storm wolf

chapter 2

2 H oney was beginning to suspect that Camp Thunderbird might not be a perfectly normal summer camp. In retrospect, she probably should have realized this earlier. There had been a total lack of a website or social media presence, for example. And the camp director, who—even just during Honey’s brief interview with the man over a glitching, low-res video call—had come across as distinctly quirky. Not to mention the rather odd question on the application form, asking Honey to describe her “inner animal.” At forty-nine, perhaps she should have been more cynical. Her kids certainly had been. Now that her sons and daughter were full-grown adults, they tended to treat her as though she was now a helpless child in need of guidance. They’d been against this whole plan right from the start. But she’d dismissed their concerns. It had been easy enough to come up with excuses for any oddities about Camp Thunderbird. Director Zephyr had been a nice young man, and if he seemed to hold a few distinctly non-mainstream beliefs about animal spirits, that could be attributed to his Lakota heritage. No doubt the question on the application form was just a way of making sure potential counselors were in tune with the off-beat ethos of the camp. The director had told her during her interview that he’d created Camp Thunderbird as a place for kids to ‘get in touch with their wild sides,’ after all. Even the difficulty she’d had in contacting the camp in the first place hadn’t rung any warning bells. It had been clear from the director’s repeated emphasis on the need for privacy and discretion that Camp Thunderbird was very exclusive. No wonder they didn’t seem to need to

advertise… well, anywhere. Now, however, Honey could not deny that there was something strange about Camp Thunderbird. This was due to the ax. It was a large ax. Honey was in a good position to appreciate this because it was currently less than six inches from her nose. She could see her own frozen reflection in the shining, double-headed blade. Honey was fairly certain that normal summer camps were not guarded by enormous men wielding axes. “Halt!” the man with the ax declared. This was rather unnecessary since Honey’s legs had decided to stop working the moment he’d leaped out of the bushes. She was beginning to regret getting out of her car to inspect the gate blocking the road. She was beginning to regret quite a lot of things, in fact. “You stand at the border of Camp Thunderbird,” the ax man said, as though she might have missed the sign on the gate announcing CAMP THUNDERBIRD - PRIVATE PROPERTY - AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY. “Friend or foe?” It was a simple question. Honey was dimly aware that she should be able to answer it. Unfortunately, at the moment the only word she could remember was ‘ax.’ It was a very large ax. What the man holding it looked like, she had no idea. The ax rather monopolized her attention. “Friend or foe?” the man repeated. He turned the ax a little, letting light glint along the razor-sharp edge. “Speak quickly, and speak true. And if foe you be, prepare to face the wrath of Ragvald Ragnarsson of Clan Fyrgard, born of Eastvald Steading and pledged by oath to guard this land for the season’s span. I shall defend this camp against any trespasser, no matter how mighty.” At the moment, Honey did not feel very mighty. “Ragvald,” said a new voice. “Ragvald, no.” Much to Honey’s relief, a hand pushed the ax blade down. It belonged to a tall black woman, her braided hair dyed a deep shade of indigo. She wore a Camp Thunderbird t-shirt, and an expression of unutterable weariness. “I’m so sorry about this,” the woman said to Honey. She turned to the ax man, dropping into the patient tones of someone who was barely restraining the urge to scream. “We talked about this, Ragvald. When someone

approaches the gate, you say…?” The ax man’s forehead furrowed, like tectonic plates colliding. “I issue the formal challenge, with all proper courtesy. Did I not do so?” “Words, Ragvald.” The woman rubbed her own forehead as if she had a headache. “The words are important. Please stick to the script. Now try again.” The would-be ax murderer made a disgruntled rumble but bowed in acceptance. “As you command, Princess.” The man hid the ax behind his back. Now that Honey could see anything other than her imminent death, he wasn’t that alarming. True, he had muscles like oiled boulders and a beard that could have comfortably housed an entire family of ferrets, but there was a kindly, good-natured set to his rugged features. Still, Honey had the distinct impression that if she blinked the wrong way, the ax could reappear without warning, and at high speed. “Papers and ID,” he pronounced, in exactly the same way he’d said Friend or foe? After a moment, he added, as though it was a foreign concept: “Please.” Mouth still too dry to speak, Honey fumbled in her bag. She fished out her signed employment contract, along with her driving license. The man took the papers, scrutinizing them with deep attention. Then his bearded face split into a broad, beaming smile. “Be welcome, shield-sister!” he announced, as though he hadn’t been threatening to reduce her height by a head a moment before. He flung out his arms—wait, where did the ax go?—as though to pick her up in a bear hug. “My heart rejoices that we shall stand side by side, comrades in arms through this great venture!” “Er…” Honey’s brain was still lagging a minute behind this conversation. “This is a children’s summer camp, right?” “Indeed it is.” The tall woman plucked Honey’s paperwork from the big man’s hands and passed it back to her. “Welcome to Camp Thunderbird, Honey. I’m Moira, head lifeguard, and of course, you’ve already met Ragvald. Sorry to give you a heart attack like that. We have to strictly control access to the camp, of course, but Ragvald’s taking security a little too seriously.” “Impossible,” Ragvald said with great dignity. “Nothing is more important than the safety of children. And I thought my challenge went well. Better than last time, at least. We did not have to chase this one.”

Honey finally recovered enough of her wits to manage a smile, though her heart was still thumping against her ribs. “It’s nice to meet you both. Can you tell me where to go from here? I’m afraid I don’t know my way around the site. I wasn’t sent a handbook or anything.” “Don’t worry, you’ll get all that today, during staff training. We have to be careful how much information we mail out in advance, just in case it falls into the wrong hands.” Moira turned to point a remote control at the gate. It swung back smoothly, revealing a dirt track winding through lush forest. “Head on up to the parking lot, then follow the signs to the center of camp. I’ll call ahead to let Leonie know you’re on your way. She’s our head counselor.” “Okay.” Honey got back into her car, starting the ignition. “Thanks!” Once Moira and Ragvald were safely out of sight behind her, she let out her breath. That was definitely a story not to tell her kids. They already thought she was having some kind of belated midlife crisis, running away to be a camp counselor at nearly fifty years old. If she called them with a wild tale of ax-wielding Vikings, they’d be on the next plane to Montana to drag her out of camp, and back to her senses. For the first time since she’d sent off her application form, a tiny worm of doubt coiled in her stomach. Perhaps her children’s doubts about this whole business weren’t entirely unjustified. Maybe I should just turn around now. But that would mean going home. Back to her small, lonely rental, with the walls she wasn’t allowed to paint and the furniture that didn’t fit. Back to the long days and longer nights, trying to fill the hours until summer vacation ended and school restarted. Her job as a teacher was an endless, exhausting grind, but at least it kept her too busy to dwell on the past. Mostly. Torn between common sense and stubborn hope, Honey followed the dirt track as it curved through the woods. It carried on further than she’d expected, well away from the main road—which hadn’t been all that ‘main’ to start with, in this backwater part of Montana. Camp Thunderbird really was in the middle of nowhere. Just as she was beginning to think she must have somehow taken a wrong turn, the forest opened up, revealing a spectacular vista across a broad, skyblue lake. The granite-topped peak of Thunder Mountain rose above it, perfectly reflected in the crystal waters. She could make out a long pier with

a few boats tied at the end, and a couple of rustic buildings. Further back from the water were small, cozy log cabins, set in scattered groups surrounded by lush green meadows. Thick pine forest rose beyond, like hands cupped protectively around the camp. Honey’s breath caught. Without so much as a brochure, she’d had no idea what to expect. But even if she’d had a whole website to study in advance, no picture could have captured the true beauty of this place. Even with the forested mountain and brilliant blue water right before her wondering eyes, she could scarcely believe that it was real. “Well now,” Honey murmured, her doubts melting away. “I think I’m going to like it here.” As Moira had promised, the road took her to a large gravel parking lot at the edge of the camp. To Honey’s surprise, it was busy. Packs of teens hauled backpacks out of cars, or stood around in small groups studying folders printed with the camp logo. But the kids don’t arrive until tomorrow! was Honey’s first shocked thought. As she parked, she glanced at her watch, honestly worried that she’d somehow missed an entire day of training. From her job, she was used to being thrown head-first into challenging situations, but the prospect of having to lead a group of campers before she’d so much as set foot in a cabin herself was still daunting. As she got out of her car, she realized her mistake. Although they all looked like veritable babies to her eyes, on closer inspection the fresh-faced, glossy-haired youngsters were mostly in their early twenties. They had to be counselors. Her fellow counselors. Oh dear. Honey had known, of course, that she was a bit older—okay, a lot older —than the typical summer camp counselor. But the camp director hadn’t seemed fazed by her age. In fact, he’d seemed positively delighted by her decades of teaching experience. She’d assumed she wouldn’t stand out that much amongst the camp staff. Even in her twenties, she would have been an ugly duckling in this crowd of swans. They all seemed impossibly fit and toned, practically glowing with

youthful vitality. Honey swallowed a sudden resurgence of nerves. She’d never felt more out of place in her life. Well, it was too late to back out now. Looking around, she spotted a cluster of large wooden buildings a little way off. Most of the other counselors were heading in that direction, rucksacks slung casually over their shoulders. That must be the way to the camp office. Trying to look confident, she fell in behind a group of bronzed, towering young men who looked like they spent their days pumping iron in between modeling shoots. Most of them ignored her entirely, but a couple did slight double-takes in her direction. They probably thought she was some kid’s mom, and were wondering what she was doing at camp a day early. Somewhat desperately, Honey tried to spot someone in the crowd who was closer to her own age than her kids’. Ragvald had looked to be in his forties, and Moira had struck her as too poised and self-assured to be fresh out of college. There had to be some other mature counselors here besides herself. If there were, she didn’t spot any. But to her surprise, there was a kid— not a willowy teen or clean-cut college student, but an actual kid. The dark, slender boy couldn’t have been older than ten. He hovered a little way off, occasionally darting out of sight behind some kind of storage shed before reappearing again. Honey hesitated, looking around at the other counselors. If any of them had noticed the boy, they didn’t feel the need to do anything about it. Still, she couldn’t ignore a child who might need help. The boy had disappeared behind the building again. As she headed over, she caught a snatch of a low, pleading whisper: “Just let me tell someone. Please, Rufus.” “Hi,” Honey said, coming round the corner. “What’s going on back here?” The boy had been crouching on his hands and knees, apparently talking to an enormous pile of firewood stacked alongside the shed. At her voice, he jumped, shooting to his feet. A look of alarm dashed across his face, followed hastily by blank innocence. Honey, who had seen that exact sequence on countless young faces, was not fooled. “Nothing!” The boy oh-so-casually edged sideways, clearly trying to block something with his narrow body. “Are you one of the new counselors? Do you need help to find the office?”