by Tess Grant
“Say I do all this crap?” Kitty pushed back from the table, throwing her arms up in the air in surrender. “Say I research this, and I look around and I start to believe you. What next?”
“We start with the basics.” Phinney’s finger traced a line down the table, a path for her to follow. “I’ll teach you how to shoot, how to make bullets, the lay of the land.”
She held out a palm as if to stop him, coming forward a little in her chair. “Whoa. What are you talking about? I am not sitting out there with a gun. Why would I?”
Phinney picked up his pint jar and eyed it. Empty. He pulled his flask out and loosened the cap. Tipping his head sideways, he studied her. “I know that’s the way a lot of kids your age think.”
“Yeah, heard it all in history this year…we’re so selfish, you’re the greatest generation.” The sarcasm dripped out of her voice. She hated it but she couldn’t stop it.
“The greatest generation can be anybody. It’s a combination of situation and person. I’ve got a situation for you.” He arched his eyebrows, bringing the flask to his mouth.
“A situation? A bunch of mutant canines ripping up people is a situation?” Kitty thought he was nuts. How he thought throwing her into the middle of this could amount to anything resembling a good thing was beyond her. “Why me?”
Phinney lowered the flask without taking a drink. “It only makes sense…” he trailed off.
She shook her head, exasperation shooting out of her mouth on a puff of air. “Uh-uh. No way.”
He leaned into the table, smiling a tight secretive smile that Kitty didn’t like at all. “So, the unselfish heroine role won’t work for you? I’ve got one better. How’s dead?”
She shoved her chair back reflexively, heartbeat ramping up a few beats. Wary, she looked out the window, but no clouds hid the sun and the kitchen stayed bright and solid in its light.
He ran a hand through his white crew cut, rubbing at the fuzz on his head, then at his eyes, and his face softened with the movement. “I shouldn’t have said that. No sense scaring you. But you need to know the truth. You were out there with me in that glade.”
“So what?” Kitty started but Phinney cut her off, raising a finger in the air.
“I need you to get this one thing. They’ve marked you as a hunter, just by the fact that you were with me—whether it was accidental or not. Where you gonna go? It’s a small town.” His body pushed forward into the table, his face coming close. Dropping his finger to the table, he pushed it into the wood in a rhythm that matched his next words. “They know your smell, the sound of your breathing, the rhythm of your heart. Don’t you think they’re watching you?”
Kitty shoved her hands under her legs to keep them from shaking. The thought that something so elemental—so out of her conscious control—as breathing could mark her as a target rattled her.
Phinney stood up and sighed. “They don’t like hunters. They kill hunters,” he said as he walked to the sink. Putting his Mason jar into the basin, he put both hands on the counter. “I need a nap. Warm enough out there I could sleep without a blanket.”
The screen door banged in the wind, and Kitty jumped. Phinney’s mouth twitched like he might smile. She was sure he was second-guessing his offer to teach her to hunt—she was afraid of the summer breeze.
He turned away from the window, resting his backside against the sink cabinet. “You could join my spotters. I got six or seven people that help me track kills…my spotters. Each one of them has something personal invested in this—a dead husband, a missing brother—you name it. If you can’t hunt, I’ll stand between you and the werewolves. I do it for others.”
Kitty sat perfectly still in her seat. Her chin came up and she stared at him. The screen door banged in the wind, but she didn’t jump this time.
“I’m eighty-five years old. My best ass-kicking days are at least forty years behind me. And when I’m gone, they’ll come looking for you.” He waved a hand tiredly at her, suddenly looking exhausted. “Go home, Kitty Irish.”
She stood up and walked to the door, standing there with her hand on the knob.
“You’re not ready for this.”
She felt the immediate reaction in her gut. She had pulled the door half open and now she shoved it closed with a bang. Her back stiffened, shoulders springing back. “I know how to shoot. My dad taught me all that stuff.”
“This isn’t about guns.” He motioned at the door. “Go on home. You’re not ready.”
Kitty knew what that was, knew what he hoped to get by throwing it out. Outside, the meadow grass bobbed silver, then green, back and forth in the wind. Cloud shadows raced the length of it. What would it look like coated in blood?
She sucked in a deep breath and faced him. “What is it about then?” She made her voice hard, like the lawyers on TV trials as they zeroed in on a witness.
Phinney shook his head, looking confused. “What?”
“Damn it.” Anger surged in Kitty. She felt like a yo-yo. “You said it wasn’t about guns. What is it about?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s about seeing what needs to be done….”
Kitty interrupted him, “and doing it, right?” She took two long steps in his direction, closing the distance by half. “You show me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Chapter Nine
“Bones are almost as good as rocks,” Sam said as he, Kitty, Eric and Joe started up the stone steps of the library. “I hope he’s got some good dead stuff.”
“What are you guys going to see?” Kitty looked down at the brochure in her hand listing the scheduled summer reading activities. For this week, it listed a comparative zoologist from the zoo talking about “How do you know what it is? Skeletal differences between carnivores, herbivores, and omnivores.”
Oh that’s nice, thought Kitty. Guess I should have checked the title before I brought them.
She opened the heavy door and held it for the trio behind her. The cool dimness of the entryway was a familiar comfort. She and Sam had practically lived here in summers past. If they weren’t in the woods with their dad, it was the library with their mom. This was one of the oldest buildings in town, and the downtown renovation had started here. The old cracked plaster medallions in the ceiling had been replaced, and the chandeliers rewired and polished. The broad sweep of marble steps had been cleaned of a century’s worth of grime, and the woodwork stripped and refinished.
A placard set on an easel at the front desk pointed the way to a back meeting room, and Kitty herded the boys in that direction. Poking her head in the door, she saw a row of animal skulls set up on a table in front. I could give this lecture. See me? I’m an omnivore. I am small and weak. See the huge animal with long fangs dripping blood? That would be the carnivore trying to kill me.
“Piece of cake,” she muttered. “See you when you’re done, guys. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
It had been two days since she had seen Phinney.
After her first “that showed him” reaction, she’d felt a huge rush of anxiety. What had she done by saying she would help him? Was she the insane one now? Standing at the door of the cabin, she’d mentally managed to take one step backward and negotiate a deal of sorts. She would help him, but only after she had convinced herself the whole story was real. He’d smiled, and she was pretty sure she knew why. He knew what she was going to find.
The question was where to start? Local lore or not, this wasn’t something she’d write up and hand in to Mrs. Jenrette, the history teacher at school. Now the new guy who taught creative writing would probably eat it up.
She glanced at Joe, hanging out near the computer cluster in the center of the main room. He was talking to a couple of guys from their class. If only they could do it together, it would make it so much easier, but Phinney had sworn her to secrecy. Joe looked up, caught her eye and smiled. Kitty felt a sudden lurch in her gut at the way he looked—wide shoulders, dark curls swinging loose around his already tann
ed neck, flash of white teeth—when had he changed? He had become so…. She flushed and turned away, wondering if he had seen any change in her.
The local genealogy room had at least two dedicated computers that would be away from the prying eyes of the emailers and Internet surfers at the main cluster. That seemed as good a place as any to hunker in and start poking around. The small room, nothing more than a glorified closet, was quiet. A sign on the main table directed her to ask at the main reference desk if she needed any help. She perused the shelves—some newspapers, collections of family papers, lists of surnames in the county.
Sitting down at the computer terminal, she clicked on the Internet icon. As it came up, Joe wandered in, the farm section of the local newspaper hanging from his hand.
A little gust of laughter escaped Kitty’s lips. “Planning on becoming a farmer?”
“There’s all kinds of good stuff in this section. Dad turned me onto it. You should read it sometime. Wilted crops, cows with their throats ripped out—it’s crazy out there. Farming is not for the fainthearted.”
Kitty typed in the name of a search engine, barely listening. “I’ll put it on my to-be-read list.”
Joe plopped into a dark leather wingback tucked in the corner against the sandblasted brick wall. The leather squeaked. It was probably the first time it had been used.
She was googling the best she was able but kept hitting a stone wall. Obits were archived at various sites even as far back as the mid-1960s, but not for such a small town as Oakmont. Plus she needed to search by name, and she didn’t know who she was looking for.
“Hey, check this out. I’ll bet we could look up our grandparents’ names in this.”
She looked up, and Joe held out a book. It was a list of immigrants’ names who had come through Ellis Island during the first half of the 20th century.
“See if you can find my great-grandmother,” Kitty said. “Kathleen McClure. She went by Kitty too.”
And now I know the name to use when I ask for help.
Kitty approached the desk in the main lobby slowly, scanning the counter as she walked. She and the reference librarian knew each other well enough, and she didn’t want Mrs. Harvey mentioning to her mom that Kitty was asking a bunch of weird questions. As she got closer, she saw with relief that an older woman had accosted Mrs. Harvey first. That left Kitty with the new reference librarian, a pony-tailed younger guy with round glasses and weight lifter’s shoulders. He was cute in an academic way.
“Hi,” Kitty said, and he looked up with a smile. She felt a little more confident after seeing his friendly face. “I wanted to get a copy of my great-grandmother’s obituary.” She felt a brief stab of guilt over hiding behind family. “I’m putting together a little genealogy thing for my mom and I need a copy.” She managed to get the lie out okay, now she was back to firmer ground. “But I can’t find an Internet site that archives obituaries for Oakmont, and I don’t know how to find it in the room,” she finished in a rush, waving her hand vaguely over her shoulder at the genealogy room.
He came around the desk and accompanied her back to the room. “This room is going to be renamed the local history room. It’ll have a lot more information in it than genealogy records. Right now it’s missing a ton of stuff. There was a leak in here a few months back, and so most of the references got moved down to the ‘special collections’ building at the university.” He hooked air quotes around the words and looked at her conspiratorially. Continuing in a stage whisper, he said, “That means they put it in some dark corner of the basement.” He waited until she had giggled appreciatively then continued, “But at least it’s dry. I could scout around and see if there’s anything online. But if you think you could get down to campus, we actually have three-ring binders full of obits catalogued by year. If you know the year your great-grandmother died, it would be super easy to find. You know the year, right?”
Kitty didn’t have a clue. She hadn’t even known her great-grandmother. It didn’t matter anyway; she wasn’t actually looking for her. What mattered was the year Thompson started hunting werewolves. When had Thompson started? She ran through her conversation with Phinney in her head, smiling brightly when she pulled it up. “Absolutely. I’m looking for 1967.”
“There you go,” he said. “I’ll write down the name and number of the special collections gal down there so you can be sure she can let you in. She’s a little intense—thinks she’s saving the world or something—but not too bad.” He walked back across to the main reference desk and Kitty could see him looking something up in a Rolodex.
“That means they put it in the basement. Super easy to find,” Joe mimicked over her shoulder. “Where did they get this guy? And you laughed. What was that about?”
Kitty sighed and rolled her eyes. “I was being polite. Maybe you should try it sometime.” She walked out of the room and met the librarian halfway.
She came back to Joe with a yellow sticky note in her hand. “Feel like driving me to the university in a day or two?”
* * *
The wind blew the little Escort all over the interstate.
“Geez, Joe, where did you learn to drive?”
“Same place you did, sister.” His easy grin lit his face and he dug around in the side pocket of the door. Holding a piece of paper in her direction, he said, “Here’s the directions to the U. Take a look at ‘em, navigator.”
She grabbed the Internet map and ran down the numbered directions. They would be at the university in less than ten minutes.
“Too bad Jenna couldn’t come along. That dance team is a real time suck.” Joe leaned in and turned off the radio. “But since she’s not here, feel like telling me again why we’re going?”
“I told you. We’re going to check it out for college. Duh. We have to apply this fall.” She gestured at the upcoming exit and Joe turned on his blinker.
“And…” Joe prompted.
“And what? Go right off the ramp.”
“What was the whole deal with your Gran’s obituary?”
“My Gran? I never called her Gran.”
“Don’t try to avoid the subject. You said right?”
“Yes. Anyway, I need… I mean I want a copy, that’s all, and it’s down here because of that leak and I thought we could kill two birds with one stone.” Kitty realized she sounded near incoherent and faded into silence.
“It’s another right at Woodlawn? Let me see if I got this straight.” Joe spun the wheel. “You want me to check out this place for college while you look for an obit or something like it.”
“Exactly,” said Kitty. Now she was the one who mimicked the librarian. “Super easy.”
“And,” Joe went on, “you want me to tell you the high points of the whole place so that you can fake it for your mom when she asks.”
Kitty considered faking it now but gave up. All her friends could read her face like a book anyway. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
Joe pulled into a parking spot outside the student services building. “All righty then. Let’s roll, sister.”
A rack of pamphlets stood in the lobby near the bookstore entrance, and Kitty grabbed a campus map. She scanned the buildings outlined on it until she found the special collections building tucked behind the main library and one of the big lecture halls.
“I’m going here,” she said, pointing it out to Joe.
A girl walked past them into the bookstore. She wore short shorts and a tank top, and her long hair swung loose. Joe pointed after her. “I’m going where she’s going.”
“Fine,” said Kitty. “Maybe she can give you a tour. Just don’t forget to get some pamphlets for me to leave laying around on the kitchen counter.”
Joe ducked through the turnstile after the girl. Kitty double-checked the map and struck out in the opposite direction.
Campus was mostly empty and Kitty had the sidewalk to herself. A few summer students were eating lunch on the lawn. One guy on a bicycle flew by, swerving ar
ound her at the last minute. He must have been late for class. They looked so carefree, so independent. She was striking out on her own too, but she wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing or just humoring an old drunk.
Guess I’m about to find out.
Chapter Ten
The special collections building was a one-story David peeking out at the looming Goliaths of the lecture halls. It was situated right on the edge of campus and green space took over directly behind it. Its front was mostly windows reflecting the sun in a bright shimmer and keeping whatever was inside dark and secret. Kitty imagined at night the contents would be clearly visible, but she also doubted that most people would care.
She stepped up to the door and pulled it, half expecting a protest from the hinges. It opened silently with a stream of cold dry air that felt delicious on Kitty’s sweaty skin after the walk from the student services building. An older woman stood behind a counter in a room filled with glass-topped display cases and shelves only half-filled with books. Looking at her, the first word in Kitty’s head was solid. She had steel gray hair clipped short and glasses that reflected light like the front windows. She was short and square and wore a tweed coat. Kitty wondered if she wore it home at the end of every day, soggy and wilted in the summer heat, or if it hung on the back of her chair all night long like a uniform.
“Ms. Norton?”
“That’s me,” said the woman. Her voice was gravely, a whiskey and cigarettes voice. “You must be Kitty Irish.”
“That’s right,” said Kitty, and she tried out a smile.
The corner of the woman’s mouth moved, but Kitty wasn’t sure if she was smiling or just had an itch. She took a deep breath and kept going. “Like I explained on the phone, I was hoping to check out some of the local history references from the Oakmont library. I wanted to get a copy of my great-grandmother’s obituary if I can find it. I’m trying to put together a framed collection for my mother…” Kitty’s voice faded away. Ms. Norton evidently wasn’t interested in what Kitty wanted with an obituary. She already had left the desk and was walking toward the back of the building. She looked back once impatiently to see if Kitty was following.
