He shuddered. But he went on; fear does not always justify turning back.
“Why don’t we look around up there closer to Ben’s cabin?” Noname asked. “There’s light up there, anyway. The only light around. It’ll make for easier looking. And maybe he was attracted by the light.”
“Maybe.”
Wolf did not seem like the sort of creature who would seek release from dark places.
“And, besides, it’s cold out. It’s probably even colder for him than for us, because he hasn’t had time to dress, remember. He might think there will be heat up near the lights.”
“Let’s go,” Sebastian decided.
He loped up the long path to the cabin, with Noname barely able to tag at his heels.
They saw Wolf almost at once when they reached the bay of diffused yellow light around the rude cabin. He was swooping from one end of the porch to the other, close under the flat roof, like a moth gone mad, darting at the two windows and the light that spilled through them, but afraid to touch, silent except for the sound of his wings.
“Hey!” Noname shouted.
Sebastian took up the cry.
Wolf turned and zoomed over their heads so low that he seemed ready to attack Sebastian. A few yards behind them, as they were turning to look for him, he came around and flew back, low again, toward the porch, as if he too were frightened of the night and the mist. He struck the window this time, dead center, shattered it and tumbled through, screeching in pain and anger.
Glass rang on a hardwood floor.
Something fell in the living room, made a loud clattering noise, though it did not seem to break.
Sebastian and the puppet hesitated only a moment, then ran for the porch steps. They found the front door bolted, and they stood there rattling it for a few moments before either of them remembered the broken window glass. Ben Samuels was cursing, and the violent, booming echo of this abuse drew them to the window. The idiot smashed the remaining shards of glass that prickled in the frame. By the time he had started through, the old man was not cursing any longer. He was screaming . . . .
It was not like a woman’s scream, not high and wavering but deep and perfunctory, delivered almost reluctantly. It was more a scream of fury than one of dread, though there was pain and fear in it as well.
Sebastian cracked his skull against the bottom of the top part of the window, almost fell backwards onto the porch.
He clutched at the sill until his dizziness was gone, then swung sideways into the room, falling onto his knees. He felt a fragment of glass grind into his left leg, but it did not hurt enough for him to take the time to examine the wound. He pushed to his feet and rubbed his bruised forehead which had already begun to swell. He looked about for the old man and the puppet, afraid of what he might find.
Noname jumped from the windowsill and landed on a rather large piece of glass which cracked under him, though he escaped injury.
Samuels was on the floor across the room. He was wedged between a huge easy chair and an ottoman. A book lay rumpled on the floor half a dozen feet away where it had fallen when the vampire had attacked. Despite his strength, the old man could not dislodge the small beast clawing at his chest and throat. He beat upon Wolf’s back, but the flapping, rubbery wings cushioned the creature’s spine and protected it from damage or deflated the blows altogether.
There was blood on Samuels’ hands. But it was his own.
Wolf snarled, as if he were merely playing another performance of the horror story he had been made for. All other parts of his personality had been driven down into him, and the blood lust had risen.
“Stop it I” Sebastian howled.
Noname ran toward the struggle. Even to Sebastian, who respected the fierceness of things as small as spiders, the puppet looked pitifully ineffective. Wolf was strong, designed to overcome creatures his own size, designed to kill them for the pleasure of the audience. Noname had been designed for life, nothing more.