Chapter 2

Memories surged around me like a tide, carrying the stale smell of dust from the basement.

When I was five or six, I truly did hate my sister.

If there was one piece of candy in the house, it belonged to her. If there was one apple, it was cut in two, with the larger half for Celia and the smaller half for me. She always received new clothes first. I wore whatever she outgrew. Even the bedtime stories belonged to her.

Mom had a beautiful, gentle voice. She told Celia stories about the Moon Goddess and the First Wolf, about our ancestors crossing frozen plains, and about magical creatures beneath the stars. But she told those stories only to my sister.

I often crouched outside the bedroom and watched through the crack in the door as Mom sat beside Celia's bed.

"What would you like to hear tonight?"

"The story about the Moon Goddess leading the lost wolf home."

Mom would open the picture book, her voice flowing like a stream through a midnight forest. I sat outside with my arms around my knees, listening to every beautiful word while something tightened painfully around my heart.

Why couldn't she read to me too?

One summer, when I was seven, the pack's hunting party delivered a cut of fresh venison. Mom made a large pot of stew and placed the two tenderest pieces of meat in Celia's bowl.

"Eat more, Celia. The priest says you're too weak. You need all the nourishment you can get."

I looked down at the broth and a few pieces of carrot in my own bowl. Tears suddenly began to fall.

"Why does she get both pieces? I want some too!"

Dad slammed his silverware against the table. "Wren Calder, how can you be so selfish? Don't you know your sister is sick? Don't you know she only has..."

He could not finish.

At that age, I did not understand what the countdown meant. I only knew Celia was always pale and could not run as far as the other young wolves. I knew our parents looked at her with a grief that frightened me.

"Why does she get everything?" I screamed, leaping from my chair and pointing at her. "Why don't you just die? Give me back everything you took from me!"

Tears spilled from Celia's eyes and struck her bowl. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Mom sprang to her feet and slapped me. It was the hardest anyone had ever hit me. Celia tried to rush over and protect me, but Mom held her back.

"She needs to learn," Mom shouted through reddened eyes. "She needs to learn what she is and is not allowed to say."

The next day, I hid outside the kitchen and overheard my parents speaking in low voices.

"Nine years left," Mom sobbed.

"I know," Dad said hoarsely.

"Only nine years."

That was when I learned my sister would truly die.

When she was born, the pack priest declared that the Calder family owed the Moon Goddess one life. From that day forward, black numbers visible only to her closest blood relatives floated above Celia's head. They would reach zero at dawn on her sixteenth birthday. Everyone assumed the Goddess would take her.

In the present, our parents led Celia back to her bedroom, both of them red-eyed. I floated behind them, my heart aching.

After Dad closed her door, he glanced toward the basement.

"Maybe we should let Wren out," he murmured.

Mom was silent for a long time. "Let her endure it for one more night. At least Celia can spend her final hours in peace. It's only one night."

She wiped her tears away.

"Wren will understand. When Celia is gone, we'll make everything up to her."

Dad said nothing. He went into the kitchen, took a cold meat pie from the cupboard, and headed toward the basement.