Kitty Takes a Holiday

"Thanks, Ben. For everything."

"I didn't do anything."

Cormac shrugged. "Yeah, you did. Can I talk to Kitty alone for a minute? Before the goons come back."

"Yeah. Sure." Gaze down, Ben gathered up his things, threw me a quick glance, and made a beeline out the door.

That left the two of us alone, him in his orange jumpsuit sitting at the table, arms crossed, frowning. His expression hadn't changed; he still looked emotionless, determined. Though toward what purpose now, I couldn't guess.

I hugged my knees, my heels propped on the edge of the chair, trying not to cry. And not succeeding.

"What's wrong?" Cormac said, and it was an odd question coming from him. Wasn't it obvious? But it was an acknowledgment of emotion. He'd noticed. He'd been watching me closely enough to notice, and that fact was somehow thrilling.

Thrilling, to no purpose.

"It's not fair," I said. "You don't deserve this."

He smiled. "Maybe I don't deserve it for this. But I'm no hero. You know that."

"I can't imagine not being able to call you for help." I wiped tears away with the heels of my hands. "Cormac, if things had been just a little different, if things had some­how worked out between us—"

But it didn't bear thinking on, so I didn't finish the thought.

"Will you look after Ben for me?" he said. "Keep him out of trouble."

I nodded quickly. Of course I would. He slowly pushed his chair back and stood. I stood as well, clumsily untan­gling my legs. We didn't have much time. The cops would open the door any second and take him away.

Face-to-face now, we regarded each other. Didn't say a word. He put his hands on either side of my face and kissed my forehead, lingering a moment. Taking a breath, I realized. The scent of my hair. Something to remember.

I couldn't stop tears from falling. I wanted to put my arms around him and cling to him. Hold him tight enough to save him.

He lightly brushed my cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away tears, and turned away just as the door opened, and the deputies came at him with handcuffs.

Ben and I waited in the hallway, side by side, watch­ing them lead Cormac away, around the corner, and out of sight. Cormac never looked back. I held Ben's arm, and he curled his hand over mine.

We'd lost a member of our pack.

Epilogue

I had to admit, being back at a radio station felt like com­ing home again. Like meeting a long-lost friend. I thought I'd be scared. I thought I'd dread the moment when that on air sign lit. I discovered, though, that I couldn't wait. I had so much to talk about.

We'd set up the show in Pueblo, as far north as I dared to go. I'd packed up the house in Clay and left for good. It was time to head back to civilization. I had a lot of work to catch up on. Even Thoreau hadn't stayed at Walden Pond forever.

I held the phone to my ear but had stopped paying attention to the voice on the line. I was too busy enjoying the dimly lit studio, taking it all in, the sights and smells, the hum of jazz playing on the current music program.

"… don't take too many this time, let yourself get back into practice." Matt, the show's original sound guy from back in Denver, was talking at me over the phone. Giving me a pep talk or something.

"Yeah, okay," I rambled.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes." I was unconvincing.

Matt sighed dramatically. "I was saying you shouldn't take too many calls. Don't overwhelm yourself. You should spend most of the time on your interview."

For tonight's show I had scheduled a phone interview with Dr. Elizabeth Shumacher, the new head of the Cen­ter for the Study of Paranatural Biology, now organized under the auspices of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases. I liked her a lot—she was smart, articulate, and much more forthcoming than the Center's previous director.

Next week was going to be even better: I'd convinced Tony and Alice to come in to talk about what had hap­pened in Clay. They'd talk about where each of them learned their particular brands of spellcraft, and I'd get to tell my own personal ghost stories.

I hadn't yet found anyone willing to come on the air to talk about skinwalkers. I pla

Yeah, The Midnight Hour was back, just like the old days.

Matt was still talking. I should have been more responsive.

I interrupted. "How about I take a lot of calls, but let Dr. Shumacher deal with them? I'll just referee."

He paused for a beat, then said, "I'm not sure that's such a great idea."

"Stop worrying, Matt. I'll be fine. You know if it gets really bad I'll break for station ID anyway."

"I just keep thinking that one of these days you'll break for station ID and not come back."

"Come on, I always come back."

"Then if you're all set, I'll hand it over to the local crew."

"We'll be fine."

Ben came into the room then. I beamed at him and waved. He smiled tiredly and sat in a chair by the wall.

"I can stay on the line to help out if you think—"

"Matt—we're fine. If we need you we'll call."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. Thank you, Matt."

"I'll talk to you later."

We hung up, and I turned my attention to Ben.

He'd just come from Canon City where he'd checked on Cormac, who now and for the next four years resided at the Colorado Territorial Correctional Facility. The very thought of it was gut-wrenching. But it could have been so much worse. That was what we'd all ended up telling each other. It could have been worse. This way, he'd be out in no time. We'd see him again soon.

I'd just have to make sure I kept out of trouble until then.

Ben looked exhausted. His hair had that sweaty, spiky look that meant he'd been messing it up for hours. A ner­vous habit. Then I noticed he carried a thick stack of paper, bound together by a rubber band, under his arm. It was the manuscript for a book. My book.

I'd finished it. I'd given it to him to read. Now, I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to him. I didn't want to know.

Yes, I did.

"Well?"

"Well, he's doing okay. Says the food stinks, but what do you expect? Says he's catching up on his reading." In fact, Cormac—the bastard—had asked me for a reading list, since I was always saying nobody read anymore. "I'm wondering if maybe the time off will do him some good. Does that sound weird?"

I felt bad that I'd really been asking about the book. I gave him a sympathetic smile. "No, it doesn't. You want him to find something else to do with himself. Give up the hunting."

"This all does seem kind of like a sign in that direction, doesn't it?"

"What would he do if he didn't do the bounty-hunting thing?"

"I don't know. He grew up on a ranch, like me. His dad was an outfitter, guided hunting expeditions and that sort of thing. Cormac used to work with him. Yeah, I guess I'm thinking that spending some time without a gun in his hand will give him the idea that he can do something else."

I was torn between agreeing with him, and writing the whole idea off as silver lining bullshit. I wanted Cormac out. I wanted him free.

Even with Ben here, even with everything that had hap­pened to build the bond that now existed between us, part of me still asked, What if. What if Cormac hadn't run off, what if we'd managed to make a co

"I already miss him," Ben said. "My phone rings and I keep hoping it's his number on the caller ID. Even though I know better."

"Yeah," I said. "You know what he said, at the end of that last meeting in Walsenburg?" Ben raised a question­ing brow, and I answered, "He asked me to take care of you. To keep you out of trouble."