Chapter 23
Hestia
We already checked the mountain pass, dropped in on the locals, and drove several roads this morning. Everything was clear and everyone was doing well, so we made quick work of it.
We’re slowly driving down another road checking for obstructions when dispatch comes through the radio.
We do a U-turn with Charm’s truck following close behind, and head for the accident.
I wait by our vehicle while the tow truck loads the damaged car onto its bed.
The accident ended up being very minor, and the driver only had some bruising, but we sent the couple to the hospital just in case. Orion and Magnus are taking them to meet up with an ambulance at the base of the mountain.
Their car, however, is another story. It’s not drivable, and I’m not sure it’s salvageable.
Charm helps tie it down now that it’s loaded up. I shiver watching them.
It feels even colder than it did this morning, although that could be because I’m standing around with nothing to do but feel the cold. It doesn’t feel very professional of me to abandon the guys and sit in the truck where it’s warm, so here I wait.
Henri puts his arm around me, and I gratefully lean into him. This is about warmth, nothing more.
I bury my face in his chest and stick my arms under his. Henri purrs and wraps his other arm around me, rubbing my back.
I feel much better despite the cutting wind.
Charm and Cato join us after the tow truck drives off.
“Let’s keep checking the roads until Orion gets back. We’ll drive to the end of this one and then backtrack to the roads further up,” Charm says, showing us the map on his phone.
Henri holds the door open for me to get in the truck, but I pause with one foot in, seeing movement in the woods.
I scan between the trees, trying to figure out what it was. Nothing stands out, but I’m sure I saw something. It wasn’t just the wind blowing around a snowdrift.
I catch it this time, white fur against dark wood. I trace the outline of the animal and find black eyes staring back.
Charm gets out of the car and follows my gaze.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s a fox. One of the big ones, I think,” I say.
It’s well camouflaged, so it’s hard to tell for sure just how big. I try to count its tails, but they keep flicking back and forth, and I can’t keep track. I think there are nine of them though.
The multi-tailed foxes live high up in the mountains, where they use all those fluffy tails to keep themselves warm. I didn’t expect to see one this far downslope.
It disappears in a blink, and no matter how hard I look, I can’t tell where it’s gone.
“Did you see where it went?” I ask.
“No,” they reply.
I give up after a minute and let Henri get me in the truck. I watch out the window to see if the fox will reappear.
“Could you tell how many tails it had?” Charm asks.
“It looked like nine,” I say.
“It’s supposed to be good luck to see one with nine tails,” Henri says.
“They’re also said to be a portent of things to come, a forewarning,” Cato says.
“You think so?” I ask worriedly.
Cato’s face softens. “That’s just an old folktale I remembered. We see plenty of foxes in the mountains and nothing unusual happens afterward.”
“But do they always have that many tails?” I say.
I think back over the wildlife reports I read. The majority described one-tailed foxes, and beyond that, the average was three to five tails. I can’t remember any accounts of a nine-tailed fox.
“We’ve seen all kinds,” Charm says, and the other two agree.
I choose to accept their placating words and let Cato cuddle me as we drive off.
Not all animal sightings make it into the reports. Besides, it didn’t sound like he believed something bad was going to happen.
I won’t let a little superstition get to me.