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Cormac looked at him. “You believe in a God that creates monsters? Monsters who murder?”
“We don’t get to choose God. We don’t get to make God. God makes us.”
He knows, Cormac thought. Or maybe . . . But he couldn’t have been the werewolf; the timing was off. He wouldn’t have had enough time to shift back to human, to dress and appear so calm and put together. At least, Cormac was pretty sure he wouldn’t have had enough time.
“You know who it is,” Cormac said. “You know what it is. Then you know it’s a devil, a demon—”
“And we’re all God’s children,” Father Patrick said firmly. “I’m going to make that phone call now.”
Cormac walked away.
It could be the priest. If he’d been a werewolf a long time, if he had the experience, maybe he could shapeshift that quickly and appear so calm just an hour after attacking Cormac, after getting shot at. But Cormac wasn’t sure that made any sense.
Something screwy was going on here. Cormac didn’t care what the old man said, he had to take care of it. He had to make the kill soon, because the full moon was approaching and he had a feeling that would be too late. That monster this morning wasn’t a creature of God; it was a pure cold killer. A child of Satan. Didn’t matter what kind of fancy theology you dressed it up in.
Someone was lounging on the hood of his Jeep. One of the students—an honest-to-God Catholic schoolgirl in a knee-length plaid skirt, cardigan, crisp shirt, and maroon tie, the knot hanging loose, about halfway down her chest. Her black hair—dyed, probably—was in a ponytail, with loose wisps hanging around her face. She was looking away at something and seemed to be chewing gum.
This place was too damn crowded, and too many people had seen him already.
Cormac was practically in front of her when she decided to look at him.
He made the automatic assessment: she was older, maybe seventeen, and full-grown. “Big-boned” was the polite way of describing her sturdy frame. Not quite big enough to be the wolf from last night. But he had to acknowledge the rather predatory look to her. She definitely didn’t seem afraid of him.
“What’s your story?” he said, resting his hands on his hips.
“I was framed,” she said. “They weren’t my drugs.”
Chuckling, he looked away. “You out here scuffing up my Jeep for a reason?”
She gave the Jeep a long, pointed look. Pale mud caked the wheel wells, the paint job had gone from olive green to pale green over the years, and rust spots had broken out across the hood, where the paint had been dinged by rocks and hail. Not to mention the shot-out window.
“I heard you talking to Father Patrick. And . . . I don’t know. I shouldn’t even be here.” She slumped away from the Jeep and started to walk away.
“Hold on there,” Cormac said. “What have you seen?”
She glanced nervously toward the school and bit her lip—a physical expression of the tension he’d been feeling since he arrived. So it wasn’t just him. “The other kids tell ghost stories. They talk about hearing noises—howling, banging on the windows. When I first got here, I thought it was just the usual thing, they’re always trying to scare the new girl. But they don’t go out at night. This is my third boarding school, and I’ve never been to one where kids didn’t break curfew. But here, they don’t. They’re scared.”
“You know that for sure?”
“Yeah. And it’s not just them. No one goes out at night. It’s the kids who double-check the locks on the doors and windows. We’ve all heard the noises. The sisters say it’s bears or coyotes. But I don’t think that’s what it is.”
“And what do you think it is?”
She ducke
d her gaze. “It’s crazy.”
Cormac gave a wry smile. “People always say that to me. Something killed some cattle on a ranch ten miles or so out, and it wasn’t coyote or bear. I tracked the thing back here. I think it may be living around here, and I think it’s not going to stay happy just killing livestock.”
The fearful look in her eyes showed shock but not surprise. He had a feeling he could have said the word “werewolf” and she wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I’ll get it,” Cormac said. “Whatever it is.”
“Okay. Good,” she said. Her smile was nervous. “I should get back—”
“Hey,” he said before she could scurry away. He had a bad idea and hated himself for even thinking it. “Would you mind doing something for me?”
He’d asked the girl to walk across the campus at midnight. That was all. Back and forth between the dormitory and the old school building, across the longest stretch of lawn, slowly and leisurely. She’d looked at him as if he were crazy, and Cormac hadn’t wanted to defend himself. He wasn’t crazy, just driven. And he lived in a different world from that of most folks, a world where monsters like vampires and werewolves existed.
