Kitty Goes to War (Kitty Norville 8)

“Nothing.” He leaned forward, gathering together the books, shutting them, arranging them in piles, out of my reach and easy view.

“And have you been burning sage?” I said. Books, incense—I could even claim I smelled a faint whiff of magic, though I was sure it was my imagination. I had no idea what magic smelled like. No guns, no weapons, and even the smell of Cormac’s leather jacket was buried. “Seriously—are you okay?”

“I’d forgotten how damn nosy you are.”

I tamped down a flush of anger at that. Instead of rounding on him with the witty comeback no doubt sitting on the tip of my tongue, I started for the door.

“I have to get going. I told Ben I’d be home soon.”

“You two seem happy,” he said to my back. “I’m glad.”

There, just stab me through the heart . . . Which wouldn’t necessarily kill a werewolf. But it still hurt.

My hand on the doorknob, I hesitated, looking back at him and mustering a smile. “Thanks. And what about you? Are you happy or just coping?”

“Ask me again in a year.”

“That’s actually encouraging. You’re still planning on being around in a year.”

He shrugged. “I told you; I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“I’ll see you later,” I said, and he nodded.

BEN WAS at work at his desk in the corner of the living room and turned when I came in, his look inquiring. “Rough day?”

“I stopped by Cormac’s place,” I said, propping myself on a nearby wall.

He leaned back in his chair. “You thought he needed checking up on?”

“I got worried,” I said, shrugging. I suddenly felt like I’d done something wrong.

“So how is he?”

“He’s alive. Making progress on the case. But—have you noticed anything odd about him? Anything different?”

“Like what? You mean something other than what’s usually wrong with him?”

Like the surliness, the borderline sociopathy . . . “I don’t know. He had piles of books everywhere on some of the weirdest topics, and I think he’s been burning incense. You’ve known him your whole life. Has he always been this . . . I don’t know . . . studious? Obsessive?”

“Kind of, yeah. Obsessive, at least. All about getting the job done, especially with the hunting. Especially since his father was killed.”

“And now it’s like if he can’t do it with weapons he’ll do it some other way? Books and research?”

“Maybe. You didn’t expect him to have some kind of epiphany in prison and turn into Little Mary Sunshine, did you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t expect anything, I guess.” Honestly, I hadn’t known Cormac all that well before he went to prison. He’d been this shadowy vigilante figure who slipped in and out of my life. He wasn’t much different now, I supposed. But all those books were just weird. Maybe I felt like he had changed, but I couldn’t figure out how. “But he smells different. Just a little.”

“And if we weren’t lycanthropes we wouldn’t notice it.” Ben turned thoughtful. “There is something else. He gets distracted. Staring off into space, like he sees something or is listening to something. When I shake him out of it he pretends that it didn’t happen. I haven’t really asked him about it. I figure he’s just adjusting to being on the outside again.”

“When have you ever known Cormac to get distracted? When has he ever not been completely focused on the world around him?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I do know the more we pester him the more annoyed he’s going to get. We just have to leave him alone.”

Cormac was a grown-up. He didn’t need us to worry about him.

“We’re acting like a couple of alpha wolves carrying on about a wayward pup,” I said, smiling.

“When you say you want kids I didn’t think you meant one like Cormac.”