Miller nodded and said, "Want to search me?"
O'Mara looked at the floor and puckered his lips. "I don't think that will be necessary."
Casey led Miller through another door and down a hallway much dimmer and cooler than the one outside. Ev Dinks, the town drunk, slept loudly in one cell. Casey and Miller stopped in front of another. In it, Allegra Idaho sat on her bunk reading a book. She wore a light summer dress with a flower pattern, certainly clothing she had brought from home. Her normally thin face was even thinner, and in that light had the appearance of a death mask. She looked up and smiled, as if doing it through pain.
"Brought you a visitor," Casey said and stood there like a kid at his first dancing class.
"So I see," Allegra said.
"Can I talk to her alone?"
"Sure," said Casey, relieved. "I'll be outside if you want anything."
When Casey was gone and the only sound in the block was of Ev Dinks's snoring, Allegra Idaho threw aside her book and came to the front of the cell where she hugged Miller as best she could through the bars. The hug was not a great success, and soon both she and Miller backed away.
"What is this?" Miller said.
"Manor Tivley's accused me of burning down his hen house."
"What really happened?"
"His hen house really did burn down."
"Can't you be serious for a minute?"
Allegra sat down on her bunk and said, "Manor's son, Irvin, had a terrible cold. Home remedies didn't work and Doc Kelly couldn't do much for him so they sent for me. Well, Irvin had evidently attracted a minor imp someplace—"
"I'm not surprised. That Irvin will come to a bad end."
"A bad end. Didn't you read all this in the Rambler?"
"No. Doc told me a little. I want to hear the story from you."
She looked at the barred window high in the wall. Somebody walked by whistling "The Man On the Flying Trapeze." Without turning to Miller, she said, "I did my exorcism. The imp left Irvin and got into the hen house."
"Didn't he use silver nails to build it?"
"Manor claims I never advised him to use silver instead of iron."
Miller grumbled, "Cheapskate," and leaned against the wall waiting for Allegra to go on. She said, "So the imp made the chickens lay eggs that exploded when Manor's youngest girl, Edwina, tried to collect them."
"She all right?"
"Minor burns. Threw a good scare into her."
"So Manor claims the loss of the hen house is your fault."
Allegra nodded.
"Nobody can believe that."
Allegra shrugged. "I'm in here. Somebody believes it that much. Manor holds deeds on half the property in this town."
Miller shook his head and said, "Malpractice. When's the trial?"
"Next week."
"We'll get you a good lawyer.''to
"I've seen Art Simms."
"All right. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
Miller walked out of City Hall and suddenly sagged. He did not quite fall down, but he sank onto a step and stayed there for a few minutes while he wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief.
He went and had dinner with Doc Kelly at the Cornhusker Room. Not even Doc spoke much and neither of them finished what was on their plates.
▼▼▼
Three days later Manor Tivley's youngest girl, Edwina, died in a fire that consumed only her and her bed. The tragedy was obviously the work of infernal forces. Manor claimed it was the work of the same imp Allegra Idaho had exorcised; therefore the death of his little girl was Allegra's fault even though she had been in jail at the time and had absolutely no motive for wanting to harm the little girl.
Allegra's malpractice trial became a murder trial. Like any other unusual event that might occur in a given summer, the trial of Allegra Idaho was treated as a popular entertainment.
When he heard what had happened, Cornelius Miller's first thought struck him like a thunderbolt, and he ran to Doc Kelly's office to share his revelation. Doc was sitting on the buttoned leather couch in his waiting room reading a dogeared copy of Liberty magazine.
"Sit down," said Doc. "You look as if you're about to have a stroke. I'll get you some water."
Miller shook the newspaper in Doc's face and said, "My God! If Allegra is convicted of murder, I myself will be the instrument of her execution."
Doc read the paper while Miller paced before him. Doc looked up and said, "You can refuse."
"Yes," said Miller slowly. "But avoiding my responsibility would only make things worse. If I refuse to enter the gazebo with Allegra on the night of the full moon, Mayor Grimes will hire someone else to perform the execution."
"If he can find someone else."
"He will have no trouble finding one of the itinerant werewolves that are always ready to take up the judicial slack for a fee." Miller shook his head and flung himself onto the couch. "And to think I had almost
screwed up my courage to the point where I could ask her to marry me.1'
"Well, you can't marry her now. It would be scandalous." Doc Kelly watched Miller from the tip of his eye.
"You know me better than that. I have been Allegra's beau for two years. Scandal means nothing to me where she is concerned."
Doc Kelly smiled. "Yes, I know you better than that." He patted Miller on the back and said, "Your only hope as well as Allegra's is that justice prevail."
Miller laid his head on the arm rest and said, "We have the chance of a flea on a hot griddle."
It seemed that Miller was right. Though Art Simms did his best, things went badly for Allegra right from the start. Everybody agreed on the facts. Only their interpretation was open to question. Iron nails rather than silver had been used in the construction of the hen house; had Allegra Idaho advised Manor Tivley properly or not? Edwina Tivley had died in infernal fire; was the cause the same imp that Allegra had exorcised from Irwin? And if it was, did that make Edwina's death Allegra's fault? The skein was tangled, no question. The fact that Manor Tivley was a powerful man in town did not hurt his case. Allegra Idaho was just one more country witch.
Cornelius Miller and Doc Kelly spent the morning in the hot courtroom and then, along with many other members of the audience, took dinner at the Cornhusker Room.
Debate over Allegra Idaho's fate continued. Men conducted their arguments with knives and forks while their womenfolk looked on either with disapproval or with faint cynical smiles or with adoration, as was their habit. Strong-willed women spoke up occasionally, and their comments were met with similar reactions from the men, though the most frequent reaction was a jocular sarcasm.
Miller shook his head over his untouched steak, and for the hundredth time since they'd been seated, said, "We must do something."
Doc Kelly nodded while he chewed. He was one of those rare men who could chew and smile at the same time without looking ridiculous. He swallowed and said, "Talk to Manor. Maybe you can convince him to drop the charges."
"Bad joke, Doc."
"I suppose." Even now the smile did not entirely leave Doc's lips. "Manor's not exactly famous for straining the quality of his mercy."
Though he had three cut already, Miller cut another strip off his steak. He waved it about in the air on the end of his fork as he said, "This is all my father's fault."
"How so?" said Doc.
"I wanted to be a lawyer, but my father was not confident of my intellectual abilities. Still, he was a practical man—perhaps terminally practical—and he wanted to make certain that I could always make a living. When I was thirteen he took me to George Sewell, the local werewolf, and paid him to bite me. It was over in an instant and did not hurt much, and at the next full moon I turned into a wolf."
"How did that strike you?"
"I was terrified. My human part was shunted to a back room of my brain while my animal instincts and appetites reigned over me. I was a living example of Stevenson's ideas in that Jekyll and Hyde story of
his."
"You can't blame your father for Allegra's problem with Tivley."
"I suppose not." Miller actually ate something and sipped his iced tea. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Doc Kelly said, "How does the Transformation strike you now?"
Miller started as if he'd forgotten Doc Kelly was there, then stared at him very hard. He said, "Not so bad after you know what to expect. Of course even on the full moons when no executions are needed you spend most of the night in a locked gazebo." He shook his head. "A cow or a goat or a crate of chickens does not satisfy all a werewolf's hungers." He threw down his silverware, causing people at nearby tables to glance at him. He said, "We must do something about Allegra."
"Art Simms is doing his best."
"Yes. And if that's not good enough, come the next full moon I'll be tearing apart the woman I love."
▼▼▼
Allegra Idaho was found guilty of murder by a jury of her peers. "Yes," said Miller to Doc, "peers who owe money to Manor Tivley." Miller momentarily considered murdering Tivley, but his anger soon cooled into a sort of black funk. He spoke to no one.
He visited Allegra once. They looked at each other through the bars with slack puffy faces. She said, "Goodbye, Cornelius. I don't want to see you any more."
"Marry me, Allegra."
Allegra managed a thin smile and said, "One might speak of your bad timing, Cornelius." "But I love you."
"Yes. And I love you. But looking at you reminds me of how I'm going to die."
"Would you rather someone else—?"
"No. I don't want strangers chewing on me."
Miller went to his hotel room and stayed there. He refused to eat, refused to answer any knock. Mayor Grimes came to the door, and through it offered to hire another werewolf. Miller said nothing but, "No, thank-you." The mayor waited for more and after a while went away. Sometimes Doc Kelly came in uninvited and sat with Miller. Miller's constant refrain was, "We must do something." Doc's constant question was, "What?"
Three days before the execution, when Doc Kelly said, "What?" Miller's eyebrows went up. He looked at Doc Kelly and smiled in a way that more suited a wolf than a man. He leaped to his feet, cried, "Yes. Yes, of course," and ran from the room.
Doc sat on Miller's bed smoking one cigar after another. The smoke gathered in clouds near the ceiling and was sucked out through the top of the open window. Miller came back half an hour later rubbing his hands and grinning. "It's perfect," he said. "Perfect."
"What is?"
"Let's go to the Cornhusker Room. I'm famished."
"What did you do?"
"Let's eat," Miller said.
Over crispy fried chicken, Miller said, "I can't tell you what I did because I don't want you to be an accessory, or whatever it is you'd be. You'll know what I did when you see it happening. But will you do me a favor?"
"Of course."
"When it happens, try to stir up as much confusion as you can."
"How will I know—?"
"You'll know. Trust me."
▼▼▼
The evening was almost as warm as the day had been. In his brown bathrobe, Cornelius Miller stood alone just outside the small cage at his end of the gazebo. He glanced again and again at the clear sky. The crowd around the gazebo was large and many people had taken seats early, including Manor Tivley and his family; they sat in the front row in lheir best clothes, grim vengeful expressions on their faces. Latecomers had spread blankets at the lip of the amphitheater.
The mayor looked at his turnip pocketwatch and strode to Miller. He gave Miller the traditional gold coin and watched him enter the cage. Miller gripped the outer door as he looked over the crowd. He nodded to Doc Kelly and Doc nodded back. Then Miller faced the arena of the gazebo.
Chief O'Mara and three of his men brought Allegra Idaho on the tumbrel. She was chained but standing, looking very much like a queen who had the misfortune to be a member of the wrong family. Instead of hissing, the crowd became silent, allowing the squeaking of the tumbrel wheels to be heard. O'Mara escorted Allegra into the cage and locked the door behind her. He bowed without mockery and backed away. Allegra stood across the gazebo facing Cornelius Miller. Neither of them made any sign they knew the other was there.
The moon, a silver ghost, peeked through the branches of a tree. It rose and Miller dropped his bathrobe. The policemen pulled open the inner doors of the two cages. Miller and Allegra Idaho stepped forward and faced each other across the battered ground.
Miller's Transformation began slowly. Instead of shying away, Allegra Idaho suddenly tore off her dress, revealing reddish brown hair rolling in waves across her body. Sounds of protest and surprise swelled among the crowd. Among the frightened shrieks, Manor Tivley shouted, "It's a flagrant affront to the law!" Others cried out agreement.
Mayor Grimes ordered Chief O'Mara to stop Allegra Idaho from Transforming. O'Mara shook his head and laughed pityingly. "You want a wizard, sir, not a police chief. But I assure you they'll never escape the gazebo." The mayor was about to hurl another demand, but like everyone else, he became distracted by what was happening behind the bars.
Allegra Idaho's ears lengthened and her limbs changed. Opposite her, Cornelius Miller was going through the same transformation. When they were both completely wolves, Miller-the-Wolf and Allegra- the-Wolf circled each other. They sniffed each other's privates. They gamboled around each other and Miller-the-Wolf trotted to his small cage with Allegra-the-Wolf close behind. He leaped at the outer door and it swung open, releasing the gold coin that had prevented the catch from catching.
The mayor shouted, "Get them! They're both criminals now!"
The energetic but helter-skelter efforts of Manor Tivley and his boldest followers could not prevent the two wolves from running off into the surrounding trees. Most of the crowd dispersed, adults pulling children who had more curiosity than sense.
O'Mara attempted to organize his uniformed force while Doc Kelly pointed in a direction the two wolves had obviously not gone and cried, "They went that way!" The police officers ran after the wolves, some disappearing among the trees at the place where the wolves had gone, others following Doc Kelly's spurious directions.
Chief O'Mara looked at Doc Kelly with contempt and said, "They'll never escape my trained men."
"They might," Kelly said. "It's a big country and two new werewolves in a town won't cause much of a stir."
Chief O'Mara left Doc Kelly and went to speak with a vigilante group that was clabbering among the upended chairs.
A sound stopped everyone dead. They listened hard but heard only the rattle of trees in the wind. Then, from far away came the sound that had frozen time: the howl of a wolf. A moment later another howl answered it. People stood still for a long time, waiting. But no other howl was heard that night.
RAYMOND
Nancy A. Collins
▼▼▼
I remember the first time I saw Raymond Fleuris.
It was during Mrs. Harper's seventh-grade homeroom; I was staring out the window at the parking lot that fronted the school. There wasn't anything happening in the parking lot, but it seemed a hell of a lot more interesting than Old Lady Harper rattling on about long division. That's when I saw the truck.
Beat-up old trucks are not what you'd call unusual in Choctaw County, but this had to be the shittiest excuse for a motor vehicle even to roll the streets of Seven Devils, Arkansas. The bed overflowed with pieces of junk lumber, paint cans, and rolls of rusty chicken wire. The chassis was scabby with rust. It rode close to the ground, bouncing vigorously with every pothole. The front bumper was connected to the fender by a length of baling wire, spit, and a prayer.
I watched as the truck pulled up next to the principal's sedan and the driver crawled out from behind the wheel.
My first impression was that of a mountain wearing overalls. He was massive. Fat jiggled on every part of his body. Thick rolls of it pooled around his waist, straining his shirt
to the breaking point. The heavy jowls framing his face made him look like a foul-tempered bulldog. He was big and fat, but it was mean fat; no one in their right mind would have ever mistaken him for jolly.
The driver lumbered around the front of the truck, pausing to pull a dirty bandanna out of his back pocket and mop his forehead. He motioned irritably to someone seated on the passenger's side, then jerked the door open. I was surprised it didn't come off in his hand. His face was turning red as he yelled at whoever was in the passenger's seat.
After a long minute, a boy climbed out of the truck and stood next to the ruddy-faced mountain of meat.
Normally I wouldn't have spared the Fleurises a second look. Except that Raymond's head was swaddled in a turban of sterile gauze and surgical tape and his hands were covered by a pair of old canvas gloves, secured at the wrists with string.
Now that was interesting.
Raymond was small and severely underweight. His eyes had grayish- yellow smears under them that made it look like he was perpetually recovering from a pair of shiners. His skin was pale and reminded me of j the waxed paper my mama wrapped my sandwiches in.
Someone, probably his mama, had made an effort to clean and press his bib overalls and what was probably his only shirt. No doubt she'd hoped Raymond would make a good impression on his first day at school. No such luck. His clothes looked like socks on a rooster.
▼▼▼
By the time the lunch bell rang, everybody knew about the new kid. Gossip runs fast in junior high, and by the end of recess, there were a half-dozen accounts of Raymond Fleuris's origins floating about.
Some said he'd been in a car wreck and thrown through the windshield. Others said the doctors up at the State Hospital did some kind of surgery to cure him of violent fits. Chucky Donothan speculated that he'd had some kind of craziness-tumor cut out. Whatever the reason for the head bandages and the gloves, it made Raymond Fleuris, at least for the space of a few days, exotic and different. And that means nothing but trouble when you're in junior high.
The Ultimate Werewolf Page 14
