by Nancy Holder
And then she faced dozens of boxes — a garage full. Most were cardboard, sealed with packing tape; others had just been folded closed. She ran her flashlight along them and read off labels gracefully written with a black marker: her grandmother’s handwriting, she guessed. Sewing Room. National Geographic. University Files. There were just so many. Sighing, she wandered between two tall stacks, telling herself that if she didn’t find anything in half an hour or so, she’d go back to bed.
Cookbooks. Taxes.
The life of an elderly married couple. Her parents would never have such a life. She wondered if she would, herself.
She kept poking around through dust and cobwebs, getting a little grossed out. She really shouldn’t be doing this. Then the beam of the flashlight passed over a single word:
Sean.
Her heart skipped a beat. She stood in front of the box and placed her hand over her father’s name. Then she lifted the boxes from on top of it and set them on the floor.
The packing tape along the seam was yellowed and dried up, so that it wasn’t really holding the box together. Katelyn picked at it with her fingernail, wincing guiltily when the brittle tape crumpled away. Slowly, methodically, she peeled it off, keeping the strip intact as best as possible so she could at least position it back over the seam. Then, with a deep breath, she opened it.
Sheets of gritty tissue paper made crumpling noises as she pushed them out of her way, revealing a carefully folded blue and white crocheted baby blanket. Her heart tugged as she unfolded it and put it against her face. It was as soft as rabbit fur but she smelled no trace of anything but dust.
She shook it out, refolded it reverently, and held it against her chest. There were more baby clothes inside — little shirts and booties. And photographs of her dad as a baby. She saw her own light blue eyes staring back at her. Her own small mouth, pulling a smile.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “I miss you.”
She went through the box slowly, gently, unfolding each item, admiring it, refolding it. Then, finally, knowing it was getting very late, she made sure everything was put back as she’d found it, picked up her flashlight, and turned to go. One box wasn’t enough, but she should wait. And besides, there was a knocking little hollow place where her heart should be, and it hurt.
Then, as she replaced the tape, she dropped the flashlight. She crouched down to pick it up and a smell hit her. Metallic. Like tin foil. She shone her flashlight over an untouched row of boxes and sniffed the air. Her eyes began to water.
Silver, she thought.
But the side of the box read AMMO.
Weird, she thought. But it was time to go. She straightened and was about to leave when the smell drew her back, and she decided to have a look. As she moved a couple of cartons out of the way, dust lifted, ghostlike, and she sneezed. Then she opened the box and peered in.
Inside sat a rectangular metal olive green box. It really was an ammo box. Her grandfather had carried out a few of those when he’d taught her how to shoot. But there was definitely silver inside.
She unthreaded the black strap wrapped around the box, then opened the lid and aimed her flashlight at the contents.
She gasped. Her heart triple-hammered in her chest, then skipped beats as her pulse roared in her ears and she staggered backwards into another stack of boxes.
There were dozens.
Gleaming in the light.
Silver bullets.
11
“It can’t be!” Katelyn blurted aloud, but she knew she was right. She covered her mouth with both hands. The boxes behind her teetered, threatening to fall, but she could do nothing but stare at the bullets. In her grandfather’s garage. Silver bullets.
Before she knew what she was doing, she bolted. Still clutching the flashlight, she flew out of the garage and across the road, into the forest, as if it was safe. Branches tore at her pants, at her hair.
Thunder rumbled. Lightning crackled above the treetops, lighting up the forest, and she saw a shadow thrown against a trunk that was not hers. It was black and thin, the hands elongated, unearthly. She couldn’t make sense of it. Her heart was beating too fast and she staggered left, right, as the rain bucketed down on top of her head.
There are silver bullets in the garage.
There is something out here with me.
The shadow slid along the tree trunks in strobe-like flashes of light and she threw herself away from it in a half circle and slammed hard against a tree. The flashlight rolled away and framed a face beneath a cowboy hat.
Justin’s face.
“Kat?” he asked, hurrying toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“What — what are you . . .” She couldn’t talk. She was terrified. Maybe she’d imagined it and they’d only been normal bullets — her senses were off-kilter because of all the changes and the stress.
He put his arms around her and she burst into tears. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t let him see; but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Did something scare you?” he asked her.
“Why are you here?” she asked shrilly, pulling herself back out of his embrace. There was so much rain everywhere, and she could barely see, and nothing was making sense. Had she gone crazy?
Justin’s face glowed through the sheets of rain, white like a phantom. As she blinked at him, the forest came alive. There was a squirrel on a branch above his head; an owl still higher, preparing to dive at it. Farther on, there was a beautiful tawny wolf. Justin was not alone.
She began to run as fast as she could, pushing past branches and slipping in the mud. Lunging at ropes of Spanish moss, grabbing onto pine branches, she scrabbled and struggled. All she saw was a field of red and blinding white as her werewolf senses kicked in. Everything was giving off its own heat. It was like the other night trying to come back from having seen Cordelia, only five times more powerful.
Then Justin grabbed her and held her even though she flailed at him. She panted hard.
“Let me go,” she said.
“What the hell is wrong?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said. “I — I just got spooked in the garage.” She jerked as he took off his cowboy hat and put it on her head. Then he picked up her flashlight and started walking her out of the woods toward the cabin.
“Spooked, hell.”
“I — I’m so emotional.” She threaded her hair away from her face. “I’ve been really short-tempered.” She tried to peer through the trees. “Who’s with you?”
“No one. I came alone.”
She slipped, and he grabbed her hand. She was galvanized by his touch. “I saw a wolf.”
“Then you were seeing things, darlin’, because we’re the only wolves here.”
They stood at the edge of the road. The garage door hung open, and Justin headed toward it.
“No,” she said quickly. “I found some things of my dad’s, and it just freaked me out. But I’m not supposed to go in there. My grandfather asked me not to, but I did anyway.”
“See what comes from not listening to your elders,” he chided her gently. “Your father is partly why I came. I didn’t know your pa was murdered. I didn’t know much about you at all, except that you were new in town and Cordelia liked you. I did a little digging, and then I got to thinking about you being changed and all, without a hell of a lot of guidance.”
He straightened the hat on her head. It was miles too big, and she could barely see beneath the brim. She clenched her fists, sure that she was about to burst apart — which was his point, she supposed.
“Digging,” she said. “Digging where?”
“Girl, you’re all over the internet,” he drawled. “Your daddy’s murder. Your mother’s death. Didn’t they teach you how to be careful about your information back in L.A.?”
“I can’t talk about this now,” she said tensely. “I’m supposed to be in my room. If my grandfather finds me out here, he’ll ground me. And then I won’t be able to come over for m
y ‘guidance.’”
He was silent for a beat. Then he said, “Being a female werewolf’s different from what I know. You were smart to stay away for a few days. That’s our rule, too. I think my uncle’s forgotten that we’ve got an extra complication here.”
If she could have spared any more emotions, she would have felt embarrassed. But she was already overloaded; she wanted him to go away. She wanted to go back into the garage and make sure she hadn’t been seeing things.
And . . . she didn’t want him to go away. She wanted help. She didn’t want to be so alone right now.
I can go to Trick, she thought. But she could tell him even less than she could tell Justin.
Cordelia. The right answer. Her friend. She pressed her knuckles together beneath her chin and exhaled, as if to get rid of how much she missed her.
“If we brought someone in to guide you — a female — she’d have to be high-ranking,” he continued. “Which would mean someone like Arial or Regan . . . or Lucy.”
She shook her head. “No way.”
“But—”
“Don’t be an ass,” she said hotly. She let her hands fall. “I have to go. Stop stalking me.”
“I told you to get used to being watched,” he said. “And don’t talk to me like that. Ever. Not even when we’re alone.”
“Or what?” She raised her chin. “You’ll hurt me?”
He pressed his lips together, and she wanted to slap that scowl off his face. Who put him in charge? Who could decide he was high-ranking?
“Go in the house,” he snapped. He handed her the flashlight.
“I have to straighten things out in the garage. By myself,” she added pointedly, taking it. She couldn’t leave the bullets out. Her grandfather would know she’d found them.
So what? she thought hotly. He doesn’t know.
Does he?
She quaked. “All right, then,” he said. “But this isn’t over. We need to talk.” He took his hat, and the rain blasted at the crown of her head.
Katelyn used that as her excuse to duck into the garage. And shut the door in his face.
The bullets.
Most of them were tarnished, but some were still shiny. She stared at them queasily, trying to convince herself she was in some kind of waking nightmare, then she picked one up, turning it over in her palm, studying it. Finally she dropped it back into the box, reached out and closed the lid.
Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself and thought about the scratch marks on her grandfather’s back, her fears that they had been made by a werewolf.
She thought about someone shooting at her in the forest.
“No way,” she said aloud.
After she stowed the bullets and tried to replace the tape, she hovered on the threshold of the garage and tried to pick out Justin from the shadows. It weirded her out that he was there.
And I did see a wolf, she insisted.
The storm pushed at her as she hurried back inside the cabin, then closed and locked the door. She stood for a moment, her back pressed to it, listening for a sound, any sound, that would let her know if Mordecai was awake.
The house was silent. Her head spun, and her stomach churned as if she were going to throw up. Fear and revulsion collided, and also the tiniest flicker of hope. If her grandfather knew about werewolves, then maybe she could actually tell him, confide in him.
With the very next heartbeat, she knew that wish was foolish and suicidal. Mr. Fenner had been clear that if she told her grandfather anything, he would kill them both.
Not if Grandpa kills him first.
She trembled as the thought took hold of her. Her grandfather was a hunter and he had a whole box of the right kind of ammunition. He could shoot Mr. Fenner and then . . .
What? she wondered. The rest of the pack would rip them to shreds. Or at least her, since her grandfather might already be in jail for murder.
She stared at the wall of trophy animal heads. What happened to a werewolf when they died? Did they look like a wolf, or a human? For one crazy second she imagined Mr. Fenner’s human head mounted on her grandfather’s wall and she was sickened by the thrill that rushed through her.
I hate him, she realized. I hate him for sending Cordelia away, for threatening me and my grandfather and Trick. A low rumble started in her chest and she shook her head hard, trying to calm herself down.
She moved swiftly into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She was completely losing it, torn between rising fright and a wild, hysterical giddiness. The rumble was getting louder as she brought the glass to her lips.
She downed the glass of water and then stood for a moment, spooked by her own reflection in the window. White face, black holes for eyes. The growling seemed to have died down, but the hatred for Mr. Fenner still burned bright.
And she wanted so badly to tell her grandfather everything. He was strong; maybe he could protect them both.
Head thrown back, she gulped down another glass of water.
What if he shot Justin?
Her heart stopped for a moment.
I’m crazy. If he knows about werewolves, he has those silver bullets for one reason and one reason only. To kill us. How do I know he wouldn’t kill me, too?
She thought of the silver trap in the forest that she had fallen into. Had her grandfather put it there?
The room tilted crazily and lightning billowed against the gingham curtains. She put her glass in the sink and made her way upstairs. Shivering, she changed into dry pajamas and lay down on her bed, misery coursing through her as she stared up at the skylight.
It was just too dangerous.
She couldn’t tell him.
Not ever.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Silver girl, silver girl, let me come in.
Peering down through the skylight.
Creeping down the hall.
Opening the door.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“What?” Katelyn said blearily as she sat up. She could see her breath, and when she looked up she saw that the skylight was completely covered with snow.
She had taken off her soaking wet pajamas and laid them on towels on the floor; they were still ice-cold and still wet. If she had hung them in the bathroom, her grandfather would have known that she’d gone outside.
She dressed in jeans and a sweater, realizing she felt the cold, and raced downstairs. Mordecai was putting a log on the fire, which crackled and roared. She was surprised that she felt the cold so intensely and it drove her over to stand in front of it next to him. The radiating warmth began to thaw her slightly.
“Good morning,” her grandfather said.
She nodded. “Why is it so cold?” She walked over to the window and stared outside.
Snow, everywhere. The dreaded winter had finally come.
She leaned her head against the windowpane and strangled back a sob. What happens when the full moon comes in a couple of weeks? She took a moment to steady herself. Her grandfather came to stand beside her and she stole a glance at him. What do you know? What’s going on? she wanted to scream at him. But she stayed quiet.
“Are we snowed in?” she asked.
“Naw,” he said with a chuckle. “Higher up the mountain got a lot of snow, but this isn’t bad. Just means it’s time to put chains on your car. You ever done that?”
She shook her head. She’d seen her dad do it once when she was a kid on a trip to Lake Tahoe, but that was it.
“I’ll teach you,” he said.
A low rumbling sound reached her ears. Oh no, why am I growling? she thought. It took her a breathless moment to realize that the sound wasn’t coming from her, but from outside.
“What’s that sound?” she asked.
He cocked his head as though listening. She mentally smacked her forehead. Of course, he probably can’t hear it. He isn’t a werewolf.
A moment passed,
then another. The rumbling grew louder, sounding mechanical in some way.
Finally he nodded. “Sounds like Trick’s car.” He looked at her intently. “Sharp ears,” he muttered.
Trick was coming. There were silver bullets in the garage, Justin was spying on her, and now Trick.
A minute later, his Mustang pulled up outside the cabin. Katelyn watched from the window as he got out. He was wearing a black sweater and black pants, and he looked sleek, like a panther.
He walked up the steps and she went to answer the door. Despite everything, she felt a tingle of anticipation as she let him in.
“Mornin’,” Trick said. He kicked the snow off his boots on the mat, took them off, and walked inside.
“Coffee?” Mordecai said, appearing from the kitchen with a mug.
“You know I never refuse free coffee,” Trick said, taking the mug and sipping the hot liquid. “Or free food.”
It was such a blatant hint about breakfast that Katelyn cracked a smile. Her grandfather shook his head and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“So, what’s up?” Katelyn asked, sounding brisk and curt. If Trick noticed, he gave no indication.
“You ever been sledding?” he asked.
“They had a snow hill at the L.A. Zoo at Christmas,” she replied. “It was killer.”
He snorted. “That was just stunt snow. This is real snow. First snow, and we’re going farther up the mountain to take advantage of it.”
“No clothes,” she informed him.
“Brought some.”
This is crazy, she thought, but it was just her insane double life come calling again.
He must have seen her make the decision to go, for he grinned at her and said, “I should warn you, I pack a mean snowball.”
“Bring it, Vladimir,” she taunted him, using his hated first name.
“Oh, I will, Katelyn. I’ll go get your stuff.”
She watched him from the porch. He really was gorgeous; she let herself stare and couldn’t help but feel the corners of her mouth tugging into a smile.