Men of the Otherworld (8 page)

It must have been a long walk, but I didn't notice. I had fun bounding through the frost-covered tall grass, hearing it crackle as I trampled it. Once I found a hole in a fence and sent a herd of sheep stampeding for cover. Great fun. Jeremy didn't agree and hoisted me back over the fence by the scruff of my neck. It was a glorious day, sunny and bright and cold. My breath snorted out in billows of smoke, like the man at the warehouse, except my smoke smelled of nothing but crisp, clean air. For a while, I amused myself by running ahead, hiding in the brush, then leaping out and snapping at Jeremy's hands as he passed. Great fun. Jeremy even seemed to agree this time. At least he did until I got carried away and took a chunk out of his finger.

The road was quiet. When the rare car did drive by, Jeremy didn't seem concerned. We were on the opposite side of the ditch, and anyone passing would only see a man out walking a boisterous dog. Of course, I didn't look like any dog. I looked like
a young, yellow-haired wolf. But no one expects to see a man walking a wolf, so no one sees it.

Finally, Jeremy stopped. He picked me up and carried me over the ditch, across the road and down a long driveway. I burrowed my cold nose against his neck and licked him. He chuckled, the vibration coursing through me. The fear was gone. His strides lengthened and he picked up his pace, as if eager to reach our destination. When we were far enough from the road, he put me back on the ground. I yawned and trotted after him.

We'd barely gone twenty paces when the Change started again. This time, Jeremy noticed it immediately, seeming to sense it. He led me behind a massive pine tree, waited until I'd finished, then draped his jacket over me as I rested a few minutes to recuperate.

Instead of going back to the driveway, Jeremy led me across the treed front lawn. We wove through another row of evergreens. Suddenly, the house appeared before us, as if a magician had yanked off the covering sheet and shouted “Ta-da!” A two-and-a-half-story stone wall spread as far as I could see. If it wasn't for the windows and gardens and front porch, I'd have mistaken it for some other kind of building. I'd never seen a house this big.

When I stopped gawking, I noticed Jeremy watching me. He was smiling, not the forced smile he used with humans, but the crooked smile that crept up to his eyes.

“We're home,” he said. “Welcome to Stonehaven.”

As Jeremy pushed open the front door, his manner changed again. Tense now. Careful. He stepped into the hall, gaze darting from side to side. His nostrils flared, testing the air. I saw a flicker of movement from the shadowy hall. Jeremy saw it, too. He
backpedaled out the door. A figure raced down the hall and barreled into Jeremy, plowing him backward and toppling them both off the porch and onto the grass.

I saw only a blur of motion. Again, I didn't think. I launched myself onto the attacker's back and sank my teeth into his shoulder. The man yowled, reared up and reached back. One large hand grabbed me, lifted me into the air and swung me overhead. As I inhaled, I smelled what I'd come to recognize as the underlying scent of a werewolf.

When I came down, I found myself looking into large brown eyes. I twisted, but couldn't get free. One glance at the man told me I wasn't getting free until he decided to set me free. He was almost a head shorter than Jeremy but twice as wide, and all the extra weight was in muscle.

Despite his size, I couldn't resist one last-ditch effort. I pulled back my foot and kicked him in the chest, hard enough to send shock waves of pain through my foot. The man grunted, then started to laugh.

“Big balls for such a little scrap,” he said.

“Serves you right.”

That was Jeremy. Twisting my head, I saw him sitting on the grass, retying one shoe. He didn't seem the least bit perturbed about my predicament. The man set me down. I growled at him, then lunged to hide behind Jeremy.

“Bully,” Jeremy said, tucking in his shirt tails.

“That's the boy?” the man asked.

“I should hope so. I'd hate to think there was more than one.” Jeremy got to his feet and pulled me up by my hand. He pushed me forward. “This is Clayton. Clayton, meet Antonio.”

The man grinned, flashing white teeth. He extended his hand. I backed up.

“He doesn't do physical contact,” Jeremy said.

“I see.” Antonio flashed another grin and looked me over. “Wild-looking little thing, isn't he? Clothing might help. I trust he was wearing some on the plane?”

“Don't ask. We'd better get inside before he freezes.” Jeremy prodded me toward the door, then stopped. “He's not back yet, is he?”

“House was locked tight when I got here. I was waiting for your call. You should have phoned from the airport.”

“No need.”

Jeremy led me into the house. The hall floor was cold stone, marble actually, though I wouldn't know that. I hightailed it through an adjoining door to a carpeted room. A long wooden table gleamed beneath a glass candelabrum. What caught my attention, though, were the plates and silverware set out at each place. Jeremy stood in the doorway. I reached over and tugged at his shirt.

“Yes?”

I pointed at the place settings and grunted.

“Can he talk?” Antonio asked.

“Can, but won't. Tell me what you want, Clayton.”

I growled, stamped my foot and gestured at the dining room table. Antonio laughed.

“Don't encourage him,” Jeremy said. “Talk, Clayton. Say what you want.”

I growled again, but gave in. “Food. Want food.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” To Antonio, “He likes food.”

Antonio grinned. “A boy after my own heart. Come on then, scrap. Let's raid the pantry.”

Sometime later we were in another room, still eating. I'd refused to go with Antonio alone, so the three of us had gone to the
kitchen, where I'd discovered heaven in the form of a massive refrigerator, deep freezer and two fully stocked closets of food.

Antonio had fixed the meal, piling mounds of cold cuts, breads and cheeses onto a platter so big I could have curled up on it and gone to sleep. To this, he'd added a second platter of salads, fruits and desserts. I decided this was someone I could allow myself to tolerate.

Instead of returning to the dining room, Jeremy got clothing for me, then led me into a room with several large padded chairs and a couch. A stone fireplace filled one wall. Jeremy had lit the fire earlier and I was lying beside it now, basking in the heat and stuffing myself with food. Paradise.

Jeremy and Antonio sat in the chairs. At first, I'd stuck close to Jeremy. But Antonio kept hogging the food, inching the platters over to his side of the coffee table. I'd followed the food and ended up lying on the rug by the fireplace. I was wearing a shirt of Jeremy's, which came down to my knees, and a thick pair of woolen socks. I'd just as soon have gone naked, but Jeremy had a thing about clothes, so I humored him.

The two men were talking. I wasn't paying much attention. Occasionally I caught words like
boy
or
child,
so I knew they were talking about me. To understand them, I'd have to concentrate and at that moment, all my concentration was required for the arduous task of filling my belly. Once that Herculean chore was accomplished, I stretched out and listened to them talk. I wasn't always sure what they were saying or what they meant, but I listened anyway.

“Are his Changes lunar?” Antonio asked.

Jeremy shook his head. “Emotion-based sometimes. Other times… I don't know. They're frequent. Too frequent. Usually two, three times a day.”

“Ouch. Poor kid. He's so small. How old do you figure?”

“I guessed seven for his birth certificate. He's probably closer to eight, like Nicky, but with the developmental delays, it seemed safer to go with seven.”

“How long ago do you think he was bitten?”

“I don't want to think about it.” Jeremy sipped his drink. “He's worse than I expected. I'm not sure… I wasn't really prepared for this.”

“Second thoughts?”

Jeremy put his glass down. “No. Of course not. I'm just questioning my own…” He stopped. Shrugged. “Ah, well. He's stuck with me now.”

“It'll be fine. He seems bright enough. He'll learn fast. And he's a handsome boy. Those big blue eyes. Those blond curls. People see that, they'll expect a little angel. That'll help.”

“You think so?” Jeremy looked up, hopeful.

“Sure. Don't worry about it. In a few months, he'll be a normal boy.”

“You think so?”

“I'm sure of it.”

Over the next few weeks, my language recognition skills went into overdrive. I learned best the way most children learn: eavesdropping. Antonio left the day after we'd arrived, but he returned the next weekend, and the weekend after that.

Days of listening to Jeremy and Antonio helped me far more than Jeremy's lessons could. That's not to say that my verbal skills kept pace. I talked when I had to, but I didn't really see the point. My needs were simple, so there wasn't much I had to communicate. Gesturing and grunting seemed far more efficient than speech. Jeremy disagreed.

By the end of the second week at Stonehaven, he wasn't even content with mere words anymore. He wanted sentences.
Whole
sentences. And, in forcing me to speak when I didn't want to, we both learned one more thing about me. I had a bit of a temper.

“Out.”

Jeremy glanced over his newspaper and lifted one eyebrow. I was learning to hate that particular facial gesture.

“Out.”

Antonio lay on the floor, surrounded by papers, writing in a ledger book. He looked up. “I think he wants to go outside. Why don't we—?”

“I know perfectly well what he wants. And he knows how to ask for it.”

“Want out.” I planted myself in front of Jeremy and pushed down his newspaper.

Jeremy shook the newspaper from my hand. “Ask for it properly, Clayton. A full sentence.
I want to go out.
‘Please’ would be nice.”

I growled and stamped my foot. Jeremy turned the page.

“Want—”

“No, Clayton.”

I grabbed the newspaper and ripped it from his hands.

“I want to go out! Now!”

Jeremy plucked the torn paper from my hands, folded it and laid it aside. “You don't speak to me that way, Clayton. Go upstairs, please. You can come down for dinner.”

My request had seemed simple enough. All Jeremy had to do was give me permission. I could open the door and let myself out. I knew the boundaries: the broken statue, the bronze urn, the kitchen window and the back door.

For weeks, he'd given me what I wanted when I wanted it. Now, all of a sudden, these simple wishes were granted only when I complied to outrageous demands like having to speak in full sentences. The unfairness of it raged through me.

I grabbed the newspaper and ripped it in half. Jeremy ignored me and reached for his coffee mug. I knocked it from his hand as it touched his lips. It smashed into the wall, shards flying in all directions.

“Clayton!” Antonio leapt to his feet.

Jeremy put out a hand to stop him. His face stayed impassive, which infuriated me more. I flung myself in his face.

“Out!” I screamed, spraying spittle flying. “Want out nowwwww!”

I snatched up the nearest thing to me, which happened to be an end table, and flung it against the brick fireplace. It smashed into sticks and splinters. I swung back to face Jeremy. He arched one eyebrow.

“Done?”

I stormed to the back door, grabbed the handle, then stopped.

I couldn't do it. My fingers refused to turn the door handle. I could not disobey Jeremy. It was like a subconscious override that shut down my synapses.

With a snarl, I spun from the door and stomped up the stairs, making as much noise as a forty-pound body can make.

I ran into the first room on the right, an empty guest room, and threw myself onto the bed. Burying my head under the pillow, I gulped stale air. The rage dissipated. On its heels came horror.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my damaged memory, I knew that you never lashed out at an adult. You did not argue. You did not shout. And you absolutely did not break things. To do so was dangerous… painful. It was an old lesson, etched in my brain, yet one I'd never been able to follow. Now, I had a reason to follow it. I had a home. Shelter and food. Someone to protect me. Yet I seemed hell-bent on screwing it up.

I pulled the pillow around my ears and sobbed, dry heaving sobs that racked my body until I was too exhausted to move. Then I lay there, feeling sorry for myself.

After a while, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I lifted the pillow a bit and listened. The footfalls sounded too heavy for Jeremy,
but I still peered out hopefully. When Antonio rounded the doorway, I yanked the pillow down over my head and flipped over, turning my back to him.

“Good, you picked the old room,” he said. “Nothing valuable to break.”

“Go away.”

“What's that? A complete sentence? Short, but grammatically complete. Very good.” He thudded onto the foot of the bed. “That's a wicked temper you've got there. Great pitching arm, though. When you grow up, Jeremy can send you down to try out for the Yankees.”

I lifted the corner of the pillow. “Send me away?”

“No, no.” Antonio shook his head and pulled the pillow away. “I was joking. Teasing.” He studied my face for some sign that I understood him. “Jeremy's not sending you anywhere.”

I relaxed. “He come? Up?”

“’Fraid not, scrap. That's why I'm here. I figured you might need some help.”

“Not come up?”

“No. He'll call you for dinner, like he said, but he won't come up after you. Here's what I'd suggest. You go downstairs and apologize. Understand?”

I shook my head.

“Go downstairs. To Jeremy. Tell him you're sorry. Say ‘I'm sorry, Jeremy’ A complete sentence. Understand?”

I nodded. It sounded too easy. I should have known there was a catch.

I followed Antonio downstairs, found Jeremy in the study, walked up to him and said, “I'm sorry, Jeremy.” He nodded and let me help him wash the coffee off the wall. And so I was forgiven. As easy as that. No lecture. No icy silence. No grudges
held. Yet there was something in his eyes that stung worse than all the beatings in the world. Disappointment. No apologies, however heartfelt, could erase that.