by Nancy Holder
“I’m good at secrets,” Jesse said.
“That’s good, darlin’.”
The bedroom door opened and closed. Katelyn exhaled slowly. She tried to step off Cordelia’s shoes and wobbled to the right. She put her hand out to steady herself . . . and her hand went right through a poster of a wolf baying at the moon taped to the closet wall. Then she realized that there was an opening just behind it, like a little wall safe.
And there were some things inside. She reached in, and the first thing she pulled out was Ozark Folklore, by Theodore Switliski. The “missing” book that Cordelia “didn’t” have. Next Katelyn found what appeared to be a purple-bound blank book. Curious, Katelyn opened it.
. . . I don’t know why he’s so obsessed with finding the mine. I’m scared we will find it, and then he’ll do something to Kat.
5
“Oh, my God,” Katelyn whispered. It was Cordelia’s diary. She shut it, wishing like anything for her backpack, then slid it under her arm while she pulled out a framed photograph of Dominic Gaudin, the leader — the alpha — of the Fenners’ rival wolf pack, the Gaudins. It was like a studio portrait, very posed. His reddish-gold hair brushed the shoulders of a gray opened-neck shirt, and a golden pendant of what appeared to be some kind of wolf-like monster dangled from his neck. He had very straight, big shoulders and a broad chest. His forehead was high, his eyebrows brown, his eyes a crystalline blue.
The picture was inscribed Pour toi, ma belle Cordelia. D. Katelyn’s mother was French, and the words were easy to translate anyway: for you, my beautiful Cordelia.
Katelyn had seen Dom Gaudin when she’d accidentally spied on the Fenners during their hastily arranged Halloween night meeting with him. Tensions had run sky high, and the meeting had fallen apart. He had accused the Fenners of invading his territory and dumping silver in his streams. He had humiliated Lee Fenner by saying that word had reached him that two human girls had been killed, and probably by werewolves. Lee Fenner had denied it all, but it wasn’t until Dominic suggested that he would make peace by marrying Cordelia that Mr. Fenner went completely crazy and booted him. That had been the night Katelyn had first seen the Switliski book in this room. Cordelia must have hidden it away right after that. Maybe she’d been afraid that Katelyn had already realized that she had it.
That was the same night she said the Hellhound came onto their territory. Fenner werewolves had searched the property for invaders, but had found none.
She put back the picture of Dom and tried to smooth the poster into place again. Then she left the closet and faced the bedroom door, not sure how to leave with her loot. She looked around, then grabbed Cordelia’s Wolf Springs High sweatshirt off the back of her chair and put it on. She slipped the books under the front and hastily darted into the hall. Then she hurried through the living room to the entryway, where she had left her backpack and purse, and slipped the books inside. For good measure, she took off Cordelia’s sweatshirt and stuffed it in, too.
And then something amazing happened: she scented Justin — a bit of sweat and leather — and heard his soft intake of breath. Was that his heartbeat? It was. Rapid.
Her senses had kicked in.
She stiffened and looked his way. He was standing beneath the arched transom, leaning on his elbow, gazing at her as if he wanted to memorize what she looked like. She pulled her hands from her backpack, trying to keep her own heart from going into overdrive.
“Hey,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
He sighed, grimaced. “I know you aren’t used to the way we are. We’re aggressive.”
That’s one way of putting it, she thought. She made a show of picking up her backpack. She didn’t want him to know she was affected by him, but she was pretty sure he could tell.
“I’m sorry. I keep forgetting . . . a lot of things that I should keep in mind.” He started to reach toward her. “I get scared, for you.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to drive you home.”
“No training?”
He shrugged. “Uncle Lee’s not here and there’s some stuff we can talk through while we drive.”
She felt awkward as she climbed into his truck. He looked over at her and she swallowed, didn’t return the look. He turned on the engine and started down the road in silence. Trick always played music. It was like his life had a soundtrack.
Same as hers.
“We act different from humans,” he said. “We’re much more physical.”
“Yeah, I’ll say,” she blurted.
To her surprise, he laughed. She slid a glance over at him to see him shaking his head and chuckling to himself. The dappled sunlight kissed his face.
“Just listen to me,” he said in a voice that was almost a plea. “Do what I say. Things are so messy in the pack. Just . . . stop rocking the boat.”
“Me? I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be bitten. I didn’t ask to be kissed by you.”
“No, you didn’t ask for either of those things, but they happened and now we just have to cope.”
“So, teach me.”
“I’m trying.” He shook his head. “You are one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”
And hearing him say that made her feel good, made her feel like she was still her own person. Like she was on the right track to take care of herself. With a thrill, she thought of the books secreted away in her backpack. She would survive and figure this all out.
“Look, life in a pack is all about rules. And one of the things that keeps you alive is knowing your place in the hierarchy of things.”
“And I’m at the absolute bottom.”
“Given all the circumstances, you are. That means you need to show respect to everyone.”
“You mean I need to cower in front of everyone.”
He sighed. “I know it might feel like that sometimes, but really it’s not bad.”
“And you think that just because you don’t know any other way to live.”
“Tell me your old life was better,” he flung at her. “The way they act at school. Someone murdered your father. Your mother was completely alone.”
“She had me,” Katelyn said. And I got her killed. I took that stupid painkiller and couldn’t save her from the fire.
“We have a whole pack. We have folks, just like those people down in Wolf Springs. It’s not all about domination and rules. It’s about belonging. We’re tighter than most families. Our heritage goes back generations, and we know who we are.” He looked hard at her. “Cordelia said you never once mentioned any other relatives except for your grandfather. I have a dozen within shouting distance. And if I’m in trouble, they’ll help me.”
Her lips parted. “You said her name,” she said softly.
“Of course I did. Cordelia is not dead to me. I told you I would help you find her and I will.” He sighed again. “But you have to help me in return. Lee’s going to be asking me about your progress,” he said. “I need good things to say. That are honest.”
“My senses kicked in again today,” she blurted. “I could smell you when you were behind me just then.”
A smile broke across his face. “That’s great. That should start happening more and more. When we hit puberty, and we start to change, all that shifting back and forth hits us hard. It’s really hard to deal with. But it smooths out. My senses are always heightened.”
“That sounds hard, tiring.” And also, kind of . . . sexy.
“You get used to it.” His face softened. “I don’t really even remember what it was like before. Like the world was flat, or something.”
She let that sink in. She heard the pleasure in his voice. He was genuinely happy for her. To him, she had won the lottery.
“So, what’s next on the training schedule?”
“Swimming,” he said.
She was startled. “It’s practically snowing,” she said, glancing out the window at the gray sky.
His teeth were very white against his tanned skin as he smiled broadly at her. “You won’t be cold. You’re a werewolf, Kat.”
By the time they reached the cabin, he had managed to shift her mood so that she was actually looking forward to their afternoon tomorrow. After he drove away, she hurried into her room to look at the books she had taken from Cordelia’s cubbyhole. She opened the diary first.
I think I have a friend! She’s the new girl, Katelyn McBride, only people call her Kat. She’s really sweet and funny. I know I can never tell her the truth, but it would be so nice to start over. I pulled away when Justin and Jesse moved in, and I can’t seem to get back in good with my old friends.
Katelyn smiled wistfully and read on, reliving the story of their growing friendship. And then . . .
I don’t know why Daddy hates the Gaudins so much. As soon as I mentioned Dom’s name at dinner, he hit me across the face and told me to go to my room. He said he would rather see me dead than with Dom. Dom says he thinks something is wrong with him. And I can only be with Dom if our packs unite, and Daddy gives his blessing. Otherwise, that would be the highest disloyalty, and I’m a Fenner born and raised. The weirdest thing of all is that a couple of years ago Daddy was the one who suggested I should look to Dom as a possible suitor.
And then . . .
I know I saw it. I know the Hellhound was at my window. And I know it’s going to kill somebody. And I think it might be Kat. She’s a mistake.
“God,” Katelyn murmured, shutting the book. She could barely speak. “Oh, God.” Justin spoke of protecting her, but he didn’t even believe in the Hellhound. As far as she knew, she was on her own.
She thumbed through the rest of the diary for more mentions of the Hellhound. Cordelia had written about so many things that it would take hours to go through her diary. Laying it aside for the moment, Katelyn picked up the Switliski book.
She opened it and came face to face with an old engraving showing a monster ripping apart a man. Enormous glowing eyes blazed from inky washes of blurred shadow, huge fangs dripping with the man’s blood as it ripped open his stomach, and two front claws were wrapped around his neck, yanking his head off. Beneath the illustration, a caption read:
THE HELLHOUND.
The old-fashioned illustration picture was so graphic. The Hellhound. Violent. Savage. That was what it did to you if you couldn’t get away. Tore you apart. Mauled you to death.
Was that what Cordelia had seen? Was that what had been outside Beau’s grandmother’s window? And that had mauled two girls to death?
Is that the thing that calls to me in the forest?
She forced herself to look at the picture. There was a reason Cordelia had hidden this book from her. A reason Mr. Henderson had wanted to find it.
And now they were both gone. Cordelia was in hiding and Mr. Henderson was missing, maybe even dead.
No; they hadn’t found his body, yet they’d found the others so fast. He couldn’t be dead. But she still had the sneaking suspicion that she would never see the archaeologist-turned-history-teacher again, alive or dead.
She picked the book up and began to read.
Many believe that the Hellhound is, or was, a real creature. Some say it might have been a large bear, perhaps mutated or deformed in some way. The more colorful stories about it can be found in In the Shadow of the Wolf, along with a complete discussion of the dark and violent history of Wolf Springs.
She groaned in frustration. That had been another book that had been missing from the school library. She and Beau had been searching for it. Maybe Cordelia had had that one, too.
Or maybe . . . someone else had taken it.
And that someone else had paid for reading it.
In the morning she was up early. Way too early. She dressed in dark clothing, slipping on her sneakers so she could move quietly. She put on her black leather jacket and scrawled a note for her grandfather, telling him she needed to get to school early to check some books out of the library. Pouring fresh, steaming coffee into a travel mug, she crept out of the house as silently as she could and drove away.
Her heart raced the entire way to school. It was still dark out, but she hoped that someone — the janitor, the principal, someone — would have unlocked the school early. Somebody had to be the first one there in the morning.
The sign atop the steepled roof was on. W-O-L-F-C-O-U-N-T-R-Y burned in red across the sky like a brand. Wolf Springs really was wolf country. Did the werewolves of Wolf Springs laugh at the ignorant humans unknowingly advertising their secret?
As Katelyn neared the school, she felt her courage deserting her. She couldn’t believe what an idiot she was to have dreamed she could do this. Then she thought of Cordelia, and Mr. Henderson himself, and started to pull into the empty school parking lot, but immediately realized that a car parked there would look suspicious. She swerved back out, nearly crashing into a utility pole.
She drove a block away and then parked. By the time she shut the engine off, her palms were damp and her hands were shaking.
She got out of the car, checking one last time for the flashlight she had brought. No cars meant no people at all. Maybe she should wait until someone showed up.
Or maybe someone forgot to lock one of the doors. I should at least check. I came all this way.
Nervously, she trotted toward the school, crossing the deserted parking lot, then slowing when she realized she had broken into a run. She was moving too quickly; if someone saw her streaking toward the front entrance, they’d notice. Wind whipped brittle leaves along her path as traces of dawn painted the horizon. She headed toward the back of the large wood building, scanning the veranda for signs of movement. There was nothing.
Guarded on either side by skeletal bushes, there was a break in the wrap-around porch about a third of the way down, and inside, a green wooden door. Katelyn tiptoed up to it and waited a moment to steady herself.
Determined, she touched the door latch. The metal was icy, and she jerked her hand away. Then she realized that it didn’t really bother her. She wrapped her hand around the knob and gave it an experimental twist. There was a snapping sound, and then it turned.
Oh, God, she thought. Did I break it?
She pulled the door open. Darkness stared back at her, but she was afraid to use her flashlight in case someone was inside the building.
Crazy, crazy, she told herself, and then she stepped inside.
Feeling her way with her feet and hands, she encountered something solid at hip-level. A desk, maybe. Was she in a classroom? Something grazed her other hip.
Then, as her eyes adjusted, a dim, watery light beckoned beyond a rectangle of black — the entrance to the classroom — and Katelyn stepped into the main hall of the school. The light was a plate-sized dome glowing from the ceiling at the opposite end, in the direction of her history classroom— and Mr. Henderson’s office.
Her destination.
And, all of a sudden, she could see well. In the dark. Everything shimmered in oranges and reds. She grinned, and began to walk softly on the balls of her feet. Posters lined the walls, and she read them easily. There was a canned food drive for Thanksgiving. Tickets were going on sale for the Winter Formal. Life at any high school.
The school buildings had once been a Spanish church, and to her left, a large stained-glass window of a saint with a blue-eyed pet wolf seemed to gaze down at her. The man wore a robe; there was a halo around his bald head. But there were no blue-eyed wolves in the Ozarks. Had the artist who had created the window known that? Was the creature really a werewolf?
If the saint knew, he wasn’t saying.
She was spooked; she felt watched. Cordelia had told her the school was supposed to be haunted. Back then, Katelyn had privately made fun of the gullible locals. There were enough tall tales about Wolf Springs to fill a dozen books: a weeping banshee searching for the children she had murdered; a thief who made nooses out of Spanish moss to hang his unsuspecting victims
as they walked through the forest. A man who had changed into a bear.
She’d thought they were all so stupid, proof that she had been exiled to “Banjo Land.” But the laugh had been on her.
She felt the back of her neck prickle, swore that the blue eyes of the stained-glass wolf tracked her, and she ran-walked the rest of the way to the classroom.
The door from the hall was unlocked and light spilled into the room from the windows, saving her one more time from using the flashlight. She could see the black rectangle behind Mr. Henderson’s desk that was the door to his office.
Hurriedly she crossed the room, remembering the first time she’d walked into it. Trick had just nicknamed her “Kat,” and she’d told Mr. Henderson that was her name. Now everyone called her Kat except Trick, who had whispered her real name, Katelyn, over and over on Halloween night, when she had broken down in grief and fear and he had been there.
The door to the office wasn’t locked. But as she pulled it open, there was something stretched across the transom, like a thick spider’s web — yellow police caution tape. NO TRESPASSING, it read, and she shied backward. They had wrapped the ruins of her home in yards of that tape, after they found, when they found . . .
“Mom,” she whispered.
Lifting one leg up high, she snaked her way through.
Mr. Henderson’s desk, usually cluttered with textbooks and papers, was bare. A chair that had contained more books sat empty.
It hadn’t dawned on her that the police might take away his stuff. Grimacing, she looked around the room, then squinted at a low-lying bookcase, which still had a few books piled haphazardly, as though someone had looked through and then discarded them.
Katelyn reached back through the tape and quietly pulled the door shut. Then she hurried to the bookcase, dropping to her knees so she could more easily read the titles. He had the teacher’s edition of her textbook; and lots of titles about the Civil War; and then at least half a dozen on Arkansas history.