SECRET OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

Johanna dismissed Irene and considered the problem. Short of confining the actress to her room, she couldn’t be sure that Irene wouldn’t visit Silverado Springs again. If she took the woman into town with her more frequently, perhaps Irene’s desire to “sneak out” might be lessened.

Satisfied with that temporary solution, Johanna dealt with her father’s needs and visited with him for half an hour, pretending that she didn’t miss his imperturbable good humor and wise council. Oscar was kept busy with a new puzzle Johanna had ordered, made especially for him by a craftsman in town—one just difficult enough to stretch his mind without causing tears and frustration.

Quentin was as good as his word, and delivered May to the parlor before making himself scarce again. May showed every inclination of wanting to trail after him, but her pallid face lit up when she saw the book Johanna had brought back from San Francisco. Books were the single topic of discussion in which May could become as eloquent as any young girl her age.

Or had been, until Quentin. Johanna suspected she could be encouraged to talk about him with very little effort. She trusted him. Could he be instrumental in helping the girl overcome her remaining fears?

If she continued to think this way, Johanna mused, she’d be forced to acknowledge Quentin as a colleague.

She buried that thought at the bottom of her mind.

Just after luncheon, she conducted a moderately successful meeting with Lewis. If he was not improving as rapidly as he had in the past, at least he was not losing ground. Irene, as usual, was utterly uncooperative and couldn’t be drawn into more than the lightest of trances. She was still far from the breakthrough Johanna hoped for.

Quentin appeared at Johanna’s office precisely at three o’clock, nonchalant and seemingly at ease about the coming session. Johanna waved him in and closed the door.

“Harper has made quite an improvement, I take it?” he asked.

“Indeed. I have never seen him so lucid, not since he came to us.” She gathered the hypnotic paraphernalia and drew up her chair. “Now I will be able to begin working to heal the source of his madness.”

Quentin moved toward her. She stood very still and waited, half afraid that he might touch her. He stopped well short of the chair and developed a sudden interest in the view out the window.

“He appears to enjoy your company,” she said. “He would benefit from a friend of his own age and gender.”

He looked at her. “His recovery means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”

“I have been unable to help him. Now—”

“Now there’s a chance.” His cinnamon eyes were darker than she remembered, filled with emotions she couldn’t interpret. “I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

“Science, discipline, and care will heal him, not luck.”

“And you,” he said softly. “The most essential factor.”

She dropped her gaze. “What did you speak of, the two of you?”

“Not much. He briefly mentioned the War. I didn’t press him.”

“Did he show any signs of distress, or violence?”

“He displayed little feeling at all.”

And neither, at this moment, did Quentin. “But he said something that troubled you,” she guessed.

“No. No. He reminds me… of men I once knew.”

And of himself. The hidden self she had yet to discover.

“If you’re ready, Quentin,” she said, “we will go ahead with the hypnosis.”

He took up her suggestion with alacrity and settled on the chaise. She repeated the induction methods of the previous meeting, and Quentin fell into a trance with even less resistance than before.

Nothing else went as hoped. She was unable to coax from him a single new fact or memory about his time in the army, his drinking, his lycanthropy, or his childhood. Either he was not in as deep a trance as she surmised, or he had, since the last meeting, developed much stronger barriers. He might not even be aware he had done so.

At least he didn’t resume his amorous advances. He remained detached and as far away as the moon.

She brought him out two hours later. He asked no questions; in fact, he seemed eager to be on his way. Johanna banished her doubts at the disappointing results of the session. She knew her own skill and worth as a doctor. Patience was the remedy for such setbacks—patience, and a firm grasp of a scientist’s objectivity. Progress was merely delayed.

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