When Darkness Falls

by Susan Krinard, Tanith Lee, Evelyn Vaughn

  Dana looked under the loosened bandages one more time and finally admitted the obvious. Somehow, miraculously, the young man had healed overnight. There were faint, pale lines where the trap had cut into his skin. That was all.

  She expected an "I told you so" look from Remy, but he was distracted by other concerns. He'd made up a small pack, including sandwiches and drinks and a number of other useful items for their trek back to town, though at least part of the way would be on the bayou. He didn't show her a map. He evidently didn't want her to remember the way to or from his sanctuary.

  At her insistence, Tris remained in bed, though he made soulful puppy-dog eyes at her and seemed to want to say something important. Either he was painfully shy, or something was holding him back. After intercepting a stern look Remy intended for his brother, she thought she knew what that something was.

  Remy was fiercely protective of his brother. Why? What was he trying to hide? Could there be any truth to his warning about their part in Sally's disappearance?

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't believe either Remy or Tristan were involved in anything like murder. Even so, half of her conversation last night had been sheer bluster. She should be relieved to escape.

  She went along quietly when Remy announced that it was time to go. He helped her into a small aluminum motorboat, cast off from the cypress-wood dock and started up the bayou. Their course followed a mile or two of twisting channels, and some time later Remy jumped out in shallow water and pulled the boat onto relatively dry ground. Then he led her cross-country until they reached an area that looked vaguely familiar from her venture with Chad.

  Yesterday, however, she and Chad had been alone. Now the little patch of mud was swarming with men, some in the uniforms of local law enforcement, others in civilian clothing.

  Remy stopped in his tracks behind a screen of willows, nostrils flaring. "I have to go," he said. "You'll be safe now."

  From you? she wanted to ask. But she spotted Chad among the men and realized there would be no more time for questions. When she turned to say goodbye, Remy was gone. She stepped out into the field.

  Chad came rushing toward her. "Dana!" he cried. "Thank God you're all right. You'll never believe what happened—"

  "You got lost," she said. "It's okay, Chad. I'm fine. I don't know where your boat is, however."

  "Never mind about that." Chad moved as if to embrace her but stopped at the last minute, frowning at the willow thicket. "How did you get back here?"

  "I ran into an old fisherman who showed me the way." Now, why had she found it necessary to lie? "Are all these people here for me?"

  "I wasn't going to take any chances with your life," Chad said, grabbing her hand. "The swamp can be dangerous for people who don't know it."

  Dana refrained from pointing out that Chad obviously didn't know it, either. "As I said, I'm fine now. If you'll introduce me to the man in charge, I'll thank him for his trouble."

  "That would be Detective Landry of the Beaucoeur Sheriff's Department. I'll introduce you."

  She let Chad pull her away, noting with clinical interest that she felt nothing at his touch. Nothing at all. It wasn't just annoyance with what he'd done yesterday. No, it was something else. Someone else.

  Remy Arceneaux.

  She thanked Detective Landry and the volunteer searchers, apologizing for pulling them out of their beds so early. Landry was quite gracious, but he studied her with an almost uncomfortable intensity.

  "You didn't happen to run into the Arceneaux brothers out here, did you, ma'am?" he asked.

  It was much easier to lie to Chad than to this man with his knowing eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to admit the truth. "As I told Chad, a fisherman helped me. I never did get his name."

  "I see." Landry looked from her to Chad with a frown. "Well, you're okay, and that's all that matters. Unless you need to see a doctor, I'll take you home now."

  "That's not necessary—" Chad began.

  "I think it's best if the lady comes with me."

  "Don't worry," Dana assured Chad. "I'll call you tomorrow."

  Chad gazed at her, a world of hurt in his eyes. "You're angry."

  "Not at all. I'd just like a good night's sleep." She freed her hand from Chad's grip. "Please don't worry about me."

  "I swear I'll make this up to you. We could fly out to New Orleans and get the best meal you've ever tasted."

  "Thanks, Chad. I'll think about it."

  "Don't think too long." He graced her with his most charming smile. "I insist."

  Dana smiled politely and turned to the open door of Landry's car. Chad stopped her.

  "Did you find anything… about Sally?"

  Dana's heart skipped a beat. "How could I? I didn't know where I was going most of the time."

  "Thank God you didn't run into Arceneaux." Landry closed the door, and Chad bent to the window. "Remember what I said about him and his brother. Don't come back here alone, Dana."

  Whatever else he'd planned to say was lost in the car's rumble as Landry drove along the well-defined ruts in the mud, leading a caravan of the other searchers. Aunt Gussie was at the door to meet her when Landry pulled up in front of the house.

  "Mon Dieu," Gussie said, knotting her apron in her fists. "Thank God you're all right." She searched Dana's eyes and turned to Landry. "Thank you so much, Detective. If anything had happened—"

  Landry touched her arm. "It's all right, Madame Daigle. We didn't even have to search. She found her way back on her own."

  "Oh, my." Gussie grinned. "You're a mess. Come and have some tea, and we'll get you cleaned up. Detective, you want to come in for a bit? I just made a pecan pie."

  "Perhaps another time." Landry glanced at Dana. "You take care, Doctor."

  "I will." She shook Landry's hand. "Thanks again."

  Gussie waved to the detective and hustled Dana into the house. Soon Dana was soaking in a warm bath, her hair clean and her clothing in Gussie's washing machine.

  Afterward she and her aunt enjoyed tea and pecan pie. Dana realized how famished she'd been. And when Gussie offered her a spot of bourbon with lunch, she also realized that the day's events had rattled her much more than she'd suspected.

  The drink gave her the courage to bring up the subject that had never left her mind.

  "What do you know about the Arceneaux brothers?" she asked Gussie as they sat in the tiny living room.

  "You didn't see them in the swamp, did you?"

  "I… I've heard about them," she said carefully. "I've heard they have a reputation in town."

  "Reputation." Gussie hunched her shoulders and worked furiously at her knitting. "All the Arceneaux in this part of the parish have a 'reputation.' Not that anyone sees much of them. Most of them are hermits, almost never come to town. But they're said to be… strange. Not like other folk. Some even say they're not to be trusted. Dangerous."

  Did Gussie know from personal experience? Had she ever suspected Remy or Tristan Arceneaux of being involved in her granddaughter's disappearance? Dana could think of no way to ask.

  But Gussie read her mind. "Some say," she said softly, "that those brothers might have been with Sally right before she vanished."

  "Do you think they're right?"

  "I don't know." Gussie dropped her knitting and closed her eyes. "No one ever found anything. Only talk." She sighed. "When Sally was in school, one of those boys was sweet on her. Chased after her everywhere but never did any harm. Sally was always nice to him. Felt sorry for him. Then Chad Lacoste came along and swept her off her feet."

  "Chad?"

  "Didn't I tell you?" Gussie smiled sadly. "They were engaged to be married once. But Sally up and went off to college in the city, and Chad went somewhere else. He was here when Sally came back to look for that bird, though. I thought they might get back together again."

  "But they didn't?"

  "Maybe they would have, but Sally… that's when she went missing."

  Chad
and Sally?

  Dana leaned her head back against the armchair, absorbing this new and surprising information.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Everything Aunt Gussie had said about the Arceneaux seemed to be true.

  Dana talked to several people in town, including the man at the gas station who'd mistaken her for Sally. He was the first, though hardly the last, to clam up at the mention of Remy and Tristan Arceneaux.

  Others had more to say. The elderly couple who ran the combination hardware and grocery store on the main street were eager to regale her ears with superstitious tales of men who could change into wolves and hunted by moonlight. Grand Marais's sole hairdresser told Dana how all the girls had been after Remy Arceneaux in school, and how their parents had warned them away from him. Not that he'd ever shown interest in any of them; no, he'd always had his sights set on escaping Beaucoeur Parish. And he had escaped—for a while. Until Sally vanished and the rumors started.

  That was when he and Tristan went to live in the swamp, and the rumors grew.

  By the time she had spoken to a dozen townspeople, Dana was used to being stared at as if she were a ghost. She knew that Remy had left behind a career in the city to take care of his brother, though it was still unclear what had happened to make such a radical change necessary.

  It all came back to Sally Daigle, and the suspicions that one or both of the Arceneaux brothers were responsible for what had happened to her.

  No one, however, had any facts. No evidence of any kind had ever been found, not even Sally's body. She'd been seen talking to one of the brothers a few hours before she disappeared. That, and the way the Arceneaux were viewed in Grand Marais, was enough to settle their guilt in the minds of many.

  But that wasn't good enough for Dana. All her life she had relied on her own judgment when there had been no one else to trust. That judgment had told her that she had to get out of San Francisco, away from her staid routine, and search for the one essential element her well-ordered life was missing. If she was ever to trust her instincts again, she had to learn the truth. She owed her cousin, and herself, that much.

  Lost in her own troubled thoughts, Dana became aware that someone was shadowing her along Main Street. The damp hair on the back of her neck prickled in alarm. But when she turned her head, all she saw were the usual scattered pedestrians, moving slowly in the midafternoon heat.

  She was just about to turn for home when Tristan stepped around the corner of a building. His eyes darted from side to side as he approached her.

  "Tristan?" she said. "Are you looking for me?"

  His lips parted. "Sally?"

  "I'm sorry, Tristan. I'm not Sally. I'm her cousin, Dana. We met yesterday, remember?" She took a step toward him. "How are you feeling?"

  "Good," he said, ducking his head. "Remy said you helped me."

  So he didn't remember. Perhaps his problems were more severe than she had guessed. "Does Remy know you're here?"

  Alarm lit his face, and at first she thought she had frightened him with her question. But the sound of footsteps from behind told her that Tristan was concerned with someone else. She turned quickly.

  "Detective Landry," she said. "I was just—"

  "I told you to stay out of town," Landry said to Tristan, as if she hadn't spoken. "Go home. Allez."

  "Wait a minute," Dana said. "He hasn't done anything wrong."

  In the time it took for her to address Landry and turn back to Tristan, the young man was gone.

  "I've been keeping an eye on you, Dr. St. Cyr," Landry said. "You've been warned about the Arceneaux brothers. I suggest you pay attention to those warnings."

  "Detective, if you know something about Sally, if you can tell me anything at all—"

  But Landry was already walking away. Dana clenched her teeth on a shriek of frustration. What was the matter with the people in Grand Marais? Were they all crazy? Was she crazy to get involved with the bizarre doings in this peculiar country?

  No, not crazy. Just a little reckless, which she so seldom was. She continued to walk in the direction she'd been headed before Tristan arrived, brooding over Landry's words. She couldn't stop thinking about Tristan. Was he in some new trouble?

  Just as she completed the thought, she caught sight of Tristan's dark-haired form moving among the shadows of a side alley. She turned into the alley, hoping he wasn't spooked enough to run away from her as he had from Landry.

  But he came out at once, greeting her with a smile that transformed his face to a remarkable and astonishingly masculine beauty. "Miss Dana?"

  She breathed out a sigh of relief. "Tristan, how did you get to town? Did you drive?"

  "Walked. It's not far."

  Somehow she guessed that "not far" to the Arceneaux brothers might be quite a distance by her standards. "All right. I'm going to take you home. Will you come with me?"

  He nodded, and she led him to the Lexus she'd left parked at the curb half a block down the street. Faces, staring from the sidewalk or gaping out of storefront windows, turned to follow their progress. Dana thought she was beginning to understand Remy's extreme protectiveness.

  It was easy enough to retrace Chad's route into the swamp, first on a paved road, then gravel lanes, and finally onto an overgrown jeep trail that proved a challenge for the Lexus. Dana realized how foolish she'd been to offer Tristan a ride. She had only the vaguest idea of the direction in which Remy's houseboat lay.

  "Stop here," Tristan said. "I know the way."

  Dana parked the car on a dry patch of ground. "Can I get there and back before sunset?"

  "You don't have to come."

  "I'd like to, Tristan, if it's all right with you."

  He smiled with genuine pleasure and offered his hand. She took it. This time she would pay attention, so that she could retrace her steps the next time she came. She had no doubt that she would.

  Tristan was very solicitous of her as he set off through the trees, pausing frequently to make sure she kept up. After a half-hour's walking, they reached a familiar open space.

  That was when she saw the wolf. It stood, quite still, in the center of the field, red coated and bigger than any wolf had a right to be. Its face was turned toward her, its triangular ears pricked and alert. It definitely knew she and Tristan were there.

  Hadn't Remy said there weren't any wolves in Louisiana? Was this animal a fugitive from some local zoo, or someone's exotic pet? Even she knew that wolves didn't make good pets. She also knew they usually didn't attack humans, but that thought was not particularly comforting.

  Tristan showed not the slightest sign of fear or wariness. He started forward, moving confidently toward the animal. Dana caught his arm.

  "Tristan! It might be dangerous."

  The sound of Tristan's laugh startled her as much as the wolf. "Don't worry, Miss Dana. It's only Remy."

  The game was up.

  Remy heard Tris's casual statement and knew his choices were very limited. He could remain a wolf and scare Dana away, in which case he might soon be facing a mob of unwanted and hostile visitors; he could vanish into the swamp and hope Dana would continue to believe his brother was crazy; or he could decide to trust her.

  "It's all right, Remy," Tristan called, making the decision for him. "You can tell Miss Dana. She'll understand."

  A wolf's eyes didn't roll nearly as well as a man's. Remy's curses emerged as a series of growls. Dana continued to grip Tristan's arm, her eyes wide and fascinated, her scent only a little tinged with fear.

  Dana St. Cyr was fundamentally levelheaded, intelligent and very, very stubborn. Once she saw what he was about to show her, she would probably believe. For good or ill.

  Remy flattened his ears, shook his coat and willed the Change. When it was finished, he found Dana sitting on her rump with her mouth open and her skin very pale. Tristan patted her shoulder.

  "I told you," he said. "Remy won't hurt you."

  "He's r
ight," Remy agreed, rising from the grass. "All those stories about loups-garou who hunt humans are pure hogwash."

  Dana gulped. "Loo… gah-roo?"

  "Close enough." He was keenly aware that the grass wasn't quite tall enough to cover his anatomy above midthigh. Well, she was a doctor, wasn't she? Embarrassment was the least of her problems. "In English, you'd say 'werewolves.' I've always preferred the French term, myself."

  "Oh, my God," she whispered. And then, as he'd predicted, she took firm hold of herself and scrambled to her unsteady feet, leaning on Tristan for support. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

  "No." Remy took a step in her direction, and she stiffened. He took another, but she held her ground.

  "You… are the wolf?" she demanded.

  "Oui."

  "You don't even need a full moon?"

  Either her dry sense of humor was returning, or she had already begun to accept. "That's only a story," he said. "Just like silver bullets and wolfsbane."

  "I see." She glanced at Tristan and ran her tongue over her lips. Remy's eyes were drawn to the motion, and he continued to stare at her mouth with as much fascination as she observed him.

  "Is Tristan… ?" Her expression cleared. "When we found Tristan caught in the trap, he had just… done what you did. Hadn't he?"

  The practical question drew him from his study of her very enticing mouth. "You catch on quickly. I think we'd be more comfortable talking back at the houseboat."

  "Is that where you left your clothes?"

  He grinned, showing all his teeth. "You sound disappointed, chère. I can send Tristan back, and we can stay right here, you and me."

  "What if I say that I want to go home?"

  "'Fraid not. Not yet. We don't like our little secrets bandied around, you see."

  She folded her arms across her chest. "And if I decline to go with you?"

  "You have such an elegant way of saying things, chère." He bowed, a foolish gesture in his current state. "Tris and I would be heartbroken if you didn't come for supper tonight."

  "Yes," Tris said eagerly. "You've got to come, Miss Dana."

  In spite of her poker face, Dana's thoughts were easy to read. "People will start asking questions if I don't come home. My great-aunt will be worried, and several people saw me with Tristan."