Secret of the Wolf (2 page)

about the town and remembering, again and again, the burning eyes of the phantom.

Gott in Himmel help any local scoundrel who ran afoul of him without a passerby to

interfere. She was not much given to prayer, but she offered up a sincere plea that none

of his future victims would be any less deserving than young Peter's father
.

And that she, personally, should never see him again.
.

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 8 of 455

He knew exactly which room was hers
.

As he watched from the ill-lit street across from the Frisby House, he could smell her

scent, carried by the cool, wet winds from the Strait and the ocean thirty miles to the

west. He'd memorized the smell instantly when he went to work on that cowardly piece

of filth among the dockside shacks
.

He knew the boy was with her—but now that the whelp was safe, he was of no further

interest. The woman was. He could not have said why, for she wasn't the kind of female

he sought when sexual hunger came upon him. She wasn't beautiful, though her figure,

full of hip and breast, was enough to rouse him
.

Maybe it was because she'd stood there, so calm, when the bully attacked her.

Remained calm when he appeared. He wasn't used to such composure when he was

around. He preferred to provoke different emotions
.

Maybe he was curious. She was a doctor. A female doctor. Because of her, the bastard

would live

at least for today. She'd robbed him of his vengeance. She owed him for

that
.

But it wasn't his way to ponder what could not be explained. He existed by instinct, and

emotion, and whim. Now his whim said that he wanted this woman, in a way no weak

human soul could understand
.

He could go after her, of course. He moved like the fog itself, all but invisible to human

senses. He could steal her from that room with no one the wiser. Satisfy himself with

her, and be done with it
.

No one would stop him, least of all the Other—the one he wouldn't name. To name the

Other gave him power. And he wasn't ready to surrender himself
.

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 9 of 455

Someday, he would keep what was his, and damn the Other to darkness and silence

forever
.

He dug his bare toes into the earth of the street, indifferent to the loss of his shoes. He

didn't need them. He shifted from foot to foot, staring at the darkened window
.

A bellow of raucous laughter burst from the nearest saloon, distracting him. The smell of

liquor and beer drowned out the woman's scent. His mouth felt dry, ready for another

drink. That took far less effort than climbing into the woman's room. It was the swiftest

escape from the memories, the burden the Other had given him
.

And in the saloon there were men who would cross him. Ruffians who would see only a

lean, oddly dressed tenderfoot with too much money, ripe for the plucking
.

He loped to the entrance of the saloon, whose doors spilled light like pale blood into the

street, and went in. The room was full of carousers, with a couple of whores for good

measure. He sat at the bar, pulled a handful of coins from his pocket, and ordered a

whiskey straight. Ten drinks later, even the bartender was staring in amazement. Still it

wasn't enough. Not enough to drown the memories
.

Someone kicked at his bare foot. He ignored the first blow. The second came harder,

accompanied by a loud guffaw
.

"Hey, boy. Someone steal yer shoes?”

Still he waited, taking another sip of his whiskey
.

"You hear me, you scrawny li'l pissant? I'm talkin' to you." A blunt, dirty hand snatched

at the coins. "Where'd ja get all that chickenfeed, eh? You gotta share it with the rest of

us. Right, boys?”

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 10 of 455

He ordered another drink and downed it in one swallow
.

"Wha' 'r' you

some kind o' freak? Or is that water y'er drinkin'?" The glass was

plucked from his hand
.

He turned slowly to the man leaning on the nicked wooden bar beside him. Another

drunk, of the belligerent variety. A brute, no longer young but massive from hard

physical labor, the kind who found a little extra incentive for a quarrel in the contents of

a bottle. Just like the one who'd been beating on the boy
.

Just what he'd been waiting for
.

He smiled with deliberate mockery. "What's it to you, you ugly son of a bitch?”

The drunk let fly after a moment's disbelieving pause. It was pathetically easy to dodge

the blow and slip around behind
.

He kicked the drunk's feet out from under him. The audience laughed and snickered as

the brute went sprawling

until the man pulled a pistol from his trousers. His shot went

wild and crashed into the stained mirror behind the bar
.

Several onlookers jumped the shooter, disarmed him, and tossed him into the street.

The bartender cursed over his shattered mirror, and the rest returned to their drinking

and whoring
.

But the "freak" wasn't satisfied. He stuffed the money back into his pockets and went in

pursuit of his prey. He found the drunk on his knees in the street, swearing a blue streak

and wiping hands on muddy trousers. Bloodshot eyes lifted to his, narrowed in hate
.

"D'you really want to see a freak?" he asked pleasantly. When he had the drunk's full

attention, he stripped and Changed. It hurt, the way it always did, but he didn't care. He

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 11 of 455

reveled in the pain. He finished, every muscle and bone screaming in protest, and

waited for his prey to realize what he saw
.

The drunk's eyes nearly popped from their sockets. He tried to scream. He wet himself

and fell into a dead faint
.

Laughing with his wolf's grin, he raked his sharp fore-claws along the slack, pockmarked

face. Let the drunk remember this encounter, as the previous bully would. Let him scare

his fellows with mad tales of men who turned into beasts. No one would believe. They

never believed
.

He bent back his head and howled. The sound bounced off alley walls and floated on

the fog like a banshee's wail. All noise from the saloon stopped; he could almost see the

faces turned toward the door, the hasty gulping of whiskey, the furtive gestures made to

appease God or the devil
.

He belonged to neither. Let them listen and be afraid
.

He Changed back, dressed quickly, and turned for the hotel

and the woman. But a

vast weariness overtook him; curse it though he might, he knew what it portended. The

more he fought, the greater the chance the Other would seize control
.

He must rest. Find some quiet place where he wouldn't be disturbed, and he might

wake still in possession of this body
.

With the last of his strength, he began to search for a sleeping place. In the end, he

found he could not leave the vicinity of the hotel, where she lay. He discovered an

abandoned, fire-damaged cottage two blocks away, tore through the boards nailed

across the door, and lay down close to a window, where he could still catch the merest

whiff of her scent over the smell of burned wood and mouse droppings
.

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 12 of 455

She's mine, he told the Other. No matter how often you drive me out, I'll come back. I

will have her in the end
.

And you will have nothing
.

Though she had made this journey several times since she and her "family" had come

to live in California, Johanna never tired of the view she saw from her window as the

Napa Valley Railroad made its way north into this little bit of paradise
.

Once South Vallejo and the marshy delta were left behind, the valley began in earnest.

At first one saw only wide fields of grain and cattle pastures, isolated farms and rolling,

nearly bare hills in the distance on either side of the tracks. Majestic, isolated oaks

stood sentry singly and in small stands, their branches twisted into fantastic shapes.

The native grasses were golden brown, almost the color of caramel. It had taken

Johanna several months, that first year, to get used to the arid summers of California.

She had come to appreciate their beauty
.

At the valley's entrance lay Napa City, the capital and largest town in the county. Its

dusty streets boasted the usual assembly of shops, hotels, saloons, and even an opera

house. Here the train made an extended stop, and Johanna disembarked to escort

Peter to his elder sister's home on the outskirts of town
.

He'd been a quiet, solemn companion since they'd left the hotel early this morning. And

no wonder: His life had taken an abrupt change in course. Johanna understood the

shock of that all too well
.

Peter's sister was glad to take him in, though she lived humbly and had the careworn

face of most countrywomen. But country folk could also be fiercely loyal to their own.

Johanna returned to the train depot satisfied that she'd made the right decision
.

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 13 of 455

It was important that something good had come of last night's confrontation. She hadn't

really slept at all in that narrow bed, and it wasn't because of the discomfort. Even now,

in the bright midmorning sunshine, she imagined herself back in that foggy alley with the

phantom
.

Be sensible, she told herself. You are always sensible
.

She settled back into her seat on the northbound train and turned her attention to the

landscape once more. Such openness and abundance refuted the very existence of

shadowy avengers. And she was going home
.

Home. Der Haven, she'd named it

the Haven. A simple farm backed up against a

wooded hill at the very top of the valley, surrounded by the last of her uncle's vineyards.

A place of refuge for the small collection of former patients she and her father had

brought with them from Pennsylvania two years ago. They were all that remained of the

inmates of Dr. Wilhelm Schell's unorthodox private asylum—the patients with nowhere

to go, no one to trust but the physicians who'd cared for them
.

Dr. Schell the elder was no longer capable of caring even for himself much of the time.

The apoplexy that had struck him down so tragically had curtailed his vigorous

movements and the sharp brilliance of his mind. He needed the Haven as much as the

others did. It was Johanna's charge to keep the place functioning, its residents content
.

And to heal them, if she could. The need to heal was an essential part of her nature,

and it made the responsibility worthwhile
.

The train left Napa City and passed several small villages, their tiny depots strung along

the rail line and its parallel road like knots on a rope: Yountville and Oakville, Rutherford

and St. Helena, Bale and Walnut Grove. Gradually the valley narrowed and the hills to

either side grew higher, clothed now in brush and trees. The vineyards that were

Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03

Page 14 of 455

beginning to attract so much interest appeared more frequently, each gnarled grapevine

was thick with green leaves and hung with ripening clusters of fruit
.

The grapes were very much like people, Johanna thought. Each variety took its own

time in ripening, and had to be coaxed along by the vintner. Some were simply more

fragile than others
.

She blinked at her romantic turn of mind. Quite impractical, such thoughts. But they kept

her from thinking about last night, or Peter's ultimate fate, or how well Papa and the

others had gotten along without her. If not for the chance to hear an eminent neurologist

lecture in San Francisco, she could not have brought herself to leave. But Mrs.

Daugherty could be relied upon to look after the Haven for a day or two. Of all the

people in the town of Silverado Springs, she was least bothered by the "loonies" who

lived with the crazy woman doctor. And she needed the money
.

Money. Johanna clasped her hands in her lap. That, too, was never far from her

thoughts. When she'd brought her father and the others to California, her uncle's