It was Oscar’s blood that spilled now. The odor was maddening. Quentin lifted the bully by his collar, dangling him in midair like a pup held by the scruff of its neck in its mother’s jaws. The boy’s contorted face was the last thing he saw clearly.
Rage. Searing, mindless rage filled him. It turned his vision red and his reason to utter chaos. Shouts came to him distantly—adult cries of alarm and warning and threat. He ignored them like the squawks of so many cowardly birds.
Vultures, waiting for the carcass. Scavengers ready to attack anything too weak to resist.
They’d hurt Oscar. Hurt him…
“Quen’in?” Someone tugged on his arm. His gaze focused on Oscar’s tear-streaked, upturned face. “I’m scared. I want to go home!”
Something in that woebegone voice reached him as nothing else could. He opened his hand and let the bully boy fall. Like a terrified rodent, the boy scuttled away.
What is happening to me?
His mind cleared, and he realized that he hadn’t lost himself. He remembered: the rage, the desire to hurt. He hadn’t gone anywhere near the saloon.
Sick fear gathered in the pit of his belly. He took Oscar by the arm and pulled him toward the buggy. Motion surged at the edges of his sight, townspeople curious and angry and ready to blame Oscar for what their own children had done. Blame Quentin as well.
Oscar scrambled up into the seat, unable to hide his terror. “Come on!” he sobbed. “Quen’in—”
“Loonies!” a man yelled. “Go on back to the madhouse!”
Quentin climbed in and took the reins. He saw with a start that the buggy’s boot already held the sacks and crate from the store. The storekeeper edged up to the buggy, one eye on the growing crowd.
“I saw how it happened,” the storekeeper whispered.
“I’ve loaded up your supplies. I know the Doc’s good for it. You’d better leave now.”
“Thank you,” Quentin said. “I’ll remember your kindness.”
“Don’t judge us all by these few,” Piccini said. His fleshy face grew sad. “My sister was never right after she had her last baby. Folks are too quick to cast out those who are different. But you might want to warn the Doc not to let that woman—Irene—come into town for a while, until things settle down.”
Quentin nodded, withholding his hand for fear that he might bring the crowd’s wrath down on a decent man. He slapped the reins across Daisy’s flanks and turned the buggy for home.
“Don’t judge us all by these few,” the storekeeper had said. Quentin knew too much of men to believe they were all alike. But how was he to judge himself? He’d brought trouble on Johanna by trying to help her. How much more harshly would Silverado Springs regard her now?
And as for Irene… if she’d been visiting the town so frequently as to be noticed, Johanna must know.
He and Oscar were a solemn pair as they unharnessed Daisy and put the buggy away. In the privacy of the barn, Quentin looked over Oscar’s injuries and found no worse than a few bruises and a small cut that would heal on its own. Oscar had done the greater damage without even trying.
Quentin shuddered. If Oscar hadn’t stopped him…
Johanna would have to know of this, but not right away. Put it off as long as possible. “I think you should go and play, Oscar,” Quentin said gently. “Forget about what happened in town. It wasn’t your fault.”
Oscar sat down on a bale of hay, head in his hands. “I was stupid.”
“No. You’re not—”
“I am stupid. I am!” He lumbered to his feet and charged out of the barn. Quentin let him go. He had much to learn about children—or those who thought like children—and Oscar was not without pride.
The house was quiet when Quentin carried the provisions inside. Lewis was reading in his parlor corner. He looked up, searched Quentin’s face, and seemed about to speak. Quentin slipped past him, through the hall, and out the back door. The peace of the woods beckoned.
He Changed, assuming his wolf form with relief. He shook the taint of anger from his red coat and ran up into the hills. After a span of time that his human side estimated as half an hour, he returned to the edge of the Haven’s clearing and Changed back. He was just buttoning his shirt when he realized he was being watched.