Chapter 4: The Registrar

The Tuesday potluck at Birchwater was the loudest meal I had ever eaten.

Forty humans, sixty wolves, and a table of hotdish, venison chili and wild rice casserole stretching the whole length of the hall.

Jo had come with a pan of bars and a hockey jersey, and she kept elbowing me in the ribs.

"You've got a hickey," she whispered.

"I do not."

"On your neck. Under the collar. Anja Aune, did you finally?"

"Eat your bars."

Eero stood at the door in his canvas coat, counting heads, and every time I looked at him he was already looking at me.

Then the Registrar tapped a spoon on a glass.

The hall went quiet in layers.

Gunnar Torvik stood at the head of the table with his clipboard and his cold rimless glasses.

"Under the Registry's schedule," he said, "new members are presented with a pair within one week of orientation."

I put down my fork.

"I told you on Friday that I didn't want one."

"The Registry does not require wanting."

"What does it require?"

"Bloodline. Health. Temperament."

"I'm a dispatcher with a size fourteen hip and a bad attitude," I said. "Which of those did you check?"

A wolf at the next table coughed into his napkin.

The Registrar pulled a cream-coloured sheet from his clipboard.

"The Registry has matched Ms. Aune with a cattle rancher from the north end of the county."

"He is forty-one, of a proven line, with three prior pups in other packs."

A rancher stood up at the far end of the hall.

He was tall and weathered, in a clean checked shirt, and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Forty-one years old, and he was blushing.

"Ma'am," he said miserably. "I didn't ask for this either."

I felt sorry for him.

I stood up anyway.

"Sir, nothing about this is your fault," I said. "I'm sorry you were put in this position."

Then I turned and looked at the Registrar down the whole length of the table.

"I haven't said yes," I said. "And he hasn't said yes."

"You can't make a pair out of a piece of paper."

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