Wednesday, October 22

Halt had never been an important man.

He knew how the people of New Gorlan perceived him: a scruffy woodsman just shy of five-foot-three. His best clothes were scuff-kneed khakis and a polyester button down. His hair was poorly self-cut and showed it. No amount of scrubbing cleaned the dirt from under his fingernails.

Most days, Halt spent his days in the woods around the hamlet. He knew how to stalk, how to track, how to fletch an arrow and skin a rabbit. People didn't bother him, and he didn't bother people.

The past few months, though, he'd noticed a strange trend of a higher than average number of wolves in the area. It was an overbalanced predator-to-prey ratio and had Halt worried. He hadn't heard of any nearby deforestation, nor had there been a proliferation of new pups last spring.

More farm animals were being eaten.

More domesticated dogs were ending up injured or maimed.

Soon, it would be children who wandered too far in the woods getting hurt, and the blame would fall on Halt. It was his job — or so he and the townspeople all assumed but had never voiced — to keep the forest safe.

Halt had tried approaching town leaders with the dilemma, and they had all pointed him to present his case at the town council. It was Halt's worst nightmare.

He was on stage in the converted barn that was New Gorlan's community center. A hundred bored faces looked back at him. Halt had prepared note cards for this event. His hands still trembled as he spoke. He had to stand on his toes to adequately reach the microphone. Halt remembered little of his childhood, but this moment took him right back to being seven years old: too small, too unimportant, too serious.

"There shouldn't be such a large number of wolves in our surrounding forest at this time of the year," Halt said monotonously. He glanced up from the note card and saw those two hundred bored eyes.

He froze up, his voice caught in his throat. In the front row was Dr. Terrence Tennyson, who was checking his gilded watch. Two chairs back was Jory Ruhl, who owned the cell phone shop; he had his phone out now, playing snake. Sheriff Deparnieux was smirking near the back and making a rolling gesture with his hand to urge Halt to finish up.

Halt flipped to the next card. "As you all may or may not know, I keep close track of the breeding habits of the local wolves—"

"Pervert!"

A hubbub of chatter started at the back of the room. Alda Teezal, a handsome high school senior, had an evil grin. He sat with his friends Jerome Tennyson and Bryn Keren. Halt didn't know any of the boys' names, but he knew trouble when he saw it.

"As I was saying," Halt returned to his note card and spoke over the dozens of conversation, "there are too many wolves, and it's … it's unclear as to … why … damn."

No one was paying attention to Halt now. His speaking slot was the last of the night; the crowd had endured Sven Galleon's thirty-seven minute presentation on what should and should not be flushed. Everyone now new more about New Gorlan's plumbing that they had ever wanted. All anyone desired was to return home.

Even Pauline Mouse, who was usually attentive whenever Halt made a rare public appearance, was inching forward to the edge of her chair in preparation of leaving.

Merle Crowley — librarian and town hall emcee — noticed the change in the crowd. He hopped onto the community center platform beside Halt. His sandy red hair was in a drooping bun; newspaper ink stained his pale fingers and the front of his pastel blue waistcoat.

"I'll get their attention," Crowley said out of range of the mic.

Halt waved him off. "Not worth it." Standing on his toes, he said into the mic, "The bastards are all too dull to understand the danger to this town."

Silence dropped. He had their attention again.

"You heard me, you ungrateful idiots." Halt crushed his note cards. "I work to keep your useless asses safe, and you treat me like—"

Crowley shoved Halt away from the microphone. "Halt, you didn't tell us you were starring in Chubb's latest play." His nervous laughter fell on a town that didn't want to hear it. "I think that's going to end today's town meeting. As a reminder, Earl Northolt's retirement party will be …"

Halt jumped off the platform. He felt the eyes of the town watching him. They expected the worst, so he flashed his middle finger and gave them what they wanted. Several mothers gasped and hid their small children's eyes. Halt slammed the community center door behind him.

At the back of the community center, town judge and resident millionaire Morgan Gareth touched the glimmering broach at his neck. He drank in Halt's anger and humiliation. Death was too good for a man like that. Only Morgan knew the world as it had been in Araluen, before he'd found the dark magic to create this world of New Gorlan, Maine.

It was life as it was supposed to be, where Morgarath was the hero and Halt the outcast.

Jenny Teezal smacked her brother's arm once the town meeting had ended. "That was mean."

Alda wrapped his hand around his little sister's forehead and pushed her away. "Who cares?" He dipped out the back of the community center and extracted a rolled cigarette from his pocket.

"He was talking about something important. I think." Jenny reached for the cigarette, but Alda held it above her head. "Those are going to kill you."

Her brother grinned with sarcasm. "Are you worried about me?" He struck his empty lighter several times before he got a flame.

Jenny huffed and turned away from him. Alda hadn't always been the kind of person to heckle, but Jenny couldn't recall a specific instance of him going out of his way to do something good.

The siblings were blood-related, but most everything about them was different. Jenny was warm, blond, short, and rounded. Her blue eyes were bright with optimistic curiosity. Jerome was cold-edged, with a handsome face and a swimmer's body. His chin was pock-marked from old acne, and his clothes reeked of ashes. To her credit, or detriment, Jenny hadn't lost hope that Alda could live up to the potential that she saw.

As the townsfolk exited the community center, Jenny watched them all, waiting for a specific one. She waved to Alyss Crowley, who smiled back; her arms were full of papers and books that she carried for her Uncle Merle.

"Aren't you going with her?" Alda asked. His cigarette was burning low.

"Not tonight."

"Then what are you …" Alda glanced into the town hall and snorted. "Right." He drew the word out like it was hair stuck in a drain.

The darkness hid Jenny's deep blush. "It's not like that."

Alda exhaled a trail of smoke and stomped the cigarette out on the ground. "He's a statutory train wreck. All he can get is high school ass."

"He's not … I'm not … don't say that."

Her brother shrugged. "You're better than him. If he tries anything, tell me. Me and the boys'll take care of everything."

He spotted broad-shouldered Horace Fumble exit the community center and try to slip away into the night. "See you at home, Jen. Horace!" Alda flagged down the boy. "Hold up! Me and boys want to talk."

Jenny was grateful for the cold night. Her face was hot with embarrassment and anger and a strange relief from knowing that her brother cared about her.

Another ten minutes passed before it seemed everyone had left the community center, and still Jenny waited. She hopped in a circle. Her breath made clouds in the air.

She peeked into through the gap in the doorway. Her heart beat a little faster.

Gilan O'Carrick had his back to Jenny. Tall, lanky, and blond, Gilan towered over his adoptive father, Ferris.

Fists shoved into his canvas coat, Gilan's jaw worked with annoyance. "Just say it. We all know you're thinking it."

Jenny noticed Gilan's siblings, Will and Cassandra, were also in the community center. The fraternal twins sat side-by-side on a bench and looked between their older brother and their father.

Ferris finished typing on his phone and flipped it shut. "What are you talking about?"

"You were glaring all night," Gilan said. "What is it this time? Hair? Piercing? Polish?" One by one, Gilan indicated his long braid, his eyebrow piercing, and his middle finger, topped with black nail polish.

Ferris slapped Gilan's hand down. "How about no diploma? No job? No ambition? It's been six months since your last job."

"Three months."

"I don't care about the time."

"Then what's it matter? I pay my own way."

"And I don't even want to know where that money comes from. It's my reputation you're disgracing. Do you know what they say about you?"

Gilan tapped his chin dramatically. "I'm going to guess drugs or prostitution."

Ferris hadn't expected such a candid and correct answer. He spluttered for a moment, then asked, "Which one is it, then?"

"I thought you didn't want to know."

Ferris poked his finger hard in Gilan's chest. "You're shaping up to live in filth and poverty with the woodsman."

Gilan grinned without humor. "Sounds great. I'll go talk to him."

"Then I'll cut you off!"

Gilan grimaced.

Ferris closed in on him. "If you think it's difficult to find a job now, try doing that when not even your own father will vouge for you."

"Adoptive father," Gilan said.

Ferris raised his hand. Will and Cassandra both recoiled, and Gilan flinched. Before there was any contact, Ferris curled his fingers into a fist and dropped his hand to his side.

"Be grateful I still give you a roof," Ferris said. "Will, Cassandra, we're leaving."

The twins paused by their brother on their way out. Gilan ushered them to keep moving.

Jenny hid in the shadows as Ferris, Will, and Cassandra left. When they were out of sight and in the family SUV, Jenny rapped her knuckles on the community center doorway.

"Gilan?"

He rubbed his hands down his face. "Hey."

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop …" She trailed off as his pierced eyebrow rose.

"You've never been a good liar, Jen." His sneakers were silent on the floor as he walked closer.

Jenny's heart pumped faster; her cheeks got warmer, as they always did when Gilan said her name.

"You don't deserve to be treated like that," she said.

Gilan shrugged. "As long as it's toward me, I can take it."

"He's doesn't actually … I hope he doesn't …"

"Hit me?"

She nodded.

"That's the closest he's ever come," Gilan said. He started for the door, then stopped. "How do you put up with Alda?"

"What do you mean? He's my brother."

"He's an ass."

Jenny's eyes flicked toward the seat of Gilan's jeans. He turned to her, and she averted her eyes. "He's just … he's not a bad person."

"I guess." He smiled at her and bumped his arm against her shoulder. "You're always good to talk to, you know that?"

"Thank you. I like talking to you, too."

"At least there's one person in this shitty town."

"New Gorlan isn't … isn't …"

Gilan's grin curled with a prankish spirit. "Sweet-mouthed Jenny. Say it. Say 'shitty.'"

"I don't think that's necessary."

"Alda says it."

"I don't do everything he does."

"I say it."

"Well, obviously."

Gilan tapped the bottom of her chin, and Jenny thought her skin might catch fire. "One little swear word isn't going to kill you."

"You're being a bit of a … shitty … person to get me to say it."

His laugh was deep and soft. "You bet I am." Gilan's wink just about melted her. "I need to go, but I'll look for you the next time my dad tries to rip me a new one."

Jenny walked home that night with a bounce in her step and an irrepressible smile.

When Will O'Carrick arrived home with his father and sister, he went to his room, closed the door, and climbed out the window. He drew his dark hood over his head and collected his hidden bag of first aid supplies, climbing gear, and other essentials for a sixteen-year-old boy intent on tramping through the woods. There was sneaking to be done tonight, and he was ready for it.

He climbed the fence around his yard and melted into the night shadows. The air smelled like decaying leaves and woodsmoke. This late into October, the darkness was a magical thing. Will felt like his usual self was peeling away, and he was becoming someone new, someone tough, someone independent.

Not far into the forest that bordered the west side of town, Will joined up with Hal Northolt at the mouth of a creek. Hal was examining a scrape in the metal fuselage of a small rocket.

"Hal!" Will whispered. He took delight in his friend's shock.

Hal put a hand to his racing heart. "How do you do that?"

Will shrugged and didn't have an answer. Moving quietly and without being noticed seemed easy when one was small and perceptive. He was also aided by a steady wind that had the naked tree limbs talking.

The boys looked similar enough to be brothers. Both were brown-haired and tan, with an eternal curiosity that kept them energized. Will's hair was longer and more moppish, and Hal was taller and sturdier in his build, but the pair looked more similar than did Will and Gilan.

"Do you think it will work this time?" Will asked, pointing at the rocket.

"Of course it will work," said Hal.

"What's got you so confident?"

Hal held up a bandaged hand. "The black powder is highly effective."

Will at first was concerned, then he laughed. "Were you holding it when you ignited it?"

"Not intentionally."

The boys set off into the trees. A mile and a half from town, they had a small clearing they used for experiments. It was far enough away that most noises were muffled, and there was a large enough gap in the canopy that there was little danger of a forest fire. Not far from the flat rock they used as a landing pad was an earthen bunker that they had created a few weeks back.

Hal turned on a red electric lantern which didn't badly impair their night vision. Hal carefully removed from his backpack the black powder, stored in one of his grandfather's old ammunition boxes.

Working together, they set up the rocket and the long charge cord Hal would use to light the explosives. They retreated to the earth bunker and peered around it. Moonlight reflected off the rocket.

"Ready?" Hal asked.

"Ready."

They counted down from ten. Their voices grew more tense, more excited with each number. Until —

"One," they said together, and Hal clicked the fuse.

Seconds passed.

"It takes a moment to light," Hal said quietly.

More seconds passed.

"Did you test the charge?" asked Will.

"Of course I did. Why wouldn't I? It's the same setup we always use!"

Will held up his hands defensively. "What are we supposed to do if it doesn't go off?"

"Give it time."

Still more seconds passed without so much as a twitch from the rocket.

"Is it safe to check?" Will asked.

The rocket exploded. Metal and dirt went in all directions, and the quick boom of it all rushed past Will and Hal.

"Not good," Hal said to himself.

Will was first out of the bunker. He shoveled whatever he could find into his backpack, except for what was left of the rocket. The metal scraps were twisted and raw-edged, and some pieces glowed red with heat.

Hal did the same. The line he used for detonation was a tangled ball in his backpack. He tried multiple time before he could turn the lantern off.

"Don't go straight home," Will told him. "Take a long way. Avoid mud. Avoid four-way intersections, and the bank, and the school."

Hal nodded. "Cameras, right. Good luck."

Will saluted him, and the boys parted and ran separate ways back to their homes.

An hour later, Will climbed into his room. Everything was as he'd left it, except for his sister, sitting in his desk chair.

Cassie turned slowly. Her arms were crossed, and her frown was immense. "You smell like the fourth of July."

Will had left his backpack in its hidden place, and now he started stripping off his reeking clothes. He considered that the smell was probably in his hair, too, and he'd need to shower.

"What did you blow up?" Cassie asked.

"Nothing important."

"You're going to get arrested."

Will went into the bathroom he shared with Cassie and started the shower. "Would you mind?" He motioned for her to return to her room.

"Why didn't you invite me?"

Will looked at her dumbly. "We haven't taken a bath together since we were six."

"Ew, no, stupid. Haven't you ever thought I want to make something explode?"

"You do?"

Cassie nodded. "Maybe. I'd at least like to be asked the next time you sneak out."

"Fine, if there is a next time, I'll ask you."

The bedroom door opened, and Will jumped farther into the bathroom and stuck his head out the doorway. Cassie rolled her eyes; her brother was still wearing clothes.

Gilan surveyed the scene of an open window, discarded black hoodie, a half-hidden Will, and a disapproving Cassie. He grinned. "What party did I miss? Did you spill alcohol on yourself, Will? Don't worry, it comes out in the wash."

"He's trying to blow up the forest," Cassie said.

Gilan walked in and closed the door behind him. "So that was what I heard. Why didn't you invite me?"

"That's what I said!" said Cassie. She fist-bumped her older brother.

"Can I please just shower?" Will asked. "The water's going to get cold."

He managed to get both of his siblings to leave. He'd told Cassie he'd invite her to the forest if there was a next time, but they both knew that "if" was most certainly a "when."

A/N

Thanks for reading! This idea popped up when I was watching a lot of Once Upon a Time (if you couldn't tell from the title), and I'm enjoying it so far. Hope you do, too!