Carrie Vaughn: Kitty and the Silver Bullet

"Getting there." He showed no inclination to try the next step of struggling to his feet, but that was fine. We could stay here awhile. We were safe now.

"What are you doing here?" I said, choking on the lump in my throat. "All of you." A couple of the wolves had perked up their ears, listening to us.

"Mick was watching the house, but when the cop got there he went into the hills. Lost phone reception, so Becky and Wes came looking for him. They caught Carl and Meg's scent and followed them. Then Rick called me about Ben and Dack. He said he sent the cops here as well. They should be here any minute."

I let out a bitter laugh. Rick probably thought calling the cavalry made up for sending Ben into danger in the first place.

"Thank you," I said, instead of swearing a blue streak.

"You looked like you were doing just fine," Shaun said.

I shrugged. To be honest, I was glad to not have to shoot Carl in the end. I didn't regret not being the one to pull the trigger on him.

"Wolves hunt in packs," I said, and left it at that.

Police sirens howled, far at first, but quickly growing closer. Sounded like three or four cars.

I sighed, resigned. I didn't know how I was going to explain all this.

"Wes!" Shaun called out to one of the pack who was still human. The man stood, displacing a couple of wolves who'd settled in near him. Wes trotted over. "Help me clean up."

Before moving off to where Meg lay, Shaun said to me, "We'll take care of it."

The two men pulled Meg's body off the ground, hoisting its arms over their shoulders. Meg's long, dark hair fell forward, masking her face. Quickly they dragged her into the hills, out of sight. There were places they could make bodies disappear. The pack cleaned up its messes. I watched her go, surprised at the hate still welling in me at the sight of her. Gone, she was gone, I had to remind myself. She couldn't hurt us anymore.

Ben brought me back to earth.

"Nice of them to give us some warning," Ben said. "It's Detective Hardin, isn't it?"

"Oh, probably."

"Should we go meet her? Where'd you put the gun? Ergh—" He tried to get to his feet, then slumped back, halted by pain.

"I dropped it. I'll look for it in a minute. Hardin’ll take care of herself."

Sure enough, five minutes later, Hardin and a half-dozen officers came from the street, emerging around the cottonwoods. They fanned out, like they expected resistance in force, and they all had weapons drawn.

The wolves, the pack, had gone, fading into the hills. Only Ben and I remained, covered in drying blood, sitting in the dry summer grass, drenched in the morning light.

I put my hands harmlessly in the air and tried not to look like a target. "Hi, Detective."

"Kitty? What's going on here? Is everything okay? Oh, my God!"

She'd gotten her first look at us. We were a mess.

"It's over. It's all over," I said.

She hesitated, clearly at a loss for words. Not that I could blame her. Frankly, I didn't much care what she made of all this anymore. She could figure it out on her own.

"Do you need to go to a hospital?" she said finally, picking what seemed to be the most immediate problem.

Ben wore a punchy grin. Either he was feeling better or he'd completely lost it. "Naw. I just need to spend a day in bed with my girlfriend taking care of me."

Aww, he was so cute. A day in bed…sounded great. I wondered—was he too hurt to cuddle?

I asked, "Do you need us for statements or anything or can we go?"

"I ought to lock you both up," she said.

I batted my eyelashes innocently. Please, no more, just let me sleep…

She sighed. "Go. But I'll call you later."

"Thanks. Oh—and Dack's still loose," I said.

Hardin shook her head and smiled. "My guy staking out the house caught him speeding in a car I suspect is stolen. We've taken him into custody."

"Silver-painted cell?"

"You got it."

"And everyone lived happily ever after," Ben said, smiling vacantly.

Wow, I needed to get him home before he really did lose it. "Come on, Prince Charming." He had to lean on me and move very slowly, but he managed to stand. He was creaking like an old man.

"Don't forget the gun," Ben said.

Hardin looked at me. Watched me the whole time while I hunted around in the grass. I finally found it by the smell of spent powder.

"Do you have a permit for that?" she demanded.

"Yes, I do," I said quickly, returning to Ben's side.

She opened her mouth, pointed at me like she was going to say one thing. Then she shook her head. "You stay out of trouble. Try to stay out of trouble."

I smiled. "Thanks, Detective." I pulled Ben's arm around my shoulder and encouraged him to lean on me as we walked.

I couldn't guess what Hardin and her people would make of this. They'd find a lot of blood on the ground. A few shell casings. But no bodies. Nothing else to pursue. It ended here. Maybe, finally, it ended here.

Ben and I traveled to the street by the trailhead, and I walked him toward the BMW.

"Wow. You upgraded," Ben said.

"It's a loan."

"I hate to get blood all over that nice leather seat."

Too late. I'd already opened the door and lowered him into the passenger seat. "It's Rick's car. He'll appreciate it."

As we pulled out to the road and headed for home, Ben murmured, "The world looks better in the light, doesn't it?"

Morning was progressing nicely. In the east, the sun had risen fully, and the sky had finally turned blue. I glanced at him—he'd closed his eyes, and his breathing had turned deep and regular. He'd fallen asleep.

I smiled. "Yeah, it does."

About a week later, at twilight, I went to Carl and Meg's house. The place had an empty, haunted air to it. I wasn't sure what would happen to it. Ben said the bank would probably foreclose when the next couple of payments didn't come in. They'd discover it was abandoned. Maybe Carl and Meg would be reported as missing, if they hadn't already, and if they had a will or next of kin the house would go to them. If not, everything would go up for sale, and that would be that.

I had decided to move the pack to a different den. I wasn't sure where, yet. A few days ago we'd spent the last full moon—our first under the new management—in national forest land due west of Denver, along I-70. New territory for us. Untainted, I thought of it. The night went smoothly. The pack fed well on deer, slept and woke calmly. I was still getting used to the way they all slouched and ducked their gazes around me.

I was relieved that I'd managed to keep everyone safe. That was my job now. keeping them safe, keeping the peace.

I wasn't sure I wanted to do what Carl and Meg had—buy a house and make the place home for both halves of my being. Or if I wanted to find an even wilder place and save it for the wolves. For the pack. Maybe I'd put it to a vote.

In the meantime, I had to come here one last time. I'd picked up some flowers on the way over—a mixed bouquet, not too big. Lilies, daisies, baby's breath. Happy, colorful flowers.

T. J. hadn't had a funeral. He didn't have a grave. But I remembered the spot where he'd died, thirty yards or so from the house, toward the hills, among the prairie grass and a smattering of pine trees. At least, I thought I remembered the exact spot. I wanted desperately to remember where that was, but I hadn't been thinking clearly that evening.

Walking out, I found the place where the shape of the ground looked right, along with the placement of the trees, the distance from the house, and the line of the hills. T. J.'s blood and scent had been washed away by a winter full of snow and spring full of rain. I smelled the pack, all the other werewolves running and breathing. But not him.