Kitty Takes a Holiday
Page 23
“Yeah, they are.” In fact, if Cormac hadn't been here to take care of the dog thing, I might very well have run screaming and never come back.
“Good. I'm glad. You know I worry about you.”
“I know, Mom. I appreciate it, I really do.” And I did. It was good to have people looking out for you.
“Well… please call me if you need anything, if there's anything I can do. And don't be afraid to come home if you need to. There's no shame in that.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Couldn't think of anything else to say. Just… thanks.
Chapter 8
Then came the day.
According to the Farmer's Almanac, the full moon in January was known as the Wolf Moon. This was the time of year, the deepest part of winter, when people would huddle together in their homes, build up their fires against the cold, listen to the howling of hungry wolves outside, and pray that they were safe. The cold seeped into people's souls as well as their bodies, and their fears multiplied. Summer and safety seemed farthest away.
Maybe being cursed was really only a state of mind.
I decided that 1 wasn't going to let Ben die. If I had to tie him up with silver to keep him from hurting himself, I'd do it. If tomorrow came and he still wanted Cormac to kill him, I'd stop him. Somehow, I'd stop Cormac. Hide his guns, fight him, something.
Maybe I could knock Cormac out in a hand-to-hand fight—I was stronger than I looked, and maybe he'd forget that. If Cormac had a gun, though, I'd probably die. At least then they'd know how strongly I felt about the issue.
But I was getting ahead of myself. I had to get through today before I could worry about tomorrow.
I woke up at dawn—still on the sofa—but lay there for a long time, curled up and wishing it were all already over. Wolf knew what day it was; a coiling, wriggling feeling made itself known in my gut, and it would get stronger and stronger until nightfall, when it would turn to knives and claws, the creature trying to rip its way out of the weak human shell, until finally it burst forth and forced the Change. In the bedroom, Ben was feeling this for the first time. He wouldn't know what to do with it. He'd need help coping.
I'd meant to check on him, but he emerged first and went to the kitchen, where Cormac was already sitting. 1 wasn't sure Cormac had ever gone to bed. I stayed very still to try to hear what they said, but the cabin remained quiet.
Finally, I sat up and looked into the kitchen.
Ben sat on one chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and Cormac sat on the other chair, facing him across the table, arms crossed. They might have been like that for hours, staring at each other.
They'd been best friends since they were kids and now they were wondering if this was their last day together. Had Ben told Cormac about the monster waking up inside him?
I had to break this up. 1 marched into the kitchen and started making noise, pulling out pots and slamming cabinet doors.
“Who wants eggs?” I forced a Mrs. Cleaver smile, but my tone sounded more strained than cheerful.
They didn't even turn, didn't even flinch. At least it would all be over, after tonight. One way or another.
I cooked bacon and eggs, way more than I needed to, but it distracted me. This was going to be a long, long day.
I didn't notice when the anxiety-laden tableau between Ben and Cormac broke. I heard a noise, and turned to see Cormac getting up, going over to put a fresh log in the stove. Ben bowed his head and stared at the floor.
“Food's ready.”
Cormac wandered back to the kitchen table and accepted a plate. The eggs had come out scrambled rather than over easy. I didn't much care. I wanted one of them to say something.
He smiled a thin, strained thanks. That was all.
“Ben?” Carefully, I prompted him.
He shook his head. “I can't eat. I hardly ate yesterday and I still feel like I'm going to throw up.”
“Yeah. It's usually like that. You get used to it.”
He glared at me, his lips almost curling into a snarl. “How? How do you get used to this?”
“You just do,” I snapped back at him.
He started tapping his foot, a rapid, nervous patter.
So that was breakfast.
I don't know how I managed it, but I was thinking ahead today. I grabbed a change of clothes. I wanted to set up a den for tonight, a place to wake up in the morning.
I paused next to Ben, still camped on the kitchen chair, tense as a wire and frowning.
“I'm going to take a walk. You want to come with me?” I asked softly.
“Is that an order?” He spat the words. He was already in pain. He was already having to hold it in. I'd forgotten what it was like when it was all new; I'd had four years of practice holding it in, learning to ignore it. Getting used to it.
I wanted to grab his collar and shake him—growl at him. I grit my teeth and held my temper. “No. I just thought you might like to take a walk. Do you have a change of clothes 1 could take? Sweatpants and a T-shirt or something.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowed, as he considered this—and then realized what 1 was really going to do on my walk. He grimaced, like he was holding back a scream, or a sob. I had a sudden urge to hug him, but I didn't. If I even tried to touch him, he might hit the ceiling, he was so tightly wound. That was what I'd have done.
Then, without a word he pulled out a duffel bag from next to the sofa, rummaged in it for a moment, and found the clothes.
I was at the front door when Cormac said, “If you're looking for company—”
“Actually, no offense, but I don't want you to know where I'm going. I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning staring down one of your guns.”
“You think I'd shoot you in your sleep? Either one of you?” he said angrily. Clearly, I'd offended him.
I wanted to scream. I looked away. “I don't know. I just don't know.”
“If I really wanted to do that, I'd track you. You know I could.”
I left.
I was torn between wanting to hurry back in case Ben decided to do something rash while I was gone, and taking my time to avoid the situation at the house. I found my usual den and stashed the stuff. Then I sat there for a long time, tucked in the hollow, reveling in the peaceful scent of it. It smelled like me, like fur and warmth, and it felt safe. 1 wondered what it would feel like with two people in it.
“Good. I'm glad. You know I worry about you.”
“I know, Mom. I appreciate it, I really do.” And I did. It was good to have people looking out for you.
“Well… please call me if you need anything, if there's anything I can do. And don't be afraid to come home if you need to. There's no shame in that.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Couldn't think of anything else to say. Just… thanks.
Chapter 8
Then came the day.
According to the Farmer's Almanac, the full moon in January was known as the Wolf Moon. This was the time of year, the deepest part of winter, when people would huddle together in their homes, build up their fires against the cold, listen to the howling of hungry wolves outside, and pray that they were safe. The cold seeped into people's souls as well as their bodies, and their fears multiplied. Summer and safety seemed farthest away.
Maybe being cursed was really only a state of mind.
I decided that 1 wasn't going to let Ben die. If I had to tie him up with silver to keep him from hurting himself, I'd do it. If tomorrow came and he still wanted Cormac to kill him, I'd stop him. Somehow, I'd stop Cormac. Hide his guns, fight him, something.
Maybe I could knock Cormac out in a hand-to-hand fight—I was stronger than I looked, and maybe he'd forget that. If Cormac had a gun, though, I'd probably die. At least then they'd know how strongly I felt about the issue.
But I was getting ahead of myself. I had to get through today before I could worry about tomorrow.
I woke up at dawn—still on the sofa—but lay there for a long time, curled up and wishing it were all already over. Wolf knew what day it was; a coiling, wriggling feeling made itself known in my gut, and it would get stronger and stronger until nightfall, when it would turn to knives and claws, the creature trying to rip its way out of the weak human shell, until finally it burst forth and forced the Change. In the bedroom, Ben was feeling this for the first time. He wouldn't know what to do with it. He'd need help coping.
I'd meant to check on him, but he emerged first and went to the kitchen, where Cormac was already sitting. 1 wasn't sure Cormac had ever gone to bed. I stayed very still to try to hear what they said, but the cabin remained quiet.
Finally, I sat up and looked into the kitchen.
Ben sat on one chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and Cormac sat on the other chair, facing him across the table, arms crossed. They might have been like that for hours, staring at each other.
They'd been best friends since they were kids and now they were wondering if this was their last day together. Had Ben told Cormac about the monster waking up inside him?
I had to break this up. 1 marched into the kitchen and started making noise, pulling out pots and slamming cabinet doors.
“Who wants eggs?” I forced a Mrs. Cleaver smile, but my tone sounded more strained than cheerful.
They didn't even turn, didn't even flinch. At least it would all be over, after tonight. One way or another.
I cooked bacon and eggs, way more than I needed to, but it distracted me. This was going to be a long, long day.
I didn't notice when the anxiety-laden tableau between Ben and Cormac broke. I heard a noise, and turned to see Cormac getting up, going over to put a fresh log in the stove. Ben bowed his head and stared at the floor.
“Food's ready.”
Cormac wandered back to the kitchen table and accepted a plate. The eggs had come out scrambled rather than over easy. I didn't much care. I wanted one of them to say something.
He smiled a thin, strained thanks. That was all.
“Ben?” Carefully, I prompted him.
He shook his head. “I can't eat. I hardly ate yesterday and I still feel like I'm going to throw up.”
“Yeah. It's usually like that. You get used to it.”
He glared at me, his lips almost curling into a snarl. “How? How do you get used to this?”
“You just do,” I snapped back at him.
He started tapping his foot, a rapid, nervous patter.
So that was breakfast.
I don't know how I managed it, but I was thinking ahead today. I grabbed a change of clothes. I wanted to set up a den for tonight, a place to wake up in the morning.
I paused next to Ben, still camped on the kitchen chair, tense as a wire and frowning.
“I'm going to take a walk. You want to come with me?” I asked softly.
“Is that an order?” He spat the words. He was already in pain. He was already having to hold it in. I'd forgotten what it was like when it was all new; I'd had four years of practice holding it in, learning to ignore it. Getting used to it.
I wanted to grab his collar and shake him—growl at him. I grit my teeth and held my temper. “No. I just thought you might like to take a walk. Do you have a change of clothes 1 could take? Sweatpants and a T-shirt or something.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowed, as he considered this—and then realized what 1 was really going to do on my walk. He grimaced, like he was holding back a scream, or a sob. I had a sudden urge to hug him, but I didn't. If I even tried to touch him, he might hit the ceiling, he was so tightly wound. That was what I'd have done.
Then, without a word he pulled out a duffel bag from next to the sofa, rummaged in it for a moment, and found the clothes.
I was at the front door when Cormac said, “If you're looking for company—”
“Actually, no offense, but I don't want you to know where I'm going. I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning staring down one of your guns.”
“You think I'd shoot you in your sleep? Either one of you?” he said angrily. Clearly, I'd offended him.
I wanted to scream. I looked away. “I don't know. I just don't know.”
“If I really wanted to do that, I'd track you. You know I could.”
I left.
I was torn between wanting to hurry back in case Ben decided to do something rash while I was gone, and taking my time to avoid the situation at the house. I found my usual den and stashed the stuff. Then I sat there for a long time, tucked in the hollow, reveling in the peaceful scent of it. It smelled like me, like fur and warmth, and it felt safe. 1 wondered what it would feel like with two people in it.
