Cold Moon

by Tess Grant

  “All of that material has been returned to the original facility.” Ms. Norton shifted her weight right as if she were on her way out from behind the counter.

  “I’m not looking for that.” Impatience started to put an edge on Kitty’s voice. “I’m looking for new stuff.”

  The scholar moved to another shelf, closer than before. Ms. Norton’s exasperation animated her face. “You could try the new library. That would be where the,” and she hooked air quotes around the next word, “new stuff is.”

  Kitty breathed deep and laid her hands flat on the counter, fingers spread wide. If she had them out where she could see them, maybe she wouldn’t slide them around the woman’s neck. “I’m looking for things that are more local lore…urban myths, things like that.” Ms. Norton’s eyes focused on her in a beam. “Hitchhikers with hooks for hands, vampires,” Kitty paused for one heartbeat before adding, “werewolves.”

  Throw out the right word and the reaction was immediate. Ms. Norton moved out from behind the counter and headed for the professor. “Professor Pew,” she said, holding out an arm and herding the unfortunate man toward the door. “I haven’t heard from our donor yet. I’ll let you know as soon as he drops off that first edition Thurber.”

  “That would be wonderful. I’m so eager to see it.” As they walked past Kit, he addressed his next words to her. “It’s like waiting at the mailbox for a special letter.”

  Kitty touched the mangled envelope in her own pocket and smiled in agreement. “I know exactly what that’s like.”

  Ms. Norton returned to the desk. “Not too many people come in here in the afternoon, but I can’t close the place. Talk fast.”

  Kitty figured she didn’t have to talk too fast. She didn’t have much to say and she couldn’t imagine the place was a hotbed of activity. “You helped Phinney as a spotter.”

  “He’s missing,” Ms. Norton said, running her laser beam gaze up and down Kitty. “Or dead.”

  Kitty decided to ignore that last comment and keep moving forward. “I’m the one who’s taking over and I need you on board.”

  A short bark of laughter flew out of the librarian’s mouth, and she picked up another sheaf of papers with a roll of her eyes. The third dismissal really pushed Kitty’s buttons. She reached over the counter and laid a hand on Norton’s arm. “No,” she said. “Don’t blow me off again.”

  Ms. Norton’s eyes lowered to Kitty’s hand and Kitty realized she never should have touched the librarian. But it was too late now—now she had to hang on and go wherever it went.

  The librarian twisted her arm away. “Give me one good reason not to turn my back on you. You’re no killer.”

  You’d be surprised.

  Norton’s words flowed out, liquid sarcasm puddling across the counter between them. “What are you going to do? Throw your homecoming corsage at them?”

  Kitty thought of the sticky heat of werewolves’ blood coating her arms and the sting of the dust against her cheeks when the bodies withered. “No.” She pressed into the counter. Her voice was low and hard. “I’m going to make silver bullets out of your granny’s forks and I’m going to use an antique gun and I,” she pushed her finger into the counter with each word, “am going to hunt them.” Now she lifted her finger and pushed it at the woman’s face. “So why don’t you concentrate on your job and let me concentrate on mine?” Her heartbeat thumped in her ears and she felt a bead of sweat on her neck. She pulled her hands out of sight under the countertop and linked them together so she had something to hold onto.

  Ms. Norton had fallen back half a step, but the corners of her mouth turned up. It seemed oddly out of place. Her twitchy lips spread into a real smile.

  Kitty gritted her teeth. “What’s so funny?”

  “Ah, so there is a spine in there. I had to poke pretty hard to find it.” Kitty glared but the librarian’s smile widened. “Makes sense. That old buzzard Phinney wouldn’t have chosen a wimp for his successor.”

  Kitty bit the inside of her mouth to keep some choice words from popping out. Ms. Norton wasn’t exactly a spring chicken.

  The woman pulled a pad of paper toward her and a pen, “What are you looking for?”

  “You’re a librarian. Do librarian stuff. I’ve got someone on the ground looking for fresh kills. I need research. Obits, newspaper articles.” Kitty tossed a copy of The Observer article about Austin Harris in front of Norton. “I need to know where he went down.”

  Norton pulled the paper toward her and skimmed it as she took a pencil from a cup below the counter. The tight muscles in Kitty’s shoulders relaxed as Norton scratched a research plan out on the paper.

  A flow chart took place before Kitty’s eyes and she smiled.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kitty pulled to the curb about halfway down the small cul-de-sac. She turned the key off but left her ring dangling from the ignition. The Bell’s house stood at the very end centered behind the circular portion of the street. It was a newer ranch house with a big backyard and mulch-covered beds out front. Kitty hadn’t been there in months. The engine ticked as it cooled and still she didn’t climb out or restart the car to drive closer.

  Stopping here on the way back from Deep River had been an impulse. What was she supposed to say to Jenna? Did you happen to walk out into the woods and get attacked by something? Kitty could barely see the Manistee from here. Jenna would have to wander pretty far out of her way to get there. Did anything bite you recently? Other than your mean cat who hates me?

  The front door opened and Jenna’s grandma stepped out, taking a seat in the wicker chair to the left of the screen. Grandma Bell was a sweetheart—maybe a tad crazy and more than a touch deaf. She also hated full moons with a passion. Kitty had never asked Jenna why; they had only laughed at her “nerves” and the “medicine” she took to calm them. Jenna claimed it was a half-and-half mix of white wine and lemon-lime soda—heavy on the wine half. Kitty had always thought Grandma Bell’s “nerves” were more like Anne Irish’s—the moon brought out the crazies. But maybe Gran leaned Phinney’s direction—booze and all.

  Kitty traced her index finger around the steering wheel, bumping over the teeth marks where Maddie had gotten bored while her mom pumped gas. Running her fingers to the keys she twisted them, starting the car and inching down the street. Why couldn’t this be simple like when they were kids? Kitty would settle for as easy as a year ago. She had always blamed Jenna for the split, feeling shoved to the side by Deb and Jenna’s other newfound friends on the dance team. Kitty had deflected any responsibility that came her way, but in retrospect it was easy enough to see her own share in it.

  She’d let Jenna go so quickly, abandoned her. Now there was a chance they were on opposite sides of the equation. The car came even with the driveway and for one second Kitty considered continuing around the circle and driving out. The image of Goth girl entered her mind and with it the guilt and horror of that night. She couldn’t stand the thought of Jenna going down the same road as the werewolves. She spun the wheel, back end bumping over the curb as she parked in the driveway.

  She got out of the car and took the paved walkway to the porch. “Hi, Grandma.” Kitty waved.

  Grandma Bell squinted at her for a few seconds before saying, “Kitty Irish. I haven’t seen you in ages. Jenna says you’re a busy girl these days.”

  Kitty smiled ruefully. At least Jenna had covered up the rift. “Is she home?”

  Grandma waved a hand at the door. “You know she is. She got grounded after getting home so late the other night.”

  “Grounded?” Kitty’s eyebrows raised. That was a punishment she hadn’t heard in a while.

  “You two think you’re too old for all that, but I’m here to tell you that girl’s keys are locked up until December.” Grandma pointed a finger at Kitty.

  Kitty decided to keep the grounding under her hat. If Jenna could cover for Kitty’s summer absence, then Kitty would keep Jenn’s punishment a secret.

&nbs
p; “Good thing too, I say. You girls don’t know half of what’s out there.” Grandma gestured at the door. “She’s out back. You can go straight through.”

  Kitty cut through the house toward the sliding glass doors. The cat glared at her from the couch and Kitty, aiming to get in the first blow, hissed at it. At the doors, she paused. Jenna twisted and spun in the old swing that hung from her childhood play set.

  The cat stretched, growling deep in its chest. It was only a matter of time before the stupid thing came after her ankles so Kitty took a deep breath, shoved the door open, and stepped out. “Hey,” she said as she wedged her butt into the swing next to Jenna.

  Jenna pushed her feet into the ground and twisted the swing in the opposite direction in answer.

  “I saw your Gran out front. She recognized me.” Kitty propelled herself backwards with her toes. “And your cat growled at me.”

  Kitty heard the exhale that meant Jenna smiled.

  “What’d you do to antagonize her?”

  Kitty feigned shock. “Me? Absolutely nothing. That beast hates me.”

  Jenna let the swing unwind. “I never terrorize your dog.”

  The silence grew and stretched until it was filled only with the squeak of the chain of Jenna’s swing as she wound it up again.

  “Are you okay?” Kitty finally said. She forced her own swing sideways. Jenna wore a turtleneck and the sleeves were pulled down tight to her wrists. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face. Jenna’s breathing was even and quiet, not the heavy scenting Goth girl had used when confronted by her hunter. It was so hard to tell if anything was truly wrong. Kitty let the swing right itself. “Your mom called our house the other night when you didn’t get home on time. I got pretty worried. Anything goin’ on?”

  Jenna’s swing unwound and slowed. “Kit, it was nice of you to come by, but I don’t know why you’re here.”

  Kitty’s heart stopped. She’d been selfish, sure, but she never thought that she didn’t have the right to ask. “I’m here for you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Jenna pulled on the chains and levered herself out of the swing. “I don’t know who you’re here for, but I don’t think it’s me.” She walked toward the house.

  Kitty watched her go. “You can call me. Anytime.”

  Jenna pulled the glass doors shut behind her and the reflection hid any sight of her. Kitty eyed her feet. In the old days, she and Jenna had worn this patch of ground down to bare dirt, but now it was covered by the same uniform grass as the rest of the lawn.

  She had come for Jenna. Or maybe you came for yourself, her head answered. Kitty got up and started for the house before detouring around the outside edge to the driveway. She wasn’t up to giving the cat another chance at her, too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Joe’s shot thunked into the wood a good ten inches from the target. He actually hit the plywood backing this time, so he was improving. In real time though, a shot like that could totally miss a werewolf. She’d better put twice as many punji sticks on his side of the nest.

  He pulled his earmuffs off. “What do you think?”

  Sucked was the word that came to mind, but what Kitty said was, “You’re getting there. Let’s take a break.”

  She headed up the slope to the wreckage of Phinney’s cabin and plopped herself down on the steps. A month ago she wouldn’t have come here under any circumstances. Who knew what ghost might arise from the ashes and come to sit with her? At the moment, with the police breathing down her neck, an assistant who needed a lot more guidance than she could give, and a friend who may or may not have gotten infected, any guidance—ghostly or otherwise—would be helpful. If only the process worked backward, and the dust could rise again and coalesce into Phinney’s form.

  Joe sat down next to her and settled back against the riser behind him.

  “Careful, you’ll get soot all over your coat.” Kitty shoved a hand between Joe and the step.

  Joe straightened up. “You know,” he said. “I’d probably shoot better if I had some incentive.”

  Kitty squinted out over the meadow, the green of summer fading to yellows and browns. Phinney had said in the old days farmers woke up to pastures coated in blood. “Death isn’t a big enough incentive for you? It works pretty well for me.”

  Joe pushed his long legs out. “Not so much. That’s so far away. I’m more of a here-and-now type of guy.”

  His voice was so close that Kitty twisted her head toward him. His face was inches away.

  She pulled in a breath, her heart rate picking up a beat or two. “What’s here and now that would motivate you?” Her voice croaked like a swamp bullfrog. That wasn’t very motivating.

  “You,” Joe said, and he came even closer. His fingers moved along her chin.

  “I think we might be talking about different things,” Kitty whispered.

  “We might be,” Joe agreed, and his lips touched hers.

  He pulled away from the kiss before Kitty wanted him to. Putting his hands behind his head, Joe leaned back against the stairs. “Forget the soot. That’s what I call incentive.”

  Kitty smiled. She supposed there were worse ways to motivate him. “So, hotshot, let’s see what you can do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Joe stood up, grabbed the M1, and strode off down the hill.

  Kitty sat still for a minute after he left. She doubted a kiss would do much for his aim but it had been fun. She hoisted herself up and trailed along behind.

  Joe put the M1 tight against his shoulder and shot four shots in quick succession.

  “Hmm.” Kitty eyed the spread, hands on her hips. The closest shot still fell at least seven inches away. “Guess a kiss from me wasn’t quite the cure-all we were looking for.”

  Joe quirked his eyebrows, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. “I suppose we’d better try it again then.”

  This time the kiss lasted longer.

  Joe sighted again and four holes appeared like magic around the bull’s-eye. Kitty didn’t need a ruler to tell they fell within inches of each other.

  She began to laugh. “You been holding out on me?”

  Joe grinned and tossed his arm over her shoulder, putting his chin on top of her head. “You’re not the only one who can keep secrets.”

  ****

  Kitty spread the topo maps out on the workbench. Someday she needed to move this operation up to GPS, but her woefully skinny piggy bank wasn’t going to handle that expense. Maybe she could talk her mom into picking up a unit. Yeah, right.

  She laid the email from Mrs. Norton next to the maps and studied the numbers the librarian had sent over marking the location of Harris’ body. Norton had gotten the grid coordinates down to six digits, which only gave an accuracy of one hundred meters. Still Kitty could set up a safe zone anyplace within an area that size and a werewolf would scent her with no problem and come running.

  970 078

  The six digits sent off a faint ping in Kitty’s head but she didn’t know why. According to where it plotted out, Harris had gone down on the higher ground west of Phinney’s place in one of the more trackless sections of the Manistee National Forest. Most of the red and black circles on the map clustered north and south of the cabin. The site of Harris’ death wasn’t that far away, but the ink marking the few circles around that area had begun to fade. They must have been among the first Phinney plotted.

  970 078

  Kitty studied the map closer. The lines of elevation swirled and curved as they indicated rising ground. The light green of the forest covered nearly everything on these maps while the blue snake of the river coursed through the bottom corners. A couple of lakes appeared as well but she never got near those. Maybe werewolves didn’t like water.

  The square Norton had indicated was nothing but green forest with closely spaced lines of elevation. The whole area was blank. Not one circle from Phinney. Like it had been quarantined. Not any more. Kitty had three weeks to find a decent safe zone in there. Ph
inney might have been able to look at the map and determine the best place to start but Kitty would have to go in on foot to find it.

  The workshop stairs creaked, and Kitty swept the maps off the table into the drawer built in the workshop bench. She pressed her back up against the drawer as the door swung open. Mom and Sam weren’t supposed to be home yet. The person who poked his ball cap-covered head around the door was a complete surprise—Mr. Zubowicz.

  “Hey, Mr. Z. Come on in. Got any news for me?”

  Joe’s dad pushed the door open wider and stepped up the final stair into the workshop. Maddie wagged her tail so hard her whole body undulated, and he bent down and scratched her behind the ears. He held out a sheet of paper. “I tromped around a little. Found a small deer ripped up.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “North of here.”

  That put it north of Phinney’s place as well, probably near the first place she had killed a werewolf. There were plenty of circles plotted in that area. If the wolves were coming down off the high ground….

  “Anybody else report in?” Mr. Z. asked.

  “Mrs.—” Kitty started and managed to convert the next word into a cough. She’d almost blurted the name right out. Let’s try that again. “Another one of the spotters managed to track down the location for that guy in the newspaper article you brought me. I’m making progress.” She scanned down the paper he’d brought. It contained only the grid coordinates of the deer, and a brief physical description of the area. It sounded like deep woods.

  “Kitty, I…” he started then stopped.

  He took off his baseball cap and twisted it. The nice little curve he’d had on the brim pinched down into a tube. Kitty had seen enough shorthaired men around the National Guard to know bald men take their hats seriously. Whatever was bugging him must be a doozy.

  She opened the drawer and hauled the stack of maps out again, keeping her head down. Maybe some space would help him get it out. He’d probably figured out Joe was her second and had come to lay down the law. Her cheeks flushed as she recalled their most recent practice session, and she slid a glance at Joe’s dad from underneath the fringe of her hair. Mr. Z. paced the length of the room. She could have told him it was a ten-step trip.