One day, I supposed, those woods would be home and these woods would be the stranger.
“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Sam asked softly.
He meant the syringe of meningitis-tainted blood, of course, that was waiting for me back at the lodge. The same almost-cure that had helped Sam and killed Jack. If Cole’s theories were correct and I fought the meningitis as a wolf, it would slowly fight the werewolf inside me and make me human for good. If Cole was wrong and Sam’s survival had been random, I faced overwhelming odds.
“I trust Cole,” I said. These days, he was a powerful force, a bigger person than when I first met him. Sam had said he was glad Cole was using his powers for good instead of evil. I was glad to see him turning the lodge into his castle. “Everything else he’s figured out has been right.”
Part of me felt a prickle of loss, because some days, I loved being a wolf. I loved this feeling of knowing the woods, of being a part of them. The utter freedom of it. But more of me hated the oblivion, the confusion, the ache of wanting to know more but being unable to. For all that I loved being a wolf, I loved being Grace more.
“What will you do while I’m gone?” I asked.
Without answering, Sam reached for my left hand, and I let him have it. He twisted the stem of the leaf around my ring finger so that it made a bright yellow band. We both admired it.
“I will miss you,” he said. Sam let go of the leaf and it drifted to the ground between us. He didn’t say that he was afraid that Cole was wrong, though I knew he was.
I turned so that I was facing my parents’ house. I couldn’t see it through the trees; maybe once it was winter, it would be visible, but for now, it was hidden behind the fall leaves. I closed my eyes and let myself breathe in the scent of these trees once more. This was good-bye.
“Grace?” Sam said, and I opened my eyes.
He reached out his hand to me.
It’s a little odd to be saying good-bye to a world I’ve lived in for almost four years, a series that changed my life pretty completely, but here I am. Now that I’ve come to the end of it, I figured it’s a good time to say something about the parts of my story that really exist outside the pages of the books.
First of all, the wolves.
I’ve tried to stay true to actual wolf behavior throughout the series (although I wouldn’t recommend kissing one anytime soon). For readers who’d like to find out more about wolf behavior, I recommend the documentary Living with Wolves as a good starting point. The roles of Ulrik and Paul and Salem are all standard ones in a real wolf pack: the peacemaker, the alpha, and the omega. The reality of pack dynamics is fascinating stuff.
It’s also real that a wolf’s place in our world is highly debated. The hunt Tom Culpeper helped instigate is based on real wolf hunts staged in the western United States and Canada as ranchers and wolves struggle to find equilibrium. The facts remain — wolves are lovely but powerful predators and humans are jealous keepers of their territory and their livelihoods — so more wolves will meet their death at the end of a hunter’s gun or in the shadow of a helicopter before this is all done.
Second of all, Mercy Falls, Minnesota.
I’ve been told by many readers that it’s impossible to find on a map, and I’m sorry. Shiver originally took place in Ely, MN, which is a real place, then Bishop, MN, which is not, and finally Mercy Falls. In my head Mercy Falls is quite near Ely and the Boundary Waters. Outside of my head, it’s quite near nothing at all, as it doesn’t exist. That part of Minnesota, however, does host a very real population of gray wolves.
Other real places in the books include the candy shop (based on Wythe Candy in Williamsburg, VA), the Crooked Shelf (based on Riverby Books in Fredericksburg, VA), and Ben’s Fish and Tackle (although I won’t reveal where the store it was based on is located, to protect the identity of the sweaty man who owns it).
Third of all, the people.
Some of the characters are loosely based on real people. Dmitra the sound engineer is a real person, although in real life she doesn’t have a big nose, nor is she female. Grace’s parents are real, though they’re not mine. And Ulrik is an actual person, although he’s not a werewolf.
Fourth of all, the poetry.
As Sam’s favorite, Rilke is most prominent, but there’s also Mandelstam, Roethke, Yeats, and other assorted German poets. Even if you are a die-hard poetry un-fan like myself, I still recommend Stephen Mitchell’s beautiful translations of Rilke and German Poetry in Transition, 1945–1990, edited by Charlotte Melin.
And finally, the love.
Many, many readers have written me asking wistfully about the nature of Sam and Grace’s relationship, and I can assure you, that sort is absolutely real. Mutual, respectful, enduring love is completely attainable as long as you swear you won’t settle for less.
So this is good-bye to Mercy Falls. It’s time to find other uncharted worlds.
It’s going to be impossible to thank everyone involved in bringing this series into being, so rest assured that this is only the tip of the iceberg.
I need to thank Scholastic for being incredibly supportive of the series and very tolerant of my quirks. In particular: my editor, David Levithan, for not sending villagers with pitchforks after me after I threw it all away; the ever-smiling Rachel Coun and the rest of marketing, for their animal cunning; Tracy van Straaten, Becky Amsel, and Samantha Grefe for cookies, sanity, and bathroom breaks; Stephanie Anderson and the production team, who make me look more clever than I am; Christopher Stengel, for continued impeccable design; the incredible foreign rights team of Rachel Horowitz, Janelle DeLuise, Lisa Mattingly, and Maren Monitello — it’s not easy to make me feel at home 3,000 miles away, but they pull it off absolutely every time.
And in non-Scholastic thanking, a few folks.
Laura Rennert, my agent, whose voice on the phone always sounds like sanity coming home to roost.
Brenna Yovanoff, for standing next to the wounded gazelle when all signs recommended to the contrary.
The folks at Loewe — Jeannette Hammerschmidt, Judith Schwemmlein, and Marion Perko — for saving my bacon at the absolute last moment. I owe you guys more cookies than I can carry in the overhead compartment of a passenger plane.
Carrie Ryan and Natalie Parker, for reading in short order and alternatively patting my hand and smacking my wrist when I needed it.
My parents and siblings, for knowing when “Go away, I’m working!” means “Please help babysit!” and when it means “Rescue me and take me out for chimichangas!” Kate, in particular — you know you’re the reader I write for.
Tessa, you were as married to this thing as I was, and it never sent us presents on our anniversaries. I’ll never forget that.
Ed, who made me tea and let me sleep after all-nighters and suffered and sweated alongside me. This is all your fault, you know, because why else would I write a love story but you?
And finally, Ian. You won’t ever read this, but I have to say it anyway: Thank you for reminding me.