard, but today he had someone to see.
The street where Jamie Bennett lived looked much as it had when Jack had brought a freak snowstorm to Jamie's August birthday three years before. The cars were different, and Jamie's dad had cut down the ornamental fruit tree that had been blocking Sophie's window, and they'd painted the shutters a different color, but none of those mattered to Jack.
He slowed, his bare feet landing nimbly on sill of Jamie's window, and crouched. Sure enough! Jamie sat on his bed, a magazine propped on his lap, and a telephone to his ear. Like the cars in the driveway and the color of the shutters, Jamie had changed since Jack had last seen him, too. He was taller, his lanky legs sprawled haphazardly across the bedspread, his neck craned awkwardly to the side as he held the phone between his ear and his shoulder. The boy's tongue poked out one side of his mouth as he flipped through the magazine, then ruffled his hair to one side, then let it fall back in its messy heap, only to turn another page and try to manage it into a different position.
Jack laughed, tapping the windowpane with the end of his staff. Spiraling ferns of ice crawled outward across the glass. "No use, Jamie. That cowlick's going nowhere!" He slipped through the window, not bothering to try and push it open. The breeze he brought with him was usually less than appreciate, and considering Jamie's AC/DC t-shirt, it'd be best to leave it outside.
Jamie sighed, nodding, and letting his hair fall again. "Yeah, I think so, too," he said.
"Good try, though," Jack replied, crouching on the footboard of Jamie's bed, one hand tucked in his pocket again. He grinned broadly. Nothing like coming home to an old friend.
Jamie rolled his eyes, a smile pulling up one side of his mouth.
How old was he now, Jack wondered briefly. There was a glimpse of something very adult in that expression, something he hadn't seen in Jamie before. Maybe it was that awkward stubble on his chin that made him seem that way, the kind that wasn't quite sure if it could grow into something more than peach fuzz yet.
"Sure," he said, shifting to take the phone in his hand now. He arched his head the opposite direction to stretch out his neck. "I can be there in…" He glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes?"
Jamie's smile grew even wider, but Jack's faded. His eyebrows drew together, a furrow of concern in between them. Jamie was going to leave? But Jack had just gotten there!
The boy nodded, clicked a button on the phone, and tossed it onto his bed as he stood up and began to throw clothes in all directions, searching through the piles on his floor.
Jack jumped down from the footboard. "Yo, Jamie," he said, trying to add a laugh but really just sounding exasperated even to his own ears. "What's the rush, kiddo? Aren't you even going to say hi to-"
Jamie turned, chewing on his lip, and crossed behind his bed to another pile of clothes that appeared a little less rumpled than the one he'd just dug through. He walked straight through Jack.
Jack's breath caught in his throat at the sensation, a small gasp all he could manage as he tensed in surprise. He blinked dumbly, staring at the spot Jamie had been before he turned to watch the boy-a teenager now, maybe even an older teenager-rummage in the clothes until he pulled out a different shirt and grinned triumphantly.
"Jamie?" Jack repeated.
He didn't respond.
Jack soared back three feet, half jumping and half flying, to land in front of Jamie as he stood up. "Jamie!" He waved his hand, but there was nothing.
Jamie turned his back to the window, oblivious to the patterns of ice Jack had drawn there, and pulled off his AC/DC t-shirt, threw on the one he'd picked up, and ran out of his bedroom. He pulled the door shut loudly behind him.
"Jamie Bennett, what did I tell you about slamming the door?" his mom yelled, voice muffled from where Jack stood in shock.
"Sorry mom! Gotta go pick up Pippa!"
Another door slammed, and while Jack continued to stand in Jamie's room, his eyes wide and his expression somewhere between shock and terror, the rumble of an engine in the driveway came to life. It rose, then faded, until Jack couldn't hear it at all, and still he continued to stand there, unmoving.
It was hard to swallow, and he didn't know where his hands and feet were. They felt a thousand miles away and completely numb. Finally, he began to shake his head. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong! Jamie couldn't see him, which could only mean...but that was impossible!
Jamie of all people would never stop believing.
Jack's hand tightened around his staff, and he spun with incredible speed as he jumped, taking flight out the window he never opened. The ice patterns thickened, but he was gone. There wouldn't be a blizzard in Burgess the next day-Jack Frost had to find out what was wrong with Jamie.