When Hanny was out of earshot, Mrs. Ryan walked into Corey's bedroom and put the tray down on his bedside table. "It didn't drool on you, did it?" she asked in a low voice. "Dad's calling Dr. Lamber to see if we need to take you to the emergency room. We should tell them if any saliva got on you."

Corey sighed ostentatiously. "The only thing that might need looking at, and I don't think it does, is my head, where I fell on it. I keep trying to tell you, Mom. That dog didn't hurt me. It only freaked me out. It didn't even try to hurt me."

"Didn't try to-Corey, you said it knocked you down and went for your throat!"

"I know, Mom, but it didn't bite my throat. Itjust kind of stared at me and ran away."

DARK DREAMS * 65.

"Probably realized you were poisonous." Hanny, in her nightgown, had just poked her head into the room again. She took one look at her mother's expression and scurried away down the hall.

"I had the strangest feeling when I looked up at that dog," Corey said. He was staring up at the ceiling as though watching a rerun of what had happened to him. "I mean, it was a beautiful animal, a husky or something. Really pretty. Incredible green eyes. I've never seen a dog like it And I was positive it recognized me. That's why it didn't hurt me. I just know it."

"No one I know has a dog like that," his mother said.

"Me either." Corey leaned back against his pillow. "That's what's even stranger. You see, I thought I recognized the dog, too. For a second there, we were almost, like, communicating."

He broke off and looked up at his mother rather sadly. "I guess that couldn't happen, huh?" he asked. "Must've been the b.u.mp on my head that made me think so."

"Probably, darling. Try and relax, now," his mother answered, and left the room quietly, care- 66 * Children of the Night ful not to let her son see the worry etched on her face.

"Well, hel-fo, Lila. How's Corey?" Karin Engals sauntered up to Lila as she neared her locker. The first bell was about to ring, and everyone was streaming into the building, slamming lockers, dropping books.

Lila shuddered inwardly as she remembered the way her drive with Corey had ended. "He's fine," she said carefully. No sense in letting Karin know anything, she thought. "We're doing just fine, thank you."

To her surprise, Karin was staring at her in genuine puzzlement. "No, I mean how's he doing?" Karin insisted. "How's he feeling? After the attack and all?"

Lila halted before her locker, staring at the other girl. "What attack?" she asked blankly. "You haven't heard? I can't believe it!" "Haven't heard what?]ust tell me!" "I can't believe it," Karin repeated meaningly. A sly smile played around one comer of her mouth. ' 7 know. My mother knows. Everyone knows. I would DARK DREAMS * 67.

have thought you'd be the first person he'd call. . . . Anyway, last night Corey was attacked in the woods by the reservoir."

"Attacked? By who?" Lila whispered. Her hands were beginning to shake. She hid them behind her back so Karin wouldn't see.

"Not by who-by what. A wild dog. It might've even been part wolf or something. It knocked him over and went for his throat, he said. He's lucky to be alive."

Lila was sagging against the wall, whitefaced. Her backpack clunked to the ground, but she didn't notice. I can't breathe, she thought. "Was he hurt badly?" she said faintly.

Karin looked almost disappointed at having to report good news. "Not really. The dog-or wolf or whatever it was-didn't bite him, anyway." The first bell rang then, but neither girl moved. "It just ran away. Corey's got a concussion, though. A mild one," Karin added reluctantly. "He didn't even want to go to the hospital, but his doctor thought he should. His head hit pretty hard when he fell. So he'll be in the hospital for a day or so, just for observation. No biggie. Still, it's awfully weird he 68 * Children of the Night didn't tell you about it right away. I wonder why he didn't? Guess it didn't occur to him." Karin looked at her watch ostentatiously. "Well, time for homeroom."

"Right," Lila told her, with an effort. "I'll. . . I'll get going."

But she didn't move. She just stood there, leaning against her locker and staring blankly into s.p.a.ce. The school's front hall was emptying out now as the last few stragglers hurried toward their homerooms. A couple of kids glanced curiously at Lila as they pa.s.sed, but she didn't even see them.

I attacked my own boyfriend last night. I could have killed him.

It had been hard enough to wake up that morning and realize once again that the same transformation had taken place in the night. Hard enough to come up with an explanation for why she'd sneaked in so late without bothering to inform her parents.

It had been hard enough trying to prepare another explanation-this one for Corey. How was she going to gloss over the fact that she'd bolted out of his car for no apparent reason?

DARK DRBAMS * 69.

A few minutes earlier, these problems had taken up all the mental s.p.a.ce Lila had. But this new information blew them away like so many cobwebs.

Why don't I remember what happened?

Was the memory too horrible to face? Maybe it had been so traumatic that she'd blanked it out. Or did her perceptions change completely when she was a wolf? Lila had a dim vision of stalking something. Was it Corey? In her transformed state, did she stop recognizing people?

And would anyone make the connection between the "wild dog" and Lila herself?

They can Y, Lila told herself firmly, and tried to brush the thought away. She hated herself for being so self-centered when she should be worrying about Corey. But she was frightened for her own safety all the same. There's no way they could possibly know it was me. No one saw me transform. The only person nearby was Corey, and I know he didn't see anything.

I hope he didn 't, she thought with a sudden spasm of doubt. I'm sure I got away out of sight before I. . .

But what if Corey had seen her turning into a 70 * Children of the Night wolf? What if he was keeping quiet about it for reasons of his own? Maybe that was why he hadn't called her.

This was worse than Lila could ever have imagined. All right, so I didn't really hurt Corey this time, she thought bleakly. But what would happen next time? How hideous an act would she commit? And would there be witnesses? Would anyone guess her terrible secret?

Tiredly, Lila rubbed her eyes and looked around. It was hard to believe that all around her normal life continued to go on. But it did.

"Goodness! You'd better get a move on, Lila. The second bell rang three minutes ago." Mrs. Doughty, the typing teacher, interrupted her brisk trot down the hall to frown at Lila.

"I... thank you, Mrs. Doughty." Lila's voice was weary. "I'm just going."

She couldn't stand here all day. But she couldn't spend much longer without some answers, either. That afternoon, when school was over, she was going to find out a few things about werewolves.

It's kind of like homework, Lila told herself with a DARK DREAMS * 71.

bleak attempt at humor. Research. They're always telling us how important research skills are, aren't they?

"Of a certainty several loathsome Aspects are common to every Werewolf. The Eyebrows are thick and long, meeting over the Nose with no Separation. His Teeth are of a reddish hue and sharp-pointed, like a Dog's; red, too, are his Fingernails, and of an Almond Shape. His Ears, lying far back on the Head, are uncommonly pointed. His Eyes and Mouth are dry; he suffers from dreadful Thirst and is likewise unable to weep. The Skin is scabrous and much scratched, and tending to hairiness ..."

Lila shook her head. This was the ugliest account so far. Every book she'd found gave descriptions of werewolves, most of which were nothing like Lila herself, but none of them gave any real information about how they lived, how the transformations worked, information Lila could really use. Was there any point in looking through these books?

She had shaken Samantha and Marci loose after school. "You're going to the library?" they had asked incredulously.

72 * Children of the Night Until today, Lila had never known about the library's occult section. Most of its t.i.tles seemed to be about poltergeists and the witches of Salem, but there were a few books about werewolves and vampires and other late-night movie characters. Half-scornfully, Lila had tried several before picking out The Lore of the Werewolf.

The book turned out to be a facsimile edition of an eighteenth-century work, complete with antique spelling and clumsy old woodcuts that looked more quaint than scary. So far, everything Lila had read was wrong, at least as far as it applied to her. She didn't match the physical description at all-except for things that didn't matter, like having fair skin and light-colored eyes. Plenty of people have those without being werewolves. Nor did she hate bright lights. Not that she'd noticed, anyway. She didn't have a constant craving for raw meat. (Not when she was a human, she thought uneasily.) She also wasn't extremely hairy, thank G.o.d. These books have nothing to do with me.

What difference did it make if the lore was wrong, though? She had still turned into a wolf for two nights running, bright lights or no bright DARK DREAMS * 73.

lights. . . . Lila flipped through the pages again to find out whether it said anything about what turned people into werewolves.

Here, again, the book couldn't tell her much, except that seventeenth-century Europe must have been a horrible place to live. According to the book, werewolves were possessed by the devil. So, too, were ordinary wolves, the author claimed: "Wolves are Demons, who verily prowl abroad in the Dark Hours, and urge Man to every kind of l.u.s.t and Murder, and to other infinite Crimes." He went on to explain how to torture suspected werewolves to death. And, for good measure, how to do the same thing to any real wolves unlucky enough to find themselves caught by humans.

People could also become wolves if they had been conceived during the time of a new moon. (Gee, I'll have to ask Mom and Dad about that, Lila thought sarcastically.) Sleeping on the ground could cause it, especially if there was a full moon on a Friday night. Drinking water from a wolfs footprint and eating a wolfs brains could also turn someone into a wolf, according to the book.

This whole book was so stupid and old-fashioned 74 * Children of the Night it was starting to annoy her. She flipped through quickly to see if anything else was interesting.

The Wild Beast of Gevaudan was supposed to have killed hundreds of people, though the ill.u.s.tration made him look like a stuffed toy.... A peasant claimed his wolf hide grew underneath his skin, and he was sliced open to see if he was telling the truth. . . . Jacques Rollet, the werewolf of Caude, was trapped while still clutching bits of human flesh in his b.l.o.o.d.y hands.

Surely these were all nightmares, not true stories! Lila was about to return the book to the shelf when one series of especially gruesome woodcuts caught her eye.

The first showed a man strapped to a wheel, having something awful done to him with glowing hot pincers. In the second, he was being decapitated, and in the third, his headless body was being burned at the stake.

Gripped by fascinated distaste, Lila inexplicably found herself reading the text next to the woodcuts. The victim, she read, was a man named Peter Stubbe, a monstrously cruel murderer who was said to have flourished in the 1600s. He had apparently DARK DREAMS * 75.

entered into a pact with the devil, and the devil had given him a magic belt that turned him nightly into a wolf, "strong and mighty, with Eyes great and large, which in the Night sparkled like unto Brands of Fire, a Mouth great and wide, with most sharp and cruel Teeth, a huge Body, and mighty Paws."

As a wolf, he had roamed the countryside inflicting so much carnage that people feared to leave their homes. And no wonder "Oftentimes the Inhabitants found the Arms and Legs of dead Men, Women, and Children scattered up and down the fields, to their great grief and vexation of heart." Probably an outrageous exaggeration, Lila thought, but she kept reading. The child-victims, she saw with a sinking heart, had even included Stubbe's son. "He enticed the Boy into the Fields, and from thence into a Forest hard by, and there most cruelly slew him, and presently ate the Brains out of his Head. . . . Never was known a Wretch from Nature so far degenerate."

The tortures Stubbe had suffered when he was finally caught were even worse to read about than his crimes. After half a paragraph Lila was shaking with disgust. And maybe a little fear. She turned 76 * Children of the Night quickly to the next chapter so she wouldn't have to read any more about Peter Stubbe.

Maybe the character she was reading about had never really existed. Maybe he was just some poor, mad villain who'd inspired a folk tale that had grown to grotesque proportions over the centuries. Maybe he'd been innocent, frightened into making a fake confession. But Lila had no doubt that his punishment had been real enough.

What horrible things people did in the name of keeping the devil away! What dire fates had befallen people accused of being witches and werewolves and vampires over the centuries. Being burned and buried alive and walled up in dungeons-those things had really happened. But how true was the rest of it? Superst.i.tion might be something people laughed at nowadays, but none of its victims had laughed.

Of course that kind of thing doesn 't happen nowadays, Lila rea.s.sured herself. And anyway, it's not as though I'm some kind of crazed murderer.

Even though you attacked your own boyfriend last night? a mocking voice inside her asked.

DARK DREAMS * 77.

I didn't hurt him. lila's justification sounded weak even to herself.

But what about next time? How can you know where this will end?

I'm not a murderer! Lila tried to overrule her rebellious thoughts. But her own relentless mind went on, And I'm not the kind of person who tears up poor little animals, either.

She pushed the hateful Lore of the Werewolf away and leaned her aching head against her arms.

Was she going to turn out like one of the sad, desperate creatures in the old stories? The nursemaid who'd slashed the throats of her charges, the werewolf princess whose subjects had thrown her down a well? Were the seeds of evil and madness sprouting ineluctably inside her at this moment?

How could she keep a secret like this hidden from other people? Would she learn to control it, or would she always be helpless in its grip? When was it going to happen again?

DARK DREAMS * 79.

From the records of Dr. Scan Lester, emergency-room physician "Corey Ryan is a seventeen-year-old male who appears stated age. Patient was brought to the ER by his parents at 10:45 P.M., conscious but confused. Tells garbled story of attack by large dog, knocking him down and causing a concussion when he struck occiput. Maintains he never lost consciousness. Claims dog escaped after patient fell; denies dog bites. Close examination of skin reveals no sign of bites, lacerations, or other injuries. No indications of possible rabies contamination if, indeed, animal is rabid.

"Head shows contusion and swelling two centimeters behind right ear. Pupils unequal, left larger than right, variably reactive to light."

Dr. Lester laid down his ballpoint pen and rubbed his eyes. Twelve million cups of coffee since supper, and he was still dead on his feet. It had been a long night A gunshot wound, a burst appendix, an amateur carpenter who 'd hammered his thumb, two kids with ear infec- tions, and a baby born in one of the ER chairs. And this kid's concussion. He checked the report for his name. Corey. He 'd seemed like a nice kid, and not overimaginative. If he said he'd seen a wild dog, he probably had. The last thing this town needed was a rabid dog attacking people in the woods, but if the dog had raced off it was probably futile to alert the police. Still, he might as well give it a try. He wondered idly when he would see his first case of rabies in a human. Dr. Lester finished his report on Corey Ryan and headed toward the nurses' station to use the phone. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to call the police. His second gunshot wound was about to arrive in an ambulance, where she'd managed to leave most of her blood. By the time Dr. Lester had seen to her, the wild dog had slipped his mind entirely.

CHAPTER 7.

Lila was startled to see that it was almost five o'clock. She'd been buried in The Lore of the Werewolf for two hours. That meant she'd missed the late bus. She would have to walk home.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Clark," Lila apologized. "I didn't realize what time it was."

The school librarian smiled pleasantly from behind her desk. "You were concentrating so hard I hated to disturb you. But I suppose we'd both better clear out before the custodian comes in."

Lila was startled to see how normal everything looked outside. Two hours of reading about werewolves had skewed her worldview. This pleasant suburban street with its crisp autumn air was a bizarre contrast to the firelit world of torture and strewn limbs she'd just been visiting. It took several DARK DREAMS * 81.

blocks of walking in the sunshine before she started to feel like herself again.

And it took several more minutes before Lila began to realize that she was being followed.

A motorcycle was purring along slowly a block behind her. Lila darted a quick glance over her shoulder. It was just enough to register that the driver looked young, that he was dressed in standard motorcycle-rebel black-and that he was darkly, strikingly, electrically handsome. Even from a block away, she could tell that she'd never seen anyone like him.

Have I seen him somewhere before? she asked herself. She couldn't believe she had. Yet, looking at him, she felt a thrill of recognition. At last, at last, some distant part of her mind was telling her. What did it mean?

Shaken, Lila turned around and quickened her pace. Behind her she heard the motorcycle picking up speed as well. It sounded as though it was only half a block behind her now. She glanced over her shoulder again. Yes, half a block, and the rider was staring at her in a way that made her knees weak. So he was following her. Well, she'd put a stop to that.

82 * Children of the Night Strangely enough, she half-wished she could stop and wait for him instead. But of course she wouldn't give into an impulse like that. People got hurt that way.

Lila turned the corner and walked briskly down the new block. Only seconds later, the motorcycle caught up to her. It was hovering just behind her now, waiting, like some kind of predator. This time, Lila didn't have to turn around to know that the rider was staring at her. She had never felt so self-conscious in her life.

It's broad daylight, Lila rea.s.sured herself. There are people outside everywhere. There's nothing this guy can do to me.

But what did he want? This wasn't a motorcycle kind of neighborhood. In fact, Lila was disturbed to see that a couple of the adults working out in their yards were craning their necks anxiously. Clearly the motorcycle seemed as menacing to them as it did to her.

"Friend of yours?" a woman raking leaves asked Lila as she walked by.

Lila shook her head helplessly. "I've never seen him before," she said. I don't think so, anyway.

DARK DREAMS * 83.

The woman pursed her lips and returned to her raking without a word.

"What does she think? I'm luring him down the block?" Lila muttered, walking even faster. She was coming up on a house she knew. The Parskys didn't mind kids cutting through their backyard to get to the next street. Whoever was on the motorcycle couldn't possibly follow her there through someone's yard. She'd get over to the next block and shake him off. All she had to do was duck along the side of the house and take the little path through their garden.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Parsky happened to be loading dishes into her dishwasher right at that moment. She looked out her kitchen window, saw Lila, and cranked open the window vigorously.

"Hi, Lila!" she called. "How's your mom?"

Uh~oh. "Hi, Mrs. Parsky," Lila answered as quietly as she could. "My mother is fine. She's-"

"I wish I could say the same for myself," Mrs. Parsky interrupted. "Ticker!"

"Excuse me?"

"My ticker," Mrs. Parsky explained, slapping her chest. "My heart. Giving me trouble."