Free Snakeroot by Andrea Cremer Page B

imbued Ren with more power. The Haldis pack had answered his call.
    Somehow the magic at work meant the rules of Ren’s existence were changing. If he could figure out why and how, he might be able to take control of his own life. Or rather, his own afterlife.



SARAH’S BREATH fogged the window as she watched the wolf with golden brown fur drag Ariadne’s limp body through the snow. When Sarah thought of Shay, she usually imagined the boy she knew, a toddler of three with chubby fingers and wide green eyes that matched his mother’s. Sometimes she remembered the Shay who freed her and Tristan from the painting that had been their prison. A tall boy, nearly a man, but with the same eyes.
    Sarah never allowed herself to recall her son as a wolf. But that didn’t stop her from recognizing him. Though she blocked it out whenever it threatened to surface, the memory of Shay transformed into a beast had been seared into her memory. She didn’t want to remember the way he’d bristled at the sight of so many humans near him. How he’d bounded out of the rubble filling the library and into the winter night while Sarah shrieked and sobbed.
    Since that terrible day—a day that should have been a triumphant, joyful reunion—Sarah had been returning to Rowan Estate. It wasn’t difficult to persuade Weavers to let her come to the mansion with the daily contingent of Scribes and tour guides. A grieving mother, she usually inspired pity, or else she made them uncomfortable enough that they hurried to move her along, making her someone else’s problem. Tristan hated it when Sarah didn’t return at the end of the night, but Sarah often found it too difficult to leave Rowan Estate. She spent many nights in Shay’s room, rarely sleeping, but going through her son’s belongings. Trying to recall him through objects, to piece together the years of his life that she’d missed. None of it was enough, and with each passing day the dull ache in Sarah’s heart grew sharper, its pain insistent.
    Pressing her fingers to the cold glass, Sarah fought the urge to rush downstairs and fling herself out into the winter morning. Shay was here, but he was still a wolf, and Sarah’s sudden appearance would surely startle him.
    But he’s pulling the girl along the ground, bringing her to the mansion. Why would he do that?
    Sarah knew enough about wolves to immediately dismiss any suspicions that Shay had attacked Ariadne. The pack’s range was well away from populated areas, high on the mountain slopes. Something other than instinct had drawn Shay to Rowan Estate.
    He wants to come back. He knows this is where he belongs. It has to be. What else could draw a wild animal to this place?
    A surge of hope traveled through Sarah’s limbs like an electric charge. She remained at the window, watching as Shay left Ariadne near the mansion’s rear entrance. She stayed until the brown wolf bounded away from Rowan Estate, through the garden, and disappeared under the cover of pines.
    Though Sarah hadn’t known she was waiting for it, she realized this was the sign she’d needed. A sign that Shay hadn’t forgotten who he really was. That he wanted to return to his family and that he needed her help to do so.
    Filled with a new resolve, Sarah turned away from the glass and went to find a Weaver. She had to get back to the Academy as soon as possible. Anika would help. Now that this had happened, how could she pretend that Shay belonged in the woods with those other beasts? How could anyone deny that the boy belonged with his family?
    Her son had saved the world. Yet somehow everyone else has forgotten him. Sarah whispered a promise to Shay: “I’m going to make them remember.”



CONNOR ROLLED over and drowsily stretched his arm out to hook Adne around the waist and draw her against his chest. His seeking hand found only rumpled sheets, long bereft of Adne’s warmth. Connor’s body tensed, his chest constricting with disappointment. He rolled