As her features went icy and hard . . .

. . . and suddenly all of her plans were in jeopardy, igniting to sizzling flame in her brain.

The sight of Syd on the other side of the bar was weird enough, the idea that he would not want to leave with her had never even entered her mind. There was, after all, the reality of Vic to b.u.t.tress her story: one twist of the radio dial would confirm that.

Beyond that, there was her vast repertoire of skills. Nora could cry; she could browbeat; she could lie; she could intimidate; she could plead, cajole, caress, extol, impress, distress, and suck c.o.c.k like a pro. And because there was nothing she wouldn't do, there was virtually nothing she couldn't do. It was the essence of her strength.

Right up until the moment the little b.i.t.c.h came up behind him.

She hadn't planned for this, hadn't considered it at all. She had saved his G.o.dd.a.m.ned life, and he had just gone on without her. She vaguely remembered this second-string c.u.n.t from way back, recalled the way she'd so wisely deferred. Now she wasn't being nearly so smart.

"Syd, you gotta believe me," she continued, negating the intrusion. "I tried to get back to you, I really did. Baby, I missed you so much. . . ."

"Syd." The c.u.n.t was speaking again. "Syd, what-"

"Shut up!" Nora snarled. Jane visibly recoiled, but did not move. Nora turned her attention back to Syd. "Quit f.u.c.king around, baby." She reached out to take his hand. "C'mon, we gotta go. . . ."

"Seriously, baby, we-"

"NO!".

He yanked his hand away, out of her grasp. Nora's eyes flared, then narrowed to flinty slits. "What did you say?" she asked incredulously.

"He said, 'No.'"

Nora glared. Another c.u.n.ting intrusion. Bad enough she should speak; Nora then watched in amazement as the little s.l.u.t actually insinuated herself: placing a protective hand on Syd's shoulder, trying to pull him away. Nora's eyes locked on the offending hand before flitting back to Syd's face. For the first time, she realized how different he looked. How much he had changed.

But she didn't miss-couldn't miss-the way Syd moved, not back, but instinctively forward to shield the b.i.t.c.h. She saw the way his body language so eloquently revealed his betrayal. Syd took position in front of his barmaid b.i.t.c.h, his entire body tensed and ready.

Ready to defend her, Nora realized. Defend her against me . . .

And it was all so suddenly, terribly clear. Nora realized with a slick rush of horror that they were completely, una.s.sailably in love, and they didn't even know it yet.

She started to laugh then: a caustic, acid-tinged explosion, devoid of mirth. "You gotta be kidding," she said. "What'd she do, Syd, wrap your d.i.c.k around her little finger?"

"Nora, stop it."

"Do you have any idea what I've been through?" Nora hissed, tears beginning to well in her eyes. "I fought my way through h.e.l.l to get back to you, you miserable sonofab.i.t.c.h; you'd be dead if it wasn't for me. . . ."

"Nora, please . . ."

"I put my a.s.s on the line for you, and now you're telling me you're gonna throw me over for this . . . this-"

She gestured dismissively to his little squeeze. "I love you, G.o.ddammit! I need your help! Now, are you coming with me, or what??"

But Syd just stood his ground and stared at her: not speaking, not moving, not giving her an inch. He didn't have to. The light in his eyes said it all. There was fear there, yes, and confusion. But there was something else, too: and its mere presence made Nora crazy, made it very hard to keep from just slaughtering him on the spot, slaughtering them both.

She looked in his eyes, and saw pity.

"I'm sorry," he croaked.

"Motherf.u.c.ker," she spat. "You had your chance. Just remember that. You had your chance. . . ."

. . . and then she was whirling, stalking off toward the door while the feelings surged up inside him, yanking at the far end of his chain. There was no getting around how powerful it felt . . .

. . . just as there had been no getting around the look in her eyes, in the moment before she turned . . .

. . . and then she was gone, her memory burning a freeway of fire through his brain. He had seen the murder in those eyes-had seen, there, what she was capable of-and it flashed him back on Jules, and that night of blood and destruction.

The door hissed closed behind her. Syd felt Jane shudder beside him, slipped his arm around her.

"It's okay," Syd murmured; and that was when Jane pulled away. As she did he saw that it was anger, not fear, that made her tremble. "It'll be okay. . . ."

"Don't bet on it," Jane said. "That b.i.t.c.h is crazy." Syd nodded, thinking you don't know the half of it.

"If she comes around again," Jane added, "I'll f.u.c.king kill her."

Syd looked at her. Thinking you don't know . . .

The time for revelation had come.

It was twelve fifty-one.

35.

Revelation, however, didn't come all at once; nor did it come easily. The first order of business was to get Jane home, alive and in one piece. He could worry about the rest from there.

Closing up early, by comparison, was a given. Under the circ.u.mstances, it was the only thing to do. Syd announced last call practically the moment Nora left. Jane backed him up completely, scooping half-finished drinks off of customers' tables, hustling everyone out the door as quickly as they possibly could. By the time the last stragglers were ready to go, Syd and Jane were ready as well.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Jane didn't utter a single word that wasn't entirely job-related. Whatever she was feeling, she played it close to the vest. That was fine with Syd; he couldn't talk about it, either, though he suspected his reasons and hers were maybe just a little bit different.

Her concerns, he was forced to suspect, were probably just a touch more terrestrial than his. The odds were pretty good that, when she thought about this, she wasn't factoring in the supernatural. In fact, he found himself thinking about asking her jeez, honey, you ain't scared of no werewolves, now, are ya? But then again, it probably wasn't the best idea. Whatever was going to happen, he sure as s.h.i.t didn't need her doubting his sanity.

Lord knows, she'd soon have reason enough to doubt her own.

At one-thirty they chased out the last stragglers. Jane didn't complain when he left on the parking lot lights; she seemed to instinctively grasp that it was best to leave with all the lights on and as many people around as possible. As the last customer filed out Syd darted behind the bar, reached behind the ice chest and grabbed the shotgun, wrapping it in his jacket like so much fresh fish from market. Jane flashed him a worrisome look as he rejoined her, but said nothing.

Even in the company of others, the parking lot felt both treacherous and terrifying. The relentless, pounding rain didn't help matters. Syd held the jacket-wrapped gun in one hand, clutched Jane's hand in the other as they exited. He wouldn't let her leave his side, not even for a second. The memories were far too vivid, his recollection of them far too clear.

And it was so easy, so easy to let his mind slip horribly back. The pool of blood. The growling beast. Jules's dead face sliding across the window. It would paralyze him if he let it, this fear: freeze him right in his tracks. Another thing he could not allow. He feared for these people, knowing they could just as easily become human shields, more bodies to pile between him and the horror awaiting if things went out of control.

It was an ugly, soul-curdling thought, and he felt unclean even having it. But that didn't change its essential truth.

And Syd felt a fierce sense of duty, a territorial protectiveness that spread like an umbrella to encompa.s.s all of them. This place was his: everyone who came to this place was his charge, so long as they were there.

Good night, he waved. Don't die is what he meant. Then he was walking Jane to the driver's side, scanning the perimeter as she unlocked the door. The rain blinded and deafened him to all but the most obvious sensory triggers, literally dragged down and earth-bound the air molecules that carried scent, replacing them with a pungent rain-smell all its own. Syd had the sinking feeling that, if and when she came, he would have very little warning. A couple of seconds. Not enough.

Jane shut the door behind her, locked it. He went around the front as she cranked the engine and flipped on the headlights. He realized he couldn't see Jane's face through the windshield, and a black hole of panic opened up in his chest.

Then the windshield wipers started, and he saw her: leaning over to unlock his door as he reached it, climbed inside. He slammed the door behind him, locked it up at once. Jane jogged it into reverse and wheeled quickly around, heading for the road. As they were backing up he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving in the tree line. He looked again, saw nothing but rain.

There was a little caravan filing out of the lot; she honked her horn in farewell, faintly received their answering calls. It felt weirdly comforting to be part of a group: almost like a pack, or a tribe. He wondered if any of them knew how lucky they were, or how ugly things could have gotten.

Then they were heading off and away from the others, in the opposite direction down the Mt. Haversford Road. Once again separated from the rest of humanity.

Hurtling headlong into the night.

They rode in silence, wending from Mt. Haversford to the Old Pitcairn Road, then into Brundle Hollow on their way up the final rise. The silence was tense but not divisive: not aimed at each other, but simply withheld. Her hand stayed tight in his, leaving only to shift, then finding it again. Her hand was his anchor point, keeping his dread from setting him adrift. Jane squeezed it and drove, watching the road. Alert. Lost in thought.

Syd, for his part, was trying hard not to think. He was trusting his instincts. They told him to shut up. Pay attention. Stay alive.

Rain lashed at the window gla.s.s, beat a deafening drum roll on the canvas top, and ran in flooded runnels down the road to either side. The shotgun sat stiffly between his legs, strangely una.s.suring. Visibility continued to be ghastly-between the blinding downpour and the Jeep's pitiful blowers, they could barely see the white lines on the pavement ahead-and periodically they would hit a flooded patch and lurch into a split-second freefall before gripping the road again.

Jane cursed and shifted again, her features underlit by the dashboard lights. It was harsh, subtly unflattering, yet he had a difficult time finding lines that didn't agree with him. There was strength in those lines, but they hadn't gone hard. Character without bitterness. Determination without malice. Try as he might, he could find not one feature that he didn't like a million times more than Nora's.

The Jeep rounded a swooping curve. Syd glanced up.

There was something large and wet and dead in the middle of the road.

"s.h.i.t!" they yelled, almost in unison, Jane swerving to avoid the carca.s.s as Syd grabbed the panic bar, held on. She clipped it, a dull thwump that rocked them as she desperately countersteered. The Jeep skidded at thirty-five miles per hour, sliding toward the narrow, rutted shoulder, almost flipped as she whipped it back. The whiplash snap as she regained control whacked his forehead sharply against the window to his right. The shotgun fell to the floor with a dull thump.

Syd let out a yelp and looked back at the dead thing: a red lump in her taillights' glow, rapidly receding in the fog-choked distance as she swung back onto the road. The sense of dread that it gave him was beyond deja vu; more like a bad omen.

Or a calling card . . .

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she said, squinting into the rearview mirror. "But I think its head was gone."

Syd swallowed hard. He hadn't missed the tremor in her voice. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here . . . read the banners fluttering across his mind. He could feel the fear flicker like heat lightning inside him. It crawled up his heartbeat, adrenalized his soul even as the force of his vibe flooded the vehicle's cab.

The sight of the thing brought him horribly full circle, to the wolf in the woods where it all began. The powerlessness he'd felt puny tire iron in hand-was nothing compared to the way he felt now. At least then he'd only had himself to worry about.

This was worse. A million times worse.

"Jane," he began. "There's something I gotta tell you-"

"I know," she interrupted. "And I hate to do it like this, but we're almost out of time. There's a couple of things I've gotta tell you, too. While we still have the chance."

He looked at her, startled, as Jane shrugged her way out of her sodden jean jacket, let it flop onto the seat behind her. Her T-shirt was plastered to her skin. Her skin was goosefleshed, her nipples stiffly erect. "What are you talking about-"

"Hang on," she said.

They burst into the curve that led to her private drive. Jane downshifted and cut across the road, barely slowing as she hit the incline. The headlights burrowed into the blackness before them. Her features jiggled in the dashboard light as smooth pavement deserted them, once and for all.

The deeply-rutted drive was dark and muddy and utterly deserted, the woods to either side ominous and thick, tree limbs gleaming like wet bones in the twin beams of light. The smell of plant life hung heavy in the air, incredibly oppressive, claustrophobic. Syd shivered. Ambush country.

"Jane . . ." he began.

"I wanted to do this before," she resumed, "but it just didn't seem like you were ready . . . s.h.i.t!" She veered to avoid a broken-off tree branch jutting into the path. "s.h.i.t, Syd! You're still not ready! But this kinda forces the issue."

The road hooked up sharply to the right. The four-wheel drive dug in: mud and gravel spraying out behind it, floodwater sluicing in its tracks. Syd waited, while the blackness snaked down his spine. She downshifted and gunned it: the Jeep lurched and shot forward, up the last hump of the rise. Her features seemed to crawl in the dashboard light.

"Fact is," Jane said, tearing up the jagged waterslide home, "I understand a lot more than you think I do . . ."

"Oh G.o.d." Beginning, finally, to understand.

". . . and I've been watching you for a long time . . ."

They pa.s.sed the PRIVATE PROPERTY sign. The path went wide, leveled into the clearing. The mist had thinned. He found that he was seeing clearly. Far too clearly, as a matter of fact.

The road smoothed. Her features continued moving.

". . . and I love you, Syd. I always will. But if you want to live, you'd better stay out of our way. . . ."

Up ahead, a light appeared through the trees. The porch light, softly illuminating the figure that hunkered beneath it now. Old and bent, stark in the light from the open front door. Crouching semi-upright and wailing in terror.

Wailing with a voice that bore no trace of humanity.

There was another form, too, coming around the side of the house. Coming toward them now at an incredible speed. The clearing was just over a hundred yards long. There was very little time. Jane slammed to a halt, threw on the brake, and dove out of the door. The thing kept coming. The thing kept coming. It was slowed by the mud and the rain. But not much. Not much at all.

Syd stared through the metronomic windshield-wiper streaks at the monster framed by the headlights' glare. It came on all fours, but virtually nothing looked right: the front limbs too gangly, the haunches too high. And its long tapered snout held a great leering mouth too huge, too huge for comprehension.

There was a tearing sound, and Syd turned to see Jane doubling over, ripping through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, the skimpy little denim skirt. She lowered her head and took a great sucking breath: the sound that came out resonated to the heart of his spiraling DNA. It was deep, wild, feral.

It was the song of the Change.

Jane was metamorphosing rapidly, expanding and mutating so fast he could barely lock on a feature before it rippled and twisted, shimmered and shifted, making the torturous, crazed transition from woman to were-thing to wolf and more in the handful of seconds it took for her a.s.sailant to cover ten of its last thirty yards.

Her torso stretched and contorted, hips dislocating into haunches as arms elongated into legs; her spine crackled, evolved a thrashing tail on the one end as her head triangulated at the other; the skull-plates shifting, as her face pushed outward, becoming a naked leering canine countenance. Ears sprouted and pinned back; lush fur bloomed as razored fangs grew and bared, prepared for attack.

"Oh G.o.d," he gasped, the last pieces clicking impossibly into place. "Oh my f.u.c.king G.o.d . . ."

Syd stared, numb with shock, as the wolf-that magnificent, mysterious beast from the woods-rose before him. It paused, turning its fearsome head toward him, its eyes filled with love.

Then she snarled and wheeled, launching her countera.s.sault.