Kitty Takes a Holiday

by Carrie Vaughn

  “Morning,” I said, waving a little as I came within earshot. I tried to sound cheerful, but it came out wary.

  “Well?”

  Climbing the stairs, I crossed my arms and continued my campaign of strained brightness. “Well, it’s a nice day. Lots of sun. Everything’s fine.”

  By then Ben reached the porch stairs. Cormac’s glare was challenging, but he wouldn’t know that. Ben hesitated—I could almost see him start to wilt, growing defensive.

  “Ben?” I said. He shifted his gaze to me, and the confrontation was broken.

  “You okay?” Cormac said to him.

  After a moment he said, “Yeah. Just fine.” He sounded resigned rather than convinced.

  “No more talk about shooting you, then.”

  “No.”

  I didn’t know what Cormac expected. Maybe he’d spent all night working himself up to kill his cousin in cold blood, and now it seemed like he didn’t quite believe that Ben had opted out. His expression was neutral, unreadable, as usual.

  “What happened?” he said.

  Ben bowed his head, hiding a smile. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “You look like you had a pretty good time,” Cormac said.

  “Maybe I did.” Ben stared at him. He actually did look pretty good, considering: tired, but relaxed. Not freaked out, like Cormac might have expected. Ben looked better than he had in days, since Cormac brought him here.

  For my part, my face felt like I was blushing fire-engine-red. Yup, human Kitty was back. Wolf never blushed.

  Cormac stared, like he could see through Ben, study him with x-ray vision. Cormac was the kind of guy who didn’t like being out of control, who didn’t like not knowing everything. Ben had traveled somewhere he couldn’t go. He wanted to know what had happened to his cousin over the last twelve hours—that was all. But Ben couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t explain it—I couldn’t explain it. That reality was part of the Wolf, inhuman and unspeakable.

  Ben slumped under the pressure of his gaze. Shoulders hunched, he went into the cabin and slammed the door. Leaving Cormac and me on the porch.

  I wanted to tell Cormac to leave Ben alone. He couldn’t possibly understand, no matter how much he stared at Ben. Before I could think of a way to say this to him without him getting pissed off at me, he spoke.

  “You were right about him changing his mind. I really wasn’t sure he would. But you knew.”

  Actually, I’d hoped. I let Cormac think otherwise. “I’ve been through it myself. I knew he’d feel differently.”

  “You knew he’d like being a werewolf.”

  “That’s not a good way to describe it.”

  “What happened out there?”

  Surely he’d figured it out. Or his imagination had. I didn’t know why he wanted me to spell it out for him. “That’s not any of your business.”

  I turned to go inside.

  “Kitty—” He grabbed my wrist.

  I froze before I hit him. It was only instinct, my pulling back with fingers bent like outstretched claws. He saw it; we stood like that in a tableau. So many unasked questions played in his gaze.

  He brought Ben here so I could help him, keep him alive. Not shack up with him. None of us had expected that. And now Cormac actually looked hurt, some pain-filled anguish touching his features. If Cormac had wanted things to happen differently between us, why couldn’t he just come out and say it? He’d had his chance. I’d given him plenty of chances. I couldn’t go backward.

  “Cormac, I’m sorry.” I brushed myself out of his grasp and went into the house.

  My usual routine after a full moon: I came home, took a shower, and crawled into bed for a couple hours of more comfortable sleep. Then I woke up and had some coffee. No breakfast because I wasn’t hungry. Wolf usually had had plenty to eat during the night.

  Ben had already started the coffee. The scent filled the house, and I had to admit it smelled wonderful. Soothing, like I could curl up on the sofa and forget about the guys in my house. I didn’t want to leave them alone long enough to take a shower. Like I still thought Cormac might draw a bead on Ben with that rifle. Easy to forget that Cormac was the one who’d brought Ben here because he didn’t want to shoot him.

  I was too wired to sleep. I’d already spent the extra time napping back in the woods with Ben. That man had screwed up my entire schedule. Though if I thought about it, what I really wanted to do was crawl back into bed with him—

  I went to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. Ben, sitting at the table with his own cup, didn’t say anything. Whatever he said, I was sure it would make me snap at him. I didn’t want to do that. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

  Cormac joined us a minute later, after I heard the door to the Jeep open and close. He didn’t have the rifle with him, so I assumed he put it away. Good. He sat across from Ben. I leaned back against the counter.

  Here we were, back in the kitchen, glaring at tabletops and not saying anything.

  I couldn’t stand long silences. That probably came from working in radio. “So, kids. Any questions? We all squared away?”

  “I don’t know that I’d go that far,” Ben said, chuckling softly. He shrugged his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What do I do now? If I’m really going to live with this, what do I do?”

  I said, “You’re a lawyer. Go back and… lawyer. What would you be doing if this hadn’t happened?”

  “It’s not that simple,” he said. “It can’t possibly be that simple.”

  He was right, of course.

  “You take it one day at a time, Ben. Some days are easier than others. But you just have to work through it.”

  He scowled. “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of the losers on your show.”

  That stung like a kick in the gut. My callers weren’t losers—they were my audience. My fans. I wanted to defend them. But yeah, they had problems. A guy like Ben? He didn’t have problems. He was a tough guy.

  “Then stop acting like a loser,” I said.

  “That’s rich, coming from someone who ran off to the woods with her tail between her legs—”

  I took a step toward him, teeth bared in a silent growl, my hands clenched into fists. He flinched back in a sudden panic, jerking the chair off its front legs. We stared at each other for a moment—I dared him to take me. I dared him to say what he was thinking.

  He looked down. Then he pulled his hands through his hair and leaned his elbows on the table. “What the hell’s happening to me?” he muttered.

  I turned away. I knew what was happening to him, but how did I explain it all? A whole new set of body language and emotions—I’d been living with them for years now. I took them for granted.

  “Right, you two are even freaking me out,” Cormac said, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. He stood. “I’m taking a walk.”

  “Cormac.” Ben reached across the table, stopping him for a moment. The tableau held until Ben took a breath and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saddling you with this.”

  The hunter looked away, and his face tensed, pursing into an expression I couldn’t read. Some emotion was there, that he was trying desperately to hide.

  “No,” he said. “I’m the one who got you into this mess. I’m sorry.”

  As he had so many times before during the past week, he walked out the door. Taking a walk. It was how he coped with the long, awkward silences.

  Ben’s arm still lay draped across the table, and he sighed, almost bowing his head to its surface. “I knew he was going to do that. I knew he was going to blame himself.”

  I went to Ben—slowly this time, nonthreateningly. He glanced sideways at me, warily, but didn’t flinch. I touched his shoulder, held my hand there. Didn’t say anything for once, but I smiled when he leaned into the touch.

  Miracle of miracles, Ben listened to me. He went back to work. Borrowed my phone to check his voice mail, used my computer and Internet connection to check his
e-mail, replied to a couple of panicked messages from clients. He had his own practice, small enough for one person to run but enough to make a living, fully in keeping with his independent character. Evidently, he’d decided that if he was going to live, he’d better get back to work. Werewolves still had to pay the rent. The human half did, anyway.

  We had venison for dinner again. That stuff never got old. Though I was beginning to think I should invest in a grill, so we didn’t have to keep sticking them under the broiler. Cormac ate leaning up against the counter, Ben and I sat at the table. The meal felt almost normal. Nobody was staring at anybody, nobody asked to get shot, and Cormac had put his guns away.

  We talked about my evil stalker.

  “How long’s this been going on?” Ben asked.

  “About ten days. The first one happened right before you got here,” I said. “Okay, so whoever has it in for me knows what I am. Why didn’t something happen last night? Why didn’t they go after the wolf half?”

  “They’re scared,” Ben said. “You’re strongest at the full moon. They’re not going to want to confront that.”

  Cormac said, “He’s right. Full moon’s the worst night to go after a werewolf. You wait until the morning after. Get ’em while they’re sleeping it off.” He smiled.

  Even Ben shook his head at that one. “You just got a whole hell of a lot creepier.”

  “Me? I haven’t changed a bit.” He gave Ben a hard look.

  I wasn’t going to let that topic go any further than it already had. “They didn’t come after me this morning. They were scared enough to stay inside last night, but didn’t know to come looking for me this morning.”

  “They don’t know what they’re doing.” Ben looked to Cormac for confirmation.

  The hunter tapped the flat of his steak knife thoughtfully against his opposite hand. “If they’d wanted to kill you all it would take was a sniper sitting up on the road. Deputy Rosco could do it. They’re just trying to scare you into leaving.”

  “So who is ‘they’? Or he, or she, or it?” I said.

  Ben continued the brainstorming. “Someone who doesn’t want to kill you and doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

  “Amateurs,” Cormac said. “Amateurs practicing some kind of fucked up blood magic. This is going to turn around and bite somebody on the ass.”

  “Hello?” I raised a hand. “I’m feeling pretty ass-bitten right here.”

  “But you’re still here. Whatever spell it is your fan club thinks they’re casting isn’t working. You can’t work the kind of magic that calls for hanging skinned dogs up in trees without paying some price. They’ve either got to give up soon, or escalate. I’d hate to see where that could go.”

  “You have any contacts who might know something about this?” Ben asked.

  “I might. I’ll make a call.” He retrieved his cell phone from his duffel bag and went outside.

  All I wanted was for the torture of small animals outside my house to stop, the book to be finished, and Ben to be okay.

  I could check on at least one of those. “How are you doing?”

  He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “All right, I think. I’m not feeling much of anything. It’s a whole lot better than yesterday, though.”

  “Good,” I said, inordinately pleased.

  Ben and I were washing dishes when Cormac came back in. He didn’t say anything about how his call went, and we didn’t ask. If he didn’t tell us, asking him wouldn’t get him to talk.

  It was strange, how I was getting used to having him around. Maybe the three of us still had a chance of coming to some sort of equilibrium. Some arrangement where Ben didn’t lose his best friend, I didn’t lose my new wolf pack, and Cormac could hold on to the only people who anchored him to the world. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

  Later, I found Ben changing the sheets on the bed. He’d found the clean set in the closet, and was stripping off the ones he’d sweated, tossed, and turned on over the last week.

  “I thought I’d get it ready for you,” he explained as I leaned in the doorway. “I’ve kept you out of it long enough.”

  This was going to be more awkward than I thought. We weren’t wolves tonight, and the lycanthropy wasn’t lighting any fires. Any acknowledged fires, at least.

  “Where’ll you sleep?” I asked.

  Cormac answered, “The sofa. I’ll take the floor.”

  “I can take the floor,” Ben said. Cormac was already pulling out his bedroll and spreading it out by the desk. “We can draw straws.”

  “Do I get to draw straws?” I said.

  “No,” they said, in unison.

  My, what gentlemen. I smirked.

  Ben ended up on the sofa. Cormac was very hard to argue with.

  Eventually, the lights went out and the house fell quiet.

  I hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Being in my own bed again, I should have been out for the count. But I lay there, staring at the darkened ceiling, wondering why I couldn’t sleep. I had too much on my mind, I decided.

  Then the floorboards leading into the bedroom creaked, very faintly. I propped myself on an elbow. The figure edging inside the room was in shadow, a silhouette only. I took a breath through my nose, smelling—

  It was Ben.

  “I can’t sleep,” he whispered. He stepped toward the bed, slouching a little—sheepish, if I didn’t know him better. “I keep fidgeting. It feels… weird. Being alone. I was wondering: could I… I mean with you—” He gestured toward the bed, shoulders tensed, and looked away.

  He was a new wolf. A pup. A kid having nightmares. I’d been the same way.

  I pushed back the covers and scooted to one side of the bed.

  Letting out a sigh, he climbed in beside me, curling up on his side as I pulled the covers over us both. I put my arms around him, he settled close, and that was all. In moments, he was asleep, his chest rising and falling regularly. He was exhausted, but he’d needed to feel safe before he could sleep.

  God help anybody who felt safer with me looking after him. I could barely take care of myself. But what else could I do? I held him and settled in to sleep. Tried not to worry.

  As I faded, sinking into a half-asleep state, I glimpsed another shadow at the doorway. A figure looked in briefly, then moved away. Then I heard the front door open and close, and faintly, like a buzzing in a distant dream, the Jeep’s engine started up, and tires crunched on the gravel drive.

  He’s gone, my dream self thought, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  chapter 10

  He’s gone,” Ben said, leaning over the kitchen sink and looking out the window to the clearing where Cormac’s Jeep was no longer parked.

  Cormac had cleared out his bedroll, his duffel bag, his guns. After sharing the space with him for a week, the house seemed empty without him and his things. He’d packed everything up and driven off in the middle of the night. It was how he often made his exits.

  This time, though, the bastard had left me to figure out this curse business on my own. I’d been counting on his help.

  “Why?” Ben said.

  “You know him better than I do. You know what he’s like.” I sat at the table, feet up on the seat of my chair, hugging my knees. “Did he have someplace he needed to be? Maybe he’s following up on his contact, about the blood magic.”

  Ben shook his head. “Three’s a crowd. That’s what he was thinking. That’s why he left.”

  “But…”And I couldn’t think of anything more to say. If Cormac had felt that way, he should have said something.

  He should have told me. Why couldn’t he ever just come out and say it? “Should we go after him? Should we call him?” I had his number stored on my cell phone. I’d entered it in when I first got the phone, a short time after I met him. He was the kind of person you could call in an emergency.

  Again, Ben shook his head. “If he’d wanted us to contact him, he’d have left a note.”
/>   “It’s not a matter of what he wants, it’s a matter of what’s good for him. He’s not going to go do something crazy to get himself hurt, is he?”

  Ben arched a brow wryly. “Any more so than he usually does?”

  He had a point.

  “What’s the plan now?” I said. “Cormac left us with that curse. I’d just as soon let the curse win and get out of here.”

  Ben continued looking out into the forest. He seemed peaceful, if sad. The calm was holding. “One more day. Give me one more day to pull myself together. I don’t think I’m ready for civilization yet.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I’d give him all the time I could. “You got it.”

  So. That started our first day without Cormac.

  I worked at the computer. I’d tried to pull off a modern-day Walden, but I’d failed to live up to Thoreau’s ideals. The real problem was that I didn’t have a pond. It was Walden Pond. I needed a large body of water for effective contemplation.

  But really, what would Thoreau have done if a friend had shown up with a werewolf bite and begged for his help? Which made me wonder if maybe there was a more sinister reason Thoreau went off to live by himself in the woods, and he dressed the whole experience up in all this rhetoric about simple living to cover it up. Werewolves were not exactly part of the accepted canon of American literature. What would Thoreau have done?

  A WWTD? bumper sticker would take too much explaining. And really, he’d have probably lectured the poor guy about how his dissolute lifestyle had gotten him into the situation.

  I wasn’t Thoreau. Wasn’t ever going to be Thoreau. Screw it. I wrote pages about the glories of mass consumerism offered by the height of modern civilization. All the reasons not to run off to the woods and deny yourself a few basic indulgences in life.

  That night, without a word spoken about it, Ben and I slipped into bed together and snuggled under the covers for warmth. No making out, no sex, not so much as a kiss, and that was fine. We were pack, and we needed to be together.

  We should have left town that day.

  Something happened, woke me up. I could barely feel it as it pressed against the air, making its own little wind with its passage. A predator, stalking me.