SECRET OF THE WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  "It's a long story," Harper said, addressing Johanna's frown with a wry nod. "You remember when I told you that I get visions from things belonging to people, things they've touched. I took May's book right after she was kidnapped. I had lots of things of yours, Doc, and I had this—" He pulled a woman's ring from his pocket and pressed it into Quentin's hand. "I saw Irene with it, not long after I came out of my long sleep. I don't know how she got it. She dropped it and ran away, guiltylike, when she saw me, and I picked it up. Knew it was yours right away." He shrugged in embarrassment. "Sorry I kept it so long. I had a feeling I'd need it."

  "I'd wondered what had become of it," Quentin said. "I'd thought it was gone forever." He kissed the ring and slipped it onto his little finger. "Thank you, Harper."

  "You're welcome." He glanced at Johanna. "I couldn't just let you come out here alone, Doc, knowing what'd happened. So right after you left, I started concentrating on these things. And I could see where May was. I could see you, and Quentin, only he didn't feel right." He cocked his head at Quentin.

  "Another long story," Quentin said. "You were saying?"

  "Well, I got enough of a sense of where to look that I talked to Mrs. Daugherty and asked her if she could hire some help to see to the others while I was gone. But Miss DuBois overheard, and she asked me if I knew where Bolkonsky was." He glanced at Boroskov. "She was in a right taking. Didn't do any good to tell her no. She insisted on coming along, said she'd follow if I didn't let her. And then Andersen found out, and he said he wasn't going to let either one of us go without him—though he did a right lot of scrubbing and praying before we left."

  Johanna rubbed at her eyes. "Mein Gott."

  "Then, well… Oscar wouldn't be left behind, either. He's strong, so I thought he might come in handy. Lewis donated some money he'd saved, and we took the train and the ferry to San Francisco. Then I just followed what the visions told me."

  Quentin exchanged glances with Johanna. Both of them knew that Harper and the others had only the vaguest idea of the danger they'd rushed into. But even leaving the safety of the Haven had been a great act of valor for people who had feared and distrusted the world, or themselves. An act of valor, and of selfless loyalty.

  "You should not have done it," Johanna said thickly. "But I thank you for your concern." She brushed at her cheeks. "Mrs. Daugherty is still at the Haven with my father?"

  "Of course," Harper said. "She warned me that if we didn't all come back in a few days, she'd get the law involved."

  "That is not necessary." Johanna rose. "We will go home as quickly as we can, as soon as we find May—"

  "I can help," Harper said. "I still have her book in my pack. She'll be all right."

  Johanna shook her head, her eyes suspiciously bright. She gave Quentin an intensely private glance, acknowledging that their conversation was not over. "Lewis?"

  The former reverend gave up his attempt to clean his blackened gloves and rose from the couch. "Doctor?"

  "We must find May, and I will need Quentin's and Harper's help. Will you look after Irene and Oscar if we take you to a hotel where they can rest?"

  Andersen stood very straight. " 'The Lord is my strength, in whom I will trust.' I can, Doctor Schell. Simply tell me where to go."

  "Thank you." She smiled at Irene and Oscar. Irene sniffled, but her habitual hostility was as absent from her face as the garish paint. Oscar sang a nursery song under his breath.

  "Are we going home now?" he asked.

  "Very soon." She drew close to Quentin again, and his constant physical and mental awareness of her rose to a higher pitch. He felt a little of Fenris's irrational desire to drag her off to a dark corner and ravish her, but also the patience to wait. Their time would come.

  "I'm afraid you will have to use the manacles on Boroskov," she whispered. "If we leave him here until May is safe, will he escape?"

  "No."

  He could see that she was still adjusting to his new self-assurance, but she didn't question him. "Very well. I'll take the others outside, and wait for you. Then we shall escort Lewis, Oscar, and Irene to my hotel and go in search of May."

  Quentin hid a smile of love and admiration. His dear, headstrong Johanna. She couldn't help but take command. She might have suffered a few doubts in the course of this day's work, but she'd rally in the end. She was too strong to do otherwise.

  Just as she'd made him strong with her love.

  "I'll be right with you," he said. As she turned to gather the patients, he caught her and pulled her into his arms. In full view of their gawking audience, he kissed her soundly.

  "For Fenris," he said. "And for me."

  Quentin held nothing back. Every one of his inhuman senses worked in perfect harmony, as they hadn't done in years. It was almost ridiculously easy to follow Boroskov's trail to the place where May was hidden. He had no need of Harper's psychic abilities.

  If not for the girl, he would have left Johanna and Harper behind. But they needed to be a part of this, and so he let them follow.

  The old warehouse, at the edge of the Barbary Coast, was guarded by a small army of Boroskov's henchmen, who looked ready to put up a nasty fight. The Russian wouldn't have left so many if he had been as confident as he pretended. But even in this he'd miscalculated.

  Quentin felt no reluctance to face them, no fear of what he might do once unleashed. Nor was he inclined to explain to them their master's incapacitated condition. He knew a more efficient way of gaining their surrender. His anger, and his strength, were under his complete command.

  He didn't bother to Change. He pushed Harper and Johanna behind him, expecting their obedience, and stalked his prey with bared teeth and a hard, predatory stare.

  Boroskov's men couldn't have known what he was, but they recognized danger. Like the mob from the Springs, they shifted and muttered among themselves, brandishing knives and pistols as if those alone could hinder a werewolf.

  They had no hope of stopping the reborn Quentin Forster.

  The assortment of thugs, footpads, and ruffians kept up their bluff until he was within spitting distance, and then the first of them broke and ran. One fired his pistol; Quentin effortlessly dodged the bullet. Another three split off from the group and dashed around the nearest corner.

  Of those who remained, two might have been quite a challenge for an ordinary man. Quentin dispatched one of them with a handy facer before the fellow knew what was coming. The second lunged with a wicked, long-bladed knife, and was rewarded with a dislocated shoulder. The pitiful remnants of Boroskov's army thought better of their erstwhile loyalty and took to their heels.

  May was loosely tied up in a small office inside the warehouse. If she'd had a personal guard, he'd heard the commotion outside and made himself scarce.

  The girl stared at Quentin in astonishment, struggling against her bonds.

  "You came!" she cried, gamely fighting back tears. "I knew you would. I knew—" She paused. "Quentin? It is you?"

  Quentin snapped the ropes with a flick of his fingers and lifted her into his arms. Johanna and Harper rushed to his side.

  "It's me, little one." He kissed her forehead and passed her into Johanna's arms. "You're safe. We're all safe."

  Johanna hugged May and met Quentin's gaze over the girl's head. Her eyes blazed with pride and affection.

  "Yes," she said. "We are whole again." She set May back and wiped the girl's tears with her thumb. "And there is more, liebchen. Your mother has come home."

  The first promise of dawn lay upon the eastern horizon when they arrived at Johanna's hotel. The three they'd left behind were waiting in the lobby: Lewis and Irene in a matching pair of armchairs by the window, Oscar sprawled and snoring across one of the hard settees. A jubilant greeting followed, but it was not to be the happiest.

  Johanna went to fetch Mrs. Ingram herself. Quentin never learned what passed between them, but May's mother came flying down the stairs in her dressing gown, and a moment later mother and daugh
ter embraced in a flurry of endearments and joyful sobs.

  Quentin couldn't steal so much as a second alone with Johanna. But he watched her—he never tired of doing so—and saw her mingled sadness and pleasure in the family reunion. His heart swelled with the same mixed emotions. She had much to be proud of, and much to let go. He swore to make up for every one of her losses.

  "Reckon that's the prettiest sight I ever did see," Harper said, coming to stand beside him.

  "Yes," Quentin answered. "I reckon it is." But his eyes were only for the sturdy, practical woman who gravely received Mrs. Ingram's breathless thanks.

  Harper smiled. "You have a lot of catching up to do, brother."

  "And a lot of living," Quentin agreed. "For both of us."

  "In that case," Harper said, "I reckon we'd better get started."

  The gate to the Haven stood open, as if in welcome. On every side the vineyard, woods, and orchards held steadfast in spite of the travails of men.

  Mrs. Daugherty came out onto the porch, shading her eyes and looking ready to let loose with a terrific scold.

  Oscar ran ahead of everyone and charged up the stairs, bursting with news for the housekeeper.

  Johanna stopped at the gate and let the tears come. Quentin put his arm around her and nuzzled her hair.

  "Glad to be home?" he asked.

  "No," she said, wondering if this tendency to weep at the drop of a hat was a temporary affliction. She sincerely hoped so. "I'd much rather be back in San Francisco, battling monsters."

  He chuckled and kissed her temple. "I wonder."

  Mrs. Ingram cleared her throat and came forward to join them. May clung to her arm, as she'd done ever since mother and daughter had been reunited in San Francisco. The girl was radiant, as if her recent experiences had shocked her out of the remnants of the old troubles. Johanna could not envision her suffering from hysteria ever again—as long as she was given a chance to grow up well outside her father's pernicious shadow. Mrs. Ingram intended to do just that.

  May wasn't the only one to benefit from adversity. Lewis Andersen seemed to have experienced an epiphany during his confrontation with Irene in the vineyard. Although he remained fastidious and vigilant, he had actually removed his gloves during the ferry and train ride home. He had been seen to smile, with nary a word of sins or sinners. Instead, his quotes from the Bible were those of hope and inspiration.

  Though he continued to regard Quentin with nervous suspicion, he didn't seem inclined to expose Quentin's secret to the world. Gradually he was allowing himself to touch and be touched—especially with Irene, who was sober and quiet and changed in ways Johanna expected to find most remarkable.

  What precisely had changed Irene remained to be explored, but Johanna suspected that she, too, had been forced to see herself clearly for the first time in many years. Johanna hoped to make Irene's transition to reality as painless as possible. She and Lewis might be sufficiently recovered to leave the Haven in a matter of months.

  As for Quentin…

  She glanced up at him shyly, amazed all over again at the strength of her passion. She tried very hard not to let him see it. She'd accepted his support on the journey home, needing it more than she had any other man's, glad enough to let herself be a little dependent for a few brief hours.

  But she did not deceive herself. The Quentin who stood with her now was not the one who had left the Haven a mere few days ago. Oh, the alterations were subtle enough: They lay in his unflinching carriage, the challenge in his eyes, the assurance in his walk—the way he spoke, as if a real future existed, and the way he gathered everyone he cared for under the cloak of his protection. He was no longer afraid.

  His past might still haunt him for a time, the memories Fenris had restored to him. He had become neither perfect nor incapable of guilt and regret. But now he would be able to deal with that past and accept it, just as he'd accepted Fenris.

  Did he still need her? Was it too much to ask, that he should wish to remain with someone who reminded him so much of the obstacles he'd overcome?

  Quentin had his own life to seek, a family waiting to embrace him, a nonhuman heritage to explore. She would not keep him from the future he chose.

  But within her heart was a kernel of hope. They had shared so much. If only they could share the rest of their lives…

  "It has been a long time," Mrs. Ingram said. "Isn't it strange, how things have come full circle, and yet that circle has led us to a better place." She smiled at her daughter. "A wonderful place."

  "Indeed," Johanna said. "It has been a long two days. Shall we go inside?"

  Mrs. Daugherty hurried down the steps, Oscar trailing along beside her like an overgrown pup. "I was so worried, wonderin' what you was all up to in the city!" She clucked her tongue. "You all look fit enough, but I hope you never do it again!"

  "Believe me," Quentin said, grabbing her work-roughened hand for a kiss, "I hope the same."

  "Oh, you." She blushed and gave him a mock frown. "Doc Jo, your papa's fine. He asked for you, and I said you'd be back soon."

  "Thank you," Johanna said. "Thank you, Bridget. I don't know what I would have done without your loyalty."

  "Go on." She turned back to Quentin. "There's a feller here to see you—been here since morning. I told him I didn't rightly know when any of you'd be back, but he said he had to wait." She smiled knowingly. "Said he'd come all the way from New Mexico Territory, tracking you down for your sister."

  "Rowena?" Quentin said, his face reflecting startled joy.

  "That's the name. He's waitin' in the parlor. Just about eaten us out of house and home, too. So the rest of you better come on in and get your supper!"

  "Yes," Johanna said, stepping aside. "Go in. Mrs. Ingram, please make yourself at home. I'll join you directly."

  The others dutifully followed Oscar and Mrs. Daugherty up the stairs, leaving Quentin and Johanna alone.

  "Rowena," Quentin said. "I can't believe it. Rowena found me here?"

  "Your sister? I thought your family was in England."

  "She came to America shortly before I did, for reasons I'll explain when I can. We kept in touch for a while, but then I—" He bowed his head. "She's probably been sick with worry."

  "Then you must talk to this man immediately." She pressed his hands. "And I must go to my father."

  "Yes." He hardly seemed to see her, his thoughts centered on those he had known long before Johanna. "Yes."

  She went up the stairs ahead of him, her heart bursting with happiness for Quentin and a sorrow she couldn't acknowledge.

  Her father sat in his wheelchair in the parlor, gazing at the wall with a slight smile on his face. He blinked and turned his head to look at her as she entered the room.

  "Johanna," he said. "It's good to see you."

  "And you, Papa." She knelt before him and took his hands. "I missed you."

  "That's my Valkyrie," he said vaguely, touching her hair. "How is the new doctor working out?"

  He meant Quentin, of course. He probably hadn't even noticed that so many of the Haven's residents had been gone. Johanna was grateful for that small favor.

  "He may not be able to remain, Papa," she said gently, playing along with his assumptions. "He's been called to see to his own affairs in another part of the country."

  "A pity. I liked him very much. A personable, intelligent young man."

  So much like the old Wilhelm Schell. She rested her head on his knees. "Yes, Papa. I… liked him very much, also."

  "You are sure that you cannot persuade him to remain? Our work is so very important here."

  Yes, it was. For all her doubts about her own competence, her desire to surrender the responsibility forever, she knew Papa was right. She couldn't take the easy way and give up everything she and her father had worked to establish. To do so would betray what she and Quentin had found, in themselves and each other.

  But she didn't wish to go on alone as she'd done for so long, independent and fr
ee of personal ties. She knew what it was to love. Quentin was the lost half of herself. She needed him as he'd needed Fenris.

  She had to tell him. Outright, with none of the usual protections against hurt and disappointment. She must find exactly the right moment, and pray she didn't trip over her own tongue.

  As for the Haven, she had also given that careful consideration on the trip back to the Valley. Though Quentin would eventually be cleared of guilt in the matter of Ketchum's death, suspicion about the Haven's residents would not so easily be dispelled. Now that May was leaving, Harper was cured, and Irene and Lewis had made such progress, it would be much less difficult to start again elsewhere, perhaps in another state. Begin another Haven, to help whoever needed sanctuary in a complex and sometimes frightening world.

  A world Johanna would never view again with the same eyes. Or the same heart.

  She spoke to her father of this and that, the trivialities that so often filled his once-brilliant mind. She took comfort in such things, as he did. She brought him his tray, helped him eat the dinner Mrs. Daugherty had prepared, and took him to his room to rest.

  Then she went to face Quentin.

  May was just leaving the parlor when Johanna found him there. She saw on his face that he'd been making his farewells to the girl; sadness and pride mingled in his cinnamon eyes.

  He glanced toward the kitchen, where May had gone to join her mother. "May will be leaving us soon," he said. "Her mother tells me that she has assembled certain damaging information about Mr. Ingram's personal and business practices that will make him very unlikely to interfere with her decision to take May to Europe. It's something of a miracle, how things have changed for both of them."

  "Indeed." Johanna sat on the chair nearest the fireplace and folded her hands in her lap. "It is far more than I could have hoped."

  "But things have changed for all of us, haven't they?" He sat down on the sofa opposite her. "I sometimes wonder if I'm dreaming. And then I look at you, and realize there is such a thing as heaven on earth."

  She shivered as if with fever. Now. Tell him now. But she was as tongue-tied as she'd feared, driven mute by his tender words. All that would come to her was a single stuttered question.