TO CATCH A WOLF By Susan Krinard

She could only guess what her own face must reveal, but Niall Munroe’s might as well have served as a billboard. He leaned toward her—slightly, oh, so slightly—and his lips parted. A glazed look came into his eyes. Caitlin sucked in her breath.

“Mr. Munroe. We really must be on our way!”

Miss Hockensmith’s voice from the carriage window broke the current. Niall jerked back his hand. Without another word to Caitlin, he gave a terse command to the coachman and climbed into the driver’s seat of the smaller carriage.

One glimpse of Athena’s distressed face was all Caitlin saw before the carriages rattled into motion, rolling and bumping across the potholed ground.

“So sad,” Tamar said behind her. “It was such a promising romance, was it not? But you will always lose to such a rich and beauteous lady.” She blinked half-lidded eyes and stroked the head of one of her ever-present serpents. “Unless, of course, you make a gift of the one thing no man will refuse. Do you wish me to teach you how it is done, little fly?”

“Keep out of this, Tamar. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, no?” Tamar lifted her black, painted brows.

Caitlin strode past her and returned to the cookhouse, dreading what she would find.

Harry was still there, every bit as miserable as when she had left him. Morgan was with him, and Ulysses had arrived along with a dozen of the other troupers. They were talking amongst themselves, trying to decide what had happened.

Caitlin shook her head as she approached, and Harry sighed. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said, “it seems that we have an important and unpleasant decision to make. Gather the others, and we shall meet in the big top within the next half hour.”

Efficient as always in a time of crisis, the troupers were assembled and waiting in the big top well before the half hour was up. Ulysses and Morgan kept their places close to Harry, like grotesquely mismatched royal guards. Caitlin was grateful once more that Morgan had not gone after Niall Munroe. She half feared he might have devoured Athena’s brother for supper.

“My friends, my children,” Harry said in his most carrying voice, “circumstances have compelled me to call this meeting so that we may discuss our future.”

A general murmur followed his words, but he raised his plump hands to quiet it. “As you know, in only a few days we were to give a charitable performance for the children of the orphanage patronized by Miss Athena Munroe and her brother. We were to be paid a most handsome sum for this privilege.” He lowered his head. “Alas, complications have arisen.”

In far less words than he usually employed, Harry explained what Niall had told him. There were cries of disgust, a handful of curses, and much shaking of heads.

“Never trust townies,” someone shouted. “They’ll always break their word.”

“Why?” another man demanded. “What is all this about, Harry?”

Harry wrung his hands. “Well, you see… when he hired us, he did not know about our main sideshow attraction, our own Morgan. I confess that I do not quite understand his reasoning, but he has taken it into his head that our Wolf-Man may be dangerous to the children and his sister. It is entirely ridiculous, but…”

The troupers fell silent. As one they looked at Morgan. He bore their stares with cold indifference, a curiosity among curiosities.

“Munroe is afraid of freaks,” Caitlin said loudly, stepping forward. “Any sort of freak. But his sister is not like him.” She swept the crowd with her stare. “She is a good woman. She saw what Morgan is, and wasn’t afraid. She wants to help us.”

“Does she hold the purse strings?” Florizel the clown cried out.

“You said Munroe made a threat if we didn’t get out of town,” said one of the Flying Grassotti Brothers. “We have heard that he’s a powerful man in this city. He has offered us money to leave—it’s not worth the risk to stay and make him angry.”

How could she counter that argument? Circus folk never stood up well against townies, let alone prominent ones. They knew the wisdom of strategic retreat when townies became hostile. She glanced at Harry, at Morgan, and last at Ulysses.

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