Kitty Takes a Holiday (Kitty Norville 3)

“Because that’s how it was with me. I was sick for days. Cormac…” I stood and moved next to him, reaching out, tentative because he looked like he might break, explode, or tear the room apart. He was the same kind of tense as a cat about to spring on a mouse. He still had the handgun in his belt holster. I had to make him look away from Ben. I touched his shoulder. When he didn’t jump, flinch, or punch me, I lay my hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

He put his hand over mine, squeezed back, then stood and left the room, disappearing into the front of the house. I didn’t hear the front door open, so he didn’t leave. I didn’t have time to worry about him right now.

Armed with a soaked washcloth and dry towel, I cleaned up the blood. The wounds, the bite marks and tears in his skin, had all closed over. They looked like week-old scabs, dried and ringed with pink. His skin was slick with sweat; I dried him off as well as I could. Within half an hour, Ben’s breathing slowed, and he seemed to slip into a normal sleep. If he’d been in shock, the shock had faded. Nothing looked infected. The lycanthropy wouldn’t let him sicken. It wouldn’t let him die, at least not from a few bites.

I took off his shoes and covered him with a spare blanket. Smoothed his hair back one more time. For now, he was settled.

I found Cormac in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and staring out the window over the sink. The sun had risen since we’d brought Ben inside. The outline of the trees showed clear against a pale sky. I didn’t think Cormac was really looking at any of that.

I started setting up the coffeemaker, being louder than I needed to be.

The strangeness was too much. Cormac gave me this image of him and Ben as kids, talking about werewolves— that wasn’t exactly a kid thing to do. At least, not for real. Not meaning it. I’d always suspected Cormac was edging psychotic, but Ben was the levelheaded one, the lawyer. I’d always wondered how he took this world—lycanthropes, vampires, this B-grade horror film life I lived—in such stride, not even blinking. I’d been grateful for it, but I wondered. How long had he been living in it? Him and Cormac both?

I didn’t know a damn thing about either of them.

I pushed the button, the light lit up, and the coffee-maker started burbling happily. I leaned back on the counter, watching Cormac, who hadn’t moved. A minute later, the smell of fresh coffee hit with a jolt.

“Are you hungry?” I said finally. “I have some cereal, I think. A couple of eggs, bacon.”

“No.”

“Have you gotten any sleep?”

He shook his head.

“You think maybe you should?”

Again, he shook his head. Too bad. My day would be a lot easier if he’d just collapse on the sofa and sleep for the next twelve hours.

The coffee finished brewing. I poured two mugs and set one on the counter next to him. I held mine in both hands, feeling the warmth from it, not drinking. My stomach hurt too much to drink anything.

I had to say something. “How did it happen? How did you let him get—how did he get in a position to be bitten by a werewolf?”

He turned away from the window, crossed his arms, stared across the kitchen. I got my first good look at him since he arrived. He looked gaunt, caved in and exhausted, with shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in days and was developing a beard to go along with his mustache. Dried blood flaked off his hands and spotted his shirt. He smelled of dirt, sweat, and blood. He needed a shower, though somehow I doubted that I could talk him into it.

“There were two of them,” he said. “I knew there were two of them. That’s why I called Ben, so he could watch my back. But the whole thing was messed up, right from the start. They were killing flocks of sheep, but nobody ever heard anything. I saw a whole field covered with dead sheep, all of them torn to pieces, and the herders sitting in their trailer a hundred feet away didn’t hear a thing. Their dogs didn’t hear a thing.”

“How do you know werewolves did it?”

“Because the family hired me to kill the first one. They told me.”

I shook my head. “Whoa, what?”

“The parents, the kid’s parents.”

“The wolf was a kid?”

“No, he was twenty years old! This is all coming out wrong.”

“Then calm down. Start over.” I held my coffee mug to my face and breathed in the steam. I had to calm down as well, if I expected Cormac to be civil. He was right on the edge.

“They knew he’d gone wolf, knew he was killing sheep, and they were afraid he’d start in on people. Nobody could control him so they called me.”

“They just gave up on him? Their own son and they wanted him dead?”

“It’s a different world there. Out in the desert, on the edge of Navajo Country. Shit like this happens and they look at it as evil. Pure evil, and the only thing to do with it is kill it. You’ve seen this kind of thing, you know they’re right.”

I had, and I did. I just hated to admit it. “What happened?”