Kitty Takes a Holiday

by Carrie Vaughn

  I sat on the porch steps and watched him survey the clearing—this involved standing in the middle of it, circling, and nodding sagely. He didn’t even bring along Deputy Rosco—I mean Ted—to take pictures of my car this time.

  Cormac stood nearby, leaning on the railing. Lurking.

  I ventured to speak. “We think it might be somebody local trying to scare me off.”

  Marks turned to me, his frown quivering. “How do I know you didn’t do this? That this isn’t some practical joke you’re playing on me?”

  I glared back in shock. “Because I wouldn’t do something like this.”

  “What about him?” He nodded at Cormac. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t,” Cormac said, and didn’t offer.

  Marks moved toward him, hands on hips. “Can I see some ID, sir?”

  “No,” Cormac said. I groaned under my breath.

  “Is that so?” Marks said, his attention entirely drawn away from the slaughter around us.

  Cormac said, “Unless you’re planning to write me a ticket or arrest me for something, I don’t have to show you anything.”

  Marks was actually starting to turn red. I had no doubt he could come up with something—harassing a police officer, loitering with intent to insult—to pin on Cormac, just out of spite.

  I stepped between them, distracting them. “Um, could we get back to the dead animals?”

  Marks said, “If I’m right, I could have you up on a number of cruelty to animal charges.”

  “Should I call my lawyer?” My lawyer who was inside, asleep, recovering from a werewolf bite. “Recovering” was my optimism talking.

  “I’m just giving you an out, Ms. Norville. A chance to ’fess up.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “I’m still looking for the hidden cameras,” he said, peering into the trees.

  “Oh, give me a break!”

  He jabbed his finger in my direction. “If you think being famous keeps you safe, lets you do whatever the hell you want, you’re wrong.”

  If I’d thought this situation couldn’t get any worse, I was obviously mistaken.

  “Sheriff, I’m being harassed, and if you’re not going to help me, just say it so I can find somebody who will.”

  “Good luck with that.” He started back for his car.

  “Hell, I could do a better job than this clown,” Cormac said. “At least I can admit when I’m in over my head.”

  He didn’t even try to say it softly, so Marks couldn’t hear. No—he raised his voice, so Marks couldn’t help but hear.

  Marks turned around, glaring. “What did you say?”

  Cormac scuffed his boot on the porch and pretended he hadn’t heard.

  “You’d better watch yourself,” Marks said, pointing. “You so much as breathe wrong and I’ll get you.”

  The hunter remained slouching against the railing, as unflappable as ever. He wasn’t going to be the one to shoot first in a fight. I wasn’t sure Marks knew that.

  Marks started back to his car.

  “Sheriff, what do I do about them?” I pointed at the dogs. Some of them were swaying gently, as the trees they were tied to creaked in a faint breeze. A garbage bag or a quickly dug hole wasn’t going to clean this up.

  “Call animal control,” he said. The sound of his car door slamming echoed.

  I fumed, unable to come up with a word angry enough for what I wanted to hurl after him.

  Hearing steps in the house, I turned around. Ben emerged, standing just outside the doorway and staring out. “Holy shit, what’s this?”

  “Curse,” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone’s up for breakfast,” Cormac said.

  “Are you joking?” I said. He smiled. My God, he was joking.

  “You two go inside. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Sure you don’t need help?” Ben said.

  “I’m sure.”

  Ben hesitated, like he needed convincing. I pulled his arm, guided him inside. He said, “Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?”

  It was starting to seem like it. “I don’t know.”

  “Is it because you’re a werewolf or because you’re you?”

  Now that was an excellent question. I didn’t really want to know the answer.

  When my phone rang later that day, I almost screamed, because the noise was like claws on a chalkboard. Mom’s call.

  Cormac hadn’t come back yet from taking care of the mess outside. Ben had gone back to bed. I didn’t know if he was sleeping.

  I curled up on the sofa. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Kitty. Are you okay? You sound a little off.”

  A little off. Ha. “I’m about the same as the last time we talked. Things could be better, but I’m hanging in there.” Hanging. I shouldn’t have said that. Didn’t want to hear about anything having to do with hanging.

  “What’s wrong? I wish there was something I could do to help. You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do—”

  “Thanks, Mom. I can’t really think of anything. Unless you know something about blood magic?”

  She thought for a couple of beats, and I couldn’t guess what kind of expression she had. “No, I really don’t.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Kitty, tell me the truth, are you all right?”

  My eyes teared up. I would not start crying at Mom. If I started I wouldn’t stop, and then she’d really worry. And she was right to worry, I supposed. I took a deep breath and kept it together.

  “I will be.” Somehow… “Things are kind of a mess, but I’m working through it.”

  “You’re sure there isn’t anything I can do?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Are your friends still with you? Are they helping?”

  “Yeah, they are.” In fact, if Cormac hadn’t been here to take care of the dog thing, I might very well have run screaming and never come back.

  “Good. I’m glad. You know I worry about you.”

  “I know, Mom. I appreciate it, I really do.” And I did. It was good to have people looking out for you.

  “Well… please call me if you need anything, if there’s anything I can do. And don’t be afraid to come home if you need to. There’s no shame in that.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Couldn’t think of anything else to say. Just… thanks.

  chapter 8

  Then came the day.

  According to the Farmer’s Almanac, the full moon in January was known as the Wolf Moon. This was the time of year, the deepest part of winter, when people would huddle together in their homes, build up their fires against the cold, listen to the howling of hungry wolves outside, and pray that they were safe. The cold seeped into people’s souls as well as their bodies, and their fears multiplied. Summer and safety seemed farthest away.

  Maybe being cursed was really only a state of mind.

  I decided that I wasn’t going to let Ben die. If I had to tie him up with silver to keep him from hurting himself, I’d do it. If tomorrow came and he still wanted Cormac to kill him, I’d stop him. Somehow, I’d stop Cormac. Hide his guns, fight him, something.

  Maybe I could knock Cormac out in a hand-to-hand fight—I was stronger than I looked, and maybe he’d forget that. If Cormac had a gun, though, I’d probably die. At least then they’d know how strongly I felt about the issue.

  But I was getting ahead of myself. I had to get through today before I could worry about tomorrow.

  I woke up at dawn—still on the sofa—but lay there for a long time, curled up and wishing it were all already over. Wolf knew what day it was; a coiling, wriggling feeling made itself known in my gut, and it would get stronger and stronger until nightfall, when it would turn to knives and claws, the creature trying to rip its way out of the weak human shell, until finally it burst forth and forced the Change. In the bedroom, Ben was feeling this for the first time. He wouldn’t know what to do
with it. He’d need help coping.

  I’d meant to check on him, but he emerged first and went to the kitchen, where Cormac was already sitting. I wasn’t sure Cormac had ever gone to bed. I stayed very still to try to hear what they said, but the cabin remained quiet.

  Finally, I sat up and looked into the kitchen.

  Ben sat on one chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and Cormac sat on the other chair, facing him across the table, arms crossed. They might have been like that for hours, staring at each other.

  They’d been best friends since they were kids and now they were wondering if this was their last day together. Had Ben told Cormac about the monster waking up inside him?

  I had to break this up. I marched into the kitchen and started making noise, pulling out pots and slamming cabinet doors.

  “Who wants eggs?” I forced a Mrs. Cleaver smile, but my tone sounded more strained than cheerful.

  They didn’t even turn, didn’t even flinch. At least it would all be over, after tonight. One way or another.

  I cooked bacon and eggs, way more than I needed to, but it distracted me. This was going to be a long, long day.

  I didn’t notice when the anxiety-laden tableau between Ben and Cormac broke. I heard a noise, and turned to see Cormac getting up, going over to put a fresh log in the stove. Ben bowed his head and stared at the floor.

  “Food’s ready.”

  Cormac wandered back to the kitchen table and accepted a plate. The eggs had come out scrambled rather than over easy. I didn’t much care. I wanted one of them to say something.

  He smiled a thin, strained thanks. That was all.

  “Ben?” Carefully, I prompted him.

  He shook his head. “I can’t eat. I hardly ate yesterday and I still feel like I’m going to throw up.”

  “Yeah. It’s usually like that. You get used to it.”

  He glared at me, his lips almost curling into a snarl. “How? How do you get used to this?”

  “You just do,” I snapped back at him.

  He started tapping his foot, a rapid, nervous patter.

  So that was breakfast.

  I don’t know how I managed it, but I was thinking ahead today. I grabbed a change of clothes. I wanted to set up a den for tonight, a place to wake up in the morning.

  I paused next to Ben, still camped on the kitchen chair, tense as a wire and frowning.

  “I’m going to take a walk. You want to come with me?” I asked softly.

  “Is that an order?” He spat the words. He was already in pain. He was already having to hold it in. I’d forgotten what it was like when it was all new; I’d had four years of practice holding it in, learning to ignore it. Getting used to it.

  I wanted to grab his collar and shake him—growl at him. I grit my teeth and held my temper. “No. I just thought you might like to take a walk. Do you have a change of clothes I could take? Sweatpants and a T-shirt or something.”

  He looked at me, eyes narrowed, as he considered this—and then realized what I was really going to do on my walk. He grimaced, like he was holding back a scream, or a sob. I had a sudden urge to hug him, but I didn’t. If I even tried to touch him, he might hit the ceiling, he was so tightly wound. That was what I’d have done.

  Then, without a word he pulled out a duffel bag from next to the sofa, rummaged in it for a moment, and found the clothes.

  I was at the front door when Cormac said, “If you’re looking for company—”

  “Actually, no offense, but I don’t want you to know where I’m going. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning staring down one of your guns.”

  “You think I’d shoot you in your sleep? Either one of you?” he said angrily. Clearly, I’d offended him.

  I wanted to scream. I looked away. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “If I really wanted to do that, I’d track you. You know I could.”

  I left.

  I was torn between wanting to hurry back in case Ben decided to do something rash while I was gone, and taking my time to avoid the situation at the house. I found my usual den and stashed the stuff. Then I sat there for a long time, tucked in the hollow, reveling in the peaceful scent of it. It smelled like me, like fur and warmth, and it felt safe. I wondered what it would feel like with two people in it.

  Then I was ashamed to realize I was looking forward to finding out. I was looking forward to having a friend along for the run tonight.

  God, I’d be lucky if either Ben or Cormac were still friends after tonight. I laced my fingers in my hair and made fists, as if trying to pull the craziness out of my head. Ben was going through hell; I was not going to look on it as a good thing.

  I must have stayed there an hour before I decided to wander back to the house. I dreaded what I’d find when I got there. So help me God if Cormac was cleaning his guns—

  He wasn’t. He was in the kitchen reading my copy of

  Walden.

  I must have stood there staring at him, because he glanced up and said, “What are you looking at?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I’d halfway decided you didn’t know how to read.”

  Ben, stretched out on the sofa pretending to sleep, snorted a chuckle.

  Ah, the boy retained a sense of humor. Maybe there was hope.

  “How are you doing?” I said to him, gently.

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not—” But what I’d meant and what it sounded like to him could certainly be two different things. I wanted to kick the sofa, knock him out of it. “You’re making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

  He sat up suddenly; I thought he was going to lunge at me. I even took a step back.

  He almost shouted. “You know how to make it easy? You want to tell me how to make it easier? ’Cause I’d sure love to hear about it. You keep talking about getting used to it, so if you know any tricks, now would be a great time to share!”

  We glared at each other, eye to eye. My Wolf thought he was going to start a fight right here and wanted to growl. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, to keep her in check. Let the human side deal with this. I just had to tell him to calm down. Had to be patronizing again.

  Cormac interrupted. “Maybe I oughta shoot you both, put you both out of your misery.”

  Why did that make me want to laugh? Hysterical, psychotic laughter, yes. But still. If it wasn’t so serious, it would have been funny.

  I was looking at Ben when I said, “Who says we’re miserable?”

  Something sparked. He thought it was funny, too. At least part of him thought part of it was funny. He looked away, but not before I saw the smile flicker on his lips and disappear.

  I pulled the chair from the desk and sat. I was in front of my laptop, not facing him. I’d planned on pretending I was working.

  “Broccoli,” I said after a moment. He looked at me. “I think about broccoli. And Bach. I think about things that are as far away from the Wolf as I can. Anything that keeps me human and makes the Wolf go away.”

  “Does it actually work?”

  “Usually. Sometimes. You ought to make Cormac give you the book. To distract yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me that’s the only book you have in the house.”

  I huffed. “What kind of English major do you take me for?”

  I dug through the box of books and CDs I’d brought and set him up with a copy of Jack London. Which probably wasn’t the best choice, but oh well. The philistine had scoffed at Virginia Woolf. Maybe he’d thought I was trying to be funny.

  I managed to write something that afternoon. I wasn’t sure how coherent it was. I didn’t have the patience to read back over it. Time enough for that tomorrow.

  I wrote for so long that I didn’t notice when darkness fell outside.

  “Kitty.” The word came out sharp and filled with pain.

  Ben gripped the arm of the sofa; the fabric had started to rip under his hand. His fingers were growing c
laws. He was staring at his hands like they were alien to him.

  I rushed over and knelt before him. I put my hands on his cheeks and turned his face, made him look away from the scene of horror to look at me instead. His eyes grew wide, filled with shock.

  He said with a kind of rough laugh, “It really hurts.”

  “I know, I know.” I hushed him, brushing his hair back from his face, which was starting to drip with sweat. “Ben, do you trust me? Please say you trust me.”

  He nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “I trust you.”

  “I’ll take care of you,” I said. “I’m not going to leave you. Okay? You’ll be all right. Just get through this and you’ll be all right. We’re going to go outside now, okay?”

  He slipped forward off the couch to fall into my arms, pressing his face to my shoulder and groaning. For a moment, I worried that he’d try to hold me with those hands turning into claws, but no, he’d pulled his arms in close and had gone almost fetal. Tears slipped from my eyes, stinging my cheeks. I hated this. I hated seeing him like this.

  “What can I do?” Cormac stood by, hands clenched into fists, watching us with an expression I’d never seen on him before. Helplessness, maybe?

  “Stay out of the way,” I said. “Stay inside and lock the door.”

  “Cormac—” Ben’s voice wasn’t his own anymore. His jaw was clenched, his breath coming in gasps, and his words were thick. “Watch, I want you to see. Kitty, he has to watch.”

  I helped him stand, putting my arm around his back and hauling up. “Ben, I need you to walk outside with me. Stand up.”

  Somehow, he lurched to his feet, leaning hard against me.

  Cormac started toward us. “Let me help—”

  “No!” I said harshly. Growling, even. “He’s got claws, he might scratch you. Just get out of the way.”

  Cormac stepped aside and opened the door for us.

  Outside, the forest was silver and filled with crisp, deep shadows. Full moon night, bright and beckoning. The cold air sent a charge through my body.

  I could feel Ben’s body rippling under my arm, like slimy things moved under the skin. It would have been nausea-inducing, if I hadn’t felt this happen to my own body. He was locked up with the pain; I half dragged him off the porch to the clearing in front of the cabin. We weren’t going to get any farther than that. I let him drop to the ground, where he curled up on his side. Thick stubble covered his arms.