The other was the height of a child, legs dangling well above the ground. He was dressed impeccably in proportioned trousers, vest, and coat, all made of what Morgan guessed to be expensive cloth. His boots shone with recent polishing. His features were handsome, his thick yellow hair the sort that any dandy might envy. But nature had shaped his body into a parody of a normal man’s.
Behind them stood a woman of overwhelming sensuality, lushly curved and with skin that shimmered as if imbedded with a hundred tiny gemstones. Her thick black hair fell almost to her waist. A pair of snakes wound about her shoulders and upper arms, tongues darting.
The serpent woman stared at Morgan with dark, glittering eyes. At the table, the albino threw down his hand of cards with a breath of disgust.
“Don’t even attempt to deny it, Wakefield. You let me win again.”
The little man lifted his brows. “You need not play if you find it unpleasant,” he said in a smooth Southern drawl. “I do apologize if I have offended.”
The albino snorted and looked toward Morgan. Wakefield followed his glance.
“Ah,” he said. “I see that our patient has recovered.” He slid down from his chair. Caitlin went to his side, her slight form towering above him.
“Ulysses, this is Morgan Holt. Morgan Holt, this is Ulysses Marcus Aurelius Wakefield.”
The dwarf executed a surprisingly graceful bow. “I am at your service, sir.”
Caitlin shook her head. “Your Southern courtesy is wasted on this one, Professor.”
“Indeed. And you, of course, have not in any way provoked him, Firefly.”
Caitlin snorted. She glanced at the dark woman. “This is Tamar, the snake charmer. And Florizel”—she indicated the pale man with a nod—”is our chief Joey. That’s ‘clown’ in towny talk.”
Florizel regarded Morgan with mournful wariness. “This is your Wolf-Man?” he said. “This is our final hope, our savior?”
“Florizel, you talk too much,” Caitlin said.
“I do not believe that this is the time for familial squabbles,” Ulysses said. He looked up at Morgan with the same fearlessness as Caitlin’s, but his came from a deeper, quieter place. He was as removed from passion as Morgan sought to be.
“It is unfortunate that we were unable to consult your wishes, Mr. Holt,” he said, “but you were insensible at the time. Caitlin is prone to strong feelings—premonitions, if you will—that move her to rash action. She often fails to apply logic when it would be most useful. She sees your particular talent as a possible solution to our quandary—which you may have observed.”
“She wants me to work for you,” Morgan said. “To be one of your… freaks.”
“To be one of us,” Ulysses corrected. “You were alone and on the verge of death when you arrived. Have you somewhere else to go?”
“I prefer to be alone.” Even as he spoke, Morgan did not understand why he had admitted that much to a stranger. He lifted his lip. “I am alone.”
“It is a rare man who truly prefers solitude,” Ulysses said. “As for Caitlin’s hopes—many of the troupers have no home other than this. It is their family. Harry took in the first outcast ten years ago, and he has never turned away anyone in need. But our troupe has faced one misfortune after another in recent months—theft of our capital, the illness of our horses, and grave mishaps of weather. We have insufficient resources to feed ourselves and nothing saved for winter quarters. We are now in a precarious position that may require us to disband if we wish to survive. You, with your unique gift, appear to have arrived at a most propitious moment.”
Morgan thought of his adopted pack, all dead, and what it had been like to be part of a greater whole. Yet he had always been separate, even then. Always.
“I can’t save you,” he said. “Let me go.”
Ulysses studied Morgan for a long stretch of silence. “You are what they call a hard man, Morgan Holt, one who has lived apart from civilization for some time. You are accustomed to caring for yourself. You are exceptionally skilled in survival. You do not care for the entanglements of emotion, and that is why you resent any debt placed upon you. Yet you still suffer the pull of obligation. Why?”