Gifted: A Holiday Anthology (4 page)

The Puppy Plan

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it caused serious problems for werewolves, too. Logan had been wandering through the forest behind Stonehaven, goofing off, tramping through the newly fallen snow. At nine, he was a little old for that. Or he considered himself too old for it. But his twin sister Kate had gone into the city with their parents to buy Christmas gifts, so there was no one to see him. And it
was
new snow. So he wandered about, breaking fresh paths, startling mice and maybe even scooping up a few, like he and Kate used to do when they were kids. Little kids, that is.

As he neared the edge of the property, he noticed the sun dropping over the open road. Time to head back. He was supposed to be in before dark, and, while there was at least an hour left, he hated even skirting the edges of irresponsibility.

It was then, as he turned, that he caught the scent. He stopped in his tracks, lifted his nose and inhaled.

It smelled like a dog, which was weird. With the Pack roaming these woods, other canines steered clear. Once, he and Kate had spotted a fox ambling across the road, and, when it caught their scent, it practically went into spasms before it tore back to its own side.

This definitely smelled like dog, though. That made Logan curious. Okay,
most
things made Logan curious. He liked learning and discovering. He also liked testing boundaries, though not in the same way as his sister. Kate pushed the ones that would get her into trouble. With Logan, boundaries were about knowledge and exploration. Lately, he’d been testing how close he could get to domestic animals before he startled them.

He walked toward the scent, but it remained faint. Then it was gone. He looked around. He saw the road, and trees and snow.
Lots
of snow. When he backed up, the smell wafted by on the breeze.

Had a dog passed this way earlier, its tracks now covered in snow?

No. His gut told him that whatever caused this smell was still here, and he paused, analyzing that. Gut feelings were for Kate; Logan preferred fact. He decided that it was the strength of the scent. As faint as it was, it was more than the detritus shed by a passing dog.

That still didn’t answer the question of where the dog could possibly be, when all he saw was snow. The forest started ten feet back from the road, the edge too sparse to hide anything bigger than a rabbit.

Maybe it
wasn’t
bigger than a rabbit. Like the one when Uncle Nick took them to visit Vanessa, and they’d been out walking on a busy street and passed a woman with a tiny dog in her purse. The dog freaked, escaped and ran into traffic, followed by Kate, who’d nearly gotten hit catching it. Uncle Nick had decided it was a story their parents really didn’t need to hear. Logan agreed. He’d also pointed out to Kate that, while rescuing the dog had been a fine impulse, she’d nearly given the tiny beast a heart attack when she scooped it up, which would have rather undone the point of saving it.

It could be a small dog, then, cowering behind a tree, waiting for Logan to pass. Which meant he should just move along. Except that, well . . . curiosity. He had to see if his theory was right.

As he started through the ditch, snow billowed over the top of his boots. He should have worn snow pants, but, on the first snow last month, he’d declared he was too old for them. The price for maturity, apparently, was wet jeans and snow sliding down the inside of his boots.

His foot hit something buried in the snow. A rock or a root. When he went around it, the smell faded. That’s when he decided curiosity wasn’t always such a good thing.

He had a good idea what he’d just kicked in the snow. A dog. Or the body of one that was struck by a car and made it into the ditch before dying. He scowled at the thought. Sometimes, you can’t avoid hitting an animal on the road, and it isn’t safe to try, however much Kate would protest otherwise. But if you did hit a dog, you should at least stop. Help it if you can, and find the owner if it’s too late.

He didn’t need to see a dead dog. But, when the snow melted, Kate would see it, and that would upset her. A lot. She’d been trying for the past year to convince their parents to let them get a puppy. Reese had dogs growing up, and he said if you raised them from pups, they were fine with the werewolf smell. But werewolves and pets were two things that didn’t normally go together, and, with everything else that was going on, this was one time when their normally indulgent parents held fast. Maybe in a year or so. Not now.

Kate didn’t need to see the dead dog. Logan would move it deep into the woods on the other side of the road. It wasn’t something he
wanted
to do—at all—but it was something he should and could do, and that’s what counted.

He peered up into the sky. The sun had not miraculously stopped dropping, which meant he ought to leave this task until morning, when he could bring a bag. First, he’d check and see how big a one he needed, and if he should bring the toboggan, too.

He returned to the spot where he’d kicked the poor thing, and he bent to scoop out snow. It was light and powdery, easy to move. He shifted the snow off and saw a bag. A canvas one, like the kind potatoes came in. Which meant this wasn’t a dog hit by a car. As for what it was . . .

Let me be wrong. Please let me be wrong.

He undid the tie at the top and opened it to see . . .

Logan’s stomach clenched so hard he doubled over. Tears prickled as he squeezed his eyes shut, but the image stayed emblazoned there. Two puppies, one on top of the other, the top one’s eyes open, pink tongue sticking out between its tiny teeth.

Logan dropped the bag and scrambled to the road and started pacing, heaving deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. Get his
temper
under control. Everyone said Kate was the one with the temper. Not completely true. His didn’t come out nearly as often as hers, but, when it did, it was like a fire in his head and in his stomach, burning through everything.

How could people do this? No, really,
how?
If they couldn’t keep the damned puppies, they could damned well find someone who could or leave them at the goddamned shelter, because this,
this
was unforgivable. Someone should put
them
in a bag. Toss them by the roadside like garbage. That’s what he’d like to do if he found them, and he didn’t care if it was wrong. It was fair.

He paced until he stopped raging. And stopped cursing. Then he rubbed his hands over his face, took a deep breath and . . .

Harsh bass boomed from his pocket, making him jump. The opening chords for Bikini Kill’s “Rebel Girl.” Kate’s ring tone. She set up everyone’s ring tones, an idea she got from Savannah, though his sister’s taste in music was somewhat more eclectic.

Logan answered quickly.

“I thought you were staying in the city for dinner,” he blurted.

“Dad and I got tired of being out. Mom did, too. She just wouldn’t admit it.”

He turned his back on the bag.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Sure. Just out walking.”

There was a pause. Kate trying to emotion-read him through the phone. That was not, he was aware, the technical term for what she did. There probably wasn’t a technical term, because her ability to interpret mood and emotion bordered on the preternatural. But, after a moment, she gave up and said, “I’ll join you.”

“It’s almost dark.”

“Which is fine as long as we are together and have our phones. I know the rules, Lo. I even kinda follow them. Oh, and I’ll bring your hot chocolate. We picked it up in town. The good stuff from the new coffee place. I’ll have to reheat it and put it into a thermos. There was whipped cream, but it melted. I could say I ate it, but that would be gross.”

“Uh-huh . . .”

“Does it help if I say I used a spoon?”

“Did you?”

“Where are you? I’ll be there in ten.”

Logan started to tell her. Then he spun back toward the bag. “No! I’ll . . . I’ll come there. I was just heading in.”

“So you can go out again. With me.”

“My jeans are wet.”

“Because you didn’t wear snow pants.” She sighed. “For such a smart kid, you can do some really dumb things, Lo.”

“Because I’m still a kid. It’s allowed. Give me ten and I’ll be there.”

“Fine. But if I drink your hot chocolate, it’s your own fault.”

“How would it be—? Never mind. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He set the timer on his phone, knowing if he wasn’t within sight of the house by the time it went off, his sister would come looking for him. Patience was not one of her virtues. He was still fussing with his phone when he bent distractedly over the bag and caught the smell and stopped short at the reminder of exactly what he was doing.

He couldn’t think about it. Just couldn’t. Sometimes doing the right thing meant doing stuff you really didn’t want to. He might have a bad dream or two after this, but finding the dead puppies would give Kate screaming nightmares, wondering if they’d been alive when—

Nope, he wasn’t thinking about that. Wasn’t.

He picked up the bag . . . and it seemed to move. Which he was clearly imagining, because he’d just been thinking about the puppies being alive.

So he was going to presume they were dead without checking?
That
would give him nightmares. He steeled himself and peered inside, recoiling as he saw the puppy with its eyes open. There was no doubt it was dead. No doubt at all.

The one underneath it had its eyes shut, but its lip was curled back as if in a final snarl of defiance. He saw that, and he wanted to cry. Not rage and curse but cry, because, when he looked at that puppy, he felt what it must have.

Like his sister, he’d always had an affinity for dogs, that sense that they shared a common bond in their canine side. But it wasn’t until now that he really
felt
that bond, and all he could think about were the last minutes of life for that puppy.

He’d planned to leave them in the bag, but now that seemed as wrong as if he’d put them there himself. He reached in and took out the body of the first puppy, cold and stiff. Then the other . . .

The other was not cold and stiff.

Logan nearly dropped the first puppy in his hurry to get the second one out. He scooped it up with both hands.

It was warm. Warm and pliant, its head lolling. He put one hand under its muzzle to support it while he pushed his fingers deep into the thick fur around its heart, searching for a beat.

The puppy lay on his hands, a dead weight.

Dead weight.

He blinked back tears. Tears of frustration and disappointment now, and maybe a little of anger, as if he’d been tricked, some cruel joke making him think that the puppy lived.

No, the joke was worse than that. The puppy was still warm, meaning that maybe, if he’d gotten to it faster . . .

He swallowed and wrapped his hands around the puppy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I wasn’t fast enough, I’m sorry.”

The puppy whimpered.

Logan froze. His heart pounded, and he was sure he’d imagined the whine, that it was an echo of his own voice. His fingers dug into that thick fur again, checking in case, just maybe . . .

There was a heartbeat.

A faint heartbeat.

Logan sat down fast, put the puppy on his lap and examined it for injuries. No obvious broken bones. No soft spots on its small skull. As he looked down at the puppy, he swore he heard his sister’s voice in his ear.

It’s cold, you dope. It’s been lying in the snow. Stop playing doctor and start playing nurse.

Right. Yes. Of course. Hypothermia. He unzipped his coat fast and put the puppy inside. Before he could zip it up, he took it out again and put it under his shirt too, right against him. Then, being careful to leave his zipper undone enough so it wouldn’t smother, he wrapped his arms around it and started to run.

Get to the house. Get Jeremy’s help. He was the Pack medic. He’d know what to do. As for what he’d do about Logan bringing a puppy home? They’d deal with that later.

He was under no illusion that his parents would say, “You found a puppy? All right then, you can keep it.” And when they
didn’t
say that, when Kate had a puppy in the house, only to see it sent to the shelter? When she blamed their parents? Let’s just say it wasn’t going to be a very Merry Christmas.

But he couldn’t think about that. The important thing was the puppy. Maybe he could convince Mom and Dad to set a timeline for Kate. To tell her, “Not this puppy, but another. In a year.” Definitely in a year. Logan knew they would both love to give her that puppy, but they just couldn’t right now, not with the Malcolm problems and everything else going on.

He was halfway to the house when the puppy woke up. Fast. Like he’d dropped it into a frozen pond. All four tiny limbs shot out and sixteen tiny—and remarkably sharp—claws ripped at his chest.

“Whoa!” Logan said as he skidded to a halt, snow flying. “Hold on!” With one hand, he rubbed the puppy, trying to calm it—and keep from being totally shredded—as he got his coat open and pulled it out.

Once free, the puppy froze, motionless, as if trapped in the jaws of some massive predator. Logan tried to pet it, but it started trembling, like a rabbit under a wolf’s paw. Logan’s own heart pounded along with the puppy’s. What if he did exactly what he’d warned Kate about with that purse dog? If he rescued it, only to give it a heart attack from his scent?

“It’s okay,” he said. “Everything’s okay.”

He kept his voice low and soothing, but the puppy whimpered, as if his talking only made things worse. It twisted in his arms, wriggling and struggling. He couldn’t let it go—it wasn’t old enough to survive out here—but if he scared it to death . . .

He growled with frustration. The puppy stopped wiggling. It went still. Then, slowly, it looked up at him, confused. He growled again, and it tilted its head, but stayed motionless, watching him. Its nostrils flared as it sorted out his scents—canine and human—and he wondered if it
wasn’t
the canine one that had made it freak out.

He growled, keeping the noise low, the kind of reassuring growl a parent might give. The puppy gave a yip of joy and started wriggling madly, in excitement now, small tongue bathing his face.