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When Sunday rolled around I was mobile and less drugged, prepping Mila's bedroom for her arrival. Later in the week, better able to hide my obvious injury, I planned to see Lisa for lunch and a movie. As I took a breather from packing up art supplies, I checked my phone for messages. A couple new: Lisa, my boss asking if I wanted to pick up my last check or have it mailed, and the usual spam.
I cradled the phone against my ear, scratched Samson's chin, and dialed Gram’s former partner.
“For someone I haven’t seen since you were small, damn, your voice is an echo of Gen’s. Always held a cautious unease, whether we were in the thick of things or she was telling the barista how much sugar in the coffee.”
Samson's head bumped against my chest. “Who were you to Genessa?" I asked.
“A friend, fellow hunter. Ronan Delevant."
“The kind who hunts werewolves?"
“Yep."
“She never mentioned you."
“Gen knew you can't take our work home. She made an exception, once. Didn’t work out for you, did it?"
Samson walked himself around my still hand with gentle nibbles and pawing to encourage my fingers back into his fur. “Did you know my grandfather?”
“War had changed him, she claimed. He saw real monsters and decided not to be one." The glassy thunk of a bottle on wood and the slosh of beer. “‘Gen,’ I says, ‘the lone wolf makes for a handsome photograph in the cold, November twilight, but you don’t invite him to dine beside your daughter at the table.’ ‘Course, listening wasn't her strong suit. Took years more than I thought, granted, but he snaps and in an hour her family, your family, is settling into their eternal rests, God bless their souls. She had a rhino’s hide and temperament, but I don't wager she'd have survived losing you."
“You called yourself Ronan?”
“Yep.”
“Were you there that night?”
“Yep.”
I’d been thinking Gram may have called Tolbert to the scene. Could she have called this supposed hunter as well, or instead? “I’m sorry. I don't remember you there."
“You don't?" Surprise deepened his voice. “No, I suppose not. Left before you woke up. Excuse me, kiddo, I’m outta beer."
A couple minutes later, Ronan continued with his story.
“When’d you arrive?” I asked.
“Had to be past midnight. I was beard-deep in motel sheets when the phone rang. I was in the truck before I remembered to put pants on, that’s how panicked Gen sounded." He paused. “The jobs are unique horrors, but the worst are mangled kids and my God, he ripped you good. Moment I saw you, shredded leg and all, I took the sheet off the top bunk and covered you. Gen yanked the thing straight off and put my hand against your throat and asked me to rush you to a shaman we'd done work for. He promised to heal you, but at the cost of Gen spending the rest of her life in service to him. I held your hand in mine all night while your grandma made arrangements to move the bodies of your folks and sister. Changed guard with her in the morning to clean the scene. . .Still there, kiddo?. . .Rhetta?"
I hung up.
chapter 23
A FERAL SHADE OF AMBER
I dropped the phone on the counter and sank onto the floor. I heard the muffled crunch of bones in Grandpa’s teeth, felt the shudder of the bed as Rhetta’s limp body hit the mattress, saw again the werewolf’s manic grin winding toward me.
The phone rang and rang. In a panic, I kicked it away.
When she'd pulled me and Samson out from beneath the bed, Gram made me close my eyes. I was too young and afraid to do anything but listen. I didn't know what she did while I waited in her car. I never saw Mom, Dad, Rhetta or my other grandparents again.
Ronan had to be lying.
Gram wouldn't.
How could she?
