chapter 13
Katelyn stared in shock at the old lady, who was grabbing at her grandson. Then Katelyn met Beau’s astonished eyes.
“No, I wasn’t there,” Katelyn said.
“Get away from me!” the old lady shouted.
Katelyn fled the room, and rushed down the hall, then back the way she’d come. She could hear Beau’s grandmother screaming. A nurse hurried across the hall, saying, “Now, Henrietta, what’s the matter?”
“She’s the one!” Mrs. Nelson shouted. To Katelyn it sounded loud enough to be heard by the entire building. Whether or not that was just her enhanced hearing she didn’t know. “She’s a monster! She’s killing them. Beau, you have to shoot her,” she said, lowering her voice. Katelyn could still hear her. “I got a gun under my bed at home, honey. You take it and you shoot her in the heart.”
“You have a gun, Grandma?” Beau said, his voice laced with disbelief.
Katelyn wanted to be out of there, but her car was back in the school parking lot. I could just leave. I could walk there, or better yet, run. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she ducked her head to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.
But leaving will just make me look guilty. And I’m not. I didn’t hurt anyone and I certainly didn’t appear in her window.
She forced herself to sit down in the waiting room. She put her head between her knees, feeling dizzy. Slowly her thoughts cleared and she pushed back upright in the chair.
She couldn’t hear Beau or his grandmother anymore. Maybe the old lady had calmed down. She picked up an out-of-date People magazine and forced herself to flip through it even though she couldn’t focus on the words. Instead she stared at the pictures. All the pretty people of Hollywood. And all she wanted to do was go back home and have a shot at being one of them, and not a monster.
She heard steps and looked up to see Beau hurrying her way.
“Oh, my God, Kat, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush. “I don’t know what set her off like that.” He blanched. “I guess the stroke has messed up her mind even more than we thought.”
“Let’s hope it affected her aim, too,” Katelyn said, then winced and shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, Beau. I did not just say that.”
He managed a gallows laugh. She put down the People; they got a couple of sodas out of the machine in the waiting room and then they hit the road.
“Maybe she made it all up,” Beau said. “Maybe she didn’t see anything at her window.” He sounded rattled. He had believed his grandmother. He frowned thoughtfully. “And maybe there haven’t been rashes of deaths every forty to fifty years in Wolf Springs.” He nodded, as if to himself. “We haven’t seen any articles about it, no news accounts, nothing.”
And this was her moment to steer him away from murders and monsters and all kinds of things, pin it all on some random person and ignore the connection with the town’s past. To protect him.
“Yeah,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic and convinced. “Good point.”
Failing.
“But my grandmother also said that Wolf Springs was a lot more isolated back then. That people didn’t talk about things. They kept to themselves,” he pointed out. “And three people have died.”
“Yeah, but she also said I was the demon she saw. Maybe it’s like some people are saying, that those Inner Wolf guys are frightening the wildlife.”
He frowned. “Maybe one of those guys murdered Becky Jensen. Say she went to meet somebody, and it went wrong, so he moved her body and then the animals got to it?”
“Or he did it himself, to make it look like an animal attack?” she said, shutting her eyes hard against a rush of anxiety. None of this was remotely what she had expected when she’d agreed to visit his grandmother. She’d been hoping for a description, some useful clues. Not to have any fingers pointed her way.
“Sam said her mom heard the doctor talking to Sergeant Lewis. He said he’d never seen anything like what had happened to Becky. That her injuries didn’t add up.”
Because a werewolf caused them? Katelyn pondered.
“Kat,” he said, glancing over at her from behind the wheel, “you know, maybe you should stay out of this. You’re new, and you’ve got to find your way with everybody. You know, make friends and stuff, not lurk around asking questions. The only other new kid I’ve ever known was Sam, and she didn’t last here.”
“Just six years,” she said dryly, morbidly amused by his attempt to protect her. “And she left because her parents are getting divorced.”
He moved his shoulders. “Yeah, okay, but trust me when I say that people at school are sizing you up. In town, too.”
Talking about me, she translated.
He hesitated. “I know you’re planning to move back to L.A. when senior year is over, but a year is a long time.”
No, I’m not moving back, she thought, feeling lost and sad. People were going to wonder about her when she stayed. They would think she wimped out. Or maybe they’d decide she was devoted to her grandfather and didn’t want to leave him.
Or maybe Mr. Fenner would make her marry some guy. She nearly burst into uncontrollable, nervous laughter at the thought. She never, ever in a million years had thought she would have to worry about marriage when she had gotten on that plane in L.A.
If only she could rewind time. She wouldn’t have come there. She remembered how Kimi and her mother had begged her to file for emancipation so she could move in with them. Why hadn’t she done it?
Because I was stupid, she thought. And how dare Mordecai bring me here, to a cabin in the middle of the woods, cut off from everything, when he knows about werewolves?
Unless the silver bullets in the garage weren’t his. Maybe someone had hidden them there. Maybe they were part of the estate from his friend who had died a few weeks ago — the one whose Subaru she was driving. Maybe that guy was the one who had set the trap in the woods. How could she know? She couldn’t just ask.
When she got back home she was surprised to find Trick there.
“Hey,” he said as he met her on the porch. “Your pappy told me you’d gone with Beau to visit his grandmother.”
“Yup,” she said, not eager to explain herself. It had been nice to be able to tell her grandfather exactly where she was going, but she hadn’t counted on having to explain to Trick why she cared about Beau’s grandmother.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically. She just forced herself to smile at him. His T-shirt was drenched in sweat and he had on a beat-up pair of jeans. Still, he looked good and she could feel tingles at the base of her spine as she stared at him.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Getting y’all winterized, since it looks like you guys won’t be staying at our place. Making sure the roof’s in great shape, all the weather stripping is in place on the doors. And, of course, chopping even more wood.”
“Oh,” she said. It would be easier to keep her secret if she was sequestered in the forest. Her grandfather, though, would be at higher risk.
And so would she.
Trick ended up staying for dinner, and afterward they all gathered around her grandfather’s new flat screen to watch a movie. Her grandfather sat in his chair and she and Trick shared the couch and a blanket. She thought she caught Mordecai smirking before turning his attention fully to the screen. As the opening credits rolled, Trick reached out and took her hand and she let him.
The fire crackled cheerily; the movie was dumb but easy to watch. Trick held her hand all through the movie and she marveled at how good it felt, how comfortable. She didn’t have the overwhelming need to kiss him, to be closer; it was somehow warmer, nicer. It made her feel even closer to him. And although she knew that was dangerous, she was enjoying it too much to put an end to it.
When the movie was over her grandfather excused himself to the kitchen and they lingered in front of the door.
“I liked this, Kat,” Trick said.
“Me, too,” she said.
“Thanks for a nice evening.” Trick brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
Her cheek tingled where his fingers had connected and she leaned into him a little, not wanting him to go.
“You know, you still owe me a snow fight. I was winning.”
“You were not,” he said with a smile. He looked deep into her eyes. “I think I was.”
She shivered as he stepped closer. Then, instead of kissing her, as she half expected, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight.
“I’m always here for you,” he whispered. Then he broke away and let himself out the door.
After Trick left, her grandfather said, “Maybe we should go to the Sokolovs’ when it snows.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she just smiled noncommittally and went up to bed.
Sunday morning after breakfast her grandfather got out the silver that had been recovered from the bog, some silver polish, and a rag, and set to cleaning them. Katelyn drifted over to the table and sat down. “You have an extra rag?” He nodded and handed her one and she picked up a piece of the silver. She could smell it and her skin felt warm where it touched, but she forced herself to ignore it. She thought about Trick and wondered what he was doing. “Last night was nice. Does Trick always help out like that?”
Her grandfather flashed a rare grin. “Yeah. The boy’s good for something.”
“He told me you’re his godfather.”
“That’s true.”
“Do you trust him?” she asked bluntly.
He stopped and gave her a funny look. “He’s a teenage boy. I’d trust him with my life. I wouldn’t trust him with a pretty girl.”
“Then why do you let me hang out with him?” she asked, smiling.
“Because he knows I’d skin him alive if he hurt you.”
She was touched. There was a bond, a loyalty between her grandfather and Trick. And yet he cared about her getting hurt.
“What if I hurt Trick?” she asked him, working at a patch of tarnish on a spoon.
He concentrated on his polishing. “You talkin’ about Justin?”
She was talking about so much more than matters of the heart. There were too many ways she could hurt Trick even if she didn’t want to. She felt dizzy at the thought of what could happen to him if he was ever around her when she changed.
“I guess,” she said finally, dipping the cloth into the gray, pasty polish.
He cocked his head, appraising her. “Then I’d tell Trick to take it like a man. A young woman’s got the right to do as she wishes. That’s nature’s way.”
“Well, that’s forward-thinking,” she said with a smile.
His face crinkled with a grin. “It’s the truth. You can’t walk through the forest without seeing male birds trying to get the attention of the female. Or a pair of bucks knocking antlers while the doe just watches.”
“And yawns,” she added, and he grunted.
“I figure the human animal shouldn’t be any different. It makes me sad sometimes to see girls throwing themselves at guys who don’t want them. That’s not how things should be.”
Katelyn remembered Becky Jensen, the girl who had died just after she had arrived in Wolf Springs. According to Sam, Becky had invented an entire relationship with Trick — one that ended when he dumped her. Had she been telling the truth?
Now Sam was gone, and Becky was dead, and there was no way to know exactly what the real story was . . . except that Katelyn just couldn’t see Trick doing something so heartless.
But maybe he’d grown up since then, she thought. Maybe I’m seeing a new, improved Trick.
“You and Trick are close but you’ve never pushed me to pick him over . . . anyone else.” She wiped the polish over the back of the spoon and began to rub it. Soon she would see her reflection. How could it not be different, now that she was such a . . . a . . .
Monster.
He looked startled. “There’s no rush, honey. You’re only seventeen. I’d be just as happy if you don’t pick anybody until you’re, oh, fifty-seven.”
That was refreshing.
“But if I did like someone, you’d be okay with it?” she asked.
Her grandfather chuckled. “Your grandmother’s father hated me, but it didn’t stop how she felt. And in the end he was smart enough to see that if he tried to keep us apart, she’d just run away with me.”
“Wow, really?” She was impressed. Her grandparents had been intense. She wished she’d gotten to meet her grandmother, or even better, that she was here now.
“Love is a powerful thing,” he replied. “And it can’t be denied any more than it can be tamed.”
That gave her pause. Back home in L.A. most kids talked about hooking up, not falling in love. Was it different there in the hills, or was her grandfather talking like a person from a different era?
“Why didn’t Grandma’s father like you?”
He chuckled with a faraway look in his eyes. “He thought I was too uppity. I don’t think he had much use for philosophers. College boys either, for that matter.”
Katelyn bit back a smile, trying to imagine how anyone on earth could think of her cabin-dwelling grandfather as “uppity.”
Their conversation died away, and they polished the silver together in companionable silence. The odor was so strong; it was incredible to her that he couldn’t smell it. She wondered why silver was so poisonous to werewolves. And why it didn’t bother her.
It took a couple of hours, but the silver was finally shiny. The rest of Sunday passed quietly, almost too quietly. Katelyn found herself growing more and more agitated, as though she were waiting. For the snow, for more deaths.
~
Monday after school she found herself again at the Fenner house, doing more training with Justin. There was more running, jumping, but he also worked on her sense of smell and trying to use it to track him through the woods. It went better than she expected. When they finished he offered her his cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll do some more.”
“Can we skip tomorrow and meet Wednesday?”
He shook his head. “I’m taking Lucy Christmas shopping Wednesday, and I don’t think she’d cotton to waiting in the car while I teach you how to howl,” he said. “Me, I like to order things online. But you know how the female of the species is — always on the prowl for something shiny.”
“You’re so sexist,” she said.
He raised a brow. “Is that the way they talk in Santa Monica? Here in the hills, them’s fightin’ words.”
Katelyn sighed. In some ways, she and Kimi had been right about calling Wolf Springs “Banjo Land.” Around here, women still tended to cater to the male ego, and so far, in the pack, the alpha-male held sway. But with three daughters and no sons, Lee Fenner had been planning to hand over leadership of the pack to a female.
Had been. Until Cordelia was banished. Now she figured it was anyone’s guess who was going to get control of the pack.
“Hey,” Justin said, jostling her. “I’m just teasing you. Sorta.”
“Is it a problem that Lee doesn’t have any sons?” she asked. “Are there people in the pack who are unhappy about possibly having a female alpha?”
“Yes,” he said, losing his lightness. “But the female of the alpha pair holds a lot of power. She can boss around the other males.”
“Just not her male,” she said, and he nodded. “Would you be okay if the alpha was a female, maybe even Lucy?”
“It won’t be Lucy, but I’ll play along with your question. My alpha is my alpha,” he replied. “Once the alpha’s declared, my loyalty instinct kicks in.”
Loyalty instinct. She had never heard of such a thing.
He must have seen her confusion. “As far as I can understand it, humans have to work at being loyal, and staying loyal to each other. But we have a natural impulse to figure out the chain of authority and respect it. It makes life a lot easier.”
“But you’re bucking the system,” she argued.
He winced as if she’d hit him. “Here’s the thing, Kat. ‘Alpha’ means the highest-ranked, based on being the most dominant. And ‘dominant’ means exerting the most control. Our alpha is our king, and he’s on the throne only as long as he guides and protects the pack. In the old days, there was a lot more fighting to become alpha. A lot of challenging. But that was before civilization encroached on us.”
“Or vice versa,” she said. “You encroached on civilization.”
“Even out here, there are a lot fewer wild places,” he said. “We used to run for miles and miles and miles. We’re too bunched up now. It puts added pressure on everyone.”
“So why don’t you spread out?” she asked. She took a chance. “Some of us could move to L.A.”
To her surprise, he reached over and tousled her hair in a friendly, big-brother sort of way. It was a side of him she hadn’t seen, at least where she was concerned. He was like that with Jesse.
“L.A.,” he said. “We’d be like the Beverly Hillwolves, gawkin’ at them big-city folks.”
“You’d do great,” she insisted. A fleeting microfantasy raced through her mind in which she and Justin headed a pack that moved to L.A. Or maybe even Montreal. She could get a job in the Cirque du Soleil and just not work on full moon nights.
But that meant a life with Justin, not Trick. And though Justin affected her in a physical way — wolf to wolf — Trick was the one she wanted to sit on the couch and watch movies with. Or maybe that was just as farfetched as imagining Justin without Lucy beside him.
“Kat,” Justin said seriously, interrupting her reverie. “Don’t get ideas. I don’t see a move to L.A. in anyone’s future.”
“It’s not up to you,” she snapped. Then she jerked. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, backtracking. Because if he challenged Lee and assumed leadership of the pack, it would be up to him. He could give her back her life. Could she talk him into it?
“Listen, the packs are what they are and we don’t split off, make new ones. Us, the Gaudin pack, the Hounds of God, and the others, we’re all vying for territory while trying to survive in this world. So, tomorrow after school,” he pressed.
“If you say so,” she replied.
“I say so.” He bent forward and offered his cheek. As she rose on tiptoe to kiss it, he swiveled his head, as if he was going to try to kiss her on her mouth. Then he stopped himself and, sighing, accepted her gesture of pack kinship.
Tuesday, Beau was looking pretty tired during history. After class she stopped him.
“Everything okay with your grandmother?”
“She was a little worse, but she’s doing better now.”
“Did you find a gun in your grandmother’s room?” she asked, trying to force a smile. Mostly she wanted to figure out if he’d had any time to think about what his grandmother had said and get suspicious of her, Katelyn.
“No.” He flashed a disbelieving smile. “Granny wasn’t loaded. I did find something else interesting, though.”
“What’s that?”
“The missing book.”
She stared at him, mind racing.
He grinned. “Yup, like some crazy old hoarder, my grandma was the one who had In the Shadow of the Wolf out from the school library. Heaven only knows how she got it or when. For all I know she checked it out when she was still in high school.”
He was trying to be funny, she registered that, but she couldn’t connect on that level because all she could think about was the book and what it might say about the Hellhound. “What did you do with it?”
He reached into his backpack. When he handed it to her, she swore her fingers tingled on the old leather cover.
“You can take it home and start reading,” he said. “I didn’t know where to start, but you did that paper.”
“Thanks,” she said quickly, tucking it against her chest.
“Let me know what you find.”
“Of course.”
Never.
All through training with Justin she was miles away, thinking about the book in her backpack and praying that no one went snooping and discovered it. They were working on her sense of hearing and she just couldn’t get it to go into overdrive, too busy focusing on what she might find in its pages. Justin seemed distracted, too, and sent her home early. When she finally made it into her room, she slipped the book out of her backpack. It was dusty and worn, the white letters stamped into the blue cover practically illegible.
She flipped it open, eager to read the secrets it kept. But the print was tiny and there didn’t seem to be any kind of table of contents. No index, either. She was going to have to read from the beginning.
The entire first page was one paragraph.
Welcome, Gentle Reader, to the myriad stories of the founding of Wolf Springs. This bucolic town, nestled in the beauteous mountains of the Ozark Region, was first settled by Spanish missionaries, in hopes of converting the local savages to the joys of the Gospel, as set down by our Lord, Jesus Christ. Ah, what a task lay before the good padres, faced with the stubbornness of the primitive innocent—
“C’mon, c’mon,” Katelyn muttered, skimming the rest of the long-winded introduction. She turned the page.
— for is it not true that salvation can only be found in a society based on Christian values?
With a groan, she flipped back to the first page and picked up where she had left off.
And as many have often surmised, the soul of the childlike native must also be brought to the Lord—
The book progressed from describing the attempts of the missionaries to convert the natives to a detailed description of the building of each structure in the town. The dry goods store. The barber shop.
The blacksmith also ran a foundry, kept busy by hunters who requested peculiar casings for their ammunition. Horses for hire were stabled there as well.
She remembered that when she’d been in the sick room at school, Mr. Hastings had called Sergeant Lewis about Mr. Henderson’s absence. And he had described Mr. Henderson’s house as “by the old stables.”
She made a second mental note, and kept on reading.
And then . . . a secret.
The Lost Mine of Wolf Springs. A Discussion.
The author laid it all out — the Madre Vena, the claims by Xavier Cazador to have found it in the nineteenth century. The outlaw, Jubal DeAndrew, who had threatened to kill him if he didn’t reveal where it was.
It is said that a painting of the mine’s entrance was created by Xavier Cazador for Jubal DeAndrew. In the foreground stood a heart-shaped boulder, and in the background one could view a silvery waterfall. But the true artistry of the painting lay in this: a false signature could be scraped away, and beneath it one could learn the longitudinal and latitudinal coordinates for the mine.
Her mouth dropped open. She had been right about the sketch, and the painting of her grandfather’s that had been stolen showed the mine’s entrance. Was it possible that the stolen one had been the original and had the coordinates on it?
It is said that although Cazador created this painting for DeAndrew, it was never given to its intended recipient. Cazador died, and DeAndrew went missing. One surmises that foul play might be blamed, perhaps by a rival interested in the painting.
Her head swam with the possibility. People were born, lived, and died in Wolf Springs. Their attics had to be bulging with things that might hold the key to unlocking so many of the town’s dark secrets. Her grandfather might have had a fake — a replica — or it could have been the actual painting. He said his father had picked one of the paintings up at an estate sale. Was that the one? And was it the original?
The question was: had someone else figured out that he had it? Had they stolen the silver and the other painting only to cover up the theft of this vital clue?
She tingled all over and eagerly turned the page.
The mine is said to be guarded by a monstrous beast, a Hellhound, who keeps thieves at bay and protects the treasure as if it is his own. A notable detail about the legend surrounding the Hellhound is that the creature shows up in historical accounts of the area years before there is any mention of the mine. Whether this is an oversight is unclear. It is possible that when people learned of the mine they connected the creature to it as a means to scare others away.
To her disappointment there was nothing else she didn’t already know about the Hellhound, at least not in that section. Her eyes blurred, as she realized that she had to be more tired than she thought. She kept trying to read the tiny words, but her head bobbed. With a reluctant sigh, she closed the book. It would have to wait until the morning.
Click. Click. Click.
The clicking mixed with the sound of drums. Both getting closer. Both in time with the beat of her heart.
“I found this for you, a perfect fit,” Babette said, holding up some coveralls.
“But I won’t be digging in the dirt,” she protested.
“Don’t think you won’t before it’s over.”
Click.
She turned around, but no one was there. Just the walls of the cave. They were closing in on her and she smelled . . . something.
Aluminum.
No! Silver. Far more precious. Lovely but deadly.
“Just like you,” Justin whispered in her ear.
His breath was hot; it tickled.
But then he was gone and the cave was shrinking around her. The walls were closing in and she knew that they were going to bury her.
And in the darkness something growled.
Laughed.
Cried.
“Katelyn,” it whispered.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Katelyn opened her eyes with a gasp. She was in bed and something was scratching at the skylight above her head. Nails on the glass going click, click, click.
She looked up.
There: a shadow darker than any shadow, and eyes that burned like the fires of hell.
She screamed.