Scarlet Snow

Chapter 4

The wolf had run ahead of her and reached her grandmother's home before.

Elsa's POV

"Grandma?"

My voice echoed back at me, cold and empty.  I shivered and hung my sopping blue cape next to the door, where it continued to drip. Olaf shook himself, spraying droplets on the walls.

"I guess she's still back at the market," I told him. Thunder rattled the house, reminding me of how long and dangerous the journey back was. "I hope she makes it back alright."

Olaf whined, pawing at the door behind me as I moved to walk away. I frowned at him.

"Seriously? Now? Do you see how much it's raining outside?"

I scooped him up and held him so that he could see out the window. He growled at the raindrops, daring them to land on his territory.

"Fine, I'll let you out," I conceded. "We'll see how much you like it once you're out there."

I opened the front door and Olaf darted out into the downpour. I closed it as soon as his tail was clear. Our yard was fenced. There was no reason to worry that he'd escape.

I wandered into the kitchen with the vague intention of making some more toast when I stopped mid-step. Something glittered on the kitchen counter. Something I knew wasn't ours. A glinting knife, more of a long dagger really, and a note.

I moved closer, slowly as if I were approaching a wounded animal. The knife didn't change. I gently eased the note away from it. It was short and to the point.

Couldn't find you when I came home. Something came up, had to leave again.
This dagger is pure silver, just in case.
Stay here until I come back.
Don't open the door no matter what you hear.

I dropped the note back onto the counter. The handwriting looked like Grandma's, but the words didn't make sense.

I picked up the dagger and turned it over slowly in my hand. I'd never seen anything like it before, but somehow it felt so right. Like it was built specifically with my hand in mind.

"She's a smart woman," an unfamiliar voice announced somewhere behind me.

I screamed and spun, throwing the dagger without really meaning to. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shock of who was standing there.

It was Jack. He held the dagger in one hand, grimacing at it, before dropping it to the ground. Then he turned his eyes on me.

Had he caught the dagger...?

"But obviously your reflexes could use some improvement," he continued. He rolled his eyes. "And your senses. Honestly, you should have heard or scented me long before I spoke up."

"Scented you?" I sputtered. "Jack, what are you doing? Get out of my house!"

He smirked, eyes moving around the kitchen lazily. "I expected worse. Honestly, the way he described it . . ." Jack swayed slightly where he stood. "Expected more than a dagger . . ."

He fell to the floor in a heap.

"JACK!"

I lunged forward, completely forgetting that he was the psychopath in my house. I must have not actually missed with the dagger after all.

"Jack, where's the wound? I'll stitch it together, I can call a doctor . . ."

I reached for his dark jacket (which, now that I was looking at it, was covered with mud and grass), but Jack shoved me back.

"Stop it," he growled. "Don't touch me."

"Don't touch you?"

I was going to protest further, but his eyes stopped me. This was not a guy to mess with.

"Do you have any leftovers?" he asked.

"You're hungry?"

"You want to help? Or no?"

"Leftovers, sure. Why not."

I stood up and moved to the fridge. Grandma had gone shopping, so there was more in there than usual, but still not a whole lot of options. "What do you want?"

I asked the question sarcastically, but his response was instant. "Got any meat?"

Typical for a guy. I pulled out some lunch meat and started making a sandwich. When I passed it across the table, Jack seemed to suddenly regain his senses. He stood up, nudged the sandwich, then pulled it open and devoured the lunchmeat. It was sort of disgusting to watch.

"The rest of the sandwich is fine too," I announced. He narrowed his eyes at me and I shrugged.

"We need to talk," he replied.

"About my sandwich making skills?"

"Elsa, you're going to die tonight unless you trust me."

Well, that's never a good way to start a conversation.