Secret of the Wolf (44 page)

monotone, devoid of emotion. "I didn't let myself think that my drinking did serious

damage to anyone but myself." He smiled a chilling smile. "But you think that's what lets

Fenris out.”

"It's possible, but—”

"Just as it's possible that I killed this businessman last night.”

"I do not believe

You said that you had no memory lapse—”

"I was asleep. Do you remember every moment when you're asleep, Johanna?" He

raised his hands, crooked his fingers, stared at them as if they belonged to someone

else. "Don't try to make it easy for me. I'm not a child. If a man died, it might very well

have been by these hands." He pressed his temples. "You said that I created Fenris. I

am responsible.”

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"No." She was losing mastery of this conversation, and she must get it back. "Quentin—

I am convinced that we can reach Fenris. He is the hidden part of yourself. Somehow,

you and I must find a way to communicate with him. Bring him into the light, and

confront him.”

"And until then?" He slammed his fist into the wall. "I can't stop what I feel. I can't even

sense his existence. How can I prevent him from taking over and

attacking someone

again? How many times have I hurt people in the past, and not known it?”

The tears built painfully behind her eyelids. "We will find a way. But now you must listen

to me. Regardless of what actually happened, certain witnesses are claiming to have

seen you in the vicinity of Ketchum's body. That was enough to rouse the town.”

"You mean a mob." His gaze grew keen and alert. "A mob is coming to the Haven to get

me.”

"That is why we must take immediate precautions, for you and—”

"You knew about Fenris last night, and you still came to me. Why, Johanna?" His eyes

glittered with unshed tears. "Why would you give yourself to a monster?”

"Because I—I

" How would it help, to tell him she loved him? Another burden for him

to carry, another load of guilt and self-loathing, because in his own mind he didn't

deserve to be loved
.

"You were afraid of Fenris," he said with devastating insight. "Coming to me was a way

to challenge your fear." He smiled, without bitterness or mockery. "I hope it helped you.

I'd like to believe it did. I'd like to think we shared something other than sorrow, before I

go.”

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"Quentin.”

"Don't deceive yourself. I must give myself to these people, to the law, before they come

and destroy what little peace I've left you.”

"That is out of the question. They may—”

"Hang me? I have heard that such things happen in this country. With justification, in my

case.”

"You have an illness. You are not a criminal.”

"How can you be sure, Johanna? And what do you propose to do to keep me 'safe'?

Bind me in chains so that Fenris can't escape again? Lock me in a padded room and

push my food through the bars? Oh, no." He shuddered violently. "I'll take the rope, and

gladly. It will end this farce I've made of my life.”

"I will not lock you away." Tears ran down her face. She couldn't stop them. "You must

go into hiding until things settle down. And it's not only you who is in danger. Because of

what's happened, Bolkonsky has threatened to come for May this very day.”

Quentin's body twitched, as if he'd experienced a sudden shock. "May. You have a plan

to save her.”

"I will not give her up to her father. Oscar has been looking for her, but I must have her

ready to leave within the hour. You must go as well.”

"I'll find her.”

She swung on him. "Go. Do not make things more difficult—”

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"Johanna." He spoke so gently, as if in the midst of sweet loving. "No one is better

suited to bringing her back than I am." He smiled with tender sadness. "I have

something to show you, something I should have shared long ago.”

As she watched, uncomprehending, he began to remove his clothing. She couldn't avert

her eyes. In her office, in full daylight, he was a thousand times more beautiful than he'd

been in his dark bedchamber
.

Her body woke despite the urgency of the situation, responding to the potent promise of

his masculinity. Lewis was right, she thought dazedly. Naked in the woods ..
.

The last of his clothing fell to the floor, and the outlines of his form seemed to shift and

shimmer. Mist, the very color of his eyes, appeared from nowhere to gather about him

like a magic cloak. It swallowed him up entirely
.

Quentin vanished. All she saw at first, as the mist cleared, was a flash of sharp white

teeth and russet fur. Then she realized what had taken Quentin's place
.

A wolf. A wolf whose pelt was the shade of Quentin's hair, thick and sleek. A wolf with

great triangular ears and a plume of a tail, immense paws, and slitted golden-red eyes
.

He grinned at her. Quentin's grin
.

She clutched at the back of her chair. His gaze was no beast's. Those were Quentin's

eyes
.

The wolf was Quentin
.

His lycanthropy was real. His unconscious mind had told the truth. Lewis had seen him

change into a wolf
.

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One less symptom of insanity to worry about. Or one more. Now he was three: wolf,

Quentin, Fenris
.

She laughed, muffling the sound behind her hand. The wolf—Quentin—no creature of

fear but a beast as magnificent as the man—flowed toward her like liquid copper and

nudged her other hand. His nose was warm and dry
.

"The joke is on me," she said, wondering if she was making any sense. "Did you think

this would make matters simpler?”

He lay down at her feet and rested his jaw on her foot. It was a gesture of love and trust

she could not mistake. He was tame as a dog, utterly loyal, adoring her with his lupine

eyes and the rasp of his tongue across her fingers
.

Consigning one more secret to her keeping
.

She plunged her hand into the thick guard hairs about his great neck and felt him

tremble. "Quentin—if you still understand me—I

don't know what to say.”

He slipped away. The mist enveloped him again. She was unable to observe the actual

change, try though she might; the scientist was never long absent from her nature. He

stepped, naked, from the dispersing cloud, retrieved his clothes, and dressed in silence
.

"You need say nothing," he said. "I didn't believe that showing you this would make

matters simpler. But it should make clear why I cannot remain.”

"Because—" She tried to assemble words into proper sentences, drawing them into a

line like a child's scattered alphabet blocks. They remained hopelessly disordered
.

"Because I am not human," he completed for her. He sighed, and she felt his absolute

weariness. "There are others like me throughout the world. We are stronger and faster

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than men, with senses a thousand times more keen. We are infinitely more dangerous if

we choose to be.”

"The nature of the wolf—”

"Is not what men have made it. We are neither cursed nor the children of Satan. The

vicious cruelty men attribute to wolves is the product of fear and ignorance. There has

been evil among the loups-garous—I have seen it myself—but no more than is found

among men.”

Question after question crowded Johanna's mind. How many cases of insanity might

have been attributed to this very real ability? How did these loups-garous fit into the

evolution of life and the human race, creatures Darwin had not even imagined? How

had they remained hidden so long?

Not one of those questions was important
.

"You are not a killer, Quentin," she said. She held out her hand. He brushed her

fingertips with his own, fleeting as the mist that marked his transformation. "You are a

wonder.”

"If I have killed"—he worked his hands open and closed—"the fault is in me, not my

kind. I am an aberration. But my abilities make me deadly. I can't trust my own body,

and neither can you. If I don't stop myself, no one can.”

"Then how can mere human law contain you?" she cried. "If you give yourself up to the

authorities, what makes you believe that Fenris won't do anything to get you free

again?”

"That's why he exists, isn't it?" He lifted his head. "Tell me, Johanna. Where can I go?

Does the place exist where Fenris can do no harm?”

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"Yes. But only if we make that place together.”

"There is another option.”

"I will not let you take it.”

He laughed hoarsely. "I've never managed suicide thus far. Success is by no means

assured.”

"Fenris would stop you. He wants to survive.”

"And there is only one who can match him, Johanna, whatever sort of creature he is."

He thumped his chest with his fist. "He is me.”

"Yet you haven't even met him." She strode forward until she stood nearly eye to eye

with him. "You can't possibly fight what you can't see and don't remember. Without my

help—”

"Have you ever cured a man with this disease, Johanna? Have you ever treated a

werewolf? No," he said, forestalling her answer. "May needs you now. I won't put either

of you in further danger.”

She opened her mouth for another protest, and he silenced her with his lips. He kissed

her as if it were the last time, hard enough to leave his impression seared into her skin.

She held him as if by sheer physical strength she could prevent him from going
.

But she was only human. He set her back and kept her apart from him. His endearing,

crooked smile made a brief appearance and was just as quickly gone. "I'll find May and

bring her back to you. If you need help after I'm gone, ask Harper. He's a capable man,

and a real purpose is what he needs to be whole.”

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Johanna found nothing to say, not a single reasonable argument. Her legs began to

tremble. Quentin guided her to her chair and sat her down in it
.

"Good-bye, Johanna," he said. His breath hitched, as if he would say something more.

"Good-bye.”

Her vision blurred. She blinked, and Quentin was gone
.

Gone for good
.

"No." Johanna tried to stand, faltered, sat down again. "Quentin.”

Someone banged on the office door. Oscar barged in, frightened and upset
.

"Doc Jo?" he said. "I couldn't find May. I'm sorry." He pushed his hands deep in his

pockets. "Mrs. Daugherty said to come get you. There's something going on in the yard.

Lots of people. They look mad.”

Gott in Himmel. The mob of townsfolk Bolkonsky had warned her about. Were they

already here?

Her question was answered soon enough. A shout from outside came from the direction

of the front gate, and it was not a cry of greeting. Necessity gave her the will to move.

She hurried to the window and looked out. Possibly twenty men, and a few women,

were gathered just beyond the gate. They swayed back and forth as one, like some

huge, restive, hungry beast
.

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She knew what had to be done. Quentin would find May and keep her from harm;

Johanna's trust in him remained unshaken. It would be up to her to keep the mob at

bay
.

"Is everyone else in the parlor?" she asked Oscar
.

"Yes. Mr. Andersen got us. He said to wait for you.”

"Good. I want you all to stay there, and not move. Do you understand?”

"Are those people going to hurt us?”

Who'd told him that? she wondered. Andersen? Or had Oscar seen enough ugliness in

his life to recognize it in the folk of Silverado Springs?

"Let's go to the parlor." She took his hand and led him down the hall to where the others

waited. Andersen was pacing up and down the length of the room, rubbing his hands.

Harper, beside her father in his wheelchair, gazed toward the kitchen, where Mrs.

Daugherty waited nervously in the doorway. Irene, her expression half obscured by her

garish face paint, perched on the edge of the sofa
.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Daugherty demanded
.

It seemed impossible that Mrs. Daugherty, with her ready ear for gossip, knew nothing

of last night's incident, or of the townspeople bent on their version of justice. Yet she'd