"You said we could get any dog we wanted!" he said accusingly.

"I meant 'we, the family,' not you."

"And me!" Brett insisted defensively.

"Okay, that's two votes," Tom said diplomatically, "but Mom and I get to vote, too, and we don't want him." He looked to Janet for solidarity. She shrugged, which he took as tacit approval. He was wrong. Before he could suggest another dog, Janet spoke.

"Tom, I want to get out of here, now. And I want the kids out of here, too."

Teddy know an advantage when he saw it.

"You promised!" he screamed, almost as loud as the hopeless wailing around him. "First you said we could get any dog we wanted, now we can't even get a dog!" Brett looked shocked by this announcement. His eyes welled with tears. Teddy pressed the attack home without mercy. "And we can't come back for him tomorrow, 'cause he'll be dead!"

Brett's eyes opened wide with horror. Tom was furious. Brett hadn't known that the dogs were condemned, and Tom had hoped they could get in and out without his younger son finding out. Now Teddy had gone and spilled the beans. Terrific. Bringing the kids here had to be the dumbest idea he'd ever had in his life. Brett looked to his father, his face almost as desperate as the furry faces in the cages, and said just one word: "No!" He began to bawl uncontrollably.

"It's true!" Teddy shouted for Brett's benefit, before Tom could say a thing. "Isn't it?" he challenged.

Tom thought, Thank G.o.d I'll never have to face him in court. He looked at the shepherd puppy, then at Janet. Her expression hadn't changed. She wanted out. There was only one way out.

"You win," he said to Teddy.

Thor was confused and terrified. He'd thought he had understood the emotional currents that were battling in front of him, thought there was hope in the human pups' triumph, but instead, the Angel of Death came for him. He backed away into the farthest corner of the cramped cage, trembling and wetting himself as the Angel's huge gloved hands reached in. But when the Angel lifted him out, he handed him over to Teddy.

And in that moment, Thor's life changed utterly.

The humans took him out of the House of Death and into their pack. At first even the warmth of their caresses frightened him. Their affection was a completely unfamiliar experience. He shivered as they filled out papers in the lobby, and he shivered all the way home in the car.

But eventually (and not very long at that), he discovered love - both the human Pack's love for him, and his love for his Pack. And he discovered that loving the Pack enriched his life as much as being loved by them.

The Pack had saved him. They'd taken him from the House of Death and into light, into warmth, into life itself.

And he'd failed them.

He was a Bad Dog. He'd always been a Bad Dog. He was born a Bad Dog, and his Badness had finally come out. They'd been wrong to take him from the House of Death, and he'd finally shown them their error. And they'd finally corrected it.

They'd sent him back where he belonged.

The uniformed men led Thor to a wire cage on the floor - he was too big to lift into a higher cage - and pushed him inside. It was too small for him to stand up, but he didn't care. He had no desire to stand up. He was just able to turn around and silently watch them lock the cage.

He quickly lost awareness of the constant din around him. He was alone in the world, and the presence of other animals did nothing to change that. He felt only his Badness. Only the Angel of Death could quiet the turmoil inside him.

When the Angel finally came for him, Thor would gratefully kiss his gloved hands.

Chapter 15.

Tom sat at the kitchen table in the shadows, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the garage. He'd been sitting there for over an hour, watching the room darken with the sky, but he never made a move to turn on a light. It was past his bedtime, but he was fully dressed in a dark brown shirt (the darkest he owned), new blue jeans (also his darkest), and hiking boots.

He'd left Janet upstairs, watching TV in the bedroom.

He'd told her he needed to be alone, probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, might take a long walk later on.

It was a lie. What he needed was to spy on her brother.

An early riser and early sleeper by nature, he never drank coffee after six P.M., said it kept him up all night. It was just past nine, and he was on his second cup.

The door of the garage apartment opened, and Tom instinctively withdrew another inch from the kitchen window. There was no reason to; he was six feet away from it and completely enshrouded in shadow.

He fingered the flashlight in his lap nervously as he watched Ted creep down the stairs in a brand-new sweatsuit. Carefully, silently, Tom pushed his chair away from the kitchen table. Ted couldn't possibly hear it, but Janet might.

He had no idea what his surveillance might reveal, but he had a gut feeling that Janet would rather not know about it.

Something metallic glinted in Ted's hand - could it be the handcuffs? What for?

Out of nowhere, Tom realized what he had found so disturbing about the conversation he'd had with Ted after Thor attacked him: It was Ted's acceptance of the situation. He'd never once wondered why Thor had attacked him. If anything, he'd seemed to take it for granted.

Things had been getting progressively stranger from the day Ted had arrived, and the time had come to find out why. The idea of spying on him had seemed childish at first, but it sure looked like a stroke of genius now.

Ted reached the bottom of the stairs, crossed the yard to the creek, jumped across and disappeared into the trees.

Tom rushed to the back door, silently opened it, and sprinted across the yard. He waited a moment at the garage to give Ted time to clear the immediate area, then peeked around. He couldn't see a thing in the dense woods, but it was easy enough to hear Ted. He was on a jogging path, heading into the depths of the forest. And he was making d.a.m.n good time for a man without a flashlight. If Tom didn't move fast, he would lose him for sure.

He hopped over the creek and stepped into the woods. His ears were trained on Ted's movements while his eyes strained to see the twigs and leaves on the path. He couldn't afford to step on a single one.

He took a few steps into the woods and stopped dead. As soon as he left the ambient light from Ted's apartment windows, the ground in front of him became as featureless as black velvet. The moon was just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, but if he waited for it to light the way, Ted would be long gone. He cupped his hand over the flashlight lens, so only a tiny beam of light played over the ground. Hopefully, Ted wouldn't see it if he turned around.

Almost a quarter mile into the woods, Tom was having an increasingly hard time keeping up with Ted. A full moon had begun to peek over the horizon behind him, but what little light reached through the trees didn't do much to illuminate the path. And Ted was going much farther into the woods than Tom antic.i.p.ated. And he was picking up speed, too.

Where the h.e.l.l is he going, Tom wondered, and what's his hurry?

Wherever it was, Tom wasn't going to see it if he didn't get a move on. The gap between them was widening, and the only way to close it was to take more chances. He could see most of the sticks and leaves in the path, and after all, Ted wasn't being quiet - if Tom made just one or two little noises, he probably wouldn't notice.

He picked up his pace as Ted led him deeper into the woods, far from the familiar jogging routes. They followed a small ravine into the foothills, on a narrow path that must have been used exclusively by kids; it ran over large roots and under branches that Tom had to duck. Sometimes the path (if that's what it really was) cut across the small creek that cut the gully. Whoever used the path didn't care about getting their feet wet.

Finally the path led onto flat ground again, and the trees thinned out somewhat, but Ted was nowhere in sight. Tom stopped and listened and heard nothing. Instead, he felt something, something powerful and vicious in the shadows. He shook himself, told himself to grow up, and headed west, the general direction Ted had been taking. He noticed that he hardly needed the flashlight anymore. The moon was almost off the horizon and beginning to light the landscape.

He scanned the ground and found a path. He took a few cautious steps forward and heard a burst of rustling sounds in the distance. He'd heard it before, on outings with Thor. It was the sound of small animals being flushed from their nests, fleeing an intruder in their midst.

He peered through the silvery landscape and was just able to make out a human silhouette in the middle of a large clearing. Ted was looking at the moon and examining the trunk of a lone tree in the clearing.

Again Tom's gut told him to stay away, go home, do anything but meet the figure in the shadows. And again he shrugged off the sensation, marveling at how easily his imagination ran away with him.

He crept to within about a hundred feet of the clearing when his foot came down on a dry branch. It snapped like a firecracker in the stillness of the forest.

Ted spun around and spotted Tom immediately. Something like a deep laugh came out his throat, something that also sounded like a growl.

"Ahhhh," Ted said, "company! Company! Just what I came here to get away from! Who is it - Tom? Is that you?"

Tom stepped forward and raised his flashlight to his face. "Yeah, it's me," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What's up, Ted?"

Again, that strange, growl-like laugh.

"So! Playing James Bond, are we, Tom?" Ted said. His voice sounded unnaturally gruff, as if he were a lifelong chain-smoker. Not at all the way he'd sounded just two hours ago. "Well," he said, "you've caught me at an awkward moment, Tom. I was just about to . . ." again the awful growl " . . . about to . . . restrain myself."

He looked down at the handcuffs in his hands and slowly shook his head. "But now that you're here, that might be . . . somewhat pointless."

"What are you talking about?" Tom asked, unwisely taking a step closer. He shined the flashlight on Ted's face and was startled to see a beard - the man looked like Richard Nixon with a two-day growth. But he was clean-shaven at dinner tonight.

What the h.e.l.l?

"I'm talking about . . ." Ted said, then stopped and thought hard, as if he'd forgotten what he was about to say. "I'm talking about . . ." Then he remembered.

"l.u.s.t! Yes, yes, l.u.s.t! That's what I'm talking about! 'The moon is a harsh mistress.' Ever heard that before, Tom?"

"Yes."

"Well, you don't know s.h.i.t! You don't know what a harsh mistress is! You can't know, because you don't know l.u.s.t! I know l.u.s.t, you son of a b.i.t.c.h! I know the l.u.s.t of the moon, what it does, and what it demands! And I serve those l.u.s.ts, motherf.u.c.ker! I am the moon's servant!"

He threw his head back and a ragged laugh came out of him that chilled Tom to the bone. "I'm her indentured servant, a.s.shole! Get it? Indentured servant!" He laughed again, and went through some kind of inner struggle. He calmed himself and said, "I feel sorry afterward, you know, when the moon is gone and the sun is out . . . I really do, Tom, and it's important to me that you believe that . . ."

His mood shifted again, hardened.

"But when the moon calls, as she's calling now, I answer!" He gazed at the growing white sphere on the horizon. A thought suddenly entered his mind and he patted himself down, looking for something.

"Handcuffs . . ." he said, and shook his head in disbelief. "Handcuffs!" He found them and held them up in the moonlight. "I was going to use these - on myself! Can you believe that?" His face reflected another inner struggle, and his whole body convulsed suddenly, as if he were about to throw up. Then he straightened up and smiled horribly.

"But not now. They were supposed to keep people from finding out about my . . . private affair with my mistress. But you already know, don't you? Yes, you do. Handcuffs won't keep my little secret anymore.

"Come closer, Tom. Take a good look at my secret. You came this far, come a little closer."

Tom stayed put. There was no longer any doubt in his mind: Ted was dangerously insane.

"Wha's a matter?" Ted taunted. "You don' wanna know my little secret after all? Got cold feet, s.h.i.thead?" His voice was deepening by the second, and his speech was deteriorating with every sentence. He looked at the handcuffs in his hands one last time, snorted, and tossed them contemptuously over his shoulder.

" 'Handcuffs?'" he said, " 'We don' need no stinkin' handcuffs!' " He laughed maniacally at his own joke.

Am I losing my mind? Tom thought. Did his beard just grow while he was talking? He played the light over Ted's face, and felt something like an electric shock. Ted needed a shave on his forehead! And his cheekbones! And his hands!

Tom backed up a step.

"Oh, don' go 'way, Tom! Things're just gettin' started! Look! Moon's not even up alla way yet!" Tom glanced over his shoulder. The moon was three-quarters visible. Something told him he'd better not be here when it cleared the horizon.

Tom backed up slowly with his eyes locked on Ted, until he felt a shoulder-high ma.s.s of branches and leaves against his back. He blindly groped behind himself for an opening, not daring to turn his back on his brother-in-law.

Ted let out an ear-piercing shriek and flew at him with his arms outstretched, plowing through the underbrush faster than Tom thought possible. Tom stumbled backward in panic, sidestepped the attack at the last possible moment, and fell through the bushes on his a.s.s.

The thing that Ted had become lunged into a wall of bushes that nearly poked an eye out. Infuriated, the creature savaged the branches in mindless rage, then spun around to find his quarry was gone.

Tom looked around and realized he'd backed into a s.p.a.ce between the bushes. The foliage had opened up, let him through, and closed behind him like a swinging door. A path led off to his right, through a low, tunnel-like cover of arched branches. It wasn't much of an escape route, but there weren't any other choices. He scrambled under the branches, hunched down like a sprinter at the starting line.

The werewolf looked down at the sweatshirt and pants it wore as if noticing them for the first time. It flew into a frenzy, tearing the clothes with its claws and teeth.

When its fury was spent, it wore only a small chain around its neck, with the handcuff key and a key to the garage apartment. It was completely unaware of the chain. It looked around, trying to remember what it had been doing before it shredded the despised clothes.

It tore into the bushes where the man had vanished, finally breaking through into a small clearing. The human was nowhere in sight.

The creature stood still and listened. A scuffling sound in the underbrush revealed Tom's location. The prey had made good use of its time. It was many yards away and increasing its lead with every second. The werewolf's mouth curled in a twisted, vicious smile.

What had looked like a simple kill had become a hunt. It was going to be fun.

The werewolf drew a deep breath, savoring the smell of the night air. But something was wrong - its instincts told it to track the prey with its nose, but its nose wasn't giving it the clear, distinct information it expected. And the prey was getting away.

Confused by the inadequacy of its sense of smell, the werewolf followed the sounds in the distance. It would have to track the prey with its ears, but that was all right. Head start or not, the prey was slow on its feet, and ill-equipped to defend itself. The werewolf would catch the prey before the night was over. And it would taste the prey's blood, and eat the prey's heart.

Tom ran through the woods in blind panic. He still had the flashlight, thank G.o.d, but he had no idea which way he was going. Not that he cared. All that mattered was getting away from the hideous monster Ted had become.

He'd gotten a good head start while the creature was fighting with the foliage, and it looked like he would get away.

He wasn't even sure the thing was following him. He stopped, turned off the flashlight, and listened for a moment. The moon was off the horizon now, but it was behind him. That meant that when he looked back, the landscape was shrouded in shadows.

Something moved in the darkness a hundred yards back.

Tom looked around frantically for a weapon. There was nothing he could see on the ground, but he was just a few yards from the ravine he'd followed on the way in. There were rocks down there, smooth and round from erosion but heavy and hard, and a h.e.l.l of a lot better than nothing. He scrambled into the gully and gathered as many baseball-size stones as he could stuff in his pockets, then emerged with one in his right hand and the flashlight in his left. If the thing caught him, at least he'd go down fighting.

There was a sudden burst of rustling sounds in the distance, then another one, about a hundred feet closer. The werewolf was closing in.

Tom scanned his surroundings, surprised by the brightness of the moonlight. There was a hill to his right that didn't have a path but wasn't covered with bushes, either. He scrambled up as fast as he could, wondering if the rocks in his pockets were really such a good idea after all.

The werewolf charged out of the shadows and tore through the foliage, determined not to let Tom out of its sight. It leaped the stream and started up the hill, looking like a giant insect in the moonlight. At the speed it was climbing, it would be on him in seconds.

Tom hurled a rock with all the strength his fear could muster. The stone stuck the werewolf's shoulder with a sharp crack and almost broke its collarbone.

The force of the blow stunned the werewolf and it lost its footing for a moment and staggered backward. It threw back its head and let out a deafening howl, venting its pain and announcing its rage.

Tom almost panicked but his will to survive triumphed, and in the midst of his terror, a small part of his mind took control. As the werewolf reared back as if to pound its chest like a gorilla, Tom quickly dug another rock out of his jacket pocket and whipped it at the beast's head.