The Talisman

the back. It looked as big as a house-trailer and as dark as death.

“Oh, Jack, baaaad shit,” Richard moaned, and grabbed at Jack’s shoulder. His eyes were wide, his mouth trembling.

Jack felt adrenaline whippet into his system again. It didn’t pump him up any longer. It only made him feel tired. There had been too much, too much, too much.

Clasping the dark junk-shop crystal ball that the Talisman had become, Jack started down the hill toward the Mobil station.

“Jack!” Richard screamed weakly from behind him. “What the hell are you doing? It’s one of THEM! Same cars as at Thayer! Same cars as in Point Venuti!”

“Parkus told us to come here,” Jack said.

“You’re crazy, chum,” Richard whispered.

“I know it. But this’ll be all right. You’ll see. And don’t call me chum.”

The Caddy’s door swung open and a heavily muscled leg clad in faded blue denim swung out. Unease became active terror when he saw that the toe of the driver’s black engineer boot had been cut off so long, hairy toes could stick out.

Richard squeaked beside him like a fieldmouse.

It was a Wolf, all right—Jack knew that even before the guy turned around. He stood almost seven feet tall. His hair was long, shaggy, and not very clean. It hung in tangles to his collar. There were a couple of burdocks in it. Then the big figure turned, Jack saw a flash of orange eyes—and suddenly terror became joy.

Jack sprinted toward the big figure down there, heedless of the gas station attendant who had come out to stare at him, and the idlers in front of the general store. His hair flew back from his forehead; his battered sneakers thumped and flapped; his face was split by a dizzy grin; his eyes shone like the Talisman itself.

Bib overalls: Oshkosh, by gosh. Round rimless spectacles: John Lennon glasses. And a wide, welcoming grin.

“Wolf!” Jack Sawyer screamed. “Wolf, you’re alive! Wolf, you’re alive!”

He was still five feet from Wolf when he leaped. And Wolf caught him with neat, casual ease, grinning delightedly.

“Jack Sawyer! Wolf! Look at this! Just like Parkus said! I’m here at this God-pounding place that smells like shit in a swamp, and you’re here, too! Jack and his friend! Wolf! Good! Great! Wolf!”

It was the Wolf’s smell that told Jack this wasn’t his Wolf, just as it was the smell that told him this Wolf was some sort of relation . . . surely a very close one.

“I knew your litter-brother,” Jack said, still in the Wolf’s shaggy, strong arms. Now, looking at this face, he could see it was older and wiser. But still kind.

“My brother Wolf,” Wolf said, and put Jack down. He reached out one hand and touched the Talisman with the tip of one finger. His face was full of awed reverence. When he touched it, one bright spark appeared and shot deep into the globe’s dull depths like a tumbling comet.

He drew in a breath, looked at Jack, and grinned. Jack grinned back.

Richard now arrived, staring at both of them with wonder and caution.

“There are good Wolfs as well as bad in the Territories—” Jack began.

“Lots of good Wolfs,” Wolf interjected.

He stuck out his hand to Richard. Richard pulled back for a second and then shook it. The set of his mouth as his hand was swallowed made Jack believe Richard expected the sort of treatment Wolf had accorded Heck Bast a long time ago.

“This is my Wolf’s litter-brother,” Jack said proudly. He cleared his throat, not knowing exactly how to express his feelings for this being’s brother. Did Wolfs understand condolence? Was it part of their ritual?

“I loved your brother,” he said. “He saved my life. Except for Richard here, he was just about the best friend I ever had, I guess. I’m sorry he died.”

“He’s in the moon now,” Wolf’s brother said. “He’ll be back. Everything goes away, Jack Sawyer, like the moon. Everything comes back, like the moon. Come on. Want to get away from this stinking place.”

Richard looked puzzled, but Jack understood and more than sympathized—the Mobil station seemed surrounded with a hot, oily aroma of fried hydrocarbons. It was like a brown shroud you could see through.

The Wolf went to the Cadillac and opened the rear door like a chauffeur—which was, Jack supposed, exactly what he was.

“Jack?” Richard looked frightened.

“It’s okay,” Jack said.

“But where—”

“To my mother, I think,” Jack said. “All the way across the country to Arcadia Beach, New Hampshire. Going first class. Come on, Richie.”

They walked to the car. Shoved over to one side of the wide back seat was a scruffy old guitar case. Jack felt his heart leap up again.

“Speedy!” He turned to Wolf’s litter-brother. “Is Speedy coming with us?”

“Don’t know anyone speedy,” the Wolf said. “Had an uncle who was sort of speedy, then he pulled up lame—