by L. J. Smith
That was why he didn’t eat the heart and liver, Mary-Lynnette realized. He didn’t kill it for food—it wasn’t a normal werewolf killing. And he’s not a normal werewolf.
He wasn’t at all like what Rowan had described—a noble animal that hunted to eat. Instead he was…a mad dog.
Of all people, Ash had it right. Him and his jokes about rabies…
“You’re so beautiful, you know,” Jeremy said suddenly. “I’ve always thought that. I love your hair.”
He was right in her face. She could see the individual pores in his skin with coarse hairs growing out of them. And she could smell him—the feral smell of a zoo.
He reached out to touch her hair, and his hand had dark, thick fingernails. Mary-Lynnette could feel her eyes getting wider. Say something…say something…don’t show you’re afraid.
“You knew how Mrs. Burdock’s husband was killed,” she got out.
“She told me a long time ago,” Jeremy said almost absently, still moving his fingers in her hair. He’d changed so much that his voice was getting hard to understand. “I used little sticks from my models…you know I make models. And a black iris for him. Ash.” Jeremy said the name with pure hatred. “I saw him that day with his stupid T-shirt. The Black Iris Club…my uncle belonged to that once. They treated him like he was second-class.”
His eyes were inches from Mary-Lynnette’s; she felt the brush of a fingernail on her ear. Suddenly she had the strength to give a violent wrench behind her back—and one hand came free. She froze, afraid that Jeremy would notice.
“I threw the goat on the porch and ran,” Jeremy said, almost crooning the words as he petted Mary-Lynnette. “I knew you were all in there. I was so mad—I killed that horse and I kept running. I smashed the gas station window. I was going to burn it down—but then I decided to wait.”
Yes, and yes, and yes, Mary-Lynnette thought even as she carefully worked her other wrist free, even as she stared into Jeremy’s crazy eyes and smelled his animal breath. Yes, of course it was you we heard running away—and you didn’t fall into the hole in the porch because you knew it was there, because you were fixing it. And yes, you were the one who smashed the window—who else would hate the gas station but somebody who worked there?
Her fingers eased the cord off her other wrist. She felt a surge of fierce triumph—but she controlled her expression and clenched her hands, trying to think of what to do. He was so strong and so quick…if she just threw herself at him, she wouldn’t have a chance.
“And today you all came to town together,” Jeremy said, finishing the story quietly, through a mouth so inhuman it was hard to believe it could speak English. “I heard the way he was talking to you. I knew he wanted you—and he wanted to change you into one of them. I had to protect you from that”
Mary-Lynnette said almost steadily, “I knew you wanted to protect me. I could tell, Jeremy.” She was feeling over the furrowed hemlock bark behind her. How could she attack him when she didn’t even have a stick for a weapon? And even if she had, wood was no good. He wasn’t a vampire.
Jeremy stepped back. Relief washed over Mary-Lynnette—for one second. Then she saw with horror that he was plucking at his shirt, pulling it off. And underneath…there was no skin. Instead there was hair. A pelt that twitched and shivered in the night air. “I followed you here and I fixed your car so you couldn’t leave,” Jeremy said. “I heard you say you wanted to be a vampire.”
“Jeremy—that was just talk….”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “But that was a mistake. Werewolves are much better. You’ll understand when I show you. The moon looks so beautiful when you’re a wolf.”
Oh, God—and so that was what he meant by protecting her, by making her understand. He meant changing her into something like him.
I need a weapon.
Rowan had said silver was harmful to werewolves, so the old silver-bullet legend must be true. But she didn’t have a silver bullet. Or even a silver dagger…
A silver dagger…a silver knife…
Behind Jeremy the station wagon was almost invisible in the clouds of smoke. And by now the smoke had the red glow of uncontrolled fire.
It’s too dangerous, Mary-Lynnette thought. It’s about to go. I’d never make it in and out….
Jeremy was still talking, his voice savage now. “You won’t miss the Night World. All their stupid restrictions—no killing humans, no hunting too often. Nobody tells me how to hunt. My uncle tried, but I took care of him—”
Suddenly the creature—it wasn’t really a person anymore—broke off and turned sharply. Mary-Lynnette saw its lips go back again, saw its teeth parted and ready to bite. In the same instant she saw why—Ash was moving.
Sitting up, even though his throat was cut. Looking around dazedly. He saw Mary-Lynnette, and his eyes seemed to focus. Then he looked at the thing Jeremy had become.
“You—get away from her!” he shouted in a voice Mary-Lynnette had never heard before. A voice filled with deadly fury. Mary-Lynnette could see him change position in a swift, graceful motion, gathering his muscles under him to jump—
But the werewolf jumped first. Springing like an animal—except that Jeremy still had arms, and one hand went for the yew club. The club smashed sideways into Ash’s head and knocked him flat. And then it fell, bouncing away on the carpet of needles.
The werewolf didn’t need it—it was baring its teeth. It was going to tear Ash’s throat out, like the horse, like the hiker…
Mary-Lynnette was running.
Not toward Ash. She couldn’t help him bare-handed. She ran toward the car, into the clouds of choking smoke.
Oh, God, it’s hot. Please let me just get there….
She could feel the heat on her cheeks, on her arms. She remembered something from an elementary school safety class and dropped to her knees, scrambling and crawling where the air was cooler.
And then she heard the sound behind her. The most eerie sound there is—a wolf howling.
It knows what I’m doing. It’s seen that knife every time I pry off my gas cap. It’s going to stop me….
She threw herself blindly into the smoke and heat, and reached the car. Orange flames were shooting crazily from the engine, and the door handle burned her hand when she touched it. She fumbled, wrenching at it.
Open, open…
The door swung out. Hot air blasted around her. If she’d been completely human she wouldn’t have been able to stand it. But she’d exchanged blood with four vampires in two days, and she wasn’t completely human anymore. She wasn’t Mary-Lynnette anymore…but was she capable of killing?
Flames were licking up beneath the dashboard. She groped over smoking vinyl and shoved a hand under the driver’s seat.
Find it! Find it!
Her fingers touched metal—the knife. The silver fruit knife with the Victorian scrolling that she’d borrowed from Mrs. Burdock. It was very hot. Her hand closed on it, and she pulled it from under the seat and turned…just as something came flying at her from behind.
The turning was instinctive—she had to face what was attacking her. But what she would always know afterward was that she could have turned without pointing the knife at what was attacking her. There was a moment in which she could have slanted it backward or toward the ground or toward herself. And if she’d been the Mary-Lynnette of the old days, she might have done that.
She didn’t. The knife faced outward. Toward the shape jumping at her. And when the thing landed on top of her she felt impact in her wrist and all the way up her arm.
The distant part of her mind said, It went in cleanly between the ribs….
And then everything was very confused. Mary-Lynnette felt teeth in her hair, snapping for her neck. She felt claws scratching at her, leaving welts on her arms. The thing attacking her was hairy and heavy and it wasn’t a person or even a half-person. It was a large, snarling wolf.
She was still holding the knife, but it was hard to kee
p her grip on it. It jerked around, twisting her wrist in an impossible direction. It was buried in the wolf’s chest.
For just an instant, as the thing pulled away, she got a good look at it.
A beautiful animal. Sleek and handsome, but with crazy eyes. It was trying to kill her with its last panting breath.
Oh, God, you hate me, don’t you? I’ve chosen Ash over you; I’ve hurt you with silver. And now you’re dying. You must feel so betrayed….
Mary-Lynnette began to shake violently. She couldn’t do this anymore. She let go of the knife and pushed and kicked at the wolf with her arms and legs. Half scrambling and half scooting on her back, she managed to get a few feet away. The wolf stood silhouetted against a background of fire. She could see it gather itself for one last spring at her—
There was a very soft, contained poof. The entire car lurched like something in agony—and then the fireball was everywhere.
Mary-Lynnette cringed against the ground, half-blinded, but she had to watch.
So that’s what it looks like. A car going up in flames. Not the kind of big explosion you hear in the movies. Just a poof. And then just the fire, going up and up.
The heat drove her away, still crawling, but she couldn’t stop looking. Orange flames. That was all her station wagon was now. Orange flames shooting every which way out of a metal skeleton on tires.
The wolf didn’t come out of the flames.
Mary-Lynnette sat up. Smoke was in her throat, and when she tried to yell “Jeremy!” it came out as a hoarse croak.
The wolf still didn’t come out. And no wonder, with a silver knife in its chest and fire all around it.
Mary-Lynnette sat, arms wrapped around herself, and watched the car burn.
He would have killed me. Like any good hunter. I had to defend myself, I had to save Ash. And the girls…he would have killed all of them. And then he’d have killed more people like that hiker…. He was crazy and completely evil, because he’d do anything to get what he wanted.
And she’d seen it from the beginning. Something under that “nice guy” exterior—she’d seen it over and over, but she’d kept letting herself get convinced it wasn’t there. She should have trusted her feelings in the first place. When she’d realized that she’d solved the mystery of Jeremy Lovett and that it wasn’t a happy ending.
She was shaking but she couldn’t cry.
The fire roared on. Tiny sparks showered upward.
I don’t care if it was justified. It wasn’t like killing in my dream. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t natural and I’ll never forget the way he looked at me….
Then she thought, Ash.
She’d been so paralyzed she’d almost forgotten him. Now she turned around, almost too frightened to look. She made herself crawl over to where he was still lying.
So much blood…how can he be all right? But if he’s dead…if it’s all been for nothing…
But Ash was breathing. And when she touched his face, trying to find a clean place in the blood, he moved. He stirred, then he tried to sit up.
“Stay there.” Jeremy’s shirt and jeans were on the ground. Mary-Lynnette picked up the shirt and dabbed at Ash’s neck. “Ash, keep still….”
He tried to sit up again. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“Lie down,” Mary-Lynnette said. When he didn’t, she pushed at him. “There’s nothing to do. He’s dead.”
He sank back, eyes shutting. “Did I kill him?”
Mary-Lynnette made a choked sound that wasn’t exactly a laugh. She was trembling with relief—Ash could breathe and talk, and he even sounded like his normal fatuous self. She’d had no idea how good that could sound. And underneath the swabbing shirt she could see that his neck was already healing. What had been gashes were becoming flat pink scars.
Vampire flesh was incredible.
Ash swallowed. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No. You didn’t kill him. I did.”
His eyes opened. They just looked at each other for a moment. And in that moment Mary-Lynnette knew they were both realizing a lot of things.
Then Ash said, “I’m sorry,” and his voice had never been less fatuous. He pushed the shirt away and sat up. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t know who reached first, but they were holding each other. And Mary-Lynnette was thinking about hunters and danger and laughing at death. About all the things it meant to really belong to the night. And about how she would never look in the mirror and see the same person she used to see.
“At least it’s over now,” Ash said. She could feel his arms around her, his warmth and solidity, his support. “There won’t be any more killings. It’s over.”
It was, and so were a lot of other things.
The first sob was hard to get out. So hard that she’d have thought there would be a pause before the next—but, no. There was no pause between that one and the next, or the next or the next. She cried for a long time. And the fire burned itself out and the sparks flew upward and Ash held her all the while.
CHAPTER 17
“Well, she wasn’t telling humans anything—but she did defy the authority of the Night World,” Ash said in his most lazy, careless voice.
Quinn said succinctly, “How?”
It was late Monday afternoon and the sun was streaming through the western windows of the Burdock farmhouse. Ash was wearing a brand-new shirt bought at the Briar Creek general store, a turtleneck with long sleeves that covered the almost-healed scars on his throat and arms. His jeans were bleached white, his hair was combed over the scab on the back of his head, and he was playing the scene of his life.
“She knew about a rogue werewolf and didn’t tell anybody about him.”
“So she was a traitor. And what did you do?”
Ash shrugged. “Staked her.”
Quinn laughed out loud.
“No, really,” Ash said earnestly, looking into Quinn’s face with what he knew were wide, guileless eyes—probably blue. “See?”
Without taking his eyes from Quinn’s he whipped a pink-and-green country quilt off the bundle on the couch.
Quinn’s eyebrows flew upward.
He stared for a moment at Aunt Opal, who had been cleaned so that you’d never know she’d ever been buried, and who had the picket stake carefully replaced in her chest.
Quinn actually swallowed. It was the first time Ash had ever seen him falter.
“You really did it,” he said. There was reluctant respect in his voice—and definite shock.
You know, Quinn, Ash thought, I don’t think you’re quite as tough as you pretend. After all, no matter how you try to act like an Elder, you’re only eighteen. And you’ll always be eighteen, and next year maybe I’ll be older.
“Well,” Quinn said, blinking rapidly. “Well. Well—I have to hand it to you.”
“Yeah, I just decided the best thing to do was clean up the whole situation. She was getting on, you know.”
Quinn’s dark eyes widened fractionally. “I have to admit—I didn’t think you were that ruthless.”
“You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. For the family honor, of course.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “So—what about the werewolf?”
“Oh, I took care of that, too.” Ash meandered over and whipped a brown-and-white quilt off Exhibit B. The wolf was a charred and contorted corpse. It had given Mary-Lynnette hysterics when Ash insisted on pulling it out of the car, and Quinn’s nostrils quivered when he looked at it.
“Sorry, it does smell like burnt hair, doesn’t it? I got a little sooty myself, keeping him in the fire….”
“You burned him alive?”
“Well, it is one of the traditional methods….”
“Just put the blanket back, all right?”
Ash put the blanket back.
“So, you see, everything’s taken care of. No humans involved, no extermination necessary.”
“Yes, all right…” Quinn’s eyes were
still on the quilt. Ash decided the moment was right.
“And by the way, it turns out the girls had a perfectly legitimate reason for coming. They just wanted to learn to hunt. Nothing illegal about that, is there?”
“What? Oh. No.” Quinn glanced at Aunt Opal, then finally looked back at Ash. “So they’re coming back now that they’ve learned it.”
“Well, eventually. They haven’t quite learned it yet…so they’re staying.”
“They’re staying?”
“Right. Look, I’m the head of the family on the West Coast, aren’t I? And I say they’re staying.”
“Ash…”
“It’s about time there was a Night World outpost in this area, don’t you think? You see what’s happened without one. You get families of outlaw werewolves wandering around. Somebody’s got to stay here and hold down the fort.”
“Ash…you couldn’t pay Night People to strand themselves out here. Nothing but animals to feed on, nobody but humans to associate with…”
“Yeah, it’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it. Besides, wasn’t it you who said it’s not good living your whole life isolated on an island?”
Quinn stared at him, then said, “Well, I don’t think this is much better.”
“Then it serves my sisters right. Maybe in a few years they’ll appreciate the island more. Then they can hand the job over to someone else.”
“Ash…no one else is going to come here.”
“Well.” With the battle won, and Quinn simply looking dazed and as if he wanted to get back to Los Angeles as fast as possible, Ash allowed himself a small measure of truth.
“I might come visit them someday,” he said.
“He did a beautiful job,” Rowan said that evening. “We heard it all from the kitchen. You would have loved it.”
Mary-Lynnette smiled.
“Quinn can’t wait to get away,” Jade said, intertwining her fingers with Mark’s.
Kestrel said to Ash, “I’d just like to be around when you explain all this to Dad.”