Darknight(84)
“All right, it’s kind of strange,” he admitted after reading the article and studying the photo. “Especially the wolf part. There are no wolves for hundreds of miles — haven’t been for years and years. But the victim? I think you’re trying to see patterns that aren’t there.”
“Isn’t that what witches do?” I asked, then added quickly, as his brows began to knit together, “That is, see patterns that are hidden to most people. What’s the point of having powers if they can’t help us do things regular people can’t?”
He let out a sigh, then pushed the paper aside and laid his hand on top of mine. We were sitting on the couch next to one another; he smelled slightly of linseed oil and turpentine, but I didn’t mind all that much. It was just good to be there next to him, to feel the reassuring strength of his body next to me. Although I could tell he didn’t think the resemblance was anything but a coincidence, his tone was gentle as he said, “I don’t know…I think you could be reaching here. Like the article said, it was probably somebody’s pet wolf that got loose somehow and, I don’t know, went after her because she had food on her or something. They don’t mention it, but it has to be something like that. Wild animals don’t attack without reason.”
No, generally they didn’t. Again that sense of unease washed over me, the feeling that some threat hovered on the horizon, out of sight but still dangerous, like the scent of smoke that precedes a fast-moving brushfire. But I knew if I said anything else I’d sound as if I were trying to invent something that wasn’t there. I didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was. And until I could figure it out, there wasn’t much point in pressing the issue.
* * *
Three days later, another body was found, this time right on campus at the edge of one of the parking lots. The bite wounds were identical to the ones on Theresa Ivey.
“Everyone is really freaking out,” Carla said, and she and Mason exchanged a worried glance. They were both seniors at Northern Pines. “No one’s supposed to walk alone, especially not at night.”
They’d come over to hang out and talk, and we were in the living room, enjoying the warmth of a newly laid fire. Who cared if it was almost the Ides of March — the temperature had stayed below freezing for the past two days. Connor was over in his studio, painting, so he certainly didn’t mind me having Carla and Mason over. In fact, although he hadn’t said it out loud, I got the feeling he was glad that I’d made friends at all, if maybe a little surprised that I’d warmed up to two of the Wilcoxes the way I had with the cousins.
“Did you — did you know either one of them?” I asked.
Carla nodded. “I knew Alison, the second girl. She was in my social statistics class. Not that we were friends or anything, but we traded notes a couple of times. I think she worked part-time as a waitress at one of the breweries downtown here. I can’t remember which one, though.” Her face clouded, and then her gaze sharpened as she looked at me.
“What?” But somehow I had a feeling that I knew what she was about to say.
“No, it’s nothing.” Leaning forward, she picked up her neglected cup of chai and wrapped her hands around it, as if she needed it to ward off a chill, even though the room was plenty warm.
Mason was giving her cousin the same quizzical look I knew I wore on my face. “It’s something — you wouldn’t look that way if it wasn’t. So spill.”
A hesitation, and then Carla’s fingers tightened on the heavy brown mug she was holding. “It’s just — you wouldn’t know this, because they haven’t released any photos of Alison, but she looked a lot like Theresa, the first girl who was killed. I mean, not like sisters or anything, but the same coloring and height.”
Cold was working its way down my spine, too, and neither the cozy room nor the cup of hot tea I held were doing much to help.
She continued, “And I remembered how when I first saw you at the potluck in Christmas, I thought you reminded me of someone, and then when I went back after winter break, I realized it was Alison from my stats class. I didn’t really think about it after that because I was busy, and, well, people are always reminding you of someone, right? But after the attacks started, and I realized both of the girls who were killed looked sort of like you, Angela….” Trailing off, she lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s nothing, right? Or is it some kind of messed-up serial killer, with, I don’t know, Wolverine claws or something? They always have a type, right?”