Kitty Takes a Holiday

  No. This was my place, my territory. I didn’t have to take this. I wasn’t going to run and let it win. Just no.

  I slipped out of bed and stomped out to the porch, in the dark of night, no visible moon or stars or anything.

  “Kitty?” Ben said, from the bedroom.

  Leaning on the railing, I smelled the air. Trees, hills, and something. Something wrong. Couldn’t see anything in the forest, but it was here. Whatever hated me was here.

  “Come out!” I screamed. I ran into the clearing, turned around, searched, and still didn’t see anything. “I want to see you! Let me see you, you coward!”

  This was stupid. Whoever laid that curse on this place wasn’t going to come out in the open. If they’d wanted to face me, they’d never have snuck around gutting rabbits on my porch in the first place. All I’d do with my screaming and thrashing around was chase it off.

  But that feeling was still there. That weight, that hint that something wasn’t just watching me. It had trapped me. It had marked my territory as its own, and was now smothering me rather than letting me run.

  Maybe this wasn’t the curse. Maybe this was something else. Cormac said it might escalate, but escalate to what?

  Something like eyes glowed, making a shape in the darkness.

  My imagination. There wasn’t really anything out there. But I went into the trees, stepping lightly. Think of wolf paws, pads barely touching earth, moving easily as air. My stride grew longer. I could jog like this for hours without losing my breath.

  “Kitty!” Ben pounded down the porch steps, but I didn’t turn around. If something was out there, if this thing was after me, I’d find it.

  There, movement. That same shadow, large but low to the ground. Lurking. My pulse sped up, beating hot. This was what I should have been doing all along, turning the tables, hunting the hunter. Counterintuitively, I slowed, waiting to see what it would do, giving it a chance to leap this way or that. Once it moved, all I had to do was pounce and pin it with my claws.

  Two red eyes, glaring, caught me. The gaze fixed on me, and I couldn’t move.

  I had good eyesight—a wolf’s eyes. But I couldn’t make out the form the eyes belonged to. Even when it moved closer, I only saw shadow. I heard a low noise, like a growl, so low it shook the ground under me.

  All my instincts screamed for me to run. Get out. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t real. But I couldn’t move.

  Something grabbed my arm and yanked me from behind. I stayed on my feet, but I might as well have flipped head over heels, the way my vision swam and the world shifted.

  “Kitty!”

  My senses started working again, and I smelled friend. Pack. Ben.

  “Did you see it?” I said, gasping for air, clinging to his arm.

  “No, nothing. You ran out of the house like you were in some kind of trance.”

  And he followed, out of trust, out of loyalty. I pulled myself close to him. I kept looking out, scanning the trees, the spaces between them, looking for red eyes and a shadow. I saw skeletal branches against a sky made indistinct with clouds, earth rising up the hill, and patches of snow.

  Both of our breaths fogged in the cold, releasing billowing clouds that quickly faded. Nothing else moved. We might have been the only living things out here. I shivered. Once I stopped running, the cold hit me like a wall, chilling my skin from toe to scalp. I was only wearing sweats and a T-shirt and went barefoot.

  Ben blazed with warmth; I wrapped myself up with him. He was smart—he’d grabbed a coat. We stood, holding each other.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What did you see?”

  “Eyes,” I said, my voice shaking. “I saw eyes.”

  “Something’s here? What?”

  “I don’t know.” My voice whined. Worse, I didn’t know what would have happened if Ben hadn’t come for me. If he hadn’t shaken me loose from that thing’s gaze. I made it a simple observation. “You came after me.”

  “I didn’t want to be alone.”

  I hugged him tightly, still shaken, speechless. With my arm around him, I urged him forward, starting back for the cabin. “Let’s go.”

  I’d traveled much farther than I thought. I couldn’t have been following the shadow for more than a couple of minutes. But the cabin was over a mile away. I hadn’t noticed the time passing. We followed the scent of smoke from the stove back home.

  “It had red eyes,” I said, but only when I could see the light in the windows.

  “Like the thing Cormac saw,” he said.

  Yeah. Just like it.

  That was it. This was war. I didn’t need Cormac’s help stopping this. I was a clever girl. I’d figure it out.

  I hunted for it that day. Searched for tracks, smelled for a scent. I followed the tracks I’d made, the path I’d cut through the woods, ranging out from it on both sides. It had to be there, it had to have left some sign.

  None of my enemies here had ever left a trail before. Why should they start now?

  I walked for miles and lost track of time. Once again, Ben came for me, calling my name, following my scent, probably, whether he knew he was doing it or not.

  When he finally caught up, he said, “Any luck?”

  I had to say no, and it didn’t make any sense. I should have found something.

  He said, “I take it we’re not leaving tomorrow.”

  “No. No, I have to figure this out. I can figure this out. It’s not going to beat me.” I was still searching the woods, my vision blurring I was staring so hard into the trees. Every one of them might have hidden something.

  “It’s after noon,” Ben said. “At least come back and eat something. I fixed some lunch.”

  “Let me guess—venison.”

  He donned his familiar, half-smirking grin. How long had it been since I’d seen it?

  “No. Sandwiches. Would you believe Cormac took most of the meat with him?”

  Yes. Yes I would. “He uses it for bait, doesn’t he?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I worked while we ate, going online to search whatever relevant came to mind: barbed-wire cross, blood curses, animal sacrifice. Red eyes. Red-eyed monsters, to try to filter out all the medical pages and photography advice I got with that search. I found a lot of sites that skirted around the topics. A lot of people out there made jewelry that was supposed to look like barbed wire but wasn’t nearly vicious enough to be the real thing. A lot of sites bragged, but few had any kind of authority.

  As usual, the people who really knew about this stuff didn’t talk about it, and certainly didn’t blog about it.

  I found one thing, though. A long shot, but an interesting one. The Walsenburg Public Library’s electronic card catalog was online. Their three titles on the occult were checked out.

  I called them up. A woman answered.

  “Hi,” I said cheerfully. “I’m interested in a couple of books you have, but the catalog says they’re checked out.”

  “If they’ve been checked out for more than two weeks I can put a recall on them—”

  “No, that’s okay. I was actually wondering if you could tell me who checked them out.”

  Her demeanor instantly chilled. “I’m sorry, I really can’t give you that information.”

  I clearly should have known better than to ask. In retrospect, her answer didn’t surprise me. I tried again anyway. “Not even a hint?”

  “I’m sorry. Do you want me to try that recall?”

  “No, thanks. That’s okay.” I hung up. I wasn’t interested in the books. I wanted to know who in the county was studying the occult. What amateur had maybe gotten a little too good at this sort of thing.

  Again, we slept curled up together, looking for basic comfort. Rather, I tried to sleep, but spent more time staring at the ceiling, waiting for that moment of pressure, of fear, the sure knowledge that something unknown and terrifying was out there stalking me. The feeling had
changed from when it was dead rabbits on my porch. This new force didn’t just want me to leave—it wanted me dead. It made me think there was nothing I could do but freeze and wait for it to strike me.

  Nothing had been slaughtered on my porch in days. The barbed-wire crosses had disappeared. Did that mean the curse was gone, or had it turned into something else?

  I waited, but nothing happened that night. A breeze whispered through winter pines, and that was all. I thought I was going to break from listening, and waiting.

  The next morning, Ben chopped wood for the stove. He was getting his strength back, looking for things to do. Normal, closer to normal. I watched him out the window, from my desk. He knew how to use an ax, swinging smoothly and easily, quickly splitting logs and building up the pile next to the porch. For some reason this surprised me, like I assumed that a lawyer couldn’t also know anything about manual labor. It occurred to me that I knew as little about Ben’s background as I knew about Cormac’s. Ben had definitely spent some time in his past splitting logs.

  He paused often to look around, turn his nose to the air, presumably smelling the whole range of scents he’d never known before. It took time sorting them out.

  At one point he stopped and tensed. I could actually see his shoulders bunch up. He stared toward the road. Then he set the ax by the woodpile and backed toward the front door.

  I went to meet him, my own nerves quivering. That thing that was hunting us…

  “Someone’s coming,” he said, just as the sheriff’s car came over the dirt road and into the clearing. Side by side, we watched the car creep to a stop.

  Ben’s whole body seemed to tremble with anxiety. He stared at Sheriff Marks getting out of the car.

  I touched his arm. “Calm down.”

  Ben winced, tilting his head with a confused expression. “Why do I feel like growling at him?”

  I smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “He’s invading our territory. And he doesn’t smell like a real nice person, either. Just try to act normal.”

  He shook his head. “This is crazy.”

  “How you doing, Sheriff Marks?” I called out nicely.

  “Not so good, Ms. Norville. I’ve got a problem.”

  My stomach turned over. Why was the first thought that popped into my head, What has Cormac done?

  “Sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

  “I hope so.” He stopped at the base of the porch and took a good, slow look at Ben. I could almost see his little mind ticking off the points on a formal police description: hair, height, build, race, and general suspiciousness. Ben crossed his arms and stared back. Finally Marks said, “Who’s this?”

  “This is Ben. He’s a friend.”

  Marks smirked. “Another one? How many friends you shacking up with out here?”

  Right, now I wanted to growl at him. “You said there was something I could help you with?”

  Marks jerked his thumb over his shoulder to point at the car. “You mind taking a little ride with me?”

  I did mind. I minded a lot. “Why? I’m not being arrested—”

  “Oh, no,” Marks said. “Not yet.”

  “How about I follow you in my car?” I said, admiring how steady my voice sounded. Something was very wrong. It was Cormac. It had to be Cormac. I wasn’t going to say the name until Marks did, though.

  But Marks was staring hard at me. Like it was me he was after. He had no idea what his glare was doing to Wolf. I had to look away. That fight or flight thing was kicking at me.

  “I don’t know. I’d hate for you to run off,” Marks said.

  What in God’s name had happened? “I’m not going to run off. All my stuff is here. And why are you worried about me running off?”

  “You’ll see. Let’s get going. Take your car, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  “Of course.” I went to find my keys and backpack.

  “Can I come with you?” Ben said.

  I relaxed a little. It would be good to have a friend at my back. “Sure. You’re my lawyer. I have this creepy feeling I might need my lawyer.”

  I drove behind Marks’s car as close as I could without actually tailgating, so that I wouldn’t give him the slightest idea that I was “running off.” I watched him through his rear window as he checked his rearview mirror every five seconds.

  Ben frowned. “It’s a werewolf thing. Something happened, and he thinks a werewolf did it.”

  “Yeah. Maybe he’s just trying to get back at me for all those times I called him about the dead rabbits. Maybe this is some practical joke. I’ll end up on the first werewolf reality TV show. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” I muttered.

  After a few miles we turned off the highway onto a wide dirt road, then after several more miles made another turn onto a narrow dirt road, then onto a driveway. A carved wood sign posted in front of a barbed-wire fence announced the Baker Ranch. A quarter of a mile along, Marks pulled off onto the verge behind a pickup truck, and I pulled in behind him. Dry, yellowed grass cracked under the tires.

  An older man wearing a denim jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots leaned against a weathered fence post. Marks went to him, and they shook hands. The man looked over at us, still in the car. I expected to see the determined suspicion in him that I saw on Marks’s face. But he looked at us with curiosity.

  I got out of the car and went to join them. Ben followed.

  Marks made introductions. “Ms. Norville, this is Chad Baker. Chad, Kitty Norville.”

  “Miss Norville.” Baker offered his hand, and we shook.

  “Call me Kitty. This is Ben O’Farrell.” More handshaking all around. I looked at Marks and waited for him to tell me why we were all here.

  “Why don’t we all go take a look at the problem, shall we?” Marks said, smiling, and gestured across the field on the other side of the fence.

  Baker slipped a loop of wire off the top of the nearest fence post, pulling back the top strand of barbed wire. The tension made it coil back on itself. We could all climb over the bottom part of the fence without too much effort.

  We walked across the field, up a rise that overlooked a depression that was hidden from the road. Marks and Baker stood aside and let us look.

  Six dead cows lay sprawled before me. They weren’t just dead. They’d been gutted, torn to pieces, throats ripped out, guts spilled, tongues lolling. The grass and dirt around them had turned to sticky mud, so much blood had poured out of them. They hadn’t even had time to run, it looked like. They’d all dropped where they stood. The air smelled of rotten meat, of blood and waste.

  One werewolf couldn’t have done this. It would have taken a whole pack.

  Or something lurking in the dark, gazing out with red eyes.

  “You want to tell me what happened here?” Marks said in a tone that suggested he already knew exactly what had happened.

  I swallowed. What could I say? What did he want me to say? “Ah… it looks like some cows were killed.”

  “Massacred, more like,” Marks said. Chad Baker’s expression didn’t change. I assumed they were his cows. He was taking this very calmly.

  “What do you want me to tell you, Sheriff? What do you think I know?” I spoke softly, unable to muster any more righteous sarcasm.

  “I think you know exactly what I think.”

  “What, you think I can read minds?” I was just being cagey. He was right, I knew: I was Kitty, the famous werewolf, who moved into his jurisdiction and then this happened. I told him, “You think I did this.”

  “Well?” he said.

  “I assure you, I’m not in any way, shape, or form capable of this. No single wolf, lycanthropic or otherwise, is capable of this.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Baker said, flickering a smile. My heart instantly went out to him.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I don’t think I could bring down one cow on my own, much less a whole herd.”

  “Something did this,” Marks said unhelpfully.

  “
We couldn’t find any prints,” Baker said. “My dogs didn’t hear a thing, and they’ll set up a racket at the drop of a hat. It’s like something dropped on them out of the sky.”

  “A werewolf isn’t a normal wolf,” Marks said, unable to let it go. “God knows what the hell you’re capable of.”

  I took a deep breath, quelling the nausea brought on by the stench of death—not even Wolf could stomach this mess. I filtered out the smells I knew, looking for the one I was afraid I’d find: the musky human/lupine mix that meant werewolves had been here.

  I didn’t smell it.

  “This wasn’t werewolves,” I murmured. What was weird, though: I didn’t smell anything outside of what I expected. No predator, no intruder. Nothing that wasn’t already here; no hint of what had been here. Just like around my cabin, when I chased after that intruder. Like Baker said, it was as if something dropped on them out of the sky.

  “Kitty.” Low and strained, Ben’s voice grated like sandpaper.

  He stared at the scene with unmistakable hunger. And revulsion, the two sides of him, wolf and human, battling over what emotion he should feel. His wolf might very well look on this as a feast and claw its way to the surface. The smell of blood—so thick on the air—was like an invitation, and he wasn’t used to dealing with it. He clenched his hands. Sweat had broken out on his hairline. He was losing it.

  I grabbed his arm and turned him away.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, and his breaths came quick. I whispered, “Keep it together, okay? Don’t think of the blood, think about something else. Keep it locked up inside, all curled up and harmless.”

  He started to turn around, to look back over his shoulder at the slaughter. Hand on his cheek, I made him look back at me. I held his face and pulled his head down closer to me. We touched foreheads, and I kept talking until I felt him nod, until I knew he heard me.

  His breathing slowed, and some of the tension sagged out of him. Only then did I let go. “Take a walk if you need to,” I said. “Walk back to the car and don’t think about it, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. Without looking up, he started back for the car, hunched in and unhappy looking.