Page 4 of In Her Own Rite

I turn over and reach for my phone, sitting on her bedside table. Unlocking it, I scroll through the text messages I’ve gotten since last night. There’s one from Caspar, the guy I hired for my woodworking business, letting me know we got a call this morning for a custom dining set. The other is from Sofie, a girl I went out with a few nights ago, asking if I’m free tonight.

I sigh. Another embarrassing habit I’ve picked up trying to blot my feelings for Em from my mind. I must have gone out with a hundred girls in the last few years, looking for anyone who makes me feel even a hint of what I feel when I’m with her. All those nights end exactly the same: without so much as a kiss, and with me trying to calm my inner wolf down in a freezing cold shower before I slink back to Em’s bed just to feel her body near me. Like a wuss.

I should text Sofie back, but I don’t know what to say. Instead, I put my phone back on the bedside table, where I see Em’s laid out the salts for my training regimen, alongside a glass of water and a note. I pick up the paper.

New salt makeup for rite week!

2g smoked salt, 1g ancient salt, 1g rosemary.

Good luck training today. Don’t skip breakfast.

- Em

A smile tugs at my mouth, imagining her preparing these for me before she went to bed last night. Generations of Fakari elders have followed a strict, multi-step salt ritual as part of the training for their rite, since the salts are believed to have special healing and protective properties. But I’m probably the first to have a healer prepare them for me as part of her bedtime routine.

I sit up and sprinkle the salt on my tongue, letting it dissolve before I take the water to swish it down, then pick up my phone and get to work responding to work emails. After about twenty minutes, I finally hear Em and Saga leave the house, and I get up to get dressed. I change out of my flannel pajama pants into gray sweats and a clean gym shirt, sitting folded on a chair in the corner of the room.

Em’s room is simple, almost spartan. Her small wooden bed, barely a double, is fitted in plain white cotton sheets. The furniture is all the same stuff that was here when she first moved in. I’ve asked her before if she wants me to make her a nicer desk—something with enough space for her stuff, maybe a drafting table for painting—but she said no. The only thing in here that betrays any piece of her is the watercolors she’s blue-tacked to the wall.

I pull on a sweater and look around at them, admiring the little windows into her world. There’s her favorites: purple flowers; the view from the window; a portrait of the gang at the quarry where I first met her. A painting of the aunts—Saga, Dagmar, and Isolde—on a walk through the woods. Maren, laughing in the sun. And then, lying face-up on top of her desk, my favorite: her and me at the quarry on the north island.

I walk over to her desk and look at it again. In the painting I’m in my wolf form, looming large and powerful over her. A protector. She sits in front of me, one knee brought up close to her chest, in her human form as always. Her head leans back against the fur of my chest, and she’s gazing happily out at the water. It might as well be us today, but I know this memory—it’s us the summer I left for Keist.Thatnight, during Fire Week ten years ago.

The painting sits in a dark mahogany frame that I made for her last birthday. I thought she’d love it, andshedid thank me, but she’s never hung it up. Next year I guess I’ll get her a bracelet or something.

I clear my throat, putting it out of my mind. Turning back to my pile of clothes on the chair, I tie my hair back into a knot and text the guys to let them know I’m up.

Kieran: looks like today’s not the day. ready to get one more training session in?

Seb: You said that yesterday, dude. You’re ready. Take the day off.

Gabe: Seb’s just saying that because he’s tired of you wrestling him into a headlock every four minutes

Seb: I’m saying that ‘cause I’d like to spend my day off with Maren instead of your sorry asses.

Gabe: @Kieran, I’ll meet you at the gym in 20

“Woah,”Gabe says as I land a punch in the bag he’s holding up. “Slow down. Not so hard.”

I land another punch with the other fist, and he stumbles back.

“Hey, cool it,” he snaps.

“Sorry,” I say, using the back of my arm to wipe the sweat from my brow. “Sorry, man. I’m just in my head.”

“About the rite?”

“Yeah,” I say. Half true.

“Nervous?”

He sets the bag down, signaling a break. Reluctantly, I drop my fists.

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“You’renotnervous?”

“No, I’m not,” I say, and I mean it. I walk to the edge of the boxing ring to grab my towel and water bottle. “I just want to get this over with and get back to my normal training.”

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