Virals(14)

Scramble. Change subject.

"Kit, uh . . . how's the turtle?"

He blinked. "The what? Oh! The turtle that took on a propeller. It's fine, just a scrape. Those shells are tough."

Kit downed a forkful of Whitney's lasagna. Which, admittedly, was excellent.

Grrr.

"Sea turtles are such beautiful creatures." I encouraged the current line of conversation. Kit took the bait.

"Yes. Boaters really must be more careful. But the pilot thought enough to bring the animal to us, so he's not a bad sort. Surgery took about an hour, and . . . " He stopped. Pointed with his fork. "Wait. Who told you about the turtle?"

Shoot.

"Who told me?" I stammered.

"How did you find out about the injured sea turtle?" Kit spoke slowly, as though addressing a toddler.

"We sort of motored out to Loggerhead this afternoon. Coop has been missing, and I wanted to figure out what's upsetting the pack, so--"

"Stop. Who is 'we'?"

"Just me and the usual guys. Hi, Ben, and Shelton."

A sharp tsk from Whitney. She had strong feelings about my being with boys unescorted. Puh-leeze.

"I didn't see you," Kit said.

"We went straight to Dead Cat. No big deal." Here goes. "We did chat with Dr. Karsten for a few minutes."

"And?" Wary.

"And what? You know how he is. We didn't do anything. He's all, 'you kids always cause trouble,' and 'you're going to burn down the island because you're such idiots.' We just left base and went out to Dead Cat for a while. That's it."

Close enough.

"Am I going to get an earful from Karsten?"

"No, Kit." Heavy mocking. "You're not 'going to get an earful from Karsten.'"

I hoped.

"Why would you want to play on that stinky old island?" Whitney's perfect little nose crinkled in disgust. Stopped. I actually saw the thought cross her mind. "Unless you're doing work like your daddy does." Again, she turned the big blues on Kit. "Important work."

"Like I said, I wanted to check on the wolfdogs. Coop's been missing lately, and the other three are agitated about something."

Whitney donned her long-suffering face. A parent confronted by childish obstinacy. "I thought we were finished with the dog debate." Prim. "Your father has spoken."

Okay. I may stab her. I would probably get a medal.

"I wasn't asking to get a dog, Whitney." Kit had refused my repeated requests. I suspected Whitney was behind his opposition. She detests pets. "I was referring to the wolfdogs out on Loggerhead. The puppy is missing."

"I'm sure he'll turn up." Softer. Kit knew I wanted a dog more than anything on earth. "It's a big island. He's probably just nosing around by himself."

"But it doesn't make sense. Wolves develop close relationships and maintain lifelong social bonds. They have a deep affection for kin, will even sacrifice themselves for the pack." I grew more distressed just talking about it. "The others would never let Coop go off alone. He's not fully grown."

"Wolves?" Whitney's eyes were saucers. "You're cavorting with wolves?" Her head whipped to Kit. "That's ghastly! She'll be mauled. Or eaten!"

Kit looked trapped. Two angry women. Tough spot.

"Only one is actually a wolf," he said to Whitney. "She's harmless."

"A harmless wolf?"

"She's been on the island for years. Her mate is just a normal German shepherd."

"Their pups are called wolfdogs," I explained. "Half-dog, half-wolf. Coop is the youngest." I appealed to Whitney's warm fuzzy center. "He's a puppy, only a few months old."

"You mean a diseased, wild mongrel! Someone should call animal control. Aren't those dogs illegal?"

That's it. I'm done.

"Thanks for dinner." I shot to my feet. "I've got homework."

A drive-by wave.

I hit the stairs before either could utter a word.

Two steps at a time.





CHAPTER 10


Safely locked in my room, I seethed.

Downstairs, Kit and Whitney were undoubtedly discussing The Problem of Tory. Every time, like clockwork. I didn't eavesdrop. I was sure my head would explode.

Diseased mongrels? What the hell did she know?

Wolves are noble, caring animals. Though I hadn't told a soul, I'd thought about studying those "diseased mongrels" for a living, thank you very much. They ranked well above Whitney Dubois on my list.

"I'm not prancing like her show pony," I vowed to the dog figurines lining my bookshelf.

Not going to happen. No ridiculous fluff for me. Nyet.

I punched a bed pillow.

Easy. Don't make it about Whitney.

Okay. I had to admit that dressing up a few times wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen to me. I like wearing white. And pearls are nice. At school, I'd seen girls looking at dress designs. I thought I could pull off the look. Might even turn a few heads.

Also, shocker, my social calendar still had a few openings.

"Who knows?" I asked the empty room. "On that special night of nights a handsome young bachelor of the aristocracy might choose me off the menu of virgin chattel!"