Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Elijah.

As we head to the cabin, Kate walks beside this guy, chattering like they’ve known each other for years.

Sure, he’s good looking. I’m not the sort of guy who pretends they can’t see that for fear it means they’re gay. I might be gay. Bisexual at least. All I know is that I’m not attracted to people in the way Kate is, where you see someone and think, They’re hot, and I’d like to make out with them. There’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes I wish I did feel like that. At least it’d be normal. But I can’t imagine wanting to make out with a random girl or guy. I want to spend time with them first, decide whether I’d like more.

I’ve reached that point twice—once with a female friend and once with a male one—but the attraction was never strong enough for me to act on it. I wasn’t ready for the emotional impact a relationship would have on my life. I need the emotional with the physical, and I haven’t met someone worth the time or effort.

But this isn’t about me. It’s about Kate. So I can recognize that Elijah is a good-looking guy, and I know my sister has no problem checking out boys who catch her eye. That’s all she usually does, though. Checks them out, like admiring the scenery. When she dates, other qualities trump looks. But Elijah has her full attention, and I’m trying to figure out why while fearing I know

the answer.

My sister has never met another werewolf our age. Elijah seems to think there’s something hormonal going on at this camp, and I’d like to say he’s full of crap, but it might explain what’s going on between them.

What makes me suspect his motives is that he’s a non-Pack werewolf, and Kate is the Alpha’s daughter. Also Elijah is attending this conference under false pretenses. Maybe he came here with an ulterior motive.

Like what?

I can’t answer that. I just know that I don’t like him and that I feel like a jerk saying that. When I first saw him, though, I’d had a flash of déjà vu. I know we’ve never met. I’d recognize his scent. But I look at him, and there’s this niggling sense that I’ve seen his face before. That bugs me.

I also want to know what’s up with this fake-girlfriend business. He’s charmed Kate into pretending to be his girlfriend, and that feels territorial. As if he’s claimed her, and even though it’s not a real relationship, other guys will steer clear. Other guys like Allan, who I always liked.

Now Allan’s left on the sidelines, Brandon’s blowing up my phone trying to reunite with my sister, and she’s off gallivanting with this guy.

Gallivanting? I sound like an eighty-year-old on his porch, shaking his cane at some punk sniffing around after my great-granddaughter.

I’m just . . . confused. My sister isn’t a heartless man-eater, laughing as she leaves a string of broken hearts in her wake. But first Brandon and now Allan, and I just feel bad for them.

So I blame Kate for that? As if she has a responsibility to like the guys who fall for her? No, of course not.

I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just cranky because I don’t like Elijah while realizing there’s no reason for it, and that might be proof I am indeed being affected by something hormonal at this camp.

I’m also cranky because he’s up there, laughing and talking to my sister, and that used to be me, and I miss it. I miss her. Earlier today, sitting in her

room with Holly, I’d felt like her brother again, as if this conference might be what we needed to get back to that. Then along comes Elijah . . .

“Logan!” Kate calls, spinning around. “Did you ever learn the legend about this place?”

“Was I supposed to?” I say.

She smiles, thankfully missing the cranky snap in my words. “No, it wasn’t a research assignment. I’m just wondering if you heard anything.”

“You mean those stories about the land and why it hasn’t been developed?” Allan says. “Sure, I know those.”

“What?” Kate says, spinning on him. “We were just talking about that, and you didn’t share?”

He smiles. “You never asked.”

She hooks her arm through his, and says, “Asking now.” Allan lights up, like the sun just turned his way. I glance at Elijah, expecting to see his face harden, but he only smiles at Kate’s exuberance.

“Don’t keep her in suspense,” Elijah says. “She might burst.” “Well, it’s not one story,” Allan says. “It’s a whole lotta them.” “Gimme,” Kate says.

Allan takes a deep breath. “Okay, well, most of the land is owned by a mining company. It’s West Virginia. There’s coal in them there hills. Except, as it turned out, there wasn’t a lot of coal. So the mining operation was short lived, cut even shorter when the mine collapsed, trapping everyone inside.”

“And even today,” Elijah intones. “You can hear the men tap-tapping on the shaft, telling the rescuers they’re still alive. Only there was no way to get to them, so their loved ones had to listen to those taps, until finally”—his voice drops—“they fell silent. But if you go there when the moon hangs low, you can still hear the tap-tap-tap of the miners’ ghosts.”

“You’ve heard this story,” Allan says.

“I’ve heard many, many variations on this story,” Elijah says. “It’s still a good one,” Kate says.

“Never said it wasn’t.” Elijah looks at Allan. “You wouldn’t know where we could find this mine, would you?”

“Field trip!” Kate says.

“Uh, yeah,” Holly says. “Field trip for you two. I’m going to hear tap- tapping in my sleep now.”

“I’ll keep you awake so you won’t have nightmares,” Kate says. “I’ll tell you creepy urban legends all night. I’m kind of an expert.”

Holly flashes Kate a thumbs-up. “Awesome.” She turns to me. “Mason didn’t leave his tent out here, did he? I might be looking for new lodgings.”

“Oh, you don’t want to stay out here,” Allan says. “Not all the ghosts are confined to the mine. There are plenty more stories. The rumor is that an ancient curse caused that mine accident. Experts at the time said the collapse was highly suspicious.”

“Because the mine wasn’t producing, as you pointed out,” I say. “And it suffered a catastrophic disaster. I suspect these two things are not unconnected.”

“Fie on you and your logic,” Kate says. “Tell us the real story, Allan. Or at least the more interesting version.”

“Well, like I said, the mine owners got the land cheap.” “Because the coal had run out,” I say.

Kate claps a hand over my mouth. “Continue, Allan.”

“They got it cheap because no one else wanted it. Now, legend says that when settlers first came to West Virginia, they found this area brimming with game. The native hunters avoided it. They called it—”

“Wait, I know this one!” Kate says. “Tricia said it was a Native American word that means ‘The Valley of the Disappeared.’”

Allan frowns. “I heard it meant ‘Forest of the Unwelcome.’”

“Nah,” Elijah says. “It actually translates to ‘white folks will believe any shit if we stick a fake Native American word on it.’”

Allan snaps his fingers. “Yes, that was it. So the local tribes avoided it

because it was haunted. Or, possibly, because it’s just one patch of rich forest in a massive wilderness of rich forest, and they found better places to live. Whatever the truth, the settlers thought they hit the jackpot. They settled a tiny community where they began clear-cutting for crops. You can still see the clearing down by the river bend, but the village itself is long gone.”

“Please tell me the entire population disappeared one night, never to be seen again,” Kate says.

“You’ve heard this one before, too?” Allan says.

“Roanoke,” Kate and Elijah say in unison, and then grin at each other, like five-year-olds discovering they both like the color blue.

“Stories like Roanoke aren’t that uncommon,” I say. “People discovered problems with the location they’d settled in, often in the middle of a long winter, and they moved on.”

“Leaving everything behind?” Kate says. “Even kettles whistling over the fire?”

“First, I doubt early settlers had whistling kettles. Second, no one was around to confirm that kettles were whistling when they left.”

Kate makes a face at me and turns to Allan. “Is that what happened?

Everyone vanished?”

“That’s the short version. If you rush ahead to the ending, you don’t get the full story.”

“Sorry.” Kate motions zipping her lips and then gestures for him to go on. “The settlers began clearing farmland near the river bend. It was, by all accounts, a veritable Eden. Clean water, good soil, plenty of game and fish. One of the families wrote their adult daughter, telling her to come join them with her husband and new baby. They arrived in early autumn, well before the first frost. The four homesteads were empty. Deer carcasses and fish hung

outside, buzzing with flies and maggots. All that remained of the village—” “Was a single word, carved in a tree. Ro—” Elijah claps a hand over his

own mouth. “Sorry.”

“Bloody wolf prints,” Allan says. That gets Kate’s attention. “What?”

“Paw prints from a massive canine, tracked through all four homes. Prints bigger than a man’s hand.”

Kate looks at me. “That must be the origin of the werewolf stories Tricia told us.” To the others, she says, “She said there’s a rumor that the Pack used to live here, and we’re responsible for all the disappearances and deaths. We pointed out that the Pack has only been in America for a few hundred years, and they’ve always lived in New York State. She didn’t seem to believe us.”

I say, “Also, werewolves wouldn’t carefully remove all the bodies while leaving bloodied paw prints everywhere.”

“I’m not even sure how that’d work,” Kate says. “Bloody paw prints require walking through pools of blood first. Is that the story, then? Four families disappear, leaving behind only bloody paw prints? No pools of blood?”

“Wait, I have the answer,” Elijah says. “A mysterious man came by one evening, ragged and starving. They fed him, and he gave them the secret to life in the forest, how to become the ultimate hunters. He bestowed on them all the gift of werewolf blood, and they walked out into the forest to live new and wondrous lives.”

Kate shakes her head. “Half right. The mysterious man comes by one evening, ragged and starving, and claims he’s a god, so they feed him their own son to test him, and in punishment, he turns them all into wolves.”

“Lycaon,” Elijah says with a grin. “Nice one.” They high-five each other as Holly and Allan stare.

“According to Greek mythology, Lycaon was the first werewolf,” I explain. “He was a king who didn’t believe that an old traveler was Zeus, so he served his son to the god for dinner because Zeus is supposed to be all- knowing. Zeus figured it out and transformed the entire family into wolves. It’s the basis of the word lycanthropy.”

“Wait,” Allan says. “This king tested Zeus by feeding him his son?” “Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of mythology,” Elijah says.

“Is that the story then? The villagers disappeared, never to be seen again?” “Of course not,” Allan says. “They’re seen every year on the anniversary

of their disappearance, hitchhiking along the nearest highway, trying to find their way home. I thought you knew your urban legends.”

More high fiving. Holly sneaks an eye-roll my way, a shared look between the two sane people in this group.

“Anyway,” Allan says. “The disappearing village was just the beginning of the stories. Anyone who tried to settle here either vanished or died horribly, as if torn apart by some great beast. At some point, the land was sold to the mining company. After the accident, stories of the curse got around, and no one wanted to purchase the land. It was passed down a few generations until the Cortez Cabal bought it and gifted a portion to the group running the conference. From what I hear, the Cabal plans to build their own conference and vacation center here.”

“So we’re the guinea pigs,” Elijah says. “Making sure the land isn’t cursed.”

“There’s no such thing as cursed land,” I say. “You’ve been mocking Allan’s stories because we’ve all heard them a hundred times. Standard urban legend fare.”

“Which doesn’t explain the weird stuff in camp,” Kate says. “Or what happened to Mason. Or the fact that both Elijah and I heard whispers near that cabin.”

Elijah looks at her. “You did, too?” “What?” I say. “You never mentioned that.”

Spots of color blossom on my sister’s cheeks. “You’d have listed all the logical explanations and made me feel silly.”

Elijah’s gaze knifes my way. Yes, I’m quick with the logical explanations but only to open a debate with my sister, the sort of heated discussion we

used to love, the verbal equivalent of our tussling matches. When she says this, I feel the stab of it far more than Elijah’s look. Did she honestly think I’d mock her?

Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?

Not exactly, but I am tossing a wet blanket over their fire. They’re having fun, goofing around, and I am indeed that cranky old man rapping his cane. Worse, I actually am interested in these stories, silly as they may be. They’re mysteries to be solved, something else Kate and I used to do together. And now . . .

My gaze cuts to Elijah, as if he’s an invader on my turf. Which is ridiculous. She just met him, and they’re getting to know each other, and they’ve connected over this shared interest. I need to lower my hackles and stop being such an ass.

“What did you hear at the cabin?” I ask Kate. I try to sound interested—I am interested—but I overdo it, and the lilt in my voice sounds vaguely mocking. I clear my throat. “Whispers? Like Elijah did?”

She shrugs. “Just that thing where you’re certain you hear someone, but when you turn, no one’s there. I was walking around the cabin, and I thought Nick snuck up on me. I was wrong.”

“Because Nick and I were still at the car. Yet someone else was there.” I glance at Elijah.

Elijah starts to protest, but Kate says, “No, I turned fast enough to catch whoever might have whispered. Then I jogged around the cabin. I was definitely alone. I brushed it off as a weird experience.” Her chin lifts as her gaze focuses on something in the distance. “And we’re finally here just as dusk falls.”

“Perfect timing,” Allan says. “Let’s go check it out.”