SECRET OF THE WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  Watching Quentin's face, Johanna mourned inside. She grieved for him, for May, for the man who had been killed, whatever his crimes in life. She grieved for what had been so briefly captured last night. She longed to touch Quentin, kiss him, and knew how impossible it was. Her organs had turned to water, filling her body like a reservoir apt to spill over into a flood of tears once she opened the gates.

  That she must not do. Her brain must become as sharp as a scalpel, her heart as hard as marble.

  "You never suspected this," she said at last.

  "No." He turned his head toward her, but his eyes wouldn't focus. "Not this. I felt a shadow… the shadow I ran from. And it was always—" He laughed. "It was me all along."

  She quenched the desire to comfort him with soothing words and promises she couldn't keep. "Not you, Quentin. A part of you, born at a time when you desperately needed help and found none."

  "Fenris," he whispered. "It even has its own name. He." He rose from the chaise and walked across the room, slow and halting as an old man. "All these times I've lost my memory—after the drinking—he's come out. That's what you're saying. He lives in my body with me. He takes over and does things—terrible things."

  "So Fenris claims—and Bolkonsky. But there is no proof, Quentin."

  "Except that two people have been attacked since I came to the Haven." He finally met her gaze. "And I don't remember. But someone saw me, didn't they, Johanna?"

  "No one witnessed the attack on May's father. Fenris admitted it himself."

  He closed his eyes. "Why? Why did he do it?"

  "He wouldn't say. But I think…" She prepared herself to hurt Quentin again. "Your concern for May became something different for Fenris. You share a mind and a body. He felt what you feel, knew what you knew, but he was not constrained by the bonds of civilized behavior, or by the reason that tells us right from wrong."

  "You mean that he did what I wanted to do, but couldn't."

  "There is so much I don't know and can only theorize. I'm sorry."

  "Your theories are more than reasonable." He sat down again, as if he couldn't remain still. "I never stayed long in any one place, because after a few days or weeks I always sensed something wrong. Sometimes it was just a hunch, a bad feeling in my gut. Rumors, the stares of people around me that told me that I wasn't welcome. Sometimes I heard stories. And once in a while, the law came after me." His voice became a 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."

  "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."

  "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—"

  "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.

  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.

&n
bsp; 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 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?"

  "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."

  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.

  Chapter 20

  "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.

  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 offered no warning. Johanna went to her side and spoke in a whisper. "You did not hear about what happened to the mine owner?"

  "I haven't been in town since yesterday mornin'. I stayed with Mrs. Bergstrom last night, way up along the Foss stage route. She's alone now, and ailin', and I—" She pressed her lips together. "Why're them people here, Doc Jo?"

  "There is no time to explain. I need you to help keep everyone calm and quiet." She addressed the others. "There is no cause for alarm. I would like you all to remain here, together, until I return. I am going to speak to the people outside."

  "I know why they're here," Irene said shrilly. "They've come to get Quentin. He murdered that man in town."

  Johanna was no longer surprised by the things Irene knew. It was her own failure that she hadn't paid more attention to the older woman and monitored her activities.

  One of many failures that were coming back to haunt her.

  "I don't believe it!" Mrs. Daugherty said.

  "They do," Harper said, pointing his chin toward the kitchen door. Everyone glanced at him in surprise. He, along with Johanna's father, was the only one who showed no outward sign of concern. "Is Quentin all right?"

  "Yes." She looked at him more carefully, remembering Quentin's advice. "Harper, please give Mrs. Daugherty any assistance she needs."

  "I reckon you're the one who'll need help," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll come with you."

  "As you wish. The rest of you stay inside." She strode for the door and stepped out, Harper at her heels.

  The people stirred when they saw her, setting off a ripple of low, hostile voices. She recognized several respectable townsfolk she'd spoken to or dealt with at one time or another, including the blacksmith and the butcher, but most of them were idlers who commonly hung about in the street, drinking and gossiping.

  She thought of the gun she'd left on the desk in her office. Foolish; she should have hidden it, or at least brought it along.

 
; And would you use it, Johanna ?

  "Gentlemen," Johanna said. "How may I help you?"

  They obviously hadn't expected such a moderate response to their fearsome presence. The blacksmith looked about uneasily. Others shuffled their feet.

  One of the men, a burly giant with a scar across his chin, stepped in front of the rest. She didn't know him, but it was clear that he relished his role as ringleader.

  "You know why we're here!" he shouted. "You got all them loonies holed up in this place, and one of 'em killed Ketchum!"

  Raised voices supported his accusation. Fists, some wielding farm tools, waved in the air.

  "And you are Mr.—" She inclined her head in invitation.

  "Mungo," he said with a belligerent sneer.

  "I just heard of Mr. Ketchum's unfortunate death," she said. "I'm sorry that you have felt the need to visit the Haven under such circumstances."

  Mungo scowled. "Don't try to protect 'im! We know who did it."

  Johanna didn't allow her voice to waver in the least. "If you believe one of my patients committed this act, why have you not summoned the constable? I would certainly be glad to cooperate with the proper authorities."

  "Don't think you can put us off with your high-and-mighty airs, woman," he taunted. "We al'ays knew something like this would happen, with crazies living near us. This man Forster caused trouble in town b'fore, an' Quigley saw 'im right near where Ketchum was kil't!"

  "Nevertheless, until you bring a representative of the law, I will not permit you to bother my patients."

  Harper stepped up to her side. "You heard the lady. Go on home, before you regret what you're doing."

  "Loony!" Mungo spat at his feet. "We know all about you. We know about every crazy in this place. We c'n run you out and no one'll stop us. If you don't bring Forster to us, we'll go in and get 'im!"

  He started toward Johanna. Men followed in straggling twos and threes. Harper moved ahead of Johanna, readying for attack.

  A streak of russet plunged between Harper and Mungo, striking the ringleader on the legs so that he staggered and fell. Johanna got a single good look at the wolf—bristling, fangs bared, eyes blazing with demonic fury—before it fell on the leaders of the mob.