But the “freak” wasn’t satisfied. He stuffed the money back into his pockets and went in pursuit of his prey. He found the drunk on his knees in the street, swearing a blue streak and wiping hands on muddy trousers. Bloodshot eyes lifted to his, narrowed in hate.
“D’you really want to see a freak?” he asked pleasantly. When he had the drunk’s full attention, he stripped and Changed. It hurt, the way it always did, but he didn’t care. He reveled in the pain. He finished, every muscle and bone screaming in protest, and waited for his prey to realize what he saw.
The drunk’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. He tried to scream. He wet himself and fell into a dead faint.
Laughing with his wolf’s grin, he raked his sharp fore-claws along the slack, pockmarked face. Let the drunk remember this encounter, as the previous bully would. Let him scare his fellows with mad tales of men who turned into beasts. No one would believe. They never believed.
He bent back his head and howled. The sound bounced off alley walls and floated on the fog like a banshee’s wail. All noise from the saloon stopped; he could almost see the faces turned toward the door, the hasty gulping of whiskey, the furtive gestures made to appease God or the devil.
He belonged to neither. Let them listen and be afraid.
He Changed back, dressed quickly, and turned for the hotel… and the woman. But a vast weariness overtook him; curse it though he might, he knew what it portended. The more he fought, the greater the chance the Other would seize control.
He must rest. Find some quiet place where he wouldn’t be disturbed, and he might wake still in possession of this body.
With the last of his strength, he began to search for a sleeping place. In the end, he found he could not leave the vicinity of the hotel, where she lay. He discovered an abandoned, fire-damaged cottage two blocks away, tore through the boards nailed across the door, and lay down close to a window, where he could still catch the merest whiff of her scent over the smell of burned wood and mouse droppings.
She’s mine, he told the Other. No matter how often you drive me out, I’ll come back. I will have her in the end.
And you will have nothing.
Chapter 2
Though she had made this journey several times since she and her “family” had come to live in California, Johanna never tired of the view she saw from her window as the Napa Valley Railroad made its way north into this little bit of paradise.
Once South Vallejo and the marshy delta were left behind, the valley began in earnest. At first one saw only wide fields of grain and cattle pastures, isolated farms and rolling, nearly bare hills in the distance on either side of the tracks. Majestic, isolated oaks stood sentry singly and in small stands, their branches twisted into fantastic shapes. The native grasses were golden brown, almost the color of caramel. It had taken Johanna several months, that first year, to get used to the arid summers of California. She had come to appreciate their beauty.
At the valley’s entrance lay Napa City, the capital and largest town in the county. Its dusty streets boasted the usual assembly of shops, hotels, saloons, and even an opera house. Here the train made an extended stop, and Johanna disembarked to escort Peter to his elder sister’s home on the outskirts of town.
He’d been a quiet, solemn companion since they’d left the hotel early this morning. And no wonder: His life had taken an abrupt change in course. Johanna understood the shock of that all too well.
Peter’s sister was glad to take him in, though she lived humbly and had the careworn face of most countrywomen. But country folk could also be fiercely loyal to their own. Johanna returned to the train depot satisfied that she’d made the right decision.
It was important that something good had come of last night’s confrontation. She hadn’t really slept at all in that narrow bed, and it wasn’t because of the discomfort. Even now, in the bright midmorning sunshine, she imagined herself back in that foggy alley with the phantom.