“It has to be you,” Cole said. He’d opened the passenger door and stood on the running board, leaning over the roof at me. “The one who leads the wolves out. I’ve tried; I can’t hold a thought while I’m a wolf.”
I looked at him. My fingers tingled. I’d forgotten the milk inside the store. I kept thinking of John swinging at me, Cole charging between us, the night living inside me. Feeling like I did, right now, I couldn’t say, No, I can’t do it, because anything felt possible.
I said, “I don’t want to go back. I can’t do that.”
Cole laughed, just a single ha. “You’re gonna shift eventually, Ringo. You’re not totally cured yet. Might as well save the world while you’re at it.”
I wanted to say, Please don’t make me do this, but what meaning would that have to Cole, who had done that and worse to himself?
“You’re assuming they would listen to me,” I said.
Cole lifted his hands off the roof of the Volkswagen; cloudy fingerprints evaporated seconds after he did. “We all listen to you, Sam.” He jumped to the pavement. “You just don’t always talk to us.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
GRACE
Saturday, Officer Koenig came to the house to take us to the peninsula.
We all watched him pull into the driveway, peering out the living room windows. It was thrilling and ironic to be inviting a policeman over after trying for so long to avoid them. Like Mowgli asking Shere Khan in for some tea and crumpets. Koenig arrived at Beck’s house at noon, dressed in a crisp maroon polo shirt and jeans that I thought he’d probably ironed. He drove a pristine gray Chevy truck that he may have ironed as well. He knocked on the door — an efficient Knock. Knock. Knock that somehow reminded me of Isabel’s laugh — and when Sam opened it, Koenig stood there with his hands folded neatly in front of him as if he were waiting for his date.
“Come on in,” Sam said.
Koenig stepped into the house, still with one hand professionally holding the other. It seemed like another lifetime that I’d seen him last, standing just like that in the front of our classroom as a bunch of high schoolers assaulted him with questions about the wolves. Olivia had leaned over to me and whispered that he was cute. Now here he was in the front entry, and Olivia was dead.
Olivia was dead.
I was beginning to understand that blank look Sam got when someone said something about his parents. I didn’t feel anything at all when I thought Olivia is dead. I felt numb as Sam’s scars.
I realized that Koenig had spotted me.
“Hi,” I said.
He took a deep breath, as if he were preparing to dive. I would’ve given almost anything to know what he was thinking. “Well, okay, then,” he said. “There you are.”
“Yes,” I replied. “Here I am.” Cole stepped out of the kitchen behind me and Koenig’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes. Cole smiled back, a hard, certain smile. I watched recognition slowly dawn on Koenig’s face.
“Of course,” Koenig said. He crossed his arms and turned to Sam. No matter how he moved his arms or stood, something about Koenig gave the impression that he would be difficult to knock over. “Are there any other missing persons living under your roof? Elvis? Jimmy Hoffa? Amelia Earhart? I’d just like to have full disclosure now, before we go any further.”
“This is it,” Sam said. “To the best of my knowledge. Grace would like to come with, if that’s okay.”
Koenig considered.
“Are you coming with us, too?” he asked Cole. “Because if so, I’ll have to make room in my cab. Also, it’s a long drive. If you have a small bladder, I’d use the facilities now.” And that was that. Having established the ground rules for the day — I was a part-time wolf, Cole was a missing rock star — it was down to business.
“I’m not coming,” Cole replied. “I have man’s work.”
Sam shot Cole a warning look. It was a look I thought probably had something to do with the kitchen finally looking like a kitchen again and Sam wanting it to stay that way.
Cole’s reply was enigmatic. Well, sort of. Whenever Cole wasn’t being completely flamboyant, he always seemed mysterious by comparison. “Bring your phone with you. In case I need to get ahold of you.”
Sam rubbed his fingers over his mouth as if he were checking his shaving job. “Don’t burn down the house.”
“Okay, Mother,” Cole replied.
“Oh, let’s go,” I said.
It was a strange trip. We didn’t know Koenig at all, and he knew nothing about us except for what nobody else knew. It was made more difficult because he was being kind in a very amorphous way that we weren’t certain we were glad for yet. It was hard to be both grateful and talkative.
So we sat three across on the bench seat: Koenig, Sam, me. The truck smelled vaguely like Dr Pepper. Koenig drove eight miles above the speed limit. The road took us northeast, and it wasn’t long before civilization began to fall away. The sky overhead was a friendly, cloudless blue, and all the colors seemed supersaturated. If winter had ever been here, this place didn’t remember it.
Koenig didn’t say anything, just rubbed his hand over his close-cropped hair. He didn’t look quite like the Koenig I remembered, this young guy driving us into the middle of nowhere in a civilian truck, wearing a shirt in department-store maroon. This was not who I’d expected to be putting my trust in at this stage. Beside me, Sam practiced a guitar chord on my thigh.
Appearances weren’t everything, I supposed.
The truck was silent. After a bit, Sam brought up the weather. He thought it was pretty smooth sailing from here on out. Koenig said he thought that was probably true, but you never knew what Minnesota had in store for you. She could surprise you, he said. I found myself pleased by him referring to Minnesota as a “she.” It seemed to render Koenig more benevolent, somehow. Koenig asked Sam what he was thinking of doing for college, and Sam mentioned that Karyn had offered him a full-time position at the bookstore, and he was considering it. No shame in that, commented Koenig. I thought about two-hundred-level classes and majors and minors and success quantified by a piece of paper and kind of wished they would change the subject.
Koenig did. “What about St. Clair?”
“Cole? Beck found him,” Sam said. “It was a charity case.”
Koenig glanced over. “For St. Clair or for Beck?”