Kitty Takes a Holiday

by Carrie Vaughn

  He rolled over, putting his back to me, and went to sleep.

  chapter 5

  I turned on the computer and wrote. Typing whatever came into my head, I wrote about the random shocks of life, the events that brought friends to your doorstep begging for help, even when you felt that your own life had tumbled irrevocably out of control. You did what you had to do, somehow. You kept racing ahead and hoped for the best. I wrote about being at the end of my rope and made a list of the reasons I had to stay human. Chocolate, as always, was near the top of the list. I was in the kitchen eating chocolate chip cookies when Cormac woke up, after dark.

  I was looking out the kitchen window, to where Deputy Ted’s patrol car was parked at the end of the road, hidden in the trees. I spotted him when he turned on his dome light to eat a sandwich.

  Cormac sat up, rubbed his face, then stretched, twisting his back, pulling his arms up. Something cracked. “What’re you looking at?”

  “Take a look,” I said. “You’ll like this.”

  He came to the kitchen area, and I moved aside to give him room to look out the window. The deputy still had his light on, making his car a glowing beacon among the trees.

  Cormac made a derisive grunt. “They’re not going to catch anyone if that’s how they run a stakeout.”

  With the cop sitting there, nobody would come within a mile of my place to lay any sort of curse. Nobody smart, anyway. “At least I won’t have rabbit guts all over my porch in the morning.”

  “You’re a werewolf, I thought you’d like that sort of thing. Fresh meat, delivered right to your door. Maybe it’s a secret admirer.”

  “I like picking out my own dead meat, thanks.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  He crossed his arms, leaned on the counter, and looked at me. I blinked back, trying to think of a clever response. Finally, I offered him the bag I was holding. “Cookie?”

  He shook his head at it. “How’s Ben?”

  “Asleep. How are you?”

  “Feeling stupid. I keep thinking of everything I should have done different.”

  “That’s not like you. You’re a head down, guns blazing, full steam ahead kind of guy. Not one to dwell in the past.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  I shrugged, conceding the point. “So what’s the story? You know all about my dark past. I don’t know anything about yours.”

  “You’re fishing,” he said and smirked.

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “Save it for your show.”

  Ouch. If only I were doing the show. It occurred to me to consider how big a favor I would have to do for Cormac before I could talk him into coming on the show for an interview, if taking in him and Ben in their hour of need didn’t do it.

  Cormac pulled himself from the counter. “You have a bathroom in this place?”

  “In the bedroom.”

  He stalked off to find it. A minute later, the shower started up. At least he’d be clean.

  I found my cell phone, dialed the number I wanted, and went outside. The air was cool, energizing. The inside of the house had become stifling. I sat on the porch and put my back against the wall.

  A woman answered, “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Kitty! What a nice surprise. Is everything all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because you never call unless something’s happened.”

  I sighed. She had a point. “I’ve had kind of a rough couple of days.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

  Between the extracurricular shape-shifting, animal sacrifices on my front porch, my lawyer getting attacked by a werewolf, and a werewolf hunter camping out in my living room, I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t think I should start.

  “A lot of stuff. It’s complicated.”

  “I worry about you being out there all by yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to come home for a little while? You’ve had such a busy year, I think it would be good for you to not have to worry about things like rent.”

  Strangely enough, rent was one of the few things I wasn’t worried about. As much as going back to my parents’ and having Mom take care of me for a little while sounded like a good idea, it wasn’t an option. Not that Mom would have understood that.

  “I’m actually not by myself at the moment,” I said, trying to sound positive. “I have a couple of friends staying over.”

  “That should be fun.”

  If I would just break down and tell Mom the truth, be straight with her, these conversations would be much less surreal. I’d called her because I needed to hear a friendly voice; I didn’t want to tell her all the gory details.

  “Yeah, sure. So how are you? How are Dad and Cheryl?”

  She relayed the doings of the family since her last call—more of the same, but at least somebody’s world was normal—and finished by turning the questions back on me, “How is the writing going?”

  “It’s fine,” I said brightly. If I sounded like everything was okay, maybe it would be, eventually. “I think I’ve gotten over the writer’s block.”

  “Will you be starting your show again soon? People ask me about it all the time.”

  I winced. “Maybe. I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “We’re so proud of you, Kitty. So many people only ever dream of doing what you’ve done. It’s been so much fun watching your success.”

  She couldn’t have twisted the knife any harder if she’d tried. I was such a success, and here I was flushing it down the toilet. But she really did sound proud, and happy. To think at one point I’d been worried that she’d be scandalized by what I was doing.

  I took a deep breath and kept my voice steady. Wouldn’t do any good to break down now. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”

  “When are you finally coming to visit?”

  “I’m not sure… you know, Mom, it’s been great talking to you, but I really need to get going.”

  “Oh, but you only just called—”

  “I know, I’m really sorry. But I told you I have friends staying, right?”

  “Then you’d better get back to it. It’s good to hear from you.”

  “Say hi to Dad for me.”

  “I will. We love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I sat on the porch for a long time, the phone sitting in my lap. I was looking for someone to lean on. Cormac and Ben showed up with all this, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it. Wolves were supposed to run in packs. I was supposed to have help for something like this. But I didn’t have anyone. I went back inside, back to my milk and cookies.

  From the bedroom, the shower shut off. Ten minutes or so later, Cormac, hair damp and slicked back, came into the front room. He’d shaved, leaving only his familiar, trademark mustache. He was cinching on his belt and gun holster.

  “I’m going to help Rosco out there with his stakeout. Do a little hunting around on my own.” The contempt in his voice was plain. He was restless; I hadn’t really expected him to stay in bed for twelve hours.

  “Be careful.”

  He gave me a funny look, brows raised. “Really?”

  Exasperated, I sighed. “I wouldn’t want him to shoot you because he thinks you’re the bad guy.”

  “Who says I’m not?”

  Wincing, I rubbed my forehead. “I’m too tired to argue with you about it.”

  “Get some sleep,” he said. “Take the sofa.”

  “Where’ll you sleep?”

  “The floor, if I decide I need it. You looked after Ben all day, I’ll keep an eye on him tonight. Take the sofa.”

  This cabin was not built for three people who weren’t actually all sleeping together.

  “Fine.” I’d lost a lot of sleep over the last couple of days and was tired. Before I trudged over to the sofa, I faced Cormac. “If Ben wakes up, tell me, okay? He’ll be confused, I’ll need to talk to him
.”

  “I’ll wake you up. Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t stop worrying. Sorry.”

  “Go to sleep, Norville.” He raised his hand, started to reach out—for a moment, he seemed about to touch me. I braced for it, my heartbeat speeding up—what was he doing? But he turned around and left the cabin before anything happened.

  Slowly, I sat on the sofa, then wrapped myself in the blanket. The cushions were ancient, far too squishy to be comfortable. But it wasn’t the floor, so I lay down.

  This was a mistake, I thought as I fell asleep. Cormac and I staying in the same house—absolutely a mistake.

  I woke up to find Cormac putting a log into the stove. I didn’t feel cold. I probably would have let the fire burn out. Outside the window, the sky was pale. It was morning again already. He closed the door to the stove, then sat back on the rug and watched the flames through the tiny grill in front.

  I hadn’t moved, and he hadn’t noticed that I was awake, watching him. Shadows still darkened his eyes, and his hair had dried ruffled. He’d taken off his jacket and boots—and the gun belt. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans. His arms were pale, muscular.

  Suddenly he looked over and caught my gaze staring back.

  I stilled the fluttering in my stomach and tried not to react. Just stay cool.

  “Is ‘Rosco’ still out there?” I said.

  “Yeah. He fell asleep around two a.m. I expect he’ll wake up soon and get out of here.”

  “And no dead animal on my porch?”

  “None.”

  I turned my face into the pillow and giggled. “If it weren’t happening to me, this would be downright hilarious.”

  “I did find this.” He held out his hand.

  I looked at it first, then gingerly opened my hand to accept it. It was a cross made of barbed wire, a single strand twisted back on itself, about the length of my finger. The steel was smooth, the barbs sharp. Not worn or rusted, which meant this hadn’t been sitting outside for very long.

  “You think this is from my sacrificial fan club?”

  “Could be. If so, the question is Did they leave it on purpose, or did they just drop it? If it’s on purpose, then it means something. It’s supposed to do something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I could almost feel malevolence seeping out of the thing. Or maybe the barbs just looked scary. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “I recommend finding somebody with a forge and have them melt the thing into slag. Just in case.”

  He thought it was cursed, and he brought the thing into my house? I groaned with frustration. I wanted to throw it, but I set it on the floor instead.

  “Why a cross?”

  “There’s a dozen magic systems that borrow from Christianity. This part of the country, it might be an evangelical sect, or maybe some kind of curandero.”

  “Curandero. Mexican folk healer, right?”

  “They do all kinds of stuff. Sometimes, they go bad.”

  “You know a lot about this sort of thing.”

  “It helps, knowing as much as I can. The people who hire me—they’re believers. They have to believe in werewolves and magic to call me in the first place. The symbols may be different, the rituals are different, but they all have one thing in common: they believe in the unbelievable. You know what I’m talking about. You’re one of them. One of the believers.”

  “I only believe because of what I am. I don’t know anything about any of it.”

  “Hell, I don’t know anything. This is just scratching the surface. There’s a whole world of freaky shit out there.”

  He was being uncharacteristically chatty. I didn’t know if it was stress or sleeplessness. Maybe something about sitting in a tiny cabin in front of a wood-burning stove on a cold morning made people personable.

  “How did you find out about the freaky shit? I found out the morning after I was attacked—the whole pack stood there telling me, ‘Welcome to the family, have fun.’ But who told you?”

  He smiled, but the expression was thin and cold. “I don’t remember anyone telling me werewolves are real. I’ve always known. My family—we’ve been hunting lycanthropes for over a hundred years. My dad taught me.”

  “How old were you when he died?”

  He looked sharply at me. “Who told you he died?”

  “Ben.”

  “Bastard,” Cormac muttered.

  “That was all he said,” I said quickly. “I asked how you two met and if you’d always been so humorless, and he said you had a right to be humorless. I asked why and he told me.”

  He was staring at me, and I didn’t like it. Among wolves, a stare was a challenge. The thought of a challenge from Cormac made the wolf inside me cringe in terror. I couldn’t fight Cormac. I looked away, hugging the blanket tightly around me.

  “You still talk too much, you know that?” Cormac said.

  “I know.”

  Finally, he said, “I was sixteen. I moved in with Ben and his folks after my dad died. His mother was my dad’s sister.”

  “Then Ben knew, too. He was part of the family history.”

  “Hard to say. I think Aunt Ellen was just as happy to leave it all behind. Jesus, what am I going to tell her?”

  “Nothing,” I said wryly. “At least not until the full moon falls on Christmas and Ben has to explain why he’s not coming home for the holidays.”

  “Spoken with the voice of experience.”

  “Yup. If Ben wasn’t in on the werewolf hunting from the start, how did you drag him into it?”

  “I didn’t drag him—”

  “Okay, how did you get him started in it?”

  “Why do you want to know all this stuff about me?”

  “You’re interesting.”

  Cormac didn’t say anything to that, just went back to staring at me with a little too much focus.

  I said, “Could you not look at me like that? It’s making me nervous.”

  “But you’re interesting.”

  Oh, my. That clenching feeling in my gut wasn’t fear— not this time.

  I’d kissed Cormac once. It had been another situation like this. We were sitting and talking, and I let the urge overcome my better judgment. And he kissed back, for about a second, before he marched out of the room, calling me a monster.

  Too many incidents like that could give a girl a complex.

  He wasn’t running away this time.

  I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and slipped to the floor. I ended up kneeling in front of him, where he was sitting, close enough to grab. And he still didn’t run. In fact, he didn’t move at all, like he was waiting for me to come to him. How did wolves do this? Weren’t the boys supposed to chase the girls? He wasn’t a wolf, though. He wouldn’t understand the signals.

  Wolf was uncurling, overcoming her anxiety. Yeah, he was scary. Yeah, he was tough. That meant he could protect us. That was enough for her. That, and he smelled like he wanted me. He radiated warmth, and had a tang of sweat that wasn’t even visible. A tension held him still as stone. All I had to do was touch him and break him out of his immobility. I raised my hand.

  “I—I can smell you.” The voice was low and painfully hoarse.

  I must have jumped a foot. My heart raced like a jackhammer and I got ready to run.

  Ben stood in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning against the wall. Still shirtless, his skin was pale, damp with sweat, and his hair was tangled. He only half opened his eyes, and he winced with what looked like confusion, like he didn’t know where he was.

  “I can smell everything,” he said, sounding like he had bronchitis. He touched his forehead; his hand was shaking.

  “Ben.” I rushed to him, intending to take his arm and steer him back to bed. He wasn’t well, he shouldn’t have been up.

  As soon as I touched him, though, he flinched back. He crashed against the wall, his face stiff with terror. “No, you smell—you smell
wrong—”

  His new instincts identified me as another werewolf— a potential threat.

  I turned to call Cormac, but he was already beside Ben, holding his arm, trying to keep him still.

  “No, Ben. I’m safe. It’s all right. Take a deep breath. Everything’s okay.” I tried to hold his face still, to make him smell me, to make him recognize that scent as friendly, but he lurched away. He would have fallen if Cormac hadn’t been holding him.

  I put myself next to him again, intending to help drag him to the bed. This time, Ben leaned closer to me, squinting as if trying to focus. His eyesight was changing, too.

  “Kitty?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, relieved that he’d recognized me.

  He slumped against me, resting his head on my shoulder, like he wanted to hug me. He found my hand and squeezed it tightly. “I don’t remember what happened. I don’t remember any of it,” he murmured into my shirt.

  Except that he remembered that something had happened, and that he should have remembered. A lot of his agitation was probably stress—the anxiety that came from blocking out the trauma.

  I held him still for a moment, whispering nonsense comforts at his ear until he stopped shaking. Cormac, looking stiff and awkward, was still propping him upright.

  “Come on, Ben. Back to bed.” He nodded, and I pulled his arm over my shoulder. Between us, Cormac and I walked him back to the bed. He sank onto it and fell back to sleep almost immediately. He kept hold of my hand. I waited until I was sure he was asleep, his breathing deep and regular, before I coaxed back his fingers and extricated myself from his grip.

  Cormac stood at the end of the bed, ran his hands through his hair, and blew out a frustrated sigh. “Is this normal?”

  I smoothed back the damp hair from Ben’s face. “I don’t know, I only know what I went through. I slept through the whole thing. At least, I only remember sleeping through the whole thing. I was hurt a lot worse than he is, though.” I’d had my hip mauled and half my leg flayed. Not that I had any scars to prove it.

  “Don’t lie to me. Is he going to be okay?”

  He kept asking me that. “What do I look like, some kind of fortune-teller? I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”