"Yes, thank you. A little stiff with all this rain." He indicated the barred door. "I'm just security conscious. I like everything locked up nice and tight." He smiled weakly.

I bet you do. She thought he looked tired and pale, but decided not to comment on his discomfort. After all, he had no idea who or what she represented as far as the Garouls were concerned. He was probably taking a real risk letting her in at all.

"I'm sorry to call so late. I know you're heading home for the night, but I needed to talk to someone." She moved to the reception desk. Virgil followed. He moved stiffly and was watching her warily.

"Actually, I needed to talk to you."

"What's the matter, Amy? You sound very upset."

"I broke the code. I know what it means-well, some of it. Just a few lines, to be exact."

He stood in stunned silence.

"I'm guessing you and Connie were working on it together when suddenly she just disappeared. Am I right?" she said.

"You broke the code?" Virgil was still digesting this news. He gave a small, mystified shake of his head.

"It wasn't that difficult once I figured out the keys. There were three of them, so it was a little more complex. It's like a combination, each key points to the next, and all three unlock the code."

"Three keys."

"Yes, the almanac illustrations that Connie already knew about.

The langue d'oc book that you had. I guessed it was you who left it for me. I knew I had outside help. And I figured out the third by myself-the Bosch painting."

"Bosch?"

* 177 *

"The Garden of Earthly Delights." Amy nodded, impatient to get to her point. "I need to know what happened to Connie. I know they have a beast hidden away in the valley. Some sort of monster."

She hoped he would trust her. "Virgil, tell me everything you now about Connie, right up to her disappearance."

She could see the shadows flit over his face. He was still hiding something, holding back. Unsure. They stood in silence for a second while he thought things through and Amy silently pleaded with him to trust her. To tell her the truth.

Then sighing so deeply his shoulders sank, he said, "I killed her." Amy watched his lips curl into a thin, cold smile. His words sounded as if they came from underwater, spoken to her in slow motion. Her body went numb. She floated out the top of her head and watched herself...and him, from a distant point somewhere in the library rafters. Connie was dead. Connie was dead. Connie was dead. "...and after the wolf eats grandma, silly Little Red Riding Hood arrives. Talk about life echoing fiction." He was still talking.

Always talking, always sounding so smug.

Her Connie was dead. He'd killed her. And now he was standing before her talking about nursery stories?

"Beware false prophets who come amongst you in sheep's clothing, for inwardly they are ravening wolves." Virgil had moved on to sermons now. Amy pulled back her fist and with all her anger punched him square on the nose.

It popped under her knuckles with a satisfying crunch. Blood spurted over his chin and shirt. He screamed in pain and surprise.

Amy took another wild roundhouse swing for his head. He ducked, but she managed to cuff his ear. Then she faltered. His sharp cry had mutated into something else, something feral that froze her. He snarled-a nasty, sly snarl.

His eyes gleamed eerily up at her from his defensive crouch.

His hands holding his bleeding nose looked hooked and horrible.

"Bitch!" he spat through a mouthful of blood. "I'm going to mail you to Leone Garoul, piece by piece. Starting with your cunt."

* 178 *

Amy stumbled back, startled at the poison pouring from his mouth. He was clawing at his clothes, wrestling them off as if they were on fire. She could see bloodstained, badly wrapped bandages across his scrawny chest. He'd been hurt. His chest was wet from the nosebleed she had given him, and he was slobbering copiously in thick, oily cords. And rank-he smelled rank. Werewolf. The Beast was a werewolf. And it was Virgil Bloomsy. Connie had found him out! Her mind screamed at her to run, but her feet were glued to the floor. Amy recoiled at his slow, ugly mutation. His face distorted and twisted. His jaw thickened and elongated in wretched crunches and creaks. Teeth tore at his lips, much too sharp, all wrong for the shape of his human mouth. Except it wasn't quite a human mouth anymore, it was pulling and twisting all out of shape. Cheek skin stretched like rubber, close to tearing. His head shook and shook, as if full of bees; his spittle and bloody mucus flew like water off a dog's pelt, spattering her face-and waking her out of her horrified trance.

She ran for the door, but it was barred with bolts and chains, and slides and locks. She had little time. Whatever it was he was turning into he was nearly all of it. This was his only moment of weakness. These were perhaps her last moments on earth and she wanted to make them count. Amy threw all her body weight on the nearest section of shelves and pushed them over onto Virgil's crouched, convulsing body with an enormous clattering crash.

Lightweight as they were, they still hurt when they hit him. His bellowing roar was little satisfaction. She changed course and ran to the rear of the library where she knew the fire exit was probably her only chance. Behind her came loud bangs and thuds. She glanced back to see the bookshelf cast aside like broken twigs. He was free of it. On the wall opposite, his shadow rose from crouch to full standing. He was vile in silhouette, with a stooped, shivering back and a stubby, twisted muzzle. His sloping forehead ran up into low pointed ears. His whole body pulsed with excited savagery, quivering with bloodlust, like a dog on the scent of an easy kill. Amy knew in her gut all his kills were easy. His whole posture screamed * 179 *

to her of a craven coward wrapped in the body of a malicious bully.

She would not let him win; she would never let him win. Not after Connie. She would fight him to her dying breath. She would hurt him before she died.

"I can smell you. I can smell Garoul all over you. Whore.

Like Connie-a Garoul whore." His voice was dry and raspy. He moved slowly, limping. Amy realized he had not fully changed.

Perhaps he was too weak from his earlier fight. She had no doubt he was responsible for Paulie's injuries, and that Paulie had landed some telling blows of his own. She also realized this was another advantage. Virgil was prowling, threatening and taunting her because he couldn't chase after her and tear her to shreds.

He would try to corner her, to terrify and intimidate her, but he had overlooked one thing. Her hatred for him. He had killed Connie and she hated him more than she cared to live.

"Do you go down all fours? Does she mount you from behind-"

Her answer was to elbow the fire alarm glass, the smash setting off a shrill bell. Low emergency lighting flickered, casting an eerie green glow over the darkened aisles. It was a risk. There were two alarm buttons in the library-which one would he turn to? And could she slink away in time if he chose hers? It was worth it, though, because now he knew a bright blue light was flashing on the front of the building and the county fire department had been alerted.

As if to underscore her gamble, the telephone began to ring.

Probably an automated response from the emergency switchboard over in Covington, but it would pile pressure on him. Remind him the real world was just outside the door, and soon it would be knocking, wanting in.

Luckily, he chose the far corner and the wrong alarm. She darted to an adjoining aisle and hurled herself against another shelf, tipping it over onto him. Adrenaline buzzed in her veins, giving her that extra edge, that extra meanness she needed to attack back. But he was quick and caught this one. Books cascaded off the shelves, but he held on to the framework and simply flipped it back at her * 180 *

with easy strength. Except that she had already slipped away, disappearing into the maze of bookshelves.

"Thank you for the code, Amy. After you share it with me- and you will-I will know all the Garoul secrets, and I can take everything away from them. You are so much more cooperative than your aunt. She wouldn't share at all."

He was getting desperate; she could hear it in his voice. Time was running out for him and he knew it. Soon the place would be crawling with people. All she had to do was avoid him, but the library was cramped, and shrinking by the minute. She wasn't allowing him to outmaneuver her, but eventually she would run out of places to hide. Guilt washed over her that she'd been so stupid to trust him.

How could he be the beast the Garouls served to protect? It made no sense.

Amy hadn't time to wonder. She had to keep moving.

"No. Connie wouldn't share at all. Not even when I bit her." He continued to bait her, hoping she'd give away her position. But Amy was literally one step ahead.

"She screamed, Amy. She was so scared...and in so much pain."

He was slithering closer. She could smell him, that funk that oozed through the patchy, greasy fur on his chest, back, and genitalia.

He wasn't aware of it. He probably lived with the stench every chance he could, sliding through the Garoul valley like an evil little skunk. She quietly and carefully unhooked a fire extinguisher and slid farther way from him and his callous taunting. How he didn't hear her heart thumping she never knew. To her ears it sounded like a turbine engine roaring, fueled on hate and anger.

"She was in terrible pain. And, Amy? It wasn't quick."

Rescue was taking too long. She hated him. A deliberate rap with her toe drew his attention to where she was hiding. Positioning herself carefully at the end of an aisle, she raised the canister like a baseball bat, ready to deliver the biggest Dry Powder surprise of this bastard's life. She waited, alert, sure he had been tricked by her tapping. Anxiously, she kept an eye on first the right-hand aisle, then * 181 *

the left. Quiet, it was too quiet. So, he'd decided to finally shut up?

That's how she knew he was creeping up on her.

The tiniest scratch, a little creak-and she knew. He was coming for her over the top of the shelves. Sliding along the row above where she stood, hoping to surprise her by dropping on her from up high.

Well, Amy Fortune had a few surprises, too. With shaking hands she loosened the nozzle and waited. The stink increased as he drew closer. She waited. Stern, composed, and terrified, but patient, she waited. Finally, with one last tiny scrape, the top of his matted head peeked over the shelf above her. She raised her canister and blasted the suffocating dry powder straight into his eyes. The harsh rasp of the extinguisher couldn't quite drown out Virgil's outraged squeal. He clawed at his burning eyes.

Adrenaline pumping, Amy threw her full weight into this shelf and toppled it with Virgil scrabbling blindly on top. He hit the floor in an ugly heap. Amy fled for the rear fire door, running for her life.

Time was up, no more hiding; she had a few precious moments to get out of the building. Hopefully, there would be a fire engine in the middle of Main Street, along with all of Lost Creek's nosy residents.

That was the only safety net she had-witnesses.

She cannoned along the far aisle to the fire door. She could see it. See the exit sign illuminated with promise. He was right behind her. Limp or no limp, he was tearing up the aisle after her, vicious, murderous, grunting, growling. She wasn't going to make it. An agonizing five feet to go, and she wasn't going to make it. She had run out of time, luck, life. Her body tensed for his pounce.

With a splintering explosion of wood, fiberboard, and fragmented metal, the fire door disintegrated before her eyes. The outside alarm flashed blue streaks across the sleek fur of another enormous monster. It stood nearly eight feet high, densely muscled and sleek. Its coat shone and rippled in the emergency lighting. Long, strong limbs ended in large clawed hands and feet. Its flat muzzle was pulled back in a rabid snarl. This one was bigger, stronger, faster and much more dangerous than Virgil. This was a true predator. She * 182 *

couldn't believe it, two of them, two beasts. She was a goner. Then from behind her she sensed Virgil's dismay, and heard the quick skitter of his hasty retreat.

With shaking hands she raised her fire extinguisher. It was her only weapon. Face-to-face with this brute, it seemed so paltry. With a stifled, exasperated growl the creature threw out a long arm and swept the extinguisher from her hands. It sailed through the air to the far side of the room crashing into a wall, leaving her defenseless.

Amy closed her eyes and waited for it to come for her.

Except it didn't want her. Instead, it pushed past into the library, its deep, menacing growl rattling the rafters. It was after Virgil.

Amy spared no time to wonder. She flew out the door and raced for Claude's truck. Sirens sounded over the mountain roads. The sheriff's car was heading this way. She was not going to wait around.

She drove out of the parking lot as fast as possible, swerving onto the road. Let the sheriff's office deal with a library full of werewolves.

She was nearly a mile out of town when her truck shuddered at a tremendous crash from the rear. It creaked and dipped awkwardly, as if it had slammed into a pothole and broken an axle. Amy looked in the rear mirror in terror. Something had landed in the bed of her truck. She could see nothing in the darkness.

Suddenly she was showered in glass. She ducked her head, and with a grinding snap the sunroof was ripped clean off its hinges, opening the cab to the stars. With a graceful movement, the black-furred monster from the library dropped through into the passenger seat beside her.

Amy jerked the steering wheel in abject horror. The truck swerved fiercely one way, then the other. Terror rolled through her in clammy, gut-slamming waves. This nightmare had no end.

The creature grunted and hung on to the dash until the truck had straightened itself. Amy screeched to a sliding stop, throwing them both sharply forward, then back into their seats.

They both sat for a stunned second. Then the beast leapt onto its haunches beside her, surprisingly agile for such a hulking brute in such a small space. It leaned in close. Amy was as frozen in fear, * 183 *

waiting for her head to be ripped from her shoulders. The stubby muzzle with its row of cruel teeth drew closer. Above it, amber eyes blazed with cunning intelligence. Its wet snout tenderly sniffed at her ear for a moment. Then the side of her neck was clamped in bone-crushing jaws. So, this is how I die. Headless in Oregon. A soft nip and a big, rolling tongue washed over her skin. And she was released.

Shocked, Amy swung her head around, the beastly face mere inches from her own. Its breath was meaty, it panted, the tongue lolled, the teeth glinted with saliva, white and diamond hard. She was fixated, fascinated, like a mouse before a cobra. Her neck was wet from the lick, yet her skin had not been broken, and that amazed her. Those razor-sharp teeth made the blood chill in her veins.

A sharp tap with a long claw on the plastic dash broke her stare.

It tapped the truck's dashboard again, pointedly. She was to look there, pay attention. Dazedly, she managed to turn her head and gaze stupidly at Claude's litter. This was too surreal. Her brain felt starved of oxygen.

The monster leaned into her ear and damply snuffled her again. Inhaling her, delivering another little nip. She tingled all over. She could smell its fur, hot, spicy, musky; lots of scents she couldn't quite place, but which felt immediate and intimate to her.

Her belly clenched and she trembled all over. In fear, she thought, and then realized it was excitement. Her body was responding as if programmed, completely disassociating from her mind, which was currently screaming that there was a werewolf in the cab with her and maybe she should get out?

She closed her eyes.

Leone. Her eyes flew open. She knew this feeling. It existed for only one person.

"Leone?" she whispered to the empty space beside her. She was alone. The passenger door was gone, lying bent and broken on the dirt road.

The creature had gone, faded into the woods, like an old dream melting away to nothing. She stared after it; she stared at the * 184 *

dashboard and all Claude's junk-then she looked after the beast again.

"Leone." Her shocked whisper swirled away on the night breeze.

v He was in the air, foul and polluted. He poisoned both worlds, both states of being, with his greed and brutality. An ugly creature, neither human nor wolven.

She was easily closing in on him, stronger, faster, smarter; a lifetime of training and honing her genetic characteristics had made her a consummate predator. Rogues normally avoided natural born wolven. They had no place in the order of being. Fearful loners, they could cope with neither the city nor the wilds. This world had no place for them. Their days were numbered and they knew it. For him to come so close to a settled wolven den was an indication of his ambition and madness.

He was wily, cunning, but also a coward. He attacked the weak.

Humans and adolescent wolven like Paulie. But Paulie had gotten a few good bites back and chased him off. Virgil still hurt from that miscalculation. She could see it in his tracks. He moved stiffly; he didn't heal well. Polluted and unnatural, his suppurating wounds were probably what slowed him and saved Amy.

Her mate was unhurt. She had attended to her, worried that his filthy bite had caught her. But Amy was safe, and Leone's rage eased from red-hot, belly-burning fear into a cold, calculated determination to hunt him down and kill him.

As she followed him through the backwoods straight to Little Dip, it was clear he had a well-worn route. She was closing in. He had harmed her clan, intimidated her loved one. She would kill him...for Paulie, and for Connie. But most of all for trying to harm Amy, her mate, her very own.

v * 185 *

Amy jolted forward, jamming the gears, toward Little Dip. Her eyes again focused on the dash. What had she missed? What was she to see? It was strewn with crumpled paper, chewed pens, candy, and empty coffee cups. All Claude's trash. Candy. There were several packs of unopened cherry candy. Connie's favorite brand.

This wasn't litter; this was candy Claude had bought for Connie.

Connie!

Banging rapidly into high gear, she increased her speed. Connie was safe. She realized that in her guts she had never really believed Virgil's claim that Connie was dead. It had never felt true-but the thought of it had made her so very, very angry.

And her rescuer, her protector-that was Leone. Every molecule of her mind, body, and soul knew this.

Barreling down the back roads, she was determined to see this through. She would follow the cherry-flavored clue and find Connie.

And she would find out who, or what, in hell's name Leone Garoul really was.

* 186 *