Secret of the Wolf (48 page)

her absence from the Haven. He expected her this very evening
.

Then he'd have to decide what to do with May
.

He finished buttoning his trousers, reached for the chipped plate on the table beside the

boarded window, and tore off a chunk of the sourdough bread he'd stolen from the

baker's that morning. May's hungry stare was like the annoying buzz of an insect
.

"You want this?" he said, holding up the loaf. "Take it." He tossed it toward the couch.

She scrambled up to catch it, too late, and it landed on the grimy floor. She sat on the

edge of the sofa, the blanket still wrapped around her, and looked at the bread as if it

were a million miles out of reach. He waited for her to burst into tears
.

She didn't. She raised her head and gazed at him, her pale face set in resignation
.

"You aren't Quentin, are you?" she said
.

Ironic that she should ask that question first, when she must have wondered what he

was
.

"No," he said mockingly. "I'm not Quentin.”

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Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand.”

"You don't have to." He picked up the bread, brushed it off with his fingers, and thrust it

into her hands. "Eat.”

"I'm not hungry.”

"You're a liar.”

She shrank back a little, as if she expected a beating for her defiance. He was tempted

to give her what she asked for, but his muscles refused to lift his arm
.

Quentin. Damn Quentin
.

"Eat or starve. I don't care." He turned his back on her and went for the half-empty bottle

of whiskey balanced atop a broken armoire
.

"Who are you?”

Her rash persistence surprised him, given her ordeal. He took a swig from the bottle
.

"Fenris," he said
.

"Fenris." She wet her lips. "You're not

a regular person.”

He laughed at the absurdity of her understatement. "You're right." He leered at her,

showing all his teeth. "I'm a monster. Just like Quentin.”

"Quentin isn't—" Her protest subsided into a long, fluttering breath. "You and Quentin

are the same, aren't you?”

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She wasn't completely stupid. "Don't go crying after him. You won't find him here.”

She absorbed that in silence. "But he's not really gone, is he?”

"Shut up.”

"Quentin is my friend. He always tried to help me.”

He slammed the bottle down on the armoire. "I told you to shut up.”

"You helped me," she whispered. "You saved me from that man, the one who wanted to

take me back to my father.”

Pain exploded in his head. "I'm... not

Quentin." He strode toward her, hard and fast,

bent on meting out swift punishment. She leaned back against the sofa, not so much as

raising her arms to protect herself
.

But in her eyes was the tiniest glint of spirit. It brought him up short
.

"Will you hurt me, like my father?" she asked
.

His headache worked to split his brain down the middle. "I'm not your father," he

snarled
.

"No," she said. "He pretended to love me.”

He'd never heard such a voice, such aching acceptance and sorrow. The girl Quentin

knew hadn't spoken of her past, not to him nor to Johanna. That girl had always been

afraid
.

Like the boy. The boy in the cellar, who'd cried out for help and found it
.

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Fenris clenched his teeth and fell to his knees beside the sofa. Something inside drove

him to ask what he didn't want to know, didn't want to feel
.

"What did he do to you?”

She closed her eyes. "He

he came to me when I was sleeping. He touched me.”

Fingernails scraped against the bare floorboards, and Fenris realized they were his

own
.

"I don't want to go back," she said. "Please, don't make me go back.”

He jumped to his feet. "You're not going anywhere.”

"You don't have to take care of me. Quentin—”

"Quentin is a coward and a fool." He seized her chin in his hand, deliberately relaxed his

fingers so that he would not damage her skin and bones. "He couldn't even take care of

himself.”

Her eyes filled with tears. "Someone hurt him? His

his father?”

Grandfather. Please no more

Fenris roared. He saw Quentin—himself—May—bound and helpless while one who

should have loved and protected gave torment instead
.

Killing rage replaced all semblance of thought. Tiberius Forster was dead, but Chester

Ingram was not. The man called Bolkonsky was not
.

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The girl had become a wraith to him, like a half-forgotten dream. He started toward the

door
.

"Quentin?”

He stopped
.

"Quentin, please come back.”

Quentin heard. Quentin stirred in his prison, struggling to respond. He groped in

darkness for his voice and his being. A shaft of light burst from an opening door
.

Fenris flung his weight against that door, but not before Quentin saw him
.

"You," Quentin said. "You're real.”

The moment in which they faced each other was infinitesimal, but it was enough for

Quentin to understand. Understanding was a new and powerful weapon, but he didn't

yet know how to use it. He was paralyzed by horror
.

Fenris heard the girl's tread behind him. "Quentin—”

"I'm here," he whispered in Quentin's voice
.

Fenris howled. He slammed the door inside his mind and sealed it with a hundred

massive locks forged by his furious will
.

He couldn't kill Quentin, no more than he could kill a man already dead, or the girl

shivering within her enshrouding blanket
.

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But Quentin couldn't stop him from eliminating Ingram, because it was what they both

wanted. It was the work for which Fenris had been born
.

He turned to the girl, seeing her face as if through a sheer veil of bloodred silk
.

"Wait here," he said with an icy smile. "I'm going to visit your father.”

Johanna arrived at the San Francisco Ferry House on the evening's last boat and

disembarked with the small group of passengers from Oakland. The others scattered to

their various destinations, hailing hackney coaches or meeting friends, many chattering

happily as if they looked forward to an enjoyable visit
.

The sun was just setting, and already the night was damp and cold, lacking the Napa

Valley's summer warmth. San Francisco's weather perfectly matched the chill in

Johanna's heart. The coldness had settled in with the delivery of Fenris's letter, and

hadn't left her since
.

She'd done what needed doing in spite of her fears, arranging for Mrs. Daugherty and

Harper to handle the running of the Haven and the most basic care of the other patients

and her father. She hoped she would not be gone long enough to put a strain on Mrs.

Daugherty's generosity, or compromise Harper's dramatic improvement. At least she

had Mrs. Daugherty's assurance that the townspeople had lost their interest in revisiting

the Haven

for the time being
.

It hadn't been easy to lie to the patients, especially to Harper. Harper guessed that

Quentin had taken May, but he didn't know that Fenris existed. She'd told him that she

was going to meet Quentin in San Francisco and arrange for May's safe disposition.

Mrs. Daugherty and the patients had been given a much simpler story. None of them

knew the complexity of May's situation with her father
.

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But Harper wasn't satisfied. He'd held May's book, his brow creased in worry, and told

Johanna that Quentin and May were in serious danger
.

She could hardly refute him, and she respected him too much to offer comforting

platitudes
.

She pulled Fenris's note from her coat pocket and read the scrawled address once

more. She wasn't familiar enough with San Francisco to recognize the location, but

someone at her hotel would be sure to know. She suspected that the place was in a

very bad part of town
.

She had no doubt that Fenris was waiting for her
.

Squaring her shoulders, she flagged down the nearest hired hack and gave the driver

the address of a modest but respectable hotel on Market Street, where she'd stayed for

the lecture nearly three weeks ago. Once there, she strode to the desk with her single

bag and waited impatiently behind another woman who was completing her registration
.

After an interminable period, the woman turned from the desk and bumped into

Johanna
.

"I beg your pardon," the woman said, echoing Johanna's apology. They broke off

simultaneously, and the woman peered into her face. Johanna felt a jolt of startled

recognition
.

"Dr. Schell?" the woman said. "Dr. Johanna Schell? It is you, is it not?”

Johanna took an involuntary step backward. "Mrs

Mrs. Ingram?”

"Yes. Oh, it is you!" She beamed, and Johanna thought back to the last night she'd seen

this unfortunate woman, haggard and terrified for herself and her daughter. "What an

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amazing coincidence to meet you here, of all places! And I was just making the

arrangements to come to the Valley to see you.”

She extended her gloved hand, and Johanna took it, praying that her trembling was not

too obvious
.

Mrs. Ingram. May's mother, who had disappeared for a full two years—communicating

only through the occasional letter—who had trusted Johanna with her daughter's well-

being when she could trust no one else. Her most recent letter had promised her return

in the very near future, and she'd been as good as her word
.

She had greatly changed. Her cheeks glowed with health and confidence; her eyes

sparkled with genuine happiness. The happiness of a mother about to be reunited with

a beloved child
.

"I understand your hesitation in greeting me," Mrs. Ingram said, becoming serious. "I

must have seemed a terrible mother to you, leaving my child as I did. My letters were

hardly adequate, but I had reason for hiding my whereabouts.”

Johanna found her voice. "Mrs. Ingram—I knew, when I accepted May, that you faced

great difficulties.”

"And I knew you would care for my girl and make her well." She squeezed Johanna's

hand. "I knew the moment we met. But everything has changed. It has taken me two

years, but I have the means of making certain that my husband can never threaten us

again. I can pay you for all your good work, and May and I can live together in peace.”

"I am

glad to hear it," Johanna said
.

"I'm sure you have a great many questions, and I shall be happy to answer them soon.

Are you in town on business? Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you back to the

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Haven." She smiled self-consciously. "It will be easier for her to meet me again if you

are with me. I'm sure she's grown to love you, and I've been gone so long. Perhaps she

blames me for leaving her.”

Johanna swallowed. "Mrs. Ingram—”

"Forgive my chatter. My life has changed so, and it doesn't quite seem real as yet." She

glanced toward the clerk behind the desk. "I must be keeping you. Please tell me—how

is May? I can't wait to see her.”

"May—May has improved, Mrs. Ingram. She has made friends at the Haven, and reads

constantly. She's becoming a young woman.”

Little truths to cover the big ones that could not be spoken, truths no better than lies.

Lies would not protect Johanna, or undo her many mistakes. They would only spare this

woman more suffering
.

Mrs. Ingram closed her eyes. "I knew it. I have felt all these months that everything will

be right at last. Thank you, Dr. Schell.”

Johanna cleared her throat. "It seems that we are staying in the same hotel.”

"As you see. I had planned to go to Silverado Springs tomorrow—”

"Might you delay a day or two? I have certain business to attend here in the city before I

return. I have very good and reliable assistants at the Haven, but I agree that it would

be best if we see May together.”

Mrs. Ingram made a valiant try at hiding her disappointment. "Yes. I see. Of course I will