Shiver

Chapter One: Who's That Knocking At My Door

"Maybe," he lets the lie of even considering it slip out of his mouth- he wants to tell her no, but doesn't want her to give up on her dreams- and she will, if she knew Rory was already cemented to Alaska.

Rowan smiles at him, happy enough with only the probability of Rory following her to California, and sits up on the leather couch. It's seventy degrees in the house, but the Mavericks are warm blooded creatures- and that gives Rowan a good enough excuse to wear her favorite sweater: an ancient, violet, threadbare thing, with a scribbled off logo and a size too big. Their mother had let her save the raggedy sweater during Spring cleaning three years ago.

"What time is it?" Rowan asks, finally standing up to stretch her long limbs out - her fingers raised to the ceiling, and Rory swore she nicked her thumb on the fan above them. The Maverick twins were tall, towering over most with their over-six-foot stature. Rory reached six foot four, and with every inch, utterly gangly; his sister was only three inches beneath him- but she possessed more grace in her pinky finger than he did in his entire body.

"Hardly ten in the morning," Rory said, looking to the clock that sat beside the arm of the couch. "Mom should be back in... three hours," he finished, nodding to himself as he counted back the time. She was at work- as the only mail woman in Covington, she had a duty to deliver all and any mail by twelve o'clock.

Rowan nodded, walking towards the kitchen as she listened to her brother. On any day before November, the twins would've been up by eight, checking on their assignments given by their teachers, and quickly completing anything from their English 4 class to the assigned extra cred. But, fortunately, they had finished their senior year in record time, and received their high school diplomas a day after Christmas.

Now, they simply laze around- occasionally poking at the fire in the living room in attempt to keep the house heated. On particularly insufferable days, they'd ride into town with their mother, keeping her company on her mail route in attempt to chase off boredom.

"Turn on the light, will you?" Rory asks; his hand pats behind him- searching for his smartphone in attempt to check any emails. He hardly pays attention to his messages or missed calls. He only has seven numbers in his phone after all: his mother, his grandma that lived in Toronto who visited every summer, Rowan, Covington's sheriff, his two friends Thalia and Rick, and the coroner's office. Covington is so minuscule that the coroner also worked as the propane truck driver on her days off- which was a direct link to survival for the Mavericks- or anyone relying on a propane fueled heating system.

Rowan is nothing but muffled noise in the kitchen, hands searching blindly for the light switch. When her fingers find what she was seeking, bright florescent light floods the living room, into the hallway, and kitchen.

It's refreshing to see more than four feet ahead of him; Rory blinks, eyes adjusting to the brightness.

"Mom left some boiled eggs for us," Rowan calls from the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening tells Rory his sister won't be sated by a simple breakfast. Or, she's searching for juice.

"Ro, where is-"

"Top shelf, behind yesterday's leftovers," Rory shouts as he stands up from the leather couch with his phone in one hand, the other stretching up towards the ceiling to relieve the cramp in his bicep. His fingers scrape the door frame as he follows the sound of his sister's voice, a sliver of his tanned skin showing beneath his sweater that's ridden up his torso.

Their mother told them that they took after their father's looks- when she'd talk about Thanos, which doesn't happen often. Rowena was ginger, pale, with eyes as green as ivy- and tiny. By the time Rory and Rowan reached twelve, they towered over their mother's small stature. Their father, according to Rowena, was the handsomest man she'd ever laid eyes on- with dark eyes, and thick brown hair that- even against Rowena's wishes- always stayed long. He was as tall as Rory, and sometimes, when Rowena couldn't catch herself, she'd call her son by his father's name without a second thought.