'Partly that.' She studied Gavin's face in the candlelight. 'You don't believe the stories they tell about Drago, do you?'
'Werewolves? You've got to be kidding.'
'You might be a little more open-minded.'
'Okay, I'll try. Let's see, when the moon is full they sprout hair and fangs and go around biting people.' He pretended to concentrate. 'It's no use. I keep seeing Little Red Riding Hood.'
Holly sighed. 'The All-American skeptic. Where do you think the story of Little Red Riding Hood came from?'
'The Brothers Grimm?'
'It is based on old legends. Lots of fairy tales are. Ever hear of Peter Stump? Clauda Jamprost? Jacques Bocquet?'
'No, no, and no.'
'They were documented werewolves of the sixteenth century.'
'Documented, eh? By who, Walt Disney?'
Holly's eyes flashed a danger signal. 'If you don't mind, this isn't something I feel like kidding about.'
'I'm sorry. You've been doing some homework, haven't you.'
'Yes, I have, and I'd like to be able to talk to somebody about it without a lot of cheap jokes.'
Gavin held up his hands. 'Okay. No more wisecracks. If this is important to you, I'd like to understand and talk about it with some intelligence. But it will take a little time. Let me do some homework of my own, okay?'
'Okay.' After a moment Holly relaxed and sipped at her wine.
'Just one question before we drop it for the night,' he said.
'Ask away.'
'Do you think our boy Malcolm is a werewolf?'
She frowned. 'I'm not ready to go that far. I think he may be afflicted with some form of lycanthropy. I want to know more about him.'
'I'll do what I can to help if you want me on the team,' Gavin said.
She held up her wine glass in silent assent. They clinked in a toast and drank to the partnership.
It was past midnight when Gavin set his coffee cup gently down on the table. He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together.
'I'd better be pushing off,' he said. 'Work day tomorrow.'
'Right,' she said. 'Me too.'
He stood up.
She stood up.
'Dinner was terrific'
'Glad you liked it.'
'Next time my treat.'
'You got it.'
They stood facing each other for a long moment, their weight shifting from foot to foot as though they were mirror images.
'I'd better tell you this,' he said. 'I would really like to go to bed with you. I mean it's been on my mind from the minute I walked in. No, from the minute I put on my best sports shirt to impress you.'
She watched him, her head tilted slightly to one side.
'And if we don't mess up somehow, I'm almost sure you and I are going to do it.'
She opened her mouth to speak, and he went on quickly, 'But I have the feeling neither of us is ready for it right now.'
Holly let out a long-held breath. 'You know, Sheriff, you're a more perceptive man than you let on sometimes.'
'I just didn't want you to think I was gay.'
'I detected that,' she said. 'Those pants of yours fit quite well.'
'Why, you saucy little minx.'
'That's me.'
Their goodnight kiss was long and warm and deep, and filled with promise.
Gavin drove back toward the Pinyon Inn grinning foolishly in the dim glow of the instrument lights. He had to remind himself that there was still a whole lot he did not know about Dr Holly Lang. Her preoccupation with the occult was one thing that disturbed him. His grin faded as he thought about the boy who lay in Room 108. Gavin thought about him, and about the tales of Drago, and he wondered…
Malcolm's eyes snapped open and he sat suddenly upright in bed. He sniffed the air and turned toward the window to stare at the darkness outside.
Someone was there. Someone or something. Calling to him. The boy's thin body tensed. His nerves tightened with a crazy desire to run out there and join whatever waited for him in the night. Beads of perspiration broke out along his hairline.
It was as though he belonged out there, in the night, not here in a comfortable bed. That was his place. And yet… and yet things were different now. He had a friend. He was no longer alone, running, always running. He thought of Holly. Made a picture of her face in his mind. The picture held him where he was. Still, the silent voice called to him from outside.
Another sound intruded. The barely audible pad of the night nurse's rubber-soled shoes out in the corridor. Malcolm lay back quickly and closed his eyes, feigning sleep. The door opened. The night nurse looked in, listened to his regular breathing, and backed out again.
Malcolm did not rise. The call from the night was still there, but weaker now. He could block it out if he tried. By and by he fell into a shallow sleep that was troubled by strange urges and wild dreams.
Out on the hillside, yellow-green eyes glared across at the many windows of the hospital building. The beast growled from deep in its massive chest. The one it sought was inside, that much the beast knew, but there were too many conflicting scents to tell which of the windows was the right one.
The beast made a complete circuit of the building, staying in the deepest shadows, going to a low, loping run when it had to cross the paved parking area. Instinct cried out for it to smash through the glass doors at the entrance and savage any human that crossed its path until the boy was found. Reason told the beast that this was not the way. It was a time for cunning. The killing would come later.
Effortlessly the beast climbed the hill behind the building and slipped down into the shallow valley beyond. There beneath a bush it found a neatly folded pile of clothing. The beast sniffed the air, judged it safe, then lay down next to the clothing and curled its powerful body in on itself as the painful transformation began.
Chapter Ten
Malcolm awoke sweating.
The grey rectangle of the window told him it was early morning. The sensations of last night jolted back into his consciousness. He remembered the terrible certainty that something out there in the woods had called to him. His own wild urge to answer that call. Then the quieting mind picture of Dr Holly Lang, and the troubled dreams that followed.
He strained his senses now, and he could still feel the presence of something out there. It was much fainter now, but not completely gone. Malcolm was frightened, yet his blood surged with a strange exhilaration. He resolved to tell Holly all about it. She would understand. She would know how to help him.
A few minutes later the door opened and a nurse entered. She had orange hair and a lumpy potato nose. She was not one of the nurses Malcolm had seen before. She carried a small tray that was covered with a white cloth. When she set the tray down on the table across the room from his bed it made a little clinking sound.
'Well, already awake, are we?' the nurse said in that fake-cheerful voice they use. 'And my, how chipper we look. Did we have a good sleep?'
