SECRET OF THE WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  Muttered imprecations became screams. Men ran every which way, seeking escape as hell snapped at their heels.

  Mungo found himself gazing up into the open maw of a beast long thought to be extinct in California—except that no such creature had ever existed except in the darkest imaginings of men more clever than he. He shrieked and covered his face with his arms.

  Johanna didn't dare cry out for fear of giving Quentin away. Harper dashed in front of her, seized Mungo's arm, and yanked him to his feet. The man didn't linger. He stumbled over his own legs in his haste to follow the others.

  The wolf chased them as far as the gate, turned about once to look at Johanna, and leaped the fence with breathtaking grace. In a heartbeat he had vanished.

  Harper returned to her side. "Lord have mercy," he whispered. "It's real, then."

  She stared at him, wondering how long this state of perpetual confusion would last. "What is real, Harper?"

  "You don't have to worry, Doc. I know I'm not crazy, and neither are you."

  She had no energy left to pose sensible questions and interpret ambiguous answers. "You know?"

  "I thought I'd seen all the wonders and terrors this world has to offer." He laughed under his breath. "A dog came by to see me, before I came out of myself. Least I thought it was a dog. He spoke to me—not like people, but the way other things do, sometimes. Later I had the same feeling around Quentin. Then the Reverend started muttering about men changing into wolves… I just sort of put things together."

  Quentin was not the only remarkable man at the Haven. "And you accept this?"

  "Don't rightly have much choice, do I?" He scratched his chin and looked down the lane beyond the gate, where the dust was just beginning to settle. "I don't reckon the folks from town will be back anytime soon. They'll have other things to gossip about for a while."

  "No doubt. But after today, we can't make any assumptions." This entire conversation felt like a dream within a dream. She remembered what Quentin had said of Harper, urging her to rely on him. She badly needed his stolid dispassion. "How much do you know of what's been happening in town?"

  "I keep my ear to the ground. Irene gossips."

  And how did Irene know so much? That question must also wait until later. "There are many things I have been unable to tell you and the others. Are you aware that May's father has come to the Springs to take her from the Haven, with the help of a man named Bolkonsky, and that I have opposed this reunion for the sake of May's health and happiness?"

  "I've watched May these past few days." He motioned to the place where the mob had stood. "It has something to do with all this?"

  "May's father was assaulted in his hotel shortly before Ketchum was killed." She swallowed. "Quentin has been very protective of May."

  He didn't ask if she believed Quentin had done the assaulting. "Why would Quentin go after this Ketchum?"

  Explaining Fenris and her tenuous theories about him was not an option. "Matters have gone terribly awry, Harper. I ask for your trust… and I may need your help, if you feel able."

  "Yes," he said simply. "Quentin's leaving the Haven, isn't he?"

  She held back tears by sheer force of will. "He went to look for May. He must have found her, if he was able to—" She gestured wordlessly at the trampled earth. "May will be leaving as well, as soon as we can make her ready. Let us go inside."

  Mrs. Daugherty stood sentinel by the kitchen door, clutching a cast-iron pan to ward off potential invaders.

  "What happened?" she demanded. "First that man was makin' threats, and then I see him an' his friends a'runnin' like the devil hisself was after 'em."

  Thank God Mrs. Daugherty hadn't seen the wolf. "They thought better of their behavior. Has May come back?"

  "I saw her in the parlor with the others just a moment ago, but they been mighty quiet since. Haven't seen Quentin." She followed Johanna into the parlor. "I thought someone should stand guard—"

  She broke off. The parlor was empty except for Johanna's father, who was dozing in his chair. Johanna's heart clenched in panic.

  "I didn't hear anyone leave!" Mrs. Daugherty protested.

  "Please look through the house, Mrs. Daugherty," Johanna said. "Harper and I will search outside."

  She rushed down the hall to the rear door, knowing that the others weren't in their rooms. Harper found Lewis at the edge of the garden, sitting in the dirt. Blood matted the thinning hair at the back of his head.

  "Someone hit me," he said in faint outrage, accepting Harper's support. Johanna knelt beside him to examine the wound, which was rapidly developing into a goose's egg. He was lucky to have received such a glancing blow.

  "I told them all to stay inside," Lewis said. "That… Quentin Forster brought May into the parlor and left again, but the girl had hardly been here a minute when that pernicious female, DuBois—she whispered to May and led her out the back door." He wiped at his soiled trousers and stared at the earth stains on his hands as if he would weep. "I tried to stop them. I followed them, and then someone struck me—"

  "We'll find them, Lewis."

  "But the wolf-beast—the mob—"

  "They're gone. But I must find May." She took a clean handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it over Lewis's wound. "Hold this firmly in place. Harper will take you in, and I'll see to your injury as soon as I can."

  She nodded to Harper, who supported Lewis to his feet. For once, Lewis did not reject the touch.

  Someone had struck Lewis with the obvious intent of rendering him unconscious, or at least incapable of action. Irene had lured May outside, in spite of being told to remain in the parlor, after Quentin had delivered the girl safely home and gone out to confront the mob.

  The confusion of the past few minutes would be an ideal diversion for one who wished to approach the Haven from the opposite direction unobserved. One who wished to remove a certain patient without interference.

  Bolkonsky.

  Dummkopf, Johanna swore at herself. "May! May, do you hear me?" She ran through the garden and turned toward the wood. She almost missed the book that lay facedown on the path to the orchard.

  May's book, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps' The Story of Avis. She bent to pick it up and saw the footprints beside it, lightly engraved in the shade-moistened earth. Two sets of footprints, a girl's and a woman's.

  Johanna followed their course like a hound dog with its nose to the trail. Just within the orchard itself a third set of prints, unmistakably male, joined the first two. They traveled together for a few yards more, and then the girl's disappeared.

  That was where she found Irene.

  The woman stood in the shade of an apple tree, holding a battered carpetbag against her chest. Her attention was entirely focused on the lane just beyond the orchard fence. May was not with her.

  "Irene," Johanna said.

  Irene's head snapped around. Her eyes widened in an expression of naked fear.

  "Where is May?" Johanna demanded. "Where is she, Irene?"

  "She's not here!" Irene stepped away from the tree, holding the carpetbag in front of her. "Go away. Leave me alone!"

  "I know you took her out of the parlor," Johanna said, making no effort to quell her anger. "Was it you who hit Andersen?" She grabbed Irene's arm. "Where is May?"

  "Gone!" Irene stretched her lips in a grotesque smile. "Gone to be with her father, and you're too late!"

  "Was it Bolkonsky? You know him, don't you? He told you to bring May to him while the mob from town came after Quentin, didn't he?" She gave Irene a shake. "Tell me the truth!"

  "Yes, I know Feodor!" She laughed. "You always thought I stayed locked up here like the others, because you never paid attention to me. You've always thought I was stupid, didn't you? But I knew everything that went on in town. I went at night. I watched, and I listened, and those country bumpkins never knew that the great Irene DuBois was among them."

  Johanna let Irene go, stunned at her own blindness. The clues had all been there, had s
he chosen to see them—Lewis's complaint about Irene's visits to town, her new gown, her more frequent references to leaving the Haven, her unusual confidence. Johanna had never guessed that Irene was so superb an actress. All the woman's dramatic posturing had merely seemed evidence of her unyielding delusions…

  "I knew when the handsome Doctor Bolkonsky came to town," Irene said. "I had my eye on him from the beginning. He was different, the kind of man I've been waiting for. I knew when you went to see him, and that he'd never be interested in you."

  "Oh, Irene," Johanna whispered.

  "He's been in love with me ever since he saw me on Broadway. He told me all about poor little May and what you were doing to keep her away from her father—the same way you tried to keep me from my true destiny. He needed someone to tell him what was going on here, and report to him. I agreed to help him get May away from you, and he promised to take me to San Francisco and set me up on the stage, where I belong." She tossed her head. "We just had to wait for the right time. You made it so easy—you, and Quentin!"

  "It was Bolkonsky who sent the mob here, wasn't it? He stirred them up, and only pretended to warn me—"

  "As I said, you made it easy for us. The people in town were already upset when they found Ketchum's body, especially after the attack on May's father. They were looking for someone to blame. Feodor told them that he was afraid your new patient, Quentin, had something to do with it. He was worried that you had lost control over your loonies. People listened to him—he's a doctor, after all!" She laughed. "The rest took care of itself. All I had to do was get May to come with me while you were busy. Quentin brought her back just in time, but she wanted to follow him when he left. I told her I could take her to him. Feodor's man was waiting for us outside."

  The third set of footprints. "Bolkonsky wasn't here?"

  "He's coming to get me." Irene's eyes glazed over with visions of her glorious future. "All the city will be at my feet, just like Feodor. You can't stop me now!"

  Johanna followed her expectant gaze to the lane. Not for a instant did Johanna believe that Bolkonsky intended to take Irene away. A man such as he would have no personal interest in a haggard, aging actress. He'd merely used Irene as men had used her before, to serve his own ends.

  Nothing about Bolkonsky was as it seemed. He'd deceived Johanna time and again—put the residents of the Haven at risk—as a ploy to return May to her father. He'd given her the news about the attack on Ingram, and planted the blame for Mr. Ketchum's death on Quentin.

  Had Quentin been seen near Ketchum's body, or was that another of Bolkonsky's fabrications? Why was Bolkonsky so dedicated to Ingram's cause? Was it money, or something else she couldn't begin to imagine?

  Putting such speculation from her mind, Johanna followed the male footprints as they crossed the orchard and continued on toward the wood.

  "You won't find her," Irene shouted after her. "You've lost Quentin, too. You've failed, Johanna!"

  Her triumphant words nipped at Johanna's heels, stinging with every step. Irene assumed she'd give up. Would Bolkonsky, and May's father, assume the same? Ingram had his business in San Francisco. He'd take May there, secure in his power.

  Yet Bolkonsky had carefully avoided bringing in the authorities at any time in their dealings, preferring the use of subterfuge to steal May from the Haven. There must be a reason. Perhaps May's father had wanted certain secrets out of the public eye.

  Secrets Johanna might attempt to expose, at the risk of her own professional destruction. But hadn't she already compromised her vocation, possibly beyond mending?

  She passed out of the orchard and into the wild groves of oak and madrona. Her eyes caught a sudden change in the earth, and she stopped.

  The ground was trampled here, marked by some struggle, and the man's footprints formed a mad pattern intermingled with the spoor of a wolf.

  This was where Quentin had gone, after chasing the mob away. He'd followed May's captor, and caught up with him.

  But where were they?

  Johanna knelt to study the tracks. May's footprints had also reappeared, as if her captor had set her down after carrying her for some distance. Johanna found a final set of prints, almost lost amid the others.

  Those of a barefoot man, about Quentin's size.

  Leaves rattled a few feet away. Johanna scooted about to face the sound. A man's blunt-fingered hand reached out from a cluster of bushes, to the accompaniment of a hoarse groan.

  Johanna pushed aside branches. The man was a stranger, a big, nasty-looking character with a scarred face and shoes that matched the prints of May's kidnapper. Aside from a few scratches, he seemed unharmed, though he was just recovering consciousness. Johanna had no pity to spare for him.

  "Where is May?" she demanded.

  "Wolf," he muttered. His eyes opened, bloodshot and terrified. "Devil!"

  She grabbed his shoulders. "Who took May?"

  "Th' devil man!" He covered his eyes like a child hiding from a nightmare. "He'll kill me."

  "Only if I do not." She tightened her grip. "Bolkonsky hired you to take May from the Haven, didn't he?"

  "He'll… kill me."

  Did he mean Bolkonsky or Quentin?

  "You were to deliver May to Bolkonsky, weren't you?" she asked. "Where were you to meet him?"

  "Let me."

  She looked up to find Harper behind her, his ordinarily mild eyes glittering with a dangerous light. He crouched over the man, long fingers working.

  "You answer the lady now, or I'll go get my friend the wolf and let him play with you," Harper said in a cold, flat voice. "Where were you taking the girl?"

  The kidnapper's eyes went wide as saucers. "The… the old Miller ruin by Ritchey Creek." He snatched at Johanna's hands. "Please, don't let the demon get me!" He fell to whimpering gibberish about wolf-devils and repenting his sins. "If I tell you who really killed Ketchum, can I be saved?"

  "Tell us," Johanna demanded.

  "It was on Bolkonsky's orders. I didn't do it, I swear! I only lured him where…" He gulped. "We was supposed to tell everyone that your man killed him. I'll testify that it wasn't him, I swear I will!"

  Johanna pried his fingers from her wrists and gave silent thanks. Whatever Fenris might have done in the past, he hadn't taken the mine owner's life.

  She drew Harper aside. "Everything is all right back at the house?"

  "As right as it can be. Mrs. Daugherty is staying with the others."

  "Did you see Irene?"

  "She was crying, over by the orchard."

  Had she begun to realize that Bolkonsky would not be coming? "She has been meeting Bolkonsky without my knowledge. Since I opposed returning May to her father, Bolkonsky planned this clandestine abduction. Irene brought May out of the house while we were occupied with the mob, so that this man could take her. He didn't succeed, but May is still missing."

  Harper met her gaze with perfect comprehension. "Quentin was here. You think he took her?"

  "I don't know." She clasped her hands over her roiling stomach. "It is a possibility."

  "He would have taken her to protect her from this Bolkonsky."

  Quentin would have. But Quentin would also contact Johanna to let her know that May was safe. How long would it take Bolkonsky or May's father to seek the help of the law?

  Brush crackled and twigs snapped. May's would-be kidnapper had stumbled to his feet and was making a clumsy attempt at escape. Harper started toward him, but Johanna held him back.

  "Let him go. He's too frightened to be a further threat, and we haven't time to deal with him now."

  Harper frowned after the man until he was out of sight, then glanced at the ground at Johanna's feet. "Is that May's book?"

  She bent to pick up the book she'd set down when she examined the footprints. The pages were creased and soiled. "She must have taken it with her when Irene lured her outside."

  "May I have it?"

  She handed it to Harper. He stroked the dirt-stained
cover with reverent fingers, and she remembered his claims of reading men's pasts and futures in everyday objects.

  If he thought that he could use some inborn magical power to help her locate May, she was not prepared to discourage him. Desperate circumstances called for desperate measures. And until this very morning, she had not believed in the existence of genuine lycanthropes.

  Nor had she believed that she could falter in all her fine aspirations, all her high standards, all her confidence in logic and reason and her own well-trained abilities.

  But she had.

  "I must talk to Mrs. Daugherty," she said, trying to fill the terrifying void in her heart with words and plans. "She can go into town and listen for news. I'll ride to the place where Bolkonsky was to collect May. There is a chance he is still waiting. I may learn something of value."

  "You shouldn't go alone." Harper shortened his stride to match hers as they walked briskly back toward the house. Irene had disappeared from the orchard.

  "There is no time for argument," Johanna said. "It is much to ask, but if you can take care of my father and Oscar I will be deeply obliged to you. I will show you what my father requires. Lewis should be no trouble. As for Irene—"

  "I'll keep an eye on her," he said. "When I find her, I'll put her in her room and keep her there."

  "Thank you." She paused just beyond the back door to clasp his hand. "You are a good man, Harper."

  "Without you and Quentin, I wouldn't be a man at all."

  He squeezed her hand and let it fall. "Tell me what I need to do."

  Within an hour she had laid out the bare bones of the situation to a fretful Mrs. Daugherty, including an account of the bizarre appearance of a wolf, and asked her to take the buggy into town to glean any news or gossip about Dr. Bolkonsky, May's father, or the aftermath of the siege on the Haven. Whatever the people of Silverado Springs might think of Johanna and the Haven's residents, they wouldn't hold Mrs. Daugherty accountable.

  While Harper went in search of Irene, Johanna told Oscar that May had gone away for a little while, and that he mustn't worry. Lewis was in his room, but responded to her brief explanation with peculiar blankness.