Linger by Maggie Stiefvater Read Free Book Online

sure. So, Sam, what’s the deal on this corpse, anyway? Grace said that you said something about wolves getting fifteen years after they stop shifting.”
    â€œNice, Isabel,” Grace muttered, casting a sideways glance at me to see what my expression was at the word corpse . But she’d already told me over the phone that the wolf wasn’t Beck, Paul, or Ulrik, so I didn’t react.
    Isabel shrugged, unapologetic, and flipped open her phone. She pushed it across the table to me. “Visual aid number one.”
    The phone scraped across invisible crumbs on the table as I spun it right side up. My stomach gripped in a fist when I saw the wolf on the screen, clearly dead, but my grief lacked force. I had never known this wolf as a human.
    â€œI think you’re right,” I said. “Because I’ve only ever known this wolf as a wolf. It must’ve been from old age.”
    â€œI don’t think this was a natural death,” said Grace. “Plus, there were no white hairs on the muzzle.”
    I lifted my shoulders. “I just know what Beck told me. That we get … got” — I struggled with tense, since I wasn’t one of them anymore — “ten or fifteen years after we stopped shifting. A wolf’s natural life span.”
    â€œThere was blood coming out of the wolf’s nose,” Grace said almost angrily, like it annoyed her to say it.
    I slanted the screen back and forth, squinting at the muzzle. I didn’t see anything on the blurry screen to suggest a violent death.
    â€œIt wasn’t a lot,” Grace said, in response to my frown. “Did any of the other wolves that died ever have blood on their faces?”
    I struggled to remember the various wolves that had died while I was living in Beck’s house. It was a blur of memories — Beck and Paul with tarps and shovels, Ulrik singing “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” at the top of his lungs. “I don’t really remember any of them clearly. Maybe this wolf got knocked in the head.” I deliberately didn’t allow myself to think about the person behind the wolf’s pelt.
    Grace didn’t say anything else as the waitress set down our drinks and food. For a long moment there was silence as I doctored my tea and Isabel did the same to her coffee. Grace studied her BLT pensively.
    Isabel said, “For a hick diner, they have really good coffee.” Part of me appreciated the fact that she didn’t even look to see if the waitress was within earshot before she said it — the sheer insensitivity was somehow rewarding to watch. But most of me was glad that I was sitting next to Grace instead, who shotIsabel a look that said Sometimes I don’t know why I hang out with you .
    â€œUh-oh,” I said, glimpsing the opening door. “Incoming.”
    It was John Marx, Olivia’s older brother.
    I wasn’t really looking forward to talking to him, and at first it appeared that I wouldn’t have to, because John didn’t seem to see us. He went straight to the counter and pulled out a stool, hunching his tall frame as he leaned on his elbows. Before he even ordered, the waitress brought him a coffee.
    â€œJohn’s hot,” Isabel observed, with a voice that indicated that it was possibly a drawback.
    â€œIsabel,” hissed Grace. “Maybe turn down the insensitivity meter slightly?”
    Isabel pursed her lips. “What? Olivia’s not dead.”
    â€œI’m going to go ask him to come over and sit with us,” Grace said.
    â€œOh, no, please don’t,” I said. “It’s going to involve lying, and I’m not good at that.”
    â€œBut I am,” Grace said. “He looks pitiful. I’ll be right back.”
    And so she returned a minute later with John and slid back in next to me. John stood at the end of the table, looking slightly uncomfortable as Isabel waited just a moment too long