Howling Mad
Peter David


Special thanks to
Jeff Jonas whose bark is worse than his byte
and
Jo Duffy who screamed at all the right places.
This book is an Ace original edition, and has never been previously published.
HOWLING MAD
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace edition / November
All rights reserved. Copyright © 1989 by Peter David.
Cover art by Hiro Kimura.
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PROLOGUE
I can't be one hundred percent sure of this, mind you, because naturally you 
never really know everything there is to know about somebody you meet. For 
example, when there's a guy who climbs up on top of a building and picks off 
people with a high-powered rifle, there's always going to be the neighbors who 
say, "But gee, he was always such a nice guy,'' and that kind of stuff.
So, like I said, I can't be absolutely certain. But I am ninety-nine percent 
certain that Josh was the very first supernatural being I'd ever met.
When Darlene told me about him, and that she'd arrange for us to meet, he wasn't 
at all what I expected. I really don't know what I expected. No, actually I do. 
I thought he'd be slavering, and looking around, scared that somebody was going 
to attack him. I didn't think he'd be able to put two words together, and I was 
certain he wouldn't know how to use a bathroom or a piece of cutlery.
But I was wrong. I'll be the first to admit it. I mean, considering that the guy 
was capable of ripping your throat out with his teeth most days of the month, he 
was really okay.
He had a real nice smile—he showed his teeth a lot, now that I think about it. 
When I'd speak—let me rephrase that. Usually when I talk to somebody, they'll 
just sit there and nod their head politely. Now Josh, he'd angle his head just 
slightly, prick up his ears a little, concentrate on everything I was saying.
It was only later, when I heard him use one of my pet phrases (in this case it 
was "Well, that's all there is to say about that.") that I realized he was 
learning, and continuing to learn, constantly. From me, from Darlene, from 
anybody. That's probably how he learned to express himself so well.
I realize that I've mentioned Darlene a couple of times. She and I go way back. 
We met in the ecology club back in high school. Darlene was what we used to call 
"hyper." She was always involved in something, could barely ever sit still. At 
about 5-foot-nothing or maybe a little more, she was always the smallest one in 
the group. And still everything always seemed to center around her. Her straight 
black hair reached down to her butt, which always irritated the teachers, and 
her nose was a little long. We always figured that's how she scented out 
problems.
She had this incredible knack for always zeroing in on somebody with a problem. 
One day I came into algebra pissed about something or other, I don't even 
remember what. And she was immediately over there, asking me what was on my 
mind.
Incredible.
We stayed in touch when we got older. She wound up working for one of her 
favorite causes, an animal-rights group. One of those outfits that takes care of 
dogs and finds homes for them instead of turning them into dog pate or whatever 
pounds do.
Me, I became a comic book writer. It was a lot of fun, but when I wanted to get 
out of it, I made the unpleasant discovery that my mind had turned into the 
creative equivalent of tapioca pudding. I wanted to write about something else— 
anything else—and found I couldn't. I had what is politely called in my 
profession "writer's block."
And while I was going through this, Darlene called me to chat and immediately 
figured out something was wrong. She wouldn't shut up until I told her.
"I don't know what to write about," I told her.
"How about nonfiction?" she asked. "You don't have to make that up, right?"
Now I'd considered that, but the problem was that not only was I blocked, I was 
also the laziest son of a bitch you could find. I hated the idea of having to do 
a lot of research and all that junk. But I didn't want to say that, so I just 
said "Nah. I'd rather stick with fiction. Something wild, something weird… 
something commercial. Maybe something they can make into a movie."
She was quiet for a real long time and then she said, "Let me get back to you," 
and hung up.
She didn't get back to me for a few weeks, and I'd almost forgotten about it 
when she called me. She sounded real weird and told me she was going to 
introduce me to someone who was fiction and nonfiction all rolled into one. "And 
he looks like that Arnold Shwartznokker guy," she said, "so there you got your 
movie all set."
And then she told me a little about him, and I really have to tell you, I 
thought she was jerking me around.
But she arranged the meeting, or maybe I should say meetings. And I have to tell 
you, after talking with Josh, and doing as little research as I could, I'm 
prepared to say that, as far as I'm concerned, it's real. The story, that is.
Now of course, Josh could only tell me his view of what happened. There's stuff 
that he didn't know, couldn't know. Stuff that nobody could know for sure. So 
I've done my damnedest to fill in the gaps where there are gaps. I admit it—some 
of the things I made up out of whole cloth, based on nothing more than my 
guessing that this was probably what was going on. I like to think of those 
parts of the story as apocryphal—that is, if they didn't happen, then they 
really should have.
Of course, the really great thing about all this is that the stuff which I know 
to be factual and true is the most bizarre stuff of all—the stuff that you'd 
read and go, "Oh, no way in hell is that the truth." And if you don't think 
truth is stranger than fiction, then you haven't been reading the newspapers 
lately.
So here's the story. I happen to hate books where the narrator keeps sticking 
his nose into the story all the time, so I'm going to try and just keep out of 
the way. However, every now and then I may jump in to quote something that Josh 
himself said to me, because he really did have a way of turning a phrase that I 
couldn't help but admire. And his perspective was, to put it mildly, unique. 
When I do jump in with one of those, I'll kind of draw your attention to it and 
put it into italics, that fancy type that looks like this. And it seems to me 
that the best way to start off this whole crazy story is to tell you, right here 
and up front, what Josh first said to me:
"I never much believed in werewolves, and even to this day I'm not entirely 
certain I accept all the various aspects of the legends. I feel this way despite 
the fact that I met a werewolf, was bitten by a werewolf, and had my life 
permanently changed by a werewolf.
"Not only did I not believe in werewolves, I didn't believe in vampires, ghouls, 
goblins, zombies and all the other nasty creatures that humans have conjured up 
for themselves over the years.
"Probably the reason for this is that all these… things, I guess you would say… 
manifest themselves in the nighttime hours. Humans probably manufactured these 
creatures for themselves out of their own overactive imaginations when faced 
with the darkness.
 "But I have spent much of my five years on this earth in that selfsame 
darkness. The night holds no terrors for me. It is the time when I, and the 
pack, can be at our stealthiest, noiselessly travelling through the brush, 
darting between protecting trees, staying upwind of our prey until it's too late 
for the prey to escape.
"When humans huddled around the protective fire, looked out into the night 
forest and saw glowing eyes staring at them"—and Josh grinned that toothy grin I 
mentioned earlier— "that was where the superstitions about what lurks in the 
woods first began. But you see… it was my ancestors the humans were staring at. 
And whereas humans couldn't see us, and so conjured up all manners of hideous 
things, we could very easily see them. White and shivering and clustered around 
their fires for warmth, they were hardly in a position to induce terror in us. 
My ancestors felt pity for them, nothing more."
"I should feel flattered, I suppose, that we were endowed with such forbidding 
powers in the minds of those early humans. But it ultimately backfired. Humans 
became so afraid of wolves that in addition to becoming the basis for 
superstitions, we became the targets for weapons from the moment that humans 
realized we could die as readily as any other animal."
 "The point of all this, as I was saying, is that I did not share the 
superstitions of humans, what with my not being a human myself. Certainly, even 
if I had been aware of the various legends, the story of the werewolf would have 
held no interest for me."
"Think of it: A human gets bitten by a werewolf, or is born with a particular 
birthmark, or eats some wrong kind of plant, or has a curse put on him. Any of 
these results in his being transformed into a wolf during the three days each 
month of the full moon".
 "Big deal,' I would have thought. 'Let them get shot at by hunters, slaughtered 
wholesale. Fine by me."
"The odd thing is, nowhere in all those legends does it say what happens if a 
wolf gets bitten by a werewolf."
"Werewolf means 'man-wolf.' If you're a man, you become a wolf. If you're a 
wolf, well…"
' 'Let me tell you about it.''
1
Byron Keller was a disenchanted American.
He had become disenchanted while crammed into the 5:20 Port Washington train on 
the Long Island Railroad, with other commuters mashing his toes and some old 
phlegmatic man coughing hoarsely into Byron's face.
Byron had been on his way home to his colorless apartment after spending another 
colorless day working as a stockman at Barnes & Noble. His day had ended on a 
somewhat down note when his boss chewed him out for lingering too long near the 
Travel Section. But Byron had been unable to help himself. The books that had 
particularly fascinated him were the ones about Canada, especially the more 
remote sections of the country where there were still forests and breathable 
air, and everybody knew everybody else.
That sounded simply superb, and it was with great reluctance that he had torn 
himself away from lingering in front of them.
Two rows over had been books on the occult and the supernatural. But Byron never 
bothered with those titles, which was kind of a shame considering what 
eventually happened to him. He might have been better prepared, or at the very 
least able to understand.
At any rate, Byron stood on the 5:20 dreaming of better places and better 
things, and the 5:20 sat there and sat there until everybody realized that there 
was a problem. This realization was belatedly confirmed by the conductor, who 
ordered everyone off the train and told them to wait for the 5:54. The 5:54 was 
then, of course, twice as crowded as usual, and Byron was not only unable to 
board it but didn't get out of the city until well after 7:00. By that time 
Byron had decided that enough was enough.
When he got home Byron went straight to, of all things, the nearest bookstore. 
It was just closing but, like a man obsessed, he convinced the clerk to keep the 
store open long enough for him to buy a book on Canada. After skimming through 
it he settled on a small town called McKeeville as being absolutely ideal. A 
couple of thousand people lived there (Christ, he thought, I have a couple of 
thousand people living in my apartment building,) and yet it was surrounded by 
wilderness so unspoiled that wild animals such as deer and wolves roamed free 
through it. Byron couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a forest, much less 
deer and wolves running around.
So Byron made his preparations (quickly, before he lost his nerve), filled out 
all the appropriate paperwork, and moved to McKeeville.
He got a job in the local diner bussing tables. It wasn't much of a job, but 
Byron hadn't moved out there for the job possibilities. He'd gone there because 
he wanted to get the hell out of New York, out of the United States.
He'd been there for about two weeks the night that he worked a double shift to 
make some additional money. The rent was due on the furnished sublet he was 
living in. (He still couldn't believe the rent. For what he was paying in 
McKeeville, he would not have been able to get so much as a closet back in New 
York.)
Now bone tired, but happily exhausted, Byron left the cheerful confines of the 
all-night diner and started home.
It was a few minutes after midnight, the air crisp and clean and tingling his 
nostrils. If he'd been in New York he would have been terrified at the very 
suggestion of walking around this late at night in a deserted area of the city. 
But the terrors of New York had been left far behind, were already a bad dream 
fading away.
Now there was only clean air, clean thoughts, a new life for him. As he turned 
the corner and started down a side street, he realized the thing he had come to 
value most was the quiet. In New York there was always something—ambulances, 
police cars, children screaming—something disruptive. Here, though, a man could 
hear himself think. He could revel in the utter, blissful silence.
Then Byron heard something.
He wasn't certain what it was at first. It sounded like a car engine running 
softly, a kind of dull, steady, grinding noise. But there were no cars on the 
street, not parked and not moving. Just him, and a sound.
He stopped and turned, but just as he stopped the sound stopped as well.
There was plenty of light around him, both from street lamps and from the full 
moon that smiled down at him. A cloud wafted across it, obscuring it 
momentarily, but then it was visible again.
It was cold, a brisk Canadian March night, and yet for some reason Byron 
suddenly felt warm. Underneath his blue goosedown jacket he was starting to 
sweat profusely, his checked shirt sticking to his chest. He scratched for a 
moment at his week-old beard and tried to make out what the source of the noise 
was.
Nothing. And now the noise had stopped, and he was beginning to feel a little 
foolish standing there in the cold for no apparent reason.
So he started to walk again. His old New York instincts were kicking in, 
however, and he picked up the pace a bit.
Thirty seconds later he heard it again.
This time there was no mistake. It was much louder, and it was much closer, and 
it sounded much, much nastier. And he heard something else: the soft clicking of 
long nails on the pavement. That meant he was being followed either by an 
animal, or by somebody who never, ever cut his toenails.
Part of him wanted to look back and see exactly what was pursuing him, and the 
other part didn't want to know. It just wanted to wake up, (in the vain hope he 
was sleeping), just wanted to get the hell away. Click your heels together three 
times, he told himself in giddy desperation. He was walking faster now, and 
whatever was following him was walking faster as well. And the growling was 
louder.
All right, he thought. It's a dog. And if I keep my back to it, it could just 
leap on me and rip my throat out. He forced back panic at this particular 
realization. But if I stop, turn, face it in a nonthreatening but firm manner… 
maybe I can show it who's boss.
He took a deep breath—his last—and turned.
It was standing only ten feet away. It roared, and its fetid breath was 
overwhelming. Byron gasped, paralyzed.
The creature leaped the distance as if it were nothing. Its jaws clamped down, 
cutting off Byron's scream and coincidentally, Byron's head. Blood spurted, 
matting down the creature's coarse dark fur.
The sounds of ripping and crunching did not stop for some time. And when they 
did, there followed a loud, ungodly howl that seemed to freeze the world for a 
moment. Seemed to reverse time and send it spiralling back to the days of the 
primitive. It was as though something had crept out of the primeval jungle to 
unleash itself upon the modern world.
The howl hung there for a moment and then dissipated. The creature turned away 
from its hideous accomplishments and crept off into the night, swaying slightly 
as if in drunken delight. It left no tracks, left no trace of where it had come 
from or where it was now going. All it left was the gutted body of one 
disenchanted, and now disemboweled, American.




"Ah, Doctor Parsons. I thought you might want to take a look personally. Don't 
see many like this."
It was not the way Parsons liked to start off his mornings. He far preferred a 
hot cup of tea and a croissant as he sat back at his desk in his third-floor 
office. Running a hospital was a day-in, day-out demanding job that rarely gave 
any respite during his working hours (which seemed endless). So the mornings 
were what he liked to think of as his quiet, contemplative time.
Parsons was of medium build, with slicked-back brown hair punctuated on either 
side of his temples by bands of silver. He was of an indeterminate age between 
forty and sixty. When he'd shown up in town about six months ago to become the 
hospital administrator, he had positively radiated confidence. And since this 
hospital served at least four towns that he knew of, the administrator of 
McKeeville General Hospital could not be someone daunted by responsibility.
Parsons was, however, daunted by the joviality of Doctor DeFalco, who had left 
the urgent summons on Parsons' desk that he should hasten immediately down to 
the morgue the moment he came in. He did not relish the visit, but was heedful 
of the air of importance in the message.
DeFalco, Parsons decided, had been working in the morgue for far too long. He 
seemed to be most cheerful when investigating a death that was particularly 
gruesome. It was becoming an unhealthy occupation for him, Parsons thought.
DeFalco was Parsons' physical opposite—hefty compared to Parsons' gauntness, an 
excessively jovial face next to Parsons' "graveside manner." DeFalco pushed his 
glasses back on his large red nose and said, "This one is really something 
else.''
He gestured Parsons over to a table where a body was covered with a cloth. He 
pulled it aside and Parsons, veteran medical man that he was, blanched 
nevertheless.
"Easiest autopsy I ever did," said DeFalco happily. "Everything was sliced open, 
from crotch to sternum. Two cops were losing their breakfast when they were 
bringing this guy in."
Parsons looked at the maimed corpse in front of him and said, "Cause of death?"
DeFalco looked at the body clinically. "I'd have to say being gutted is what 
caused it."
"Doctor," said Parsons stiffly. "I hardly think this is an appropriate time for 
levity.''
"Why not? Afraid we're going to offend the patient?" DeFalco harrumphed to 
himself.
"What caused this… this hideousness? Some sort of accident?''
"Accident, my ass," replied DeFalco. "Something very deliberately ripped this 
poor bastard apart. Consumed part of him, including…" and he read off a quick 
list he'd jotted down of missing or partially devoured organs and limbs. Then 
with his rubber-gloved hands he picked up a bone. "Thigh bone," he said. "Used 
to be connected to the hip bone. And the hip bone's con—"
"DeFalco, you'll be pleased to know that I have every intention of sending you 
on a lengthy vacation after this. What's the point of this recitation? I want 
you to answer my—"
"I am answering it," said DeFalco patiently. He pointed to the lower half of the 
bone. "Teeth marks."
"Human?"
DeFalco's face twisted in disgust. "Now you're making me ill. No, of course not 
human. Canine. Lupine, if I'm not mistaken."
"A wolf did this?" Parsons frowned. "That's very unusual. I don't recall 
instances of wolves just coming into the city and attacking someone. Perhaps it 
was rabid?"
"Maybe. I'll try running blood tests or see if I can find some trace of the 
animal's saliva, but I wouldn't bet the farm on it." He adjusted his glasses 
once more. "But the thing I really wanted to call your attention to—"
"There's more?" said Parsons with marked unenthusiasm.
"Oh, yeah. What, you thought I just wanted to gross you out?"
Parsons leaned back and drummed his fingers on a gurney. "It crossed my mind."
"I found something that scares the crap out of me. I took measurements on the 
teeth marks. As near as I can tell, judging from the width, estimating the size 
of the head of the creature that did the biting—I'd say we're dealing with a 
wolf that's at least eight feet long."
Parsons stared at him for a moment and then started to laugh. "You're joking, of 
course."
"I wish. You wish."
"Why don't you just say he was eaten by a great white shark? It's certainly 
about as believable. What kind of wolf grows to be eight feet long?"
DeFalco waved the thigh bone. "The kind who can do this. Without breaking a 
sweat."
Parsons stopped drumming his fingers. "Doctor… who else have you told about 
this? The police? Anybody?"
"The police know he was killed by a wild animal, obviously. But they don't know 
about the size of it. They figured a bear, not a giant wolf.''
"Good. So let's keep this between ourselves, all right? No sense in alarming the 
city. The press hasn't picked up on this yet, so let's see if we can keep things 
quiet.''
"Sounds like a great idea to me."
Parsons started to turn away and then paused. "Two things… first off, try to 
stay out of Cholly's Pub. You have a tendency to have a few too many and become 
very loose-lipped."
DeFalco tossed a salute. "Gotcha, boss."
"Second, do we know who this is?"
"Yeah. Whoever… sorry, whatever… attacked him wasn't remotely interested in his 
wallet. Name's Byron Keller. An American, apparently."
"American. Hmph. Came a long way to die, didn't he?"
"Sure did. Out here in the boonies, you never know what's in the woods." DeFalco 
looked at the ruined mess once more and then covered it up. "He should've stayed 
in the big city where's it's safe."




DeFalco knocked off work early, since the longer the day went on, the more 
concerned he became about what he had seen. It was a little after 3:00 when he 
left the hospital, walked across the street and saw the doors of Cholly's 
beckoning to him.
He thought about what Parsons had said to him, about how the last thing he 
wanted to do was become loose-tongued. But what the hell—he had self-control. 
One drink certainly wouldn't hurt things.
The bartender greeted him warmly when he came in as he bellied up to the bar.
Shoving over a beer, the bartender said, "You're a little early today, aren't 
you, Doc?"
"Had a really rough day, Bobby," replied DeFalco. "But I can't tell you about 
it." He took a sip.
By the end of the day the whole city knew.



2
Josh smiled at me with that toothy way he had, and said,  "Now, you have to 
understand. The way a wolf thinks—it's not the way humans think. Your heads are 
cluttered with thoughts of tonight's TV schedule and if you can get reservations 
at the local eatery. We wolves are far more tactile. We think with our noses, 
our hearing… our senses. So if you're going to try to write things from my 
perspective, you'll just have to interpret the best you can. Because I don't 
think I could put it into words." Thanks loads, Josh.




(Others?
Sniff. Scent. Something different. Something new in the territory, in the 
hunting place.
Like self?
No. Like, but different. Similar, but strange. Not… natural. Not of the woods. 
Of someplace else.
Scent the bushes. Scent the branches, the roots. Protective trees stretch high 
overhead, out of sight. Thin rays of sunlight filtering through the trees. Stand 
up against tree, scratch claws against bark and love the sun. Love the light.
Scent the tree. Something strange brushed up against it. Left a scent like self, 
but different. Like self rotting, decaying. Like self filled with festering 
insects.
Drop to all fours and scent the ground. It was here, but now it is gone.)




"When was never a question," said Josh. "Wolves have no concept of time as you 
and I do. Season to season, yes, but precisely how many days had passed since 
the creature had come through the hunting territory… there was simply no frame 
of reference for me. This I can tell you…  it was March. My main concern at that 
point was the safety of the pack. There were eight of us in all, including my 
mate. We had recently conceived young.''
("Oh. Uh… congratulations," I said.)
"Thank you. The pups were due to be born in two months. Keeping the meat supply 
in abundance for my mate was another major concern… which was why I was 
particularly alarmed to discover something roaming the territory that hadn't 
been there before. At the time that was the only way I viewed the creature—as 
something that could pose a threat to my mate's food.''
(I shifted in my chair, pushing my tape recorder a little closer to him. ' 'Did 
your mate have a name ?'')
' 'Nothing you could pronounce.''
("Can you?")
He paused a moment, giving it some thought. Then he tilted back his head and 
uttered a bizarre agglomeration of sounds, kind'of like a cross between a 
hacking cough and a hiccup. He shook his head and rubbed his throat. ' 'Not very 
well,'' he admitted. ' 'It would be pointless anyway, because I didn't think of 
her by name the way you would. Generally I simply thought of her as 'She.'
("She?" I thought how that would look on a bookflap and wasn't thrilled. ' 'How 
about if we call her Ayesha ?'')
"Why?"
("Ever read anything by H. Rider Haggard?")
"No. "
("It's from a book of his. ")
' 'Oh. '' He rolled the name around in his mouth. ' 'Sounds good. Quite 
mournful, actually. All right, then. Ayesha". 


The wolf paused, considered the possibilities. Tell the pack. Or hunt creature 
by self. Of those two, keeping in the pack seemed the better idea. Self was 
large, powerful. But self had an instinctive feeling that, whatever creature was 
roaming through the woods, it was far too powerful for a single wolf.
Besides, safety in numbers.
Suddenly the wolf heard something. Many somethings, all at same time. Many large 
feet crackling through brush. Sounds of dogs barking, many of them. Fur stood 
erect on the nape of his neck as the wolf realized immediately the massive 
danger to self.
Why? Why were humans smashing through the woods?
Human voices, those flat, inelegant nasal tones, echoed through the protecting 
forest. The dogs, those distant relatives, sounded closer, louder, more furious.
The wolf ran.
Strange, incomprehensible sounds came from the humans behind him, but the intent 
was clear. The tone was unmistakable. Triumph. The humans were on the scent of 
self.
Self had better get the hell out of there.
The wolf ran faster. Blood pumped through his veins, the sounds of yapping and 
shouting and barking all jumbling together through the haze of instinctive fear 
that had descended on the wolf's mind.
Escape. Escape. Had to escape.
But not toward the pack, the wolf realized quickly, and immediately veered his 
course away. To lead humans to pack would be height of betrayal. Even safety in 
numbers would not save self from hideous humans with their strange sticks that 
spat death.
The wolf came upon a small brook and splashed through it, determined to throw 
off the scent. He slid a bit, his paws now thoroughly wet, but he caught himself 
and plunged onward. Faster. More desperate. Ahead of him was solid rock, a sheet 
of it placed there as if from providence, with only a few shrubs fighting up 
between the cracks. The wolf charged across it, claws clicking merrily on the 
craggy surface. Then the wolf was gone, leaping high into the air and crashing 
through the brush.
The wolf was so preoccupied with his flight for life that he didn't detect the 
scent of a human ahead of him before it was too late.
He leaped the brush into a small clearing, and caught the scent while still in 
midair. His legs pinwheeled as if, through clawing at the air, he could redirect 
his trajectory. It was impossible, of course, and the wolf thudded to the ground 
a mere two feet away from the overpowering human smell.
Fortunately for the wolf the human was already dead.
The wolf stood there for a moment, regarding the human closely. The wolf had 
rarely had an opportunity to study one this closely before, for the pack's rule 
was to give humans as wide a berth as possible. Keep self away from humans was 
the general order of things, a rule that the wolves obeyed religiously.
This human, however, was no threat. This human lay there with arms outstretched 
and a contorted expression on its face. The wolf padded softly towards the 
human, noting dispassionately that the human had been ripped apart. Death and 
carcasses were hardly a novelty to the wolf.
What caught the wolf's attention was the other scent, mixed in with the human's. 
It was the scent that he had noticed earlier. The self-death scent that had 
ranged through the bushes and trees. Whatever the creature was who was stalking 
through the territory, it had killed this human.
Then the wolf saw the death stick lying next to the human and jumped several 
feet away. His tail stood straight out, and he snarled at the stick, almost 
daring it to try something. But the stick lay there, uselessly, and slowly the 
wolf perceived that the stick was no threat to self. Nevertheless, taking no 
chances, the wolf padded carefully around the death stick, giving it a very 
suspicious look and growling low in his throat.
The wolf heard the distant sounds of pursuit and realized he could waste no more 
time. He bolted further away, and ran at breakneck speed. Filtered sunlight 
played across his path as he picked up the pace, determined to leave the humans 
far behind self.
And slowly the sounds of the dogs barking and the men shouting vanished in the 
distance. For good measure the wolf kept going a few more minutes before 
discovering a rocky embankment with natural caves in them. The wolf trotted up 
the embankment and stood at the mouth of one of the caves, sniffing carefully, 
not wishing to arouse any larger animals that might have already taken up 
residence. Self had had enough problems for one day. But there was no trace, and 
the wolf slowly entered the cave, barking once in challenge. No response.
The wolf curled up deep in the darkness of the cave, listening carefully for any 
sounds of intruders. None, however, came.
He had escaped, apparently. And the wolf could not help but wonder what the 
humans had done when they found the remains of their fellow.




"Good Christ."
Abe was the self-appointed leader of the half-dozen hunters. It was his dogs, 
after all, who had been leading them in their pursuit of (presumably) the wolf 
and (hopefully) the specific wolf that had ripped that American guy to shreds.
But now his hunting dogs were huddled together, whimpering slightly and glancing 
at the human remains on the ground. Abe whistled softly, and one of the other 
members of the party crossed himself silently.
"Is that who I think it is?" asked the man to Abe's right. Abe nodded silently. 
"Dick Morton."
"Uh-huh. Disappeared about a month ago." Abe scratched his head. "His wife 
thought he'd lit out for Toronto, like he did a few years ago. You remember… 
when he found out she was having a fling with Pierre Lacroix down at the 
butcher.''
"Oh, yeah. She always got the best cuts."
"How in hell can we be standing around discussing this?" said another man in the 
group. "This guy's lying here dead as a doornail and we're talking about who his 
wife was sacking around with!"
"Got a point there. Okay," said Abe. "Three of you kind of scrape him up and get 
him back to town. Me and—" He glanced around quickly. "Me and Winston and Reuben 
will keep looking for the wolf.''
But Winston and Reuben looked at each other, each thinking the same thing, and 
Winston cleared his throat. "Look, Abe… I don't wanna sound gutless or anything, 
but if you're thinking that whatever ripped up Dick is the same thing that 
trashed that American guy, what's his name, Burton or something… is that what 
you're thinking?"
Abe nodded.
"Okay. And if that's what we're tracking, and it's running around in the woods, 
then no offense… but I think I wanna wait until we're in full force again. Dick 
here, he was a hunter—one of the best—and I don't wanna face what killed him 
with anything less than a half-dozen guys behind me. Maybe even a whole 
platoon."
Abe snorted disdainfully. "Good Christ, you men are lame. Tell you what. You go 
back to town if you want. I got my dogs, I got my gun… I'm set. I'll stay out 
here the rest of the day, all night if I have to. No mealy mouthed, flea-bitten 
wolf is going to scare me, and I don't care if it's as big as a goddamn Buick. 
Now, I'm not saying that any of you has to stay out here with me." He shifted 
his stance slightly, leaning on the end of his rifle. "But I'm real interested 
to see which of you is man enough to stay out here and find out what it's really 
like to be a hunter. Any moron can go out with rifles and infrared night scopes, 
armed to the teeth. That's not hunting. That's just slaughter. Which of you 
wants to stay with me and find out what it's like to really go one-on-one? To 
find out what it feels like when not only can you kill the prey—but there's a 
chance that the prey can kill you?" He stepped forward and eyed each of the men 
challengingly. "Well? Who's with me?"
Inside of a minute Abe found himself alone in the woods, except for the confused 
dogs. The dogs looked up at him in a way which, to his mind, said "Would you 
mind terribly if we went with the other guys?''
"Wimps," he snorted. "All of you.


"
The wolf, taking as much care as possible to make sure there was no pursuit, 
made his way back to the place that served as home to the pack. Near the 
outskirts of the pack's place, the wolf paused and urinated against a tree to 
reinforce just whose territory this was. Here, closer to the pack's place, there 
was no scent of the self-death. That was good.




"We had found a truly excellent place for our pack home, " Josh told me. ' 'A 
lot of rocky terrain nearby, and a small river, both of which helped in getting 
rid of scents. The rocky terrain gradually angled upward and contained a number 
of caves that my pack used as shelter. They were splendid caves. Emergency exits 
out the back. Cool in summer, warm in winter. ''
("Everything except cable?" I asked.)
He nodded. "You could pretty much say that. "




The wolf crept into his cave and called out for Ayesha. He paused a moment, and 
then a soft bark came from the back of the cave. The wolf glided towards the 
sound, moving so quietly that he seemed to be a shadow melted into the cave 
wall. There, in the rear of the cave, he found his mate and nuzzled her gently. 
She seemed tired, a little sluggish. But nevertheless she looked up at her mate 
with affection and returned the touch, her tongue sliding softly across his 
muzzle.




(' 'How did you talk to each other?'' I asked. ' 'Do you have a language ?'')
"We would communicate through a combination of sounds and body movements, " he 
replied.
("Well, how the hell am I supposed to get that across?")
"I don't know. Why don't I just tell you the basics of what we discussed and you 
just put it into dialogue form ?''




"What is wrong, my mate?" she asked.
He stepped back and tilted his head slightly. "I have found something very 
strange. Something that could affect the entire pack."
"What? What is it?"
"Perhaps, before I tell you, we should call the pack together."
Ayesha was silent a moment and then agreed. The wolf went to the front of the 
cave, tilted his head back and howled. The sound cut through the air, the most 
forboding and lonely of all the sounds that are heard in the woods. Smaller 
creatures who heard it quickly scurried under bushes or inside trees, frightened 
that, within moments, they might wind up as someone's lunch.
Sometimes the howls were intended for just such creatures, but this time it was 
for the wolves themselves. From near or far, the wolves of the pack were roused 
from their slumber or their hunting, were prompted to return to the place of the 
pack. Their leader was summoning them, and it was not wise to keep the leader 
waiting.
He waited until they were all gathered, looking at him expectantly. Then, 
quickly and succinctly, he told them everything that he had encountered that 
afternoon. Ayesha gasped slightly when he described his headlong flight from 
capture. And when he finally concluded his narrative, he paused, clearly 
inviting comments from the others.
It was the youngest member of the pack who made the mental leap and realized 
what was happening. "The humans in the human packplace nearby usually keep away 
from us, and we from them," he said. "But you say there is a creature with the 
scent of self-death in the woods. And this creature killed a human. Perhaps this 
creature has killed even more humans, and the humans think we are doing the 
killing."
The gray pack leader nodded. "That would make sense. Humans make no use of their 
pathetic noses, so they would not be able to detect difference in the smells. To 
them, all are same." He paused. "We must be cautious, my pack-mates. If we can 
find this creature and kill it, it will solve the humans' problem in addition to 
our own. Tonight, when we hunt as a pack, we shall see if we can find the 
creature. Even if creature does have self-death smell, pack can kill creature 
easily."




Night had fallen, the full moon above giving light to the forest below.
Noiselessly the pack made its way through the forest, pausing only here and 
there to try to pick up the scent of the intruder with the smell of self-death.
The gray wolf paused near a bush and found the scent, much stronger than it had 
been early in the afternoon. The wolf turned to the rest of the pack. "It has 
been through here."
Ayesha padded over to her mate. "Are you certain?"
"Yes." He paused, regarding her thoughtfully. "Perhaps you should have waited 
back at the packplace. Why risk future cubs?"
"Self is more safe with pack then by self," replied Ayesha, and her mate was 
forced to agree. This was not unusual.
When Ayesha made up her mind about something, it was very rare that anything 
could dissuade her from it.
That was when the howl cut through the air.
The pack froze. It was a howl as loud as all the pack combined, but it issued 
from a single throat. All the other noises in the forest seemed to disappear, 
consumed by this one sound.
The wolves glanced at each other, and then the gray leader said, "This way." Yet 
the pack hesitated. The leader turned briefly to Ayesha, and with utter 
confidence his mate charged forward. The leader immediately followed her, and 
behind them came the rest of the pack. The wolves' momentary doubts and fears 
were gone, replaced with fierceness and aggression. Not to mention the fact 
that, were this creature as big as it sounded, it would provide sufficient meat 
for the entire pack.




("I thought wolves usually hunted smaller animals, or lame animals who couldn't 
get away.'')
' 'You make us sound like nature's bullies,'' said Josh goodhumoredly. "To a 
large extent you are correct. But you forget, this was an intruder to our land. 
Wolves are very, very territorial. We deal quickly and harshly with any who 
invades our hunting ground. "




There were sounds of ripping and tearing just ahead, and the pack charged 
through the brush to confront its enemy.
And stopped short.
The other wolves collided with the gray leader and his mate. They piled up, one 
on another, and quickly disentangled themselves to witness something that, in 
all their short memory, they had never seen before.
A huge moose had been brought down. Not some sick old stray, but a big one, in 
its prime. The kind that it would have taken the entire pack to bring down, and 
maybe not even then.
The moose lay there on the ground, its dead eyes open and staring at the wolves. 
Its midsection was already gutted and the creature that had killed it was 
already busy with the moose's hindquarters when it paused, suddenly aware of its 
audience.
Slowly it turned its massive head towards the wolves, and the leader could hear 
a low whimpering from the youngest member of the pack.
The creature had incredibly dark fur, almost as dark as the night sky. Its body 
was half again as long as the largest of the wolves, and in its huge head were 
two eyes that glowed as they overlooked the pack.
And then the creature spoke in a low, seductive voice. "Leave, little brothers. 
Leave my hunting ground, before it's too late."
The gray wolf growled low in its throat. "This is our territory. You are the 
intruder.''
"Perhaps," replied the creature. "But the world is my territory. I kill in the 
forest. I kill in the city of men. Where and what I kill is of little importance 
to me. Now leave… before I kill you."
The gray wolf hesitated only a moment and then barked a fierce, unmistakable 
command to his pack. As one they leaped towards the creature, the scent of 
self-death almost overwhelming. And the creature let out a roar, the kind of 
roar designed to terrify prey, freeze it in its tracks and make it easy pickings 
for slaughter.
The roar worked perfectly. The pack froze, and with a second roar the creature 
leaped over the prostrate body of the moose and into the center of the pack.
It spun quickly and, with one swipe of its massive paw, crushed the skull of the 
youngest pack member. The others leaped forward, all teeth and claws, trying to 
rip at the creature and bring it down.
The creature made a sound the wolves had never heard. It was called laughter.
It stood up on its hind legs and shook the wolves off it in the manner that a 
wolf would shake off a flea. Several of the wolves crashed out of sight behind 
some bushes. The creature grabbed up another wolf by the scruff of its neck. The 
yapping wolf snarled and hissed in the creature's face, and the creature's great 
jaws clamped down on the back of the wolf's neck and pulled. The wolf uttered 
one truncated howl of anguish before its head parted from its shoulders. Blood 
geysered, splashing against the creature as it tossed down the second wolf to 
have died in as many minutes. It turned, and there was Ayesha, hissing and 
snarling, tail between her legs but not retreating. It started towards her, with 
a growl that sounded like a rock slide.
The large gray wolf, the pack leader, the mate of Ayesha, leaped onto the 
creature's back, driving it down. "Run, Ayesha!" he barked. "That's an order! 
Run!"
Ayesha reluctantly obeyed her mate's orders. That she might never see her mate 
again never even occurred to her.
Fiercely the gray wolf clamped its jaws onto the back of the creature's neck and 
hung on, furiously. The creature howled in fury, tried to shake off the gray 
wolf. But the pack leader held on, digging in more furiously. He felt the 
creature's blood oozing between his teeth and began to realize that, at the very 
least, the creature should be starting to slow down.
Instead the creature was only getting angrier. It threw itself onto the ground 
and rolled onto its back. Now the gray wolf's spine was creaking under the 
pressure of the creature's far greater weight. The wolf pulled with all the 
strength it had, and a piece of the creature's thick, bristly hide came loose in 
its jaws.
The creature shrieked with a sound that was most unwolf-like. It sounded almost 
human. It rolled away and the gray wolf, now without his grip, scrambled to his 
feet and tried to find some quick way to retreat.
But now the creature, with unbelievable speed, pivoted and leaped. With a thud 
that seemed to echo through the forest, it landed on top of the gray wolf and 
bit down on the wolf's foreleg. The gray wolf howled in anguish as the creature 
said, "The rest of your pack has run off or is dead. And you I will kill 
slowly."
It bit him again, and the gray wolf struggled furiously in the grip of the 
creature. It was useless. The creature was much heavier, much more powerful, and 
the scent of self-death was everywhere. Distantly the gray wolf thought, "I'll 
never see my cubs…"
Something exploded.
The air was filled with the sound that the gray wolf had come to know as certain 
death—the sound of the human's death sticks.
And abruptly, the creature was gone.  

                                                                   ****

Abe's dogs had suddenly started to go wild around the campfire, and he realized 
that they had scented something major. Then he heard that massive howling and 
knew that whatever he was seeking, it wasn't very far off. Quickly gathering up 
the dog's leashes, he grabbed his rifles and had the dogs lead him towards the 
sight of the disturbance.
The moment he got there he knew he'd found what he had been looking for.
It was the biggest goddamn wolf he'd ever seen. At the moment it seemed 
preoccupied with chewing up another animal. Abe realized with some surprise that 
it was another wolf. Now what in hell were they fighting about? Weren't all 
wolves on the same side? Maybe it was a lone wolf…
Even as these thoughts crossed his mind he'd unslung his larger rifle—a 
Remington Riot Shotgun. He was going to take no chances with this monster. He 
chambered a round and, from barely seven feet away, fired.
He hit the creature dead on. The impact lifted it off the smaller wolf and 
knocked it back. It sat there a moment, as if confused, and Abe quickly 
chambered another round.
"You're history, you bastard," he said and fired again. This blast caught the 
creature in the upper chest and spun it completely around.
The smaller wolf was still alive, surprisingly. It was starting to limp towards 
the safety of the forest, and Abe paid it no mind. He wasn't interested in some 
dinky normal wolf. The big one was what he wanted. It was going to make a hell 
of a hunting trophy.
The creature turned and stared with fury and hatred at Abe. Abe gasped. Its eyes 
were burning bright red, as if two coals had been rammed in there.
The dogs were barking furiously, and Abe unleashed them. They charged towards 
the creature, which was already covered with blood. Certainly it was on its last 
legs. It had to be.
The creature stood. Not like a dog, leaning up against something. More like a 
human being. Abe gasped as the creature, towering about eight feet tall, 
glowered down at him and growled.
The dogs leaped, snapping and barking, and were all over it. The creature looked 
down at them as if it were looking at bugs, and then began to rip them apart. 
Its claws sliced through them, and angry barks turned to howls of pain. Within 
seconds the ground was littered with assorted dog parts.
Abe fired two more times. Both of them hit the creature dead center, and then 
the creature did the same thing that had so unnerved the wolves. It laughed.
Abe blanched and then, for some reason, he thought about that great-looking 
redhead who worked down at the market, and why the hell hadn't he ever asked her 
out.
And then the creature was upon him.




The gray wolf staggered through the forest, bleeding from several places. It let 
out a low bark but nothing replied. The pack had scattered, panic-stricken. The 
wolf couldn't blame them. Flight had seemed to him to be one of the preferable 
options too, until the thing had almost attacked Ayesha.
The woods blurred around him but he kept going, determined to put as much 
distance between himself and the creature as possible. He needed time to 
recuperate, time to figure out…
He staggered dizzily and didn't notice the embankment before it was too late.
The wolf tumbled down, out of control, the world spinning around him dizzily. 
Dirt got into his eyes, in his snout.
Then he hit the bushes and felt thorns ripping at him, but he was too tired to 
let out so much as a whimper. And when he stopped rolling he found himself 
inside a thicket. The thorns, which had only moments before been clawing at him, 
were now his protection.
He slumped to the ground, determined to rest for only a few moments until he had 
his strength back, and then fell asleep.



3
It didn't take them all that long, the following day, to find Abe's remains. Two 
of the mighty hunters promptly tossed their lunches. After they did, they 
determined that they were going to need reinforcements. A lot of men, as many as 
they could get together. With enough weaponry to take over a South American 
nation.
"It's only coming out at night," said one of the hunters coldly. He had naming 
red hair and a large handlebar moustache, which had earned him the nickname of 
Yosemite Sam. "I'm sure of it. If we want to find this bugger, we'll have to be 
here at night, too."
"Like Abe was?" said another. "And we'll all wind up just like him."
"No we won't, y'idjit," replied Yosemite Sam testily. "Abe was all by himself… 
Mr. 'Hey-I-can-handle-it.' Us, we'll have a shitload of men, and unless the wolf 
that's doing this is wearing armor, we'll have his hide nailed in no time."




The gray wolf lay inside the thicket, thinking of his pack and breathing slowly. 
He heard the sounds of the forest as if they were coming from a great distance. 
Usually he felt as one with nature, inseparable from the great forest that was 
his home. The trees shaded him, the cool water nourished him, birds fluttered 
overhead, reminding him that there was some prey that was out of his reach. The 
air always smelled sweet, and he could always sense the life that teemed in the 
soil beneath his paws.
Now, though, he felt strangely cut off. As if the forest had turned away from 
him, disowned him.
He let out a low whine, more as an experiment than out of any real distress. He 
pricked up his ears to see if there was any response, but none was forthcoming. 
He tried to stand up, but the world spun around him and slowly, reluctantly, he 
sank back to the ground.
Is self… dying? he thought. He tried to give out a howl in hopes of summoning 
whoever was left of the pack, but he simply did not have the strength. He turned 
his head and nuzzled where his hide had been ripped and abraded. The bleeding 
had long since stopped, and his fur was covered with dried blood. He licked at 
it experimentally. Then his head dropped back to the ground, and he closed his 
eyes.




' I had never dreamt before,'' said Josh slowly. ' 'But I did that day, for the 
first time. Strange, bizarre things that didn't make any sense at the time. 
Things that I had no concepts for, because you see, animals don't have any grasp 
of good and evil. Life and death, yes, but good and evil are purely moral 
concepts. To an animal, something isn't either good or evil, but simply 'is.' 
Still… the memories of that dream were so strong that, to this day, I still 
recall many aspects of it.'' He paused, and his mouth twisted in disgust. ' I 
dreamt of darkness. I dreamt of thoughts that weren't mine. They seemed… very 
old. An old, almost ancient evil. I tried, even then, to translate it into 
concepts that were within my grasp. I dreamt of dead, rotting animals, of heavy 
thunderstorms knocking down trees, of fires ripping through the forest and 
destroying everything that was important to me. And I dreamt of laughter. That 
same, hideous laughter that I'd heard from the creature earlier.
' 'And then I started to realize that I was actually in great danger. Because 
the blackness that I was dreaming of was trying to take me over. "
("You mean like being seduced by the dark side of the Force ?'')
Josh stared at me blankly. ' 'If you say so.'' He pondered this a moment but, 
not coming up with further usable explanation, shrugged it off. "This… dark 
side, if you will… that was filling my mind. It offered me all manner of things. 
Power. Immortality. Riches. It practically said to me, 'Become like me, and you 
can have the kind of life you've always dreamed of. You can terrorize humans, 
never have to answer to anyone except yourself. Be unkillable.'
('And none of this stuff was of any interest to you?") For the first time he 
actually looked at me a little disdainfully. "Don't be absurd. I mean, power? 
Riches? Those are meaningless concepts to an animal. Immortality? Humans may 
have fear of death, may not understand that the life cycle is just that—a cycle. 
Birth and death. Animals understand that. We live with that every single day. 
We're used to the idea that when our time comes, we will die. And our bodies 
will go back into the food chain. Nor did I have any interest in terrorizing 
anyone. That's a singularly human predisposition. '' He shook his head. ' I 
think I understand why humans walk on two legs. It's so you can look down on all 
other species.
"At any rate, my dreams continued for some time, and I continued to fight them 
off. Time had quite literally lost all meaning. Finally, I started to come 
around, and when I lifted up my head I saw that the sun was almost down.''




The bushes rustled noisily as the wolf pushed his way through. He had lost 
almost an entire day, but it had been well spent. Already he felt more of his 
old vigor flowing into him. The places where he had been bitten were no longer 
throbbing, but he felt some degree of unhappiness about the current state of his 
fur.
Also, as he walked he felt a twinge of pain as the abused muscles tried to 
stretch themselves. He whined softly. Self was definitely in less than perfect 
shape. Then he let out a long, mournful howl and paused, waiting to see if the 
call would be returned. But there was nothing.
He moved through the forest, but now there was something different. Nothing he 
could exactly pinpoint, but something was not quite… right.
The muscles were starting to hurt even more and he picked up the pace, hoping to 
return to the packplace before he be-came unable to move at all. His breath 
started to come in more ragged, painful gasps, and he felt a sharp pain in his 
chest.
Then a spasm of pain gripped his entire body, and he almost tumbled. It was 
incredibly frustrating. Here he had spent all of his life moving sleekly, 
silently, with utter confidence. And now he was stumbling about with less grace 
than a cub.
He stopped by a brook and lowered his snout to the water, hoping that a drink 
would somehow remove this puzzling lack of coordination.
In the water he saw the reflected light of the full moon, which had just come 
out from behind the clouds.
And then there was a scream, a human scream, from very, very near. The gray wolf 
wondered where it had come from, and, in the same instant that he realized the 
sound had been torn from his own throat, the pain hit him.
A second scream, and the wolf pitched forward into the water, his body writhing 
in agony. He flipped over onto his back, his paws stretching up towards the moon 
as if in prayer.




' 'And I watched in horror as my paws began to grow,'' said Josh.
' 'They started to stretch, turn. I felt my forelegs twisting completely around, 
accompanied by the sounds of muscles stretching and bones snapping. My fur, my 
beautiful gray fur, blackened and crispened. My claws began to shrink and 
something completely alien began growing out of the fronts of my paws. Fingers!
"Hysterical from the pain, I actually tried to gnaw off my forearms. Then all of 
a sudden… it was as if someone had taken a knife heated in a campfire, stuck it 
into the nape of my neck, and begun to slowly draw it downward. My entire 
spine…"He hesitated, groping for the word. "… split, and it felt like I was 
being burned alive. My back, my hindquarters, started to contort, to straighten 
out. Fur was falling out in huge amounts from all over me, leaving me with 
hideous pink skin.
"All I wanted to do was escape. Somehow, frantically, I thought that whatever 
was happening, it was connected with that place at that moment, and that if 
somehow I could get away, then whatever massive sickness had hit me would 
disappear.
' I tried to climb up, away from the water. I shoved with my hind legs, and 
howled—they had begun to swell up like balloons. My body felt like a bundle of 
twigs being mashed into the ground. I clawed at the dirt with my hind legs, and 
then they were no longer my hind legs. They were these huge, useless things 
sticking out behind me. My tail disappeared… I still don't know where it went. I 
tried to open my mouth again to howl, even though by this time the pain was so 
overwhelming that I was beyond feeling it. But my mouth locked on me. I couldn't 
open it.
Instinctively, even though it was something I had never done before, I reached 
around towards my jaw. And I looked in horror as a human hand touched my mouth. 
I was terrified beyond any ability to move, certain that some human had come up 
behind me. My mind still could not comprehend what was happening.
' 'Then my muzzle started to shrink. My ears, too, although I didn't realize it. 
The world spun around me as my entire jaw, my teeth, my gums, were all shoved 
inward, made smaller. Imagine all the ache of a root canal job happening in one 
instant. My nose shriveled, came towards my eyes and stopped there.
' 'And the forest abandoned me.
' 'Suddenly all the major and minor noises of the woods that I heard as a matter 
of course simply ceased to be.
And the smells too. The life smell of the dirt, the fragrance of the trees, the 
clear, pure aroma from water that humans couldn't even begin to detect… the 
scent of the deer that had passed by not two hours ago, and the faint lingering 
trace of the baby rabbit that had strayed from its home before being brought 
back by its parent—all of them, gone. As if someone had thrown a bag over my 
head.
' 'But for all the awful loss I suffered at that moment, I found something I had 
never even dreamt of before. Suddenly the forest was alive with colors. The 
shadings of green, the gradations of brown, the shimmering textures of the brook 
as it bubbled and foamed. It all came to me at once, like a man blind from birth 
gaining his vision.
"Was it a fair trade-off? No, of course not. But the revelation of color to one 
who had only seen black and white his entire existence helped to divert my mind, 
if only for a moment, from what had happened to me.




The wolf lay there for some minutes, afraid to move. Afraid that any attempt to 
walk would bring on another onslaught of suffering. But there was nothing 
further.
He inhaled deeply but could smell nothing. No, that wasn't quite true. He could 
smell very little; the faintest of aromas, bare tantalizing traces of what had 
previously been easily detectable by his sensitive wolfen nose.
He strained his hearing to the utmost and heard nothing.
And then, abruptly, he did hear something. Crashing through the woods like a 
herd of moose, shouting at the tops of their lungs. Humans.
If they caught him now, ill and sick and furless, he would be dead within 
seconds.
He turned quickly, tried to run on all fours as usual, and succeeded only in 
falling face-first into the mud of the brook. He floundered there for a moment 
and pulled his head out of the water.
His forelegs were crippled. That's all there was to it. He stared at them, 
watched them bend in the wrong direction when he put weight on them (although 
there was no pain, at least).
Something, some instinct, prompted him to rear back on his hind legs. Suddenly 
the ground vanished. No, not vanished: receded. He looked down and, to his 
shock, the ground was now very far away.
And when he looked down he saw something even more terrifying than the ground's 
distance. As insane as it sounded, someone had taken his head and stuck it on 
top of a human being's body. He wobbled slightly, unsteady, unbelieving.
He was also cold, he just started to realize. The chill night air was cutting 
sharply through him. With his fur gone, he had no protection at all.
And the humans were after him. If his hearing and his sense of smell had not 
suddenly been cut off he would have detected them much sooner.
He had to run. He took an unsteady step, a second, a third, and then fell 
forward. He caught himself with his forelegs. Even though they were misshapen, 
they still served some purpose.
And suddenly the humans were upon him.



4
First they had heard the howling, and even as the hunters had started in the 
direction of the wolf sound—pulled by the ever-eager dogs—the howling had become 
mingled with human screams.
"We got him this time," said Yosemite Sam tightly, with a confidence shared by 
none of his fellows. One of the hunters started to shout out to the clearly 
distressed victim that help was on the way, but Sam cut him oif with an angry 
gesture. "Don't do that, y'idjit! Don't let the damned thing know we're on the 
way. Screaming won't help whoever's getting killed—it'll just warn the varmint 
doing it."
"Sorry," muttered the other hunter.
The howling had stopped entirely, and now they heard only low moans. Fully 
expecting to find the giant wolf feasting on living prey, Yosemite Sam took the 
point and leaped through the brush into the open, rifle pointed and ready to 
fire.
His eyes opened wide.
"I'll be damned," he said.
Writhing on the ground, trying with all his might to stand up, was a naked man. 
Not just any naked man. This guy was huge, muscular as all get out. He was 
standing slowly now and turning towards Sam. The other hunters crowded up behind 
him now and were gaping from over Sam's shoulder in undisguised astonishment.
The man faced them, crouching, fingers flexing. His hair was strewn and wild, 
hanging to just below his ears, and was gray with a few streaks of black. His 
face was square, his jaw sculpted from marble. Still not standing upright, he 
took a crouching, retreating step from them, watching them with unmasked terror 
in his eyes. Sam took a step towards him and was caught by the bizarreness of 
his eye coloring: his right eye was green, his left was actually… yellow?
Maybe he was wearing those kinds of contact lenses that change your eye color, 
and one of them had fallen out.
Sam took another step forward, and the man's lips drew back in an unmistakable 
snarl. One of the hunters murmured, "What the hell's the matter with him?"
"Whattaya think?" Sam snapped back. "He just narrowly escaped being ripped apart 
by some giant wolf. Damned thing must've ripped his clothes off. No wonder he's 
skittish." Turning towards the man Sam said steadily, "Don't worry. We won't 
hurt you."
"Got no scratches on him," another of them observed.
Yosemite Sam squinted. "Damned if you're not right. Okay, mister," he said, 
suddenly suspicious. "What the hell is going on? Who are you? Speak up."
But the man wasn't paying any attention. He was staring at his arms as if he'd 
never seen them before. Slowly he drew his fist up to his shoulder, watching the 
flex and play of muscles beneath his skin. His hand passed in front of his face 
and he kept it there, staring at it wide-eyed. He turned the hand slowly around, 
fascinated by his thumb and how far around his hand would turn before the 
natural limits of his musculature prevented it from turning further. He closed 
his hand slowly, then opened it. Then he licked it.
A hunter muttered to Yosemite Sam, 'Y'know, I know you said he's probably still 
kind of shaky and everything. But y'ask me, I think he's some kind of imbecile."
By now sharing that opinion, and becoming somewhat frustrated at the delay in 
their progress, Sam walked right up to the man and, looking down at the 
squatting stranger, said, "Look, fella, we don't have time for this bullshit. 
Now what the hell is going on with you?"
The man looked up at Sam's unsmiling face and then, slowly, stood up. His legs 
wavered slightly, as if unaccustomed to carrying his weight. He stood over Sam, 
towering well over six feet, and now he studied Sam with open curiosity.
"Jesus," Sam said. "You're a big one." He glanced down. "Literally." He paused. 
"You must be real popular with the ladies. You got a name, fella?"
The man just stared at him.
"Look," said Sam impatiently. "You wanna go traipsing around the woods buck 
naked, that's your lookout. Us, we got some wolves to kill."
That was the first inkling that the hunters got that the man understood what 
they were saying. For those words definitely set him off.
He roared at them, a barely human sound torn from his throat, and then his arm 
swung around and caught Sam across the face. There was no art to the punch, no 
style or science in the techniques of pugilism. The man might as well have been 
swinging a two-by-four, but it had just as much effect. It knocked Sam clear off 
his feet, hurling him back into the other men. They caught him and Sam felt 
blood spurting from his nose. Sam, who had had much experience in such matters, 
cried out, "He broke my nose!" and tried ineffectually to staunch the flow of 
dark red liquid.
The naked man drew back his arms, his fingers flexing and curving. He crouched 
again, his eyes darting ferally, and he said with inhuman fury, "No killing 
wolves!"
His voice was thick and low and, if his expression was any indicator, completely 
unexpected. He hesitated, surprised.
But Sam did not hesitate at all. Instead he shouted, "Get that son of a bitch!"
Obediently the hunters charged.
The naked man started to run, but then he stopped and seemed to strengthen his 
resolve. He turned back and leaped at the onrushing hunters.
The leap did not take him very far. It was as if he was still getting used to 
the way his body moved, and he landed hard and flat on the ground, face down. He 
started to scramble to his feet, but now the hunters were piling on him, trying 
to bring him down.
Like a drunken man he lurched to his feet, the others battering him futilely. 
They were all cursing, shouting furiously, but since that initial growl their 
opponent had lapsed into grim silence. A twist of his muscled torso and he 
hurled three of them off him. A kick of his leg shoved off two more, and then a 
rifle swung like a baseball bat caught him across the back of the knees. 
Reflexively his legs folded and he went down.
Yosemite Sam, the red in his moustache now matched by the furious tint of his 
face, swung down his rifle hard and cracked it across the back of the man's 
skull. The naked man had a thick bull neck that seemed impervious to harm. 
Nevertheless the impact fazed him, and Sam struck again and again. The others 
joined in, swinging their weapons around and down and pounding their massive 
opponent with all their strength.
"Keep on him!" shouted Sam. "He's going down!"
Moments later, after one final, convulsive twitch, the man lay unmoving on the 
ground. The men backed away slowly, and Sam checked him over for some sign of 
broken bones, bruises, cuts—something. He did indeed find a few marks here and 
there, but overall there was almost no sign of damage.
"Now that's the damnedest thing," muttered Sam. "You'd think we'd've knocked all 
his teeth out, blackened him up. I mean, we were cracking him up one side and 
down't' other with the rifle stocks. But y' know"—and he glanced around— "we 
look in worse shape than this guy is."
"Yeah, but we're conscious," one man observed tersely.
Yosemite Sam nodded. "We are that. C'mon, let's get him back to town."
"Why don't we just leave him here?"
Sam looked at the speaker incredulously. "Just leave him here? For what? For 
when the wolf that's been roamin' around shows up and tries to take a piece out 
of him? 'Sides, it took all of you clowns just to take this guy down, and he 
wasn't even trying to kill us. I don't want to think what an eight-foot 
slavering wolf would do to you."
"I don't know if I agree with you, Sam," said another man slowly.
"About being able to handle a wolf?"
"No, about this guy not trying to kill us. The SOB tried to go for my throat."

Sam looked from the unconscious form to the hunter and back again. And another 
hunter said, "Maybe he's some kind of wild man. Like Tarzan."
"This isn't Africa, shit-fer-brains. This is Canada. Come on." He slung his 
rifle and, slipping his hands under the man's shoulders, lifted. He grunted 
under the weight. "Some of you mama's boys help me, will ya?"
Moments later they had the man trussed up and they carted him the half-mile to 
Sam's parked 4X4. "One, two, three," gasped Sam, and they hurled him roughly 
into the back. He had just been starting to come around, but luckily for the 
hunters he landed on his head and went back to dreamland again. One of them 
shook his head. "So what the hell do we do with him? Have him stuffed and 
mounted?"
"Only thing should be stuffed around here is you," said Sam in irritation. 
"We'll bring him to the hospital, to the psycho ward. That's the only real place 
for him."
"Think we can get any money for him?"
Sam gave him a withering glance. "Yeah, sure. And maybe they pay by the pound, 
y'idjit." He shook his head in disgust as he climbed into the cab of the 4 x 4.
Within moments he was leading a small procession back to town. Truth to tell, 
most of the men were actually glad that this had happened. Any excuse to get out 
of those godawful woods was an excuse that they grabbed at very happily.
Within the hour they were pulling up at the hospital. The full moon looked down 
at the clean white building and seemed to be saying, "Boy, you don't know what 
you're getting yourselves into."




"You found a what?" the nurse at receiving said.
Sam huffed impatiently. "Look, lady," he said to the rather beefy woman. "I got 
lots of other things to be taking care of. I'm bringing this guy into you folks, 
then he'll be your problem. My men are bringing him in now—wrapping him up in a 
blanket, just so he won't shock any biddies getting over a heart condition."
The nurse's face darkened at the casual insult to the patients. "If there's some 
exhibitionist running around, you should bring him to the police. Not here."
"The police?" He snorted in disdain. "Listen, sweets, if they were capable of 
doing any kind of job at all, they'd have caught the thing that's going around 
and ripping the citizens to shreds. And furthermore—"
The furthermore was never said, because Sam was interrupted by a shout of alarm. 
He turned quickly, already knowing what he was going to see.
Sure enough, here came the bruiser down the hallway. He had obviously come 
around while the others were trying to cart him into the hospital. "Can't 
y'idjits do anything right?" shouted Sam, but by this point it was already way 
too late for recriminations.
The naked man was charging down the hallway, frantically looking left and right, 
presumably for an exit. Trailing ends of rope dangled from his wrists. Obviously 
he had snapped his bonds, and Sam made a mental note of astonishment. He'd used 
rope to tie the man up that had once served in good stead for mountain climbing. 
Just how strong was he, anyway?
What they were getting now was a replay of the scene in the forest, except this 
time the man was moving faster and with greater certainty. He had tossed the 
blanket aside, unconcerned about his nudity, and somewhere along the way he had 
learned the advantages of clenching a fist. He slammed one hunter across the 
face with enough impact that a tooth flew out of the victim's mouth and scooted 
across the polished floor. Others were jumping on him, trying to drag him down, 
but he kept his balance much better this time and wasn't about to be knocked 
over again.
The nurse was frantically shouting for help into the intercom. Sam, his 
now-bandaged nose still aching, felt no particular desire to throw himself 
headlong into this particular brouhaha, and was more than content to watch the 
others get themselves massacred. Better them than me, he thought reasonably.
"Kick 'im in the nuts!" Sam called out helpfully. "Y' got a big enough target 
there!''
"You kiddin'?" called back Mac Lebartoux, clutching desperately onto the naked 
man's back. "You wanna make him mad?"
The man reached around, grabbed Mac by the scruff of the neck and hurled him 
against the water fountain. It knocked the water cooler over, ripping out the 
old, rusting pipe, and within seconds water was gushing from the wall. People 
started sliding all over as the hallway began to flood.
The naked man turned, surprised as cold water ran around his bare feet, and then 
he caught his reflection in the highly polished metal of the overturned water 
cooler.
The hunters started to regroup themselves, then paused as they watched their 
erstwhile captive slowly approach the fountain. The water, pouring merrily from 
the wall pipe, once would have been enough to catch his interest, but it was 
seeing his face in the metal of the fountain that now had caused him to pull all 
other interests aside.
He crouched down, his mouth open, as he stared at his face.
One of the hunters muttered, "What the hell is wrong with that guy?"
He turned his head very slightly from side to side, never removing his gaze from 
his own reflection. He brought his hand up, touched the end of his nose and then 
extended his hand past that, as though expecting it to continue. Then, slowly, 
he reached up and back and touched his ears. He felt the odd curve of them, 
pulled lightly on the lobe.
Then, with both hands, he felt his face, like a bearded man who had just been 
shaved. He whimpered slightly and, once again, he spoke.
"Where is self's head?" he asked no one in particular.
The sounds of running feet alerted him, and he stood quickly just as four 
orderlies came running up. They skidded to a halt, one of them literally so as 
he fell flat on his ass and hydroplaned several yards down the hallway.
The orderly in the lead, the biggest, was still several inches shorter than the 
out-of-control mental case, but he looked a lot more confident. "Okay, nature 
boy," he said soothingly. "Don't make any move. No one's going to hurt you."
The orderly behind him was moving closer, and he was holding a large white 
straitjacket. The naked man didn't know what it was, but he was clearly able to 
tell that it wasn't something designed to make life better for him. He backed 
away, snarling, and then tripped over the fallen water fountain.
Within seconds the orderlies were on top of him. He roared, and started to 
struggle to his feet.
That was when he felt a sharp pain in his right buttock. He spun, looking around 
in confusion, and saw one of the orderlies holding a hypodermic.
"No need to keep on running around, getting yourself all worked up," said the 
orderly. "You're gonna take a nice long nap now. That okay by you?''
The naked man turned quickly to run, and suddenly realized that the lower half 
of his body had gone completely numb. Having no control at all, he thudded to 
the ground, where he lay helplessly as the others quickly shoved him into the 
strange white garment they had brought along. Water had stopped pouring out of 
the broken pipe—maintenance people had shut off the water at its source, which 
was going to royally honk off patients until the break could be repaired.
The nurse shook her head slowly and dazedly. "Incredible. I am… really 
impressed."
"Aw," said Sam modestly, "me and my boys, we're nothing all that special."
She eyed him disdainfully. "I wasn't talking about you." She nodded towards the 
unmoving form who was being buckled into the straitjacket. "I was talking about 
him."
"Oh."
And as the naked man slid towards unconsciousness, the last image he took with 
him was his own reflection. His eyes, staring out from somebody else's face.
When he awoke, he was in a padded cell.





' I lay there, afraid to move for some time. I was inside, in a human cave, I 
figured, because I was in some sort of enclosure. But it wasn't rocky. It was 
completely covered with something, I didn't know what.
"And then I realized something. Whatever it was, I was seeing it the way that I 
had always seen things. In shades of gray. None of that strange visual sensation 
that I had no words for… what you would call 'color. ' All gone.
"Slowly I lifted up my head and slid my tongue out. I felt the welcome sharpness 
of my teeth, touched the cold nose and elegant muzzle.
' I stood, and felt piles of heavy cloth fall away from me. I didn't know how, I 
didn't know why, but I was a wolf again.
"Somehow it was over. That bizarre, awful state where I had been wearing a 
human's body—where I had understood the human speech and even somehow responded 
in kind—it was all over. I inhaled deeply, pricking up my wonderful ears, 
overjoyed to have myself back again. I tilted my head back and started to let 
out a full-blown howl when I cut myself off. I still had no clear idea of where 
I was, how I had gotten there. If there were more humans lurking about, I didn't 
dare alert them.
' I thought of the rest of the pack, and then a sudden thought struck me. Had 
they been transformed into humans as well? Anything seemed possible. Remember, I 
had no idea that it had been the bite of the creature I'd fought that effected 
the change. I didn't know how it had happened or, for that matter, even if it 
had. All knew was that I wanted to get out.
"Kicking off the last of the obnoxious cloth, I walked slowly across the floor. 
I was astounded. I'd never felt anything quite like it. My paws just sank into 
it with every step. The walls were made of the same material. It was the oddest 
rock I'd ever seen.
' 'We don't have a large number of padded cells in the forest, you see.''




The wolf traced the perimeter of the cell several times. Then he stood against 
the wall, bracing his forelegs against it, and tore at with his claws. To his 
surprise some of it ripped away, allowing large puffy material to spring out.
Food? he thought. Food for self? He clamped down on some with his jaws and 
immediately let go. But now some was stuck in his teeth, and he made disgusted 
noises as he endeavored to get it out.
Human food, he thought disdainfully.
He travelled the perimeter once more, then urinated at several points to mark 
this cave as his territory. He wasn't certain if he would be staying, or even if 
he really wanted to keep it as territory, but there were certain forms of 
behavior that simply had to be observed.
There was some sort of sound then, a click from a nearby wall. The wolf stood 
immobile, waiting to see what had caused it. When venturing in the lands of 
humans, one could never be too careful.
To his astonishment a wall actually began to open inward. Not an entire wall. 
Only a small portion, and now a human female stepped into the room.
The wolf was surprised. He had not seen a human female before, yet instinctively 
he knew this was one. Also, every other human he'd ever seen carried a death 
stick. He had assumed it was pretty much standard issue, like fangs for a wolf. 
But this human carried none. Maybe only human males had them.
She stepped into the room and stopped. He was certain that she had scented him, 
but she wasn't even looking his way. He forgot that humans only used their noses 
for decoration.
The human female was staring at the pile of cloth the wolf had left behind. Then 
she looked to the left and then the right, and that was when she spotted the 
wolf, who had been partly hidden by the open door. She gasped, her mouth flying 
to her hand, and the wolf growled and barked a warning.
Her mouth moved but no sound came out—something very unusual where humans were 
concerned. And then she found her voice and screamed some words in human talk. 
Strange how earlier, in that curious time when self had been a human, such words 
were understandable. Not now, though. Nor was there time to try to figure out 
the oddities of this.
The wolf leaped towards the female and she pinwheeled out of the way, gritting 
her teeth against the moment when the slavering animal's jaws would sink into 
her.
As if the wolf could care less.
The wolf darted right past her and lit out down the hallway of the hospital. 
Immediately the wolf realized he had seriously underestimated the situation.
Everywhere! he thought frantically. Human smell, everywhere! Where is forest? 
Where is pack? Where is self?
He tried to skid to a halt, to get his bearings, and he slid a few more feet 
before stopping. Screams came from behind him, which set off more screams in 
front of him. He saw an open area to the side and, pivoting, headed that way.
There were humans all over, dozens of them. All of them reacted in exactly the 
same way when they saw him. They shrieked and ran for cover. All sorts of 
humans, male and female, small ones and older ones (he could tell these from the 
stench of decay that hung on them) and they were all running from self.
Running from self! For the first time! The wolf felt a small exultation of 
power. Well, this was certainly preferable to being the hunted. He paused and 
barked at a small human, who gave a most satisfying shriek.
None of these humans were carrying death sticks. Maybe that was what gave all 
humans their powers. If only wolves could get a few death sticks, all their 
problems would be over.
More shouts and yells, and the wolf glanced behind him. More humans were running 
towards him, and these didn't look afraid. They looked very upset, and they were 
pointing at him.
The wolf turned and ran. More humans scattered from his way, and he rounded a 
corner, sliding again and knocking over a large plant. Dirt was all over the 
floor, and the wolf was furious that he was now leaving tracks, but it couldn't 
be helped.
More humans in front. The wolf spun and there were humans behind, but fewer. The 
wolf let out a snarl of rage, the same sound he made to freeze an animal before 
he pounced. It worked quite admirably on the humans. He charged them and, as 
they fell over themselves to get out of his way, the wolf leaped over them. His 
leap carried him past a gurney where his right hind leg caught a claw on a 
sheet, pulling it off. He fell and became momentarily entangled in the sheet, 
then angrily yanked it off with his teeth. Then he bolted down another hallway.
The floor turned from smooth to carpeted. A totally different sensation as, 
instead of the clicking of his claws marking every step, he was moving silently 
once again.
He saw daylight and ran towards it.
There was a clear wall ahead and to the left. Stepping through it, the same way 
that the female had done earlier, was another human. This one was a male, and at 
first the wolf paid him no mind except as an object standing between him and 
freedom. The male caught sight of the wolf and froze, and the wolf did likewise.
A scent overwhelmed him.
Self-death! screamed through his mind. The scent was all over this human! No—not 
all over! Coming from! Self-death was part of this human! Self-death—
—was this human.
The wolf was not a reasoning animal. All was instinct. The scent, the smell, the 
now—that was what mattered. But now the wolf began to reason.
This human had the self-death scent of the creature. This human had to be the 
creature, but now looked like a human.
But had been the creature that was self-like.
Just as self had become human-like.
The wolf leaped to the conclusion that somehow the self-death creature, the man, 
and the wolf's foray into the physical world of humanity were all connected.
It was a great deal for a wolf to assimilate—too much, in fact. It occurred to 
the wolf that life would be much easier if the majority of the equation ceased 
to be.
It also occurred to the wolf that the human in front of him, if it were indeed 
somehow also the self-death creature, was responsible not only for his own 
plight, but for the death of several pack members.
The wolf growled loudly and leaped towards the human.
With a shriek the human swung up the only weapon he had—a large black briefcase, 
made of the finest grain of leather. The weight of the wolf bore him to the 
ground, and the infuriated animal's jaws clamped down on the briefcase. The wolf 
let go, tried to get a better grip, but once again managed only to get a 
mouthful of leather.
The human struggled under the wolf, tried to shove him off. He screamed for help 
as the terrified nurse sat at the reception desk, petrified beyond ability to do 
anything constructive. The wolf's thrashing claws struck upwards and ripped a 
vicious scar across his cheek.
With a twist of his muzzle the wolf ripped the briefcase out of the man's hands. 
He saw the exposed throat, saw his chance, and struck forward.
His furiously snapping jaws missed their mark by a quarter of an inch. The 
struggling self-death human had clamped onto the wolf's throat with the kind of 
strength that was only born of desperation. With every bit of power he had, the 
human kept the wolf's vicious teeth barely at bay. He grunted something in that 
now-unintelligible human language as the wolf tried to shove his head forward. 
Tried to clamp down on and tear out the throat of the creature that had so 
disrupted his life.
A gunshot cracked over the wolf's head.
The instinct to kill, to rid the world of this unnatural thing he was fighting, 
was promptly overridden by another, more powerful instinct: survival. When the 
wolf heard that familiar sound, he immediately released his grip, vaulting over 
the head of the flattened human. There were frantic, shouted words from behind 
him, but he didn't even stop to listen. Risking a quick glance around, he saw 
another human, further down the hallway, holding a small death stick in both 
hands and swinging it around.
In front of the wolf was daylight. There was something between him and the 
outside, but there didn't seem to be any difficulty in going through it. The 
wolf leaped forward and, to his shock, hit something that didn't seem remotely 
interested in letting him through.
The barrier shuddered under the impact of the wolf's weight and the animal fell 
back, scrambling around frantically to take another try at it. Then his howl of 
pain combined with the second retort of a gun as a bullet grazed his flank. The 
pain adding new speed and urgency, the wolf lunged forward once again. This time 
the leap carried him through as he hit the obstruction and it shattered before 
him, a thousand pieces cascading all around him. His paws crunched on glass and 
shards were all through his fur, but at least he was out.
Pedestrians who jumped back at the crash were even more terrified when they saw 
what had caused it. They started to shriek. A woman dropped her groceries, 
another woman dropped her baby. A man bolted from the scene, and a passing car 
had to slam on its brakes to avoid hitting him. Another car then rear-ended the 
first one.
Awash with confusion and noise, the wolf didn't know which way to turn. Picking 
one direction arbitrarily, the wolf bolted. Humans scrambled to get out of his 
way, which was just fine by him.




' 'The noise was just—overwhelming,'' said Josh. ' 'No matter which way I 
turned, humans were shouting, cars were screeching and honking. I was so 
completely out of my element that part of me just wanted to roll over and put my 
paws up in the air and say 'The hell with it. I give up. I surrender.' You see, 
I came from a place where pretty much the loudest thing around was my pack in 
full howl. But in the city, such a noise wouldn't have even made a dent. And 
this was a very small city. By your definition, practically a one-horse town. A 
'burb. But already this 'burb was a mass of noise and noxious smells. I think 
it's called 'progress.'




Save self, the wolf thought frantically. Tail between his legs, he started to 
run down the middle of the street. Cars swerved to get out of his way, honking 
furiously and confusing him all the more.
(More sound. More screaming and screeching. Smell of something burning as human 
carry-things suddenly stop. More and more humans, shouting every second. 
Strange, incomprehensible things.
Are carry-things alive? Must be. Don't smell alive, but they have angry voice 
that sounds like howl.
Howl back. Howling back by self causes more panic. Humans seem surprised. Maybe 
humans thought self was dog. Self isn't flattered by that.
Suddenly the air is alive with a much angrier human carry-thing.
Spin. Sniff. Eyes go wide as large carry-thing approaches with strange, spinning 
light on top.)
The wolf was momentarily mesmerized by the twirling, glowing orb atop the car. 
Then humans exploded out both sides of the vehicle, snapping the wolf from his 
paralysis. He spun and started to run as fast as he could.
There was a soft, deceptively peaceful sound behind him, then a small pain, and 
his hindquarters were lifted up, propelled forward so that they almost caught up 
with his front. Something had hit him from behind—he had no idea what it was.
It had only taken a moment, but even as his feet dropped back to the ground, he 
became suddenly aware that he was losing all feeling in his nether regions. Now 
he was crawling on his belly like a lowly bug, scraping his soft underside on 
the oil-and-dirt-slicked grime of the street.
There was another soft, spitting sound and another pain, this one between the 
shoulder blades. The city began to slip sideways, and the wolf thought, Self Is 
leaving Insane place. Even if self is dying, at least will be away from place.
The wolf made one final attempt to lunge forward and then collapsed, slipping 
into unconsciousness.
And he was right. He would be getting away… although he had absolutely no notion 
just how far away.



5
Doctor Parsons, sitting at his neatly organized, minimum-of-muss-desk, leaned 
across it and said to the nurse, "Now tell me again, Nurse Dover—what the hell 
happened?"
"I—" Clearly shaken, she closed her eyes, shook it off and started again. "The 
John Doe who'd been brought in the night before was eaten by a wolf. And when I 
opened the door to his room the wolf ran past me and tried to—''
"Hold it." Parsons ran his fingers through his gray-streaked hair. "You actually 
saw the wolf consuming the John Doe?"
"Well, no. I saw the clothes on the floor, and the J.D. was gone. I just 
assumed…"
Parsons quickly sorted through the many reports on his desk and pulled out one. 
Sliding a pair of thin-rimmed glasses down over his face and studying it, he 
said, "They found no trace of the body at all."
"I told you, it must have eaten that poor man."
"Everything? The bones, too? And it lapped up all the blood from the floor?"
"I -"
"Look, Dover," he said gently. "I'm not interested in trying to blow holes in 
your story here. I'm just trying to be very certain about this. Is it vaguely 
possible that the John Doe ran past you when you opened the door? Or that he 
escaped? I know you were the nurse on duty and therefore you'd be responsible, 
but I'll tell you right now I wouldn't be upset, if—-"
"If what? If I just confess?" Angrily she started ticking off statements on her 
fingers, "First, the door was bolted, as per procedure. The lock hadn't been 
tampered with. No one got out. Second, no matter how startled I was, no matter 
how frightened I was, I would have noticed a John Doe as big as a house shoving 
his way past me. Third—-"
"Okay, okay," he said with a smile, putting up his hands. "You win."
"Well, good." She returned the smile. "Because, actually, I didn't have a third. 
Doctor Parsons… what happened? Where'd the wolf come from? Where'd the John Doe 
go?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," lied Doctor Parsons.




Sheriff Henri LeRoq was a faintly unpleasant man… the kind who, when you met 
him, gave you the oddest feeling that he'd recently been lurking underneath your 
bedroom window. His black hair was thinning, and his ferretlike face was always 
decorated with a three-day growth of beard.
He sat in his cluttered office, thoughtfully studying a crossword puzzle. He 
looked up at Doctor Parsons, who was standing over him and glancing around 
distastefully. "You're a doc, aren't you, Ed?"
Edward Parsons, who was addressed as Ed by no one else in the town, inclined his 
head slightly.
"You know Latin?" He held up the crossword and tapped 5 down.
Parsons glanced at it only a moment. "Caveat," he said. "The phrase is Caveat 
Emptor."
"Okay." He obediently scratched it in. "Medical term?"
"Only for patients shopping around."
"Oh." The pleasant thing about LeRoq was that he never pretended to understand 
something he didn't, which was frequently. "So." He leaned back, abruptly 
returning to the original subject of discussion. "You want the wolf I caught? 
The one who'd been running around your hospital?"
"That's right."
"Why?"
"Because," he said patiently, "we wanted to study it carefully to make sure it 
wasn't the one that was attacking people."
LeRoq frowned. "From what Doc DeFalco was going around saying, you're looking 
for something eight feet long. This is a plain, ordinary timber wolf. He's eight 
feet like I'm eight feet."
"In that case, we'd like to have him for dissection purposes. We have a 
residents' program—"
"Look, Ed." LeRoq patiently waved off the suggestion. "No one's cutting up this 
wolf. If you gotta know, I got a friend who runs a zoo in New York. Most popular 
exhibit they got is wolves. And one of the wolves just died. So I'm sending this 
one there."
"I really wouldn't," said Parsons urgently.
LeRoq stared at him with open curiosity. "Why the hell not?"
"I… simply don't think that would be wise."
LeRoq absentlymindedly doodled in the margin of the crossword puzzle. "Well, I 
think it would," he replied. "Gives us one less wolf to worry about. And gets me 
a few bucks in my pocket, if you must know. So unless there's something special 
about this wolf you want to tell me about… ?"
"No." Parsons forced a smile. "No, not at all."
Parsons rose to leave, and LeRoq suddenly pointed to the doctor's cheek. "By the 
way, what the hell happened to your face?"
"This?" Parsons gingerly touched the gauze taped to his face. "Cut myself 
shaving."
"Uh-huh. From what I hear, the wolf did it to you."
Parsons laughed bitterly and extended his hands, palms down. "You got me, 
officer. Slap the cuffs on me. Charge me with stupidity in the first degree. I 
walked into the hospital in the morning, figuring I'd start a normal day, and 
found an escaped wolf facing me. Then he jumped me. If one of our security 
people hadn't started shooting—"
"Wolves are generally pretty timid," said LeRoq thoughtfully. "For him to have 
jumped you, you must have done something to upset him."
"Upset him?" Parsons snorted. "I'd say that I was the upset one in our little 
tussle. Son of a bitch tried to take my head off.''
"Any idea why?"
Parsons rubbed his neck. Eyes glittering, he lied once again. "Haven't the 
faintest idea."




Parsons sat in his living room and watched the moon rise.
A sliver was missing from the left-hand side of the orb. No more full moon, not 
for another month. Parsons rubbed his hands together, studying the backs of them 
as if expecting to see something that wasn't there.
The phone rang.
He picked it up and an operator said "Collect call for anyone from Duncan. Will 
you accept?"
"Yes."
There was a pause and then a gruff voice said "Hi, curse-brother. ''
"Hello, Duncan."
"I had a feeling something was bothering you. So I thought I'd give you a buzz." 
He yawned. " 'Scuse me. Just woke up."
"You sleep all day. How can you be tired already? Jesus."
He could practically feel the wincing at the other end. "How many times have I 
asked you not to say that name? Hmmm? How would you like it if I kept saying 'Hi 
ho Silver' to you?"
"I always hated that program," said Parsons in irritation. "Look—something's 
come up. Something really unnatural."
"That's quite a mouthful, coming from you to me."
"Maybe. Now here's what I need you to do…"



6
"Some wolves, or so I've heard, " said Joshua, "have been caught in traps and 
become so desperate to escape that they've gnawed off their own legs. In the 
past I've never been able to imagine doing such a thing. But during my stay at 
the Flushing Meadow Zoo, I would have gnawed off my own head if it would have 
done any good.''



Queens was beginning to return to life.
It had been a particularly difficult winter. The snow had been unrelenting, it 
seemed—as soon as the snowbanks from an earlier dumping had begun to melt, more 
snow had come blowing down from Canada. And Queens, the borough which once upon 
a time had been forgotten by Mayor Lindsay when it came time to send out 
snowplows, still ached from that years-old insult. So natives of Queens were 
more sensitive than other New Yorkers when winter reared its frosty head.
During heavy snows people had a tendency to want to find someone to 
blame—weathermen, terrorists, Mayor Penn— anybody, rather than acknowledge that 
weather was random and unfair.
Now, however, signs of spring were finally beginning to show themselves. The 
high temperature had stuck at the forty-eight degree mark for the better part of 
a week and was now muscling its way into the fifties. Another week of warming 
temperatures was predicted. Even better, since humans have short memories, no 
one could recall the last time that the street had been covered by ice. Snow 
tires were being optimistically removed, chains being stored in trunks. Service 
stations drastically cut their orders on their next shipments of dry gas and 
began putting out signs promoting spring tune-ups.
And, on this particular Saturday, Queens residents ventured out into Flushing 
Meadow Park.
Built entirely on landfill, Flushing Meadow Park covered an area larger than 
that of some cities. Its major (indeed, only) claim to fame was that it had 
hosted two World's Fairs, one in the 1930's and the other in the 1960's. During 
those times the park had throbbed and pulsed with life. Exhibits from all over 
the globe dotted the park, and everywhere one went there were places to go, 
things to see, trinkets to buy, lines to stand in.
Since the second World's Fair, the park had been like one of those inflatable 
sex dolls with all the air let out of it.
Oh, there were remnants of the Fairs, to be sure. The Unisphere, a huge metal 
globe, was still the massive centerpiece of the land. Several other structures 
still remained, although some, such as the New York Pavillion, had been defaced 
by vandals.
On this Saturday, children (whose parents themselves were children during the 
more recent World's Fair) romped through the huge walkways—walkways designed for 
ten times the number of people enjoying the afternoon. They tugged at their 
parents' sleeves, begging to buy a large pink-and-white balloon from one of the 
forlorn-looking vendors. Or to ride on the lone merry-go-round. Some were on 
their way to the Queens Science Museum, a round building with several rocket 
ships pointed upwards outside, aimed wistfully at the skies that would be 
forever denied them.
And some kids wanted to go to the zoo.
Why anyone wanted to go to the Flushing Meadow Zoo, in a city where the 
magnificent Bronx Zoo was only forty-five minutes away, is unknown. Probably for 
the same reason most people went anywhere: because it was there.
The zoo consisted of a large circular pathway extending from, and back around 
to, its gate. The path ringed a circular patch of small trees, dirt and shrubs 
that were disinterestedly maintained. Along the perimeter of the path was an 
assortment of small cages, many of them empty for as long as anyone could 
remember. There were also several landscapes, carefully created to have a 
natural look from where handfuls of animals stared out at the human passersby in 
a desultory manner. A heavy air of lethargy hung over the entire place.
Only one group of animals ever elicited any measurable response at all. On this 
particular day a mother was out with her four-year-old and her eight-year-old. 
The four-year-old pointed with great enthusiasm and cried out, "Doggies!"
"No, Toby," said his mother patiently. "Those are wolves." She glanced around 
and abruptly realized, with the kind of distant dread that mothers feel, that 
she had lost track of her older child. "Hank!" she called out. Holding onto 
Toby's hand, she quickly retraced her steps, forgetting to cut down her stride 
and causing Toby's feet to fly out from under him.
Meantime Hank, hiding in the bushes, saw his chance and bolted towards the 
wolves' section. There was a rusted fence about waist high that Hank easily 
climbed over. Below him was a deep, angled cement ditch, and on the other side 
of the ditch was the edge of the wolf home.
With the overwhelming suicidal tendencies that only eight-year-old boys, 
oblivious to their own mortality, can possess, Hank quickly slid down one side 
of the embankment and then crawled up the other side.
He hopped over the lip of the embankment and now stood there in the wolf 
enclosure, a good seven feet across from the pedestrian area and safety.
The wolf enclosure was a large, rocky terrain with artificially constructed 
cliffs for the wolves to sun themselves on. At the moment three wolves were 
visible, all lying about and taking it easy, for there really wasn't all that 
much else to do.
The boy marched up to them until he was barely six feet away and, 
inappropriately in Queens, gave a Bronx cheer at the closest wolf. Then he 
yelled a few choice words he'd heard his father say the last time a taxi had cut 
them off.
At this point his mother heard his voice and turned to see where it was coming 
from. Her immediate scream jolted the peaceful air of the zoo, causing heads to 
snap around and one elderly woman to reflexively clutch at her heart before she 
even knew what was happening.
"HANK!" she shrieked. "Get out of there this instant!"
Hank, a tousle-headed youngster who was showing a splendid chance of not living 
to see his hair turn gray and fall out, ignored her. That's what mothers were 
for, after all.
Then he saw something that he did not like at all. Those lazy wolves that had 
been staring at him with boredom were getting to their feet. In an unspoken 
unity of purpose they were now slowly approaching the boy, their mouths open and 
their pink tongues visible. Their sharp, pointed teeth were now clearly showing, 
and they were looking at him in the same way that Hank had once seen the family 
cat look at an ill-starred mouse that had been caught away from its hole.
Wolves were not capable of smiling, and yet Hank had the abrupt feeling that 
they were grinning at him in a very unpleasant manner.
He nervously whistled an aimless tune as his mother continued to scream his name 
hysterically, as if repetition would magically transport the boy to her side. 
Now a crowd was gathering, and they were all shouting helpful things like "Get 
out of there!" and "Stupid kid!" and "He's had it now." All these were 
sentiments that Hank suddenly realized had merit.
He started to back up very quickly, some instinct making him realize that 
turning and bolting would be the very worst thing he could do. He had not yet 
fully realized his primary transgression—that he'd violated the territorial 
imperative of the wolves. That they saw him, not particularly as lunch, but as 
an intruder. A threat. And threats were generally dispatched, quickly, without 
fuss.
He heard a low growl behind him and risked a look over his shoulder. There was 
another wolf there, one that had come up from behind and cut him off. Quickly 
Hank altered his retreat path, so that he was running parallel to the edge of 
the embankment. The fourth wolf joined the other three and they started to pick 
up the pace, growling low in their throats. He backed up faster and faster and 
his back hit something solid. It was an outcropping of rock, which blocked his 
last hope of escape.
People were screaming for the police, for the zookeepers, for anybody.
The wolves bore down on him and Hank, his own death suddenly looming in front of 
him, let loose a scream of unadulterated panic. "MOMMEEEE!" he howled.
"Hank!" she screamed back and, regardless of the danger, started to throw one 
leg over the fence, stretching out her arms frantically.
A shadow fell over Hank and he looked up, fearing the worst.
Overhead was a fifth wolf, standing on the rocks above and looking down. He was 
large and gray, and even Hank could sense that there was something different 
about this wolf. Something wilder, something more vibrant. He looked up into the 
wolf's eyes, and noticed that one was green and the other yellow. In a voice as 
small as he was, he said, "Help."
The wolf leaped.
He landed between the boy and the other wolves and faced the boy a moment, 
eyeing him with unabashed curiosity. Then, amazingly, he turned away and faced 
the other wolves.
The wolf barked and snapped at the others and they closed ranks, looking at each 
other with some uncertainty. One of them half-heartedly returned a growl at the 
gray wolf, but the latter quickly established his dominance by striding forward 
and barking right in the challenger's face. He growled like a rusty lawnmower 
and the challenger immediately backed down, flopping onto his back and exposing 
his belly in submission.
The gray wolf snorted and, turning to the boy, stared at him with a look that 
was utterly unmistakable. Its meaning was clear.
Beat it.
Not one to pass up an opportunity to live, the boy bolted away. The gray wolf 
watched him go as the others, who by now had already lost interest in the 
intruder, wandered back to what they were doing earlier (which wasn't much of 
anything).




' 'It was the oddest thing,'' said Joshua. ' 'But at that point I was already 
feeling a degree of kinship with humanity— perhaps even more so than I had with 
wolves. Certainly with those wolves. " He sniffed in disdain. "The sorriest pack 
of losers I'd ever encountered. At the time of the incident with the boy, I'd 
been there barely two weeks and I was already the unchallenged pack head. The 
dominant wolf had barely contested my claim.
"Part of me was very frightened. As I've said, I had little to no time concept, 
no thorough comprehension of things like 'the future'. But deep inside me there 
was already this actual dread developing. A concern that, somehow, I might end 
up as dispirited and bored as the wolves who'd been there before me. After all, 
I had no idea where they had come from. Perhaps their circumstances matched 
mine, in which case I might indeed wind up overcome by the lethargy that was 
upon them.
' 'It was not a pleasant consideration.''



Word spread throughout the zoo of the wolf who had saved the young boy. Of how 
the wolf had stopped the rest of the pack while the boy scrambled back down and 
up the embankment to safety. In the retelling the story grew until the wolf had 
singlehandedly staved off the hungry advances of a dozen slavering, snarling 
animals, with much blood and torn fur in evidence.
All of which mattered little to the wolf.
He lay there the rest of the day, showing little interest in the new attention 
and even less in the other wolves. The one female in the pack was of no interest 
to him, not even if she had been in heat. The escape route that required going 
out the way the boy had might be open to him. Hell, he could probably even jump 
the gap if he absolutely had to. Most of them could.
The problem was: What then?
He had been unceremoniously dumped here. There were none of the familiar scents 
to guide him. The sky looked wrong. There were barely any trees to speak of. He 
had no idea where to go or what to do.
Fortunately that hideous experience of becoming a human had not recurred. In 
fact, the entire incident was fast fading from his limited memory, becoming 
classified under a strange category of "May have happened but probably didn't." 
None of which solved his problem.
When the wolves were fed, he ate with only the mildest of interest. By this 
point the number of passing humans had thinned and eventually there were no more 
to be seen, which was fine by him.
Slowly the sun set.
Moved by an interest in the night ingrained in them, the wolves now started to 
become more active. Still, none howled. It was almost as if they were afraid to 
draw attention to themselves. The gray wolf paid them only the slightest heed 
and then went on staring out at the great nothingness before him that was 
Flushing Meadow Park.
And then, for the first time in weeks, something happened that attracted his 
interest.
There was a smell.
He picked his head up. The wind was brisk that evening, carrying the smell to 
him faster than it might ordinarily have.
The smell sent a chill through him. It was the seond time in recent days that he 
had detected something that was unique, something that he had never smelled 
before.
This smell was just as horrifying as the earlier one had been, just as 
unnatural. For one brief moment the wolf mistook it for the scent of the 
self-death. But it was not.
No, whatever this was, it smelled of death, but of a different kind. This was 
the aroma of the already dead, of the rotting corpse, of life already having 
flown.
The wolf brought his head around and searched with his keen eyes for the source 
of the aroma. From nearby another of the wolves made a low, nervous noise in his 
throat. He had detected it too, but, unlike the gray wolf, who was already 
becoming immune to the effects of these unnatural odors, this wolf was somewhat 
unnerved.
The gray wolf did not have far to search. There, on the other side of the 
embankment, was a figure. Cloaked in darkness, not to mention a billowing London 
Fog raincoat, the figure was standing there, hands thrust deep into its pockets. 
The wolf growled softly, a warning not to come any nearer. There had already 
been one trespass this day, and the wolf was definitely not in the mood for a 
second one. Particularly a trespass by a creature whose scent reminded him of 
rotting corpses.
Now the other wolves had caught the scent as well and they made their way 
towards the pack leader, towards the gray wolf, whining their inquiries. The 
wolf gave no response to his fellows, instead focussing all his attention on the 
intruder. The fur on the nape of his neck rose and he stood, his tail straight 
out and every nerve in his body tingling.
He glided off the rock, a gray shadow, and headed towards the edge of the 
embankment. The other wolves followed, keeping several feet back. Whether this 
was out of respect for the leader or simply due to plain, out-and-out cowardice 
was uncertain.
They stood there at the edge, separated by a gap that no longer seemed 
imprisoning but instead, friendly. It was no longer a gap between them and 
freedom, but between them and the source of the scent of—
—of what? Of dead-but-not-dead.
The gray wolf growled a warning to the dead-but-not-dead figure standing there, 
a warning whose tone was unmistakable.
The figure stood there unmoving for a moment. Then it called back to the wolf. 
Its words were low, almost musical— the exact meaning was unclear, but its 
intent was plain. The dead-but-not-dead being wanted to come over to the wolf's 
side.
The gray wolf hesitated in surprise, and one of the others said urgently, "It 
wants to come here," thereby confirming the gray wolf's own assessment of the 
situation. "Let it. Surely we can destroy this intruder.''
The gray wolf considered the advice and rejected it. "It's not an intruder yet," 
he replied. "Let us keep it that way."
The figure took a step forward so that it was right at the fence. The barrier 
was flimsy, polite rather than functional, but nevertheless the 
dead-but-not-dead wouldn't cross it. It put out its hands and called again to 
the wolves, who watched it unblinkingly. There was fire in their eyes, and their 
collective message was as unmistakable as that of the dead-but-not-dead: Stay 
away. This is our place, and you are not welcome here.
The figure uttered something in a low, angry tone. It seemed to start to move 
towards the others but halted, grinding its teeth, as if a giant unseen hand 
were holding it back. It stood there for a moment, caught up in its silent 
struggle, a fly thrashing in an invisible web. Then, with a noise torn from its 
throat that most certainly did not sound human, the dead-but-not-dead turned 
away with a swirl of its London Fog coat. It stalked across the path, and mist 
seemed to surround it. The wolves squinted, for although their night vision was 
excellent, they had lost track of the intruder.
And when the mist cleared, the dead-but-not-dead was gone.
One of the wolves, in a nervous tone, said to the gray one, ' 'You meet the 
strangest smell of people in this city.''
The gray wolf made a disdainful noise. "You should smell some of the humans I've 
run into."




Dr. Edward Parsons' phone rang while he was in the shower.
Growling deeply inhuman sounds in his throat, he tied off his white terrycloth 
robe and stalked through the hallway, leaving a trail of sopping footprints 
behind him. He grabbed up the jangling phone in his bedroom, hoping that the 
call wasn't about some tawdry emergency at the hospital. Even though he was the 
administrator and didn't involve himself in day-to-day cases, every so often 
something came up that some piss-witted intern thought that the hospital's head 
should be called in on for consultation. As if Parsons gave a damn.
"Yeah?"
The operator's brisk voice came through the receiver. "Collect call for anyone 
from Mister Stoker. Will you accept?"
"Yeah, sure." He paused, making sure that the operator was clear of the line, 
and then said in irritation, "Mister Stoker. You're a riot, Duncan."
There was a snickering, Duncan clearly amused at his own joke. "You shouldn't 
take everything so seriously. You'll live longer."
"I'm immortal, you idiot!"
"Now, now. No need to get huffy. Or puffy."
"Enough of your anemic jokes. Have you found him?"
"I found the wolves, yeah. I'm not sure which one was your wolf. I couldn't get 
close enough to look at the eye coloring."
Parsons paused as the full meaning of this sank in. "Are you saying he's not 
dead? You didn't kill him?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."
"Why the hell not?"
"I couldn't get close enough."
Parsons still didn't understand. "Why the hell not?"
"Because…"
"Well?!"
"Because I wasn't invited."
Parsons sat there and stared at the phone as if it had come to life and taken a 
piece out of his ear. "Because you what?"
"Because I wasn't invited," he repeated, sounding even more irritated than 
before.
"You can't be serious!"
"That's the rules."
"Rules? Whose rules?! They're just a pack of flea-bitten wolves! Jesus Christ!"
"Don't say that," Duncan said in irritation.
"Are you telling me that invitation stuff is real?"
"I'm real. You're real. You, of all people, are going to question what's real 
and what's imagined? Yeah, Ed, it's real. I don't like crosses and religious 
shit, I don't reflect, which is why I always cut myself shaving, and I have to 
be invited into a non-public place."
"But it's a goddamn zoo!"
"So is my life," said Duncan in commiseration.
"No, I mean where the wolves are. It's not a human abode. It's not private. How 
can it be private? It's out in the open air and everything."
"It's private because the wolves made it that way. They're even more territorial 
than humans are. Humans don't go pissing on their apartments to mark them out 
with their own personal scents. The wolves have made that rocky enclosure their 
private place, and I can't enter unless they invite me."
"How can they invite you? They're a bunch of wolves! What are they supposed to 
do, send you an engraved note? RSVP? BYOB—Bring Your Own Blood?"
"So what was RSVP? Respond Soon Vampiric Person?"
"They can't invite you because they can't talk," said Parsons, forcing himself 
to be patient. "Doesn't that mitigate things just a bit?"
"No. It just makes things harder. Besides, if they wanted me in, they could have 
gotten their intentions across. Wolves and we have an understanding."
"Oh, right, how could I forget?" said Parsons, rolling his eyes. "The children 
of the night, with beautiful music and everything."
"Yeah, kind of. Believe me, they didn't want me there."
"Well, can't you shoot him or something? Bullets don't need invitations. They 
can go anywhere they damn well please."
"No. No action against anyone unless I'm invited in. That's the rule."
"I don't believe this! This is real life! Not some damn game show! I want that 
wolf dead. I don't need to worry about him getting back here somehow. Now I 
don't care how you do it, just do it."
"What's the big deal about this? Look, Ed," Duncan said, and his voice became 
more wheedling, "if this wolf is really what you say he is, then he's the first 
of a new breed. Don't you think that's kind of neat?"
"No. I think that's kind of dangerous. Especially when my scent makes him know 
who I am, what… I… am. I don't want to have to worry about him coming back here 
and exposing me."
"Exposing you how? Run up to the cops, barking urgently, and they're going to 
say 'Look! Something's bothering this wolf! I bet there's a werewolf in town and 
this wolf can lead us to him. And right after that, he'll lead us to the ditch 
that little Timmy's trapped in.' '
"Save the sarcasm, Duncan. I'm not interested in it. Just find some way to 
dispatch this wolf.''
"I'll have to give it some thought. I'll tell you, Parsons, it's a good thing 
we're old friends. I wouldn't take this abuse from just anybody.''
"I'm touched," said Parsons, and hung up.



7
Darlene stood forlornly on the platform and watched her favorite handbag, the 
denim one she got at Bloomie's, head towards Flushing.
She had not intended to send her handbag on a one-way trip. Moments before she 
had been sitting on the Flushing-bound #7 train, gazing out the window at the 
gorgeous day and trying to ignore the various obscene suggestions that graffiti 
artists had scribbled on the opposite wall. When the train pulled into the 
station she stood briskly, grateful that she had been able to get a seat. At 
just over five feet tall, she always had no end of difficulty managing to reach 
an overhead strap or handbar.
The doors opened to the elevated platform and she started forward. Then she 
froze, distressed by what she saw. Apparently this was the first train to come 
along since the Coolidge administration and the people on the elevated platform 
were packed on. Tossing aside the usual courtesy of allowing disembarking 
passengers to get off first, the oncoming passengers surged forward like 
lemmings.
For the larger, more powerful outgoing passengers, this presented only more of 
the usual difficulties of train-going life. Throwing elbows and shoulders and 
pelvis and any other jointed part of their body into it, they shoved their way 
through the solid moving wall of humanity.
Darlene found herself in, to put it mildly, trouble. Still, she hadn't been a 
New Yorker for this many years to be daunted by trivialities like physical 
impossibilities.
"Getting out!" was her battle cry as she hurled herself forward against the 
pulsing mass of humanity. She was stepped on, elbowed, jabbed, cursed, goosed, 
crunched, roughed up and bruised, but through it all she managed to hold on to 
something that was more indefiniably precious than anything else.
Not her dignity, no. No New Yorker holds onto that for any length of time.
No, it was her handbag. That was always the great trick of getting off a subway. 
Men reflexively checked their pockets to see if their wallets were still safely 
nestled, and women clutched onto their handbags as if they were life preservers.
The subway announcer uttered the usual gibberish, but the key phrase as always 
was crystal clear—"Watch the closing doors."
Darlene was still bucking the tide when those four dreaded words were uttered. 
If she were stuck on the train, God only knew how long it would take the system 
to get her back to her missed stop. And her friends were already at the zoo, 
probably already marching. With a slightly modified Tarzan yell, just as the 
doors began to close, she shoved her way through with a shoulder slam that would 
have been right at home in a Roller Derby game. She burst out onto the platform, 
which was still crowded with people who had been frustrated in their attempt to 
get on the long-awaited train.
The doors, true to the garbled announcer's voice, slammed shut.
On her handbag.
She didn't notice at first. She took a step forward and was brought sharply to a 
halt as her handbag refused to go any further. She turned in alarm and saw that 
the train had begun to eat her blue denim handbag.
The doors were not fully shut. The handbag hadn't allowed them to close, and the 
door edges were apart from each other by a gap of at least several inches.
Now Darlene, being an old-time New Yorker, knew that the subways were built with 
safety devices to prevent them from moving out if the doors weren't fully 
closed.
The train, oblivious to this fact, proceeded to move out.
Passengers who were still shellshocked from standing for ages on the platform 
didn't notice. Darlene started to run alongside her handbag, holding onto the 
straps and pulling angrily. "Let go of my bag, you idiot train!" she shouted 
repeatedly, and then more loudly, "Conductor! Stop the damned thing!"
Either the conductor simply didn't see her due to all the other people still on 
the platform, or he was simply asleep at the switch. All that mattered was that 
Darlene, sprinting alongside in her sneakered feet, suddenly saw the end of the 
platform coming towards her with hideous speed. And she was faced with a choice 
equally as hideous—write off the bag or, purely on moral grounds, allow herself 
to be pulped against the end of the station.
She released the bag, and stood there forlornly watching it chug away towards 
downtown Flushing. She sighed.
"Damn," she muttered. "I always liked that bag."




The bag got off at the next stop.
Since it only protruded an inch or so into the car, it went unnoticed, the 
majority of it hanging outside. When the train pulled into the next stop, the 
door opened and the bag fell into the gap between the edge of the platform and 
the train. It slithered through the openings in the elevated track and plunged 
downward to the street below, where it landed at the base of one of the steel 
uprights and nestled there, in the dimness.
And there it sat for the better part of a week, until it was discovered by a 
wandering fellow named Otto. Otto was, in today's more enlightened society, 
referred to as a homeless unfortunate. In a less enlightened time, he would have 
been tagged as a bum. Otto, with white whiskers sticking out of virtually every 
visible part of his body, did not particularly care that what he'd found was a 
woman's handbag. A bag was a bag, and this one seemed sturdier than many.
He glanced up as a train rumbled overhead and thanked, as was his custom, the 
unknown patron saint of bums. Then he rummaged through the bag, drew out the 
wallet and pulled out the money, three folded twenties and a five, and shoved it 
deep into his pocket. He almost threw out the wallet but, looking at the 
driver's license, decided that the young woman was pretty and reminded him 
vaguely of a daughter he thought he had once thirty-some years ago. So he stuck 
it back in his bag and shuffled off on his way.
All of this is remarkably pertinent, but not at the moment.
The handbag's meeting with Otto was yet to occur as a royally pissed Darlene 
stomped off the platform and down the stairs. She tried to rationalize her 
misfortune in that now she could run across the park to the zoo without having 
to worry about her handbag thudding against her compact, sturdy body. But this 
was small comfort.
Nevertheless she ran across the park, stopping every few minutes when she felt a 
twinge of pain in her right ankle. She had sprained it some months back and, 
even though she was largely recovered, she always tended to take it easy when 
she felt the slightest hint of pain.
Her fellow animal-righters were indeed already set up with petitions and huge 
signs by the time she arrived. She charged up, huffing loudly, in front of a 
tablecloth-covered card table and gasped out, "Sorry I'm late."
Her immediate supervisor, Amy Askith, looked up and icily transfixed her with a 
stare. "Darlene, I know this is your day off—it's all our day off. Still, you 
did promise you'd be here and since you did, the least you could do is—"
"Be here on time," Darlene finished. "Sorry. How's it going?" she said quickly, 
hoping to draw the topic of conversation away from herself.
Amy gave her a look that said clearly she knew damn well what Darlene was trying 
to do, but was going to let her get away with it… as long as they both knew what 
the score was. Amy had a jowly face, with the kind of facial wrinkles that came 
from worrying about everybody else's problems rather than her own, and a voice 
like nails on a chalkboard. With a sigh Amy slid a petition towards her. "Nine 
signatures," she said. "Sunday's one of their busiest days," and she chucked a 
thumb at the Flushing Meadow Zoo behind them. "At least a hundred people have 
walked past me. No one seems remotely interested in petitioning that this zoo be 
shut down, repaired. Doesn't anybody care about how animals are being treated?"
"Of course not," said Darlene. "Why should they? People don't care about how 
other people are treated, so why should they give a damn about animals?''
Amy stared at her. "What's this? Darlene the cheerful actually sounding 
depressed? What's your problem?''
Darlene's wide lips twitched in irritation. "Sorry. I always sounded cranky when 
I've watched my handbag roll away."
"Huh? Am I supposed to understand that?" Then, without waiting for a response 
she spoke quickly to a man with a "Giants" warm-up jacket who was going past 
her, a five-year-old boy firmly in tow. "Excuse me, sir—we're P.A.W."
"Really?" The man grinned. "Where's Maw?" Then he laughed as if he'd actually 
said something funny and walked away chuckling, his young son looking up 
uncomprehendingly.
Amy sighed. "We have just got to think of a better acronym."
"I don't know. Protect Animals Wherever seemed to make sense to me." She looked 
around. "Where's Gretchen, Tammy, Joe and Emilio? They're supposed to be 
picketing."
"Joe had a friend of a friend of a friend who offered him four tickets for a 
matinee of that sold-out British show. That was that." As if trying to ward off 
imagined criticism, she snapped, "Well, I can't very well bust somebody's chops 
just because they don't want to kill their day off, now, can I?"
"You would if it were me." Darlene plopped down next to her forlornly on the 
rusting folding chair. ' 'I should be so lucky that somebody asks me to 
something other than a rally or a protest or some other damned thing."
"Hey, don't punk out on me, too," said Amy reprovingly.
"I'm not punking out. I'm just bummed out." She paused. "Derrick and I broke 
up."
"Good."
"Good? Why good?"
"Darlene, the man was mulch."
"Oh, come on. He wasn't that bad. He had a good job, in computers."
"Yeah, right. He invented a computer game."
"There's lots of money in computer games."
"You can't be serious. How much money was he going to make off a computer game 
called 'Auschwitz'? I mean, making a computer game set in a concentration camp? 
And if you screw up you wind up in an oven?" She shuddered. "It's the most 
tasteless thing I ever heard of." She paused and said, "Did you at least get all 
your videotapes back?"
"Well…"
Amy put up a hand. "Don't finish the sentence. Christ, Darlene, what is your 
problem? Why is it that, like a magnet, you're drawn to losers and guys who are 
only going to cause you misery? The only positive thing I can say about the guys 
you go out with is that they probably score so infrequently that at least you 
won't pick up any diseases from them."
Darlene seemed to brighten. "You think so?"
"That's hardly what I'd call a major social triumph."
"Well, gee, I dunno." Darlene scratched her head thoughtfully. "My shrink says 
that it's something called entitlement. That I feel like I'm not entitled to 
someone nice, so I keep going out with guys who are lousy for me. I think it had 
something to do with my father. I don't know what, but that's what my shrink 
said. It always has something to do with your father, unless you're a guy. Then 
it's your mother."
"Great. So how do you get out of it?"
Looking thoughtful, Darlene said, "I could become a nun."
"Great. Darlene Abramowitz, the nun. Who's going to take you, Our Lady of 
Perpetual Kvetch?"
They stayed there for another hour or so, gathering another handful of 
signatures. Then Darlene excused herself to wander around the zoo to get a look 
first hand at the pathetic animals whose lives she was trying to improve.
As she strolled around, she couldn't help but feel that these creatures didn't 
have it so bad. Certainly their lives were more together than hers. They knew 
when they were going to be fed. They knew what was expected of them, which 
wasn't much.
And so what if they had no freedom? After all, what kind of freedom did she 
have? Her efficiency apartment was smaller than most of the cages, and hemmed in 
above and below and by other people (one of whom sometimes played his stereo at 
all hours of the goddamn morning). She had to scrape every single month for rent 
money, for food money, for the lousy quarters to run the washing machine to 
clean her clothes. Zoo animals lived rent free, clothes free, free free.
She stopped in front of the wolves' home and thought about how the only real 
difference between her and them was that she was free to go wherever she wanted. 
Then again… she didn't really have any place to go. So who was she kidding?
"Can I live with you guys?" she called out to the wolves.
They seemed to pay her no mind, sunning themselves on the rocks and appearing 
blissfully unaware that dedicated animal-rights activists were killing a 
beautiful day fighting for their rights. Still, Darlene noticed, one of the 
wolves seemed to be looking right at her.
She stuck her head forward and, yes, sure enough, one of the wolves was sizing 
her up. She'd seen the look often enough. Derrick had given it to her some 
months ago in a singles bar. It was the look of unabashed, unashamed curiosity. 
Curiosity so open and honest that it required no apologies, no dissembling, no 
self-conscious glances to some other location when the look was noticed.
This wolf was gray, and larger than the others. And he seemed—what was the word 
she was looking for?—intense. That's it. Unlike the other wolves, he seemed to 
actually have something on his mind. The intellectual of the Canis lupus set.
Darlene made a clucking noise to confirm to the wolf that he indeed had her 
attention. She found her gaze drawn to his curious eye coloration—one green, one 
yellow. "Hi there, wolf," she called to him.
The wolf made no reply. Of course, she hadn't expected any. "Want to come home 
with me?" she said.
He stared at her a moment and then, as if in response, got up from his perch 
atop the rocks and hopped down. She blinked in surprise as he walked to the edge 
of the barrier and stood there, regarding her curiously.
"Son of a gun," she said, as much to herself as to him. "I think you really 
would come with me if you could." He tilted his head slightly as if considering 
the matter. "It'd be nice. I could, sic you on the neighbors. I wouldn't have to 
worry about break-ins. I wouldn't have to worry about dates getting fresh. All 
I'd have to worry about is little wolf hairs all over the furniture. And on my 
furniture, it could only be an improvement."
She stared at the wolf a while longer, fascinated by the intelligence she 
fancied she saw in his eyes. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "you look like 
you have more brains than my last three boyfriends. At least if I'm going to 
have an animal around the house, it might as well be the four-legged kind."
Someone bumped into her, and she looked around. He was kind of slimy-looking, 
the kind who if he sidled up to her in a bar she actually might be interested 
in. But here, outdoors, in the scathing honesty of daylight, he looked as 
unappealing as he really was. "You alone?" he asked.
"Yeah, and interested in staying that way," she replied curtly.
As if they had the utmost familiarity he draped an arm around her shoulder. 
"Tell you what, short-and-cute, how about if we—"
There was a growl so loud that it seemed to be coming from right alongside. The 
man's arm departed her shoulder as if jet-propelled, and he looked around in 
alarm. "You got a dog here, lady?"
Like an angry chainsaw, the growling of the wolf carried across the chasm. The 
man realized the source and regained a bit of his confidence. "Oh. That's all it 
was." He nodded in the wolf's direction. "Friend of yours?"
"Oh, yes. And very athletic." She paused. "If he had a reason to, he could clear 
that distance with one jump."
"Naahh. You're kidding."
She silently shook her head. "Now if you don't believe me," she said slowly, 
"you're welcome to try putting your arm around me again and see if he's up to 
it."
He grinned, cocksure, and took a step towards her—and was arrested in 
mid-gesture by a louder, even more menacing growl from the wolf. He stared at 
the animal and its lips were drawn back, exposing a not inconsiderable dual row 
of teeth.
"Hey," said the man quickly. "I can take a hint. I'll see you around, okay, 
cutie?" And he departed as rapidly as he could.
Darlene watched him go with much amusement and then looked back at the wolf. His 
gaze had not moved from her.
"How about that?" she said softly. "You remind me of this German shepherd I 
had—Josh. I'm going to call you Josh. Okay?"
The wolf wagged its tail.



8
' 'She came by every day,'' said Josh. ' 'And since wolves have somewhat limited 
memories, it quickly seemed as if she'd always been there. She would show up, 
greet me by the name that she'd tagged me with. If no one else was looking, she 
would toss some sort of doggie treat over the barrier. They tasted awful, but 
they were something different from the mediocre food we were getting. Besides, I 
was quite pleased with myself that I had trained her so well and so quickly.''
("You… trained her?")
He smiled. "Very commonplace. Oh, humans think they've trained animals, of 
course, but they're wrong. Animals manage to condition humans so thoroughly 
that, putting half a mind to it, we can get humans to do whatever we want them 
to.'' Then he frowned and tapped the recorder. ' I don't know if you should put 
that in there. I would hate to be giving away trade secrets. "
(' 'Don't worry about it,'' I assured him. ' 'No one will believe you. ")
' 'You're right,'' he said thoughtfully. ' 'Humans are a rather arrogant lot. 
That's something else we've managed to breed into them. Then again, you have to 
take the bad with the good, I suppose."

                                                                          ****


"Where is your pet human?" one of the smaller wolves asked Josh.
If the gray wolf were capable of shrugging, he would have done so. "I don't 
know."
"You attract such a variety of visitors. Humans with treats. Humans who smell 
like death."
The reminder of the latter made Josh uneasy. "I haven't smelled that one 
lately."
The smaller wolf sniffed. "Not a loss, as far as I'm concerned," he said, and 
turned away.
Josh watched the smaller wolf go, and then climbed up to his customary perch 
atop the rocks. The others glanced at him from a distance. They had become 
accustomed to his standoffish ways, to his vague disdain for his fellow wolves. 
There was no point in being concerned. Eventually he would become like 
them—accepting of the situation. Accepting that they would never again know 
freedom, or self-respect.
Each of them had, at one time or another, endeavored to make a bid for freedom. 
But there had always been the same problem—where to go once the freedom had been 
attained. Society did not have too many options open to a freelance wolf.
They assumed that Josh was going to go through the same period of bleak 
acceptance, and indeed they might very well have been right. But only in the 
event that there was never again a full moon.
This night, however, there was.
Josh lay atop the rocks and stared upwards, watching the sun vanish beneath the 
horizon, as always. The crowds of humans thinned and eventually vanished, as 
always. And the moon came out from behind a cloud, large and white and full.
Josh felt a tingling throughout his body, something he hadn't felt in what 
seemed like ages. He wasn't certain exactly what was causing it… it was vaguely 
familiar, and yet nothing that he could place precisely.
Oddly, the other wolves detected it before he did. They began to yip and bark 
mournfully, milling together in frightened confusion at the far end of the 
grounds. Josh turned towards them, puzzled by their apprehension, and then 
overwhelming pain shot through him.
And now he remembered; it all came back to him in a flash. The agonizing 
transformation that he had already consigned to the twilight world of 
never-happened, and yet here it was again. All the more hideous, too, because 
the first time he'd merely thought he was dying. This time, though, he realized 
with distant dread what was happening, what he was going to wind up as.
And as his legs muscles began to seize up, to bend and twist and pretzel into 
something obscene, something in his mind said Not this time.He didn't want to be 
there for the horror of what he was about to go through.
He shut himself down. Like an overloaded, overworked electrical system, his 
mental circuit-breakers simply slammed closed, cutting off all the electrical 
impulses to his brain. He didn't want to cope with it, didn't want to know from 
it. And his animal mind with the instinct for self-preservation, finely honed 
and untainted by trivialities like civilization, obliged him. He simply shut 
down, keeling over into blissful, merciful oblivion.




When he came to, the rock was cold beneath his skin.
He started to raise his head and realized that he was doing this by propping 
himself on his arm again. He stared uncomprehendingly at his fingers, then sat 
up.
Nearby he heard nervous, almost hysterical whines. He looked around, and there 
were the wolves, even more frightened than they were before. He noticed for the 
first time the variety of colors in their fur. He noticed the colors of the 
rocks on which he was lying and, a little further out, the hues of the leaves 
that were returning on the trees.
He stood up slowly, this time knowing not to overbalance himself. He towered 
over the world again, as he had that other time, but this time he didn't find it 
nearly as disconcerting. What he did feel, however, was cold.
He reached up and touched his nonexistent nose. His sense of smell was gone once 
again, his night vision clouded, his hearing as dull as if someone had stuffed 
cotton in his head.
But part of him was beginning to realize the possibilities that this form gave 
him that his wolf form could not even begin to provide him… most importantly, 
the ability to get back, somehow, to his pack.
He was in a world of humans. And now, somehow, he was human. That could only 
make it easier to move about.
Operating in the world of humans. It would be easy.
He took a step forward and fell off the rocks.
He tumbled down, very human sounds of pain accompanying him as he thumped and 
bumped down the small rocky cliff. He hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud 
and lay there, panting. The world spun around him and he closed his eyes, which 
did not improve matters all that much.
From nearby he heard the nervous sounds of the wolves once more. Slowly, moaning 
because of the ripped skin on his body, he started to speak to them…
… and couldn't.
He knew what he wanted to say, knew the concepts in his mind that he wanted to 
put across (even though the concept of "I've been transformed into a human" is 
not one easily framed), but he couldn't produce the sounds, even the thoughts. 
He puckered his lips, felt his vocal cords tightening, but all he could produce 
was a faint, hoarse whisper.
The wolves for their part backed up as far as they could, and whimpered.
Josh was momentarily taken aback. He was human. No teeth to rend, no claws to 
tear. What in the world did they have to be afraid of?
He took a step towards them, and for the first time they reacted aggressively. 
They bared their teeth and made determined snapping noises, although they were 
so far away from him that it was more in the nature of a show than a serious 
threat. Nevertheless, the display of teeth by the wolves pulled Josh up short as 
he became aware of his total lack of defensive and offensive capabilities.
In short, he realized that messing with wolves wouldn't be the brightest thing 
to do.
Slowly he backed away, never taking his eyes off them. He got all the way to the 
edge where the dropoff was located. It was dark and his poor sight didn't even 
enable him to see to the bottom now, but it didn't matter. All he knew was that 
it was time for him to get the hell out of there.
He stepped back a few feet, took a short run, and leaped.
It was not a particularly graceful leap, all legs and arms at strange angles. He 
did not even come close to attaining the other side. His body half-pinwheeled 
around. He hit the far incline with a bone-crushing thud, and moaned as he 
rolled downward to the bottom of the embankment and lay still.
He took a few moments to gather his wits. All right. Here he was, lying at the 
bottom of the ditch, staring up uselessly into the night sky. Still, there was 
no reason he could not climb up the side of the embankment.
At that moment he heard a soft footfall.
He froze and his eyes narrowed. His sense of smell was, of course, negligible, 
but he realized instinctively who was there—the death person. Dead-but-not-dead.
Looking for him?
He didn't move. He watched the death person walk up to the fence and stare into 
the wolf area. He heard the death person muttering to himself, staring at the 
wolves, and then speaking sharply in what sounded like frustration.
Josh half rose from his crouch and then some inner sense warned him not to. He 
returned to his watching and waiting and, after a few moments, the death person 
turned and stalked off into the night.
Josh stayed there some time longer, understandably feeling naked and vulnerable. 
His teeth were gone, his claws were gone, his fur was gone, his smell, his 
hearing—everything that made him infinitely superior to the pathetic humans.




'I remember thinking, 'How did they get to be in charge ?' said Josh. ' 'It was 
greatly puzzling to me. How had humans gotten into a position where their cities 
could snuff out forests, where their whims could snuff out our lives… it seemed 
so ridiculous. Here was this"—he gestured vaguely— "this hopeless body, second 
rate in every way to my wolf body. How did creatures possessing such useless, 
helpless forms wind up able to make my life so miserable ? And I looked over the 
body and tried to figure out what it had that my wolf body didn't, and the only 
thing I could come up with—the only improvement—was the thumb. I thought 'Well, 
this is pretty interesting,' and I flexed my thumb all over. And it had its 
intriguing aspects, but I hardly saw it as hot stuff as I climbed up out of the 
ditch.
' 'Then I took a step forward, still crouching low, and I stepped on a sharp, 
pointed rock, sticking up from the dirt.
Nothing fatal, of course. Just irritating. And I picked it up without thinking 
and threw it… and froze, just in that position, with the outstretched arm. I'd 
never picked up anything before, except with my teeth, which isn't tremendously 
efficient. But in that instant, when picking up the stone and throwing it was 
simple, I got the faintest glimmerings of the possibilities. Of weapons. Of 
buildings.
"And I thought about all the wonderful advantages that wolves have, and it came 
to me in one, blinding flash that all of those advantages, all our heightened 
senses that we so pitied humans for not having—they were nothing compared to 
that one damned thumb that could turn inward. It was so horribly, hideously 
unfair.''




"Hey!"
The blinding light flashed in his face immediately broke him out of his misery.
He squinted at the human who was waving the light in his face. This human was 
wearing skins the same dark color as the night sky. He had no smell… but of 
course, no human did now. He was holding a long stick in one hand and the small 
sunmaking device in the other.
"You're trespassing," he said angrily. "You're under arrest. Get out of… holy 
shit! Where are your clothes?" His mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Who the 
hell are you?!"
Josh lashed out. Driven by panic, fear and desperation, he leaped forward, a 
snarl curling his lip, and swept around one massive arm. It was only a glancing 
blow but it was more than enough to knock the unfortunate cop flat on his back, 
stunning him momentarily. He lost his grip on his flashlight and nightstick, 
which rolled in opposite directions.
Josh pivoted on his heel and bolted. He ran as hard as he could and easily 
vaulted the fence that surrounded the perimeter of the zoo. The night air was 
chilled but he no longer noticed as his heart pumped furiously, his muscled legs 
churning and eating up distance. Like an Olympic sprinter he ran, getting as far 
from the zoo and the man with the captured sunlight as he could.
It wasn't running the way he was used to. He felt an awkward jarring that seemed 
to reach from his feet all the way up to his shoulder blades every time his foot 
hit the ground. But he quickly learned to adjust, shifting his weight and 
running on the balls of his feet. He startled several casual late-night 
strollers, but they didn't seem frightened. Several even applauded, and one 
said, ' 'I thought streaking went out years ago," a comment that made no sense 
to him at all even though he did understand the words.
He rounded a corner and smacked headlong into another human, and they went down 
in a tangle of arms and legs.
It was an older human, he quickly sensed, and as he tried to disentangle himself 
the older human's outer skin slid partially off the shoulder.
Josh was surprised. The skins were removable! Of course! It was so obvious, how 
could he not have realized? Humans prevented themselves from getting cold by 
wearing these odd outer coverings… now not so odd after all.




' I think of the bizarre coincidences that brought Darlene and myself together, 
" said Josh. "Then again, if there were no happenstance in life, then nothing 
would ever happen. Everything, from conception to death, is happenstance. Some 
events are just more bizarre than others. And this certainly qualified as one of 
those.''




Otto had been minding his own business in the park, heading for his regular 
bench and preparing to sack out for the night, when the naked crazy man had 
appeared from nowhere and barreled into him.
He cracked his head on the sidewalk when they went down, and he felt the world 
spinning around him for a moment like a crazed pinball. Then he said angrily, 
still groggy from the impact, "Get off of me, you idiot! And let go of my coat!"
The giant naked man fingered the coat, and it seemed as if something were 
clicking into place behind his curiously colored eyes. Then he stared at Otto 
and said, "Coat." As if unfamiliar with the language, or even the ability to 
speak, he said, "Give… me… coat."
"This old thing?"
"Give me coat!" And this time it wasn't a request.
The naked man stood, grabbed Otto by the shirt front and dragged him behind the 
bushes. Otto quickly removed his coat and gave it to the naked man, who stared 
at it uncomprehendingly.
"I'm surprised you're not asking for my shirt and pants," said Otto in 
irritation.
"Shirt and pants. Yes. Now."
Otto blinked and then said, "Forget it!" He opened his mouth and started to 
shout "Police!"
Started, but did not accomplish it, because the man's huge hand closed on his 
windpipe. Oddly, the man flexed his thumb several times before he repeated, 
"Shirt. Pants. Coat. Now."
Otto quickly complied and in moments was standing there shivering in his 
tattered underwear.
The naked man endeavored to put the pants on over his head, and several of his 
subsequent attempts to clothe himself were equally spectacular in their lack of 
success. Otto stood there in stupefaction, afraid to move or cry out for fear 
that this muscled lunatic would tear him apart. He clutched his handbag to his 
tattered T-shirt and watched as the naked man managed to get the plaid shirt on, 
but became totally frustrated by the buttons. The pants were small and put on 
backward, and at one point he seemed ready to rip the coat to shreds before he 
finally solved that mystery. The shoes went on easily enough, albeit on the 
wrong feet.
Now dressed, the bruiser stared at the bag that Otto was holding desperately, 
and he suddenly reached over and yanked it from Otto's grasp. This time Otto 
would stand no more and once again he tried to shout for help.
This time the man's fist lashed out, making contact with Otto's chin. The 
unfortunate bum was unconscious before he hit the ground.




' I went through the bag, not certain why. Not certain what I was looking for. I 
think, more than anything, I was hoping for some clue. I still had no real idea 
how or why what had happened, had happened. But since so much of humanity was a 
mystery to me, perhaps I hoped that some artifact of humanity might give me the 
answers I needed.
"I found the wallet and, after fiddling with the clasp, opened it. It fell open 
to her driver's license and I stared at it and stared at it. At first I thought 
the photo on it was my reflection, as I'd seen in countless brooks. But I 
realized it wasn't, and I ran my fingers across the surface, which was slick and 
vinyl.
"I didn't have a clue as to what it was, but I recognized it as being the woman 
who'd been coming to visit me regularly. The human… the only human who'd ever 
shown me kindness. And I felt… I don't know how to express it to you, except to 
say that I was desperate to find someone who could help me. And I grabbed on to 
that image as, perhaps, being a source for help. "
("I know how that is, " I said. "Like being in a foreign city and you can't 
speak the lingo. And you feel like a total idiot, until you finally latch onto 
somebody who speaks English and knows their way around. And even though that 
person's a total stranger, you feel like you've found a lifelong friend. ")
"Exactly. Well, not exactly. Sort of. Actually… not at all,'' he admitted. ' 
'Now that I think back on it, 1 guess my main motivation was that I hoped she 
might be able to give me some food. " He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. "




"You'll like this motel," said the cabbie helpfully as the out-of-town 
businessman stepped out. "Right behind it is Flushing Meadow Park. It's real 
nice during the daytime."
The businessman fixed him with an icy stare and said simply, "I know you took me 
the long way around when you picked me up at LaGuardia." He threw several 
crumpled bills onto the front seat which equalled only the amount on the meter, 
gripped his single suitcase grimly and stalked away.
The cabbie sighed. Why did he get all the idiots? He leaned back over the seat, 
reaching towards the handle of the door that the shit from out of town had left 
open.
And a guy the size of a small land mass hopped into the back of the cab.
He was dressed like a bum, but his face was wide and alert as he looked around 
in open curiosity. The cabbie sighed. "Look, pal, I really wasn't looking for a 
fare. I'm just going to head back out to the airport…"
The man looked at the cabbie and then leaned forward. He was holding a wallet in 
the palm of his massive hand, and he pointed at the driver's license. It was a 
woman.
The cabbie squinted at it. "Darlene Abramowitz. 657 East 35th. Yeah, I know 
where that is. What, she a friend of yours or something?''
"Friend," said the man agreeably. He had a low, deep voice that had an unusual, 
husky quality to it.
"Or did you find the wallet and you want to return it to her?"
"Found the wallet," he said cheerfully.
The cabbie sighed again. "Oh, the hell with it. I'm getting sick of Queens 
anyway. Fine, I'll take you into the city. You seem harmless enough.'' He 
clicked on the meter and turned back to say, "Shut the door."
The man stared at the door blankly and, blowing exasperation out between his 
lips, the cabbie leaned back and closed the door. The noise of the slam seemed 
to startle the passenger, and the cabbie shook his head. "Takes all kinds," he 
muttered, and the taxi moved out towards the Long Island Expressway.



9
"I will never forget, for as long as I live, that first cab ride. I was already 
briefly, albeit unhappily, familiar with human conveyances such as cars. What 
was incredible to me was the New York City skyline as the taxi approached 
Manhattan. We were stuck in traffic, of course, so I had a great deal of time to 
appreciate it as we sat there.
"It was quite simply unbelievable. The lights that shone from the buildings 
seemed like stars come from far off, now down to earth. Never had I seen such 
unquestionable beauty. It was truly breathtaking, and I gazed at it for what 
seemed hours. The cab driver must have thought I was insane.
' 'He chatted most of the way, stopping every so often to ask me a question 
which I then ignored. He also had the radio on, and I was barraged with human 
language from that as well.''
("Now let me get this straight, once and for all, " I asked Josh: "Could you, or 
could you not, understand English?")
' 'Yes,'' he said briskly. ' 'The only thing I can really explain is, when I was 
bitten, it was more than just the physical attributes that were taken on. 
There's a sharing of minds that actually goes on. So when a human takes on the 
aspects of a wolf, he inherits those savage aspects of wolves… although actually 
we are a remarkably civilized lot, really.
' 'But when I took on human appearance, I also acquired human capabilities, such 
as speech and language. English, I presume, "he said, anticipating my next 
question, "since that was the tongue that my assailant, Parsons, spoke. But 
although the capability was there to speak, I was still becoming oriented with 
the world around me. I was learning intonation, inflection, subtleties of 
meaning, idiom—the building blocks of communication. Like a sponge, I simply 
took it all in.
' 'And as I stared at the twinkling lights on top of the Empire State Building, 
I look down at that damned opposable thumb and shook my head. And for the first 
time I felt true pity for the other wolves.''




Darlene stared out the window of her cramped apartment and looked up at the 
Empire State Building. There was something about it she always found comforting, 
even uplifting. Tonight the upper portions of the building were bathed in lights 
of green and white, topped off by red.
"Feeling Italian tonight?" she asked no one in particular. She remembered some 
years ago when, as a publicity stunt, a humongous balloon of King Kong had been 
inflated and anchored to the upper regions of the Empire State. The balloon had 
barely lasted, for in no time at all King Kong had developed a king-sized hole… 
enough to deflate it down to a pathetic, wimpy little bag of nothing. The 
balloon had been reluctantly carted away, and she remembered thinking at the 
time that it was a sage lesson that New York was no place for real beasts.
So why did she keep winding up dating them?
She sighed and stepped away from the window. She flopped down into the sofa, and 
picked up her knitting. When she'd started, it was a scarf. Now it was large 
enough to be a car cover, and it had every color of the rainbow in it. 
Truthfully, she should give up, she realized, but she'd gone to too much 
trouble. At this rate she'd be able to knit herself a new apartment.
There was a buzz from her intercom. She frowned. Someone at the front door at 
this hour was never a good sign. Friends always call first, and no one in New 
York—particularly a single female—opens the door at night to a stranger.
She padded across the room in her stocking feet and pushed the intercom button. 
"Yes?"
An unfamiliar voice with a very familiar Bronx accent said "Yeah, hi, is this 
Darlene Abramowitz?"
She paused. "One of us is."
"Ha, ha," he said without the slightest hint of amusement. "Look, lady, I got a 
guy in the back of my cab. He had me bring him out here from Queens, and he's 
got your wallet."
"My wallet!" she said in shock. "Does it have the credit cards? Oh, shit!" She 
slapped her head in irritation. "I cancelled them!"
"Lady, I don't care about your credit cards. If I had to be real honest about 
it, I don't care all that much about you. What I care about is that I got this 
clown sitting in the back of my cab, and he doesn't have any money, and he owes 
me fourteen bucks plus toll for getting him here. So would you please get down 
here and bail him out so I can get on with my life, huh?"
Darlene sighed. Amy would say this kind of thing happened to her because she let 
it happen… but what was she supposed to do? Some guy schleps all the way in from 
Queens with her bag on a mission of being a Good Samaritan, and she's supposed 
to turn away just because the idiot didn't bring cab fare?
Actually, Amy would say "Yes."
Darlene tapped the "Talk" button again and said "Hold on. I'll be right down."
"Meter's running."
"You're all heart."
Moments later she had tossed on a bathrobe over the knee-length New York Mets 
nightshirt she was wearing and was heading down the four flights of stairs. She 
slipped once, clutched onto the handrail, and cursed herself for not taking the 
time to put on some sneakers. She looked down at her stocking feet which were 
displaying cheerful argyle socks. She shook her head. Argyle socks, check 
bathrobe a size too large covering a baseball shirt. She would never win 
best-dressed awards at this rate.
She peered out through the door of the building and stared at the cabbie, who 
obligingly stared back at her. Opening the door, she thrust out a crumpled-up 
twenty-dollar bill and said in her most convivial tone, "Keep the change."
"Thanks." He chucked a thumb at the cab. "And you get to keep the stiff."
She opened the front door of the building a bit wider as the cabbie went back to 
his car and stood by the passenger door, hands on hips. His passenger peered 
back out at him curiously through the window.
"C'mon, Prince Valiant. Out you go."
The passenger didn't move and, with an annoyed huffing noise, the cabbie opened 
the door and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Out of the cab, schmuck."
The passenger stepped out and up. For the first time the cab driver realized the 
massiveness of the guy he'd been mouthing off to, for his eyeline came up to 
around the guy's chest. That he had a woman's pocketbook tucked under his arm 
seemed ludicrously out of place, but no one would dare tell him.
The man looked down at the cabbie and, with a toothy smile, said "Thank you, 
schmuck."
"You're… you're welcome." The cabbie immediately leaped back into his cab, 
slammed on the accelerator and sped away, leaving a lingering trace of burned 
rubber. As the erstwhile passenger watched him go, he saw the cabbie stick his 
hand out of the cab and raise his middle finger in his direction. The man stared 
at his own hand in thought.
Darlene watched the cabbie go, then looked back at the small mountain of 
maleness who had been summarily deposited on her doorstep,
She opened the front door all the way and stared at him appraisingly.
"Well," she said.
"Well," he replied evenly.
"Nice night."
"Nice night."
She frowned and realized that not only was he repeating what she was saying, he 
was imitating the inflection. Even more than that—as she stood there frowning, 
she saw his own brow furrow in the same manner.
What the hell was with this guy? She hadn't seen such idiotic behavior since 
grade school, when boys would mimic everything she did just to bug her. It 
worked back then, and it was working just as well now.
She folded her arms and said, "Look, I really appreciate your coming by and all 
that. Can I have my pocketbook?"
He folded his arms as well, and, now starting to get really annoyed, she stomped 
her foot and said, "Stop that!"
He uncrossed his arms and looked a little hurt. "I'm…" He seemed to search for 
the word. "… sorry. I… did not mean to… upset you."
She tilted her head, looking at him askance. She couldn't get over this guy. He 
was dressed like some sort of derelict, but he didn't have the look or bearing 
of somebody who was down on his luck. There was something almost noble about 
him…
She caught herself in mid-thought. Don't start romanticizing this loser, she 
scolded herself. Don't get involved with yet another bizarre idiot. Don't be 
such a goddamn sucker, just like Amy's always saying.
Trying to put on as professional a demeanor as she could, she put out her hand 
and said, "Can I have my bag please?"
"Oh." He walked forward, and now there was this incredible stride of his, 
graceful and flowing and quiet as a river of glass—
"STOP IT!" she screeched.
He halted in mid-stride. "I'm sorry." This time his halting English was a little 
faster. "I didn't mean to—"
"No, no." She made quick, dismissive gestures. "It wasn't you. I was just 
arguing with myself."
He frowned (on his own, this time) and looked around her as if expecting to see 
a duplicate of her. She shrugged in embarrassment. He shrugged as well, and this 
time she didn't say anything but merely waved her fingers. "The bag, okay?"
"Okay." He handed the bag to her and she quickly fumbled through it, taking a 
quick assessment of its contents. Truthfully, she wasn't dead sure what had been 
in there. The damned thing was always such a mess that she hadn't had the guts 
to try an inventory. She found her wallet and glanced inside it. "Money's gone."
"If you say so," he said politely.
She glanced at him, wondering if he'd been the one who had taken it, and 
dismissed the idea. She wasn't sure why she was dismissing it, except that it 
just seemed ridiculous.
He didn't act like someone who would steal money, or even care about money. He 
seemed like…
He stood there at the bottom of the stoop, staring up at her, and slowly she 
took a step down, and then another, making sure to keep the door propped open 
with one hand.
"Look, um… I'm not exactly loaded, so I don't have much to offer you in the way 
of a reward." She shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."
"That is okay."
"Thanks again."
"You're welcome again."
"I didn't get your name."
"Name? Oh. What others call self."
"Yeah, that's right." Her eyes narrowed. "Look, I can see you're kind of down on 
your luck and stuff, but don't tell me you're so poor you can't afford a name."
"Name." He paused and then let out something that sounded somewhere between a 
bark and a sneeze. "Name," he said proudly.
"Well, gee, that's…" She forced a smile. "That's really great."
Now what?! she thought frantically. Invite him up? This guy I don't know 
anything about, in the era of AIDS and date rape? Forget it.
"Well, bye," she said quickly, and backpedalling she stepped inside and closed 
the front door.
He stepped up onto the stoop and stared in at her as she peered back through the 
small window. A stare as artless and devoid of self-consciousness as a rabbit's.
Or a…
She stared into his eyes.
One green as grass, the other yellow as changing leaves. The wild was in his 
eyes.
She stepped back, away from the door, and realized after some seconds that she 
had stopped breathing. For all she knew her heart had ceased pumping. She opened 
her mouth wide, forcing her lungs to expand and contract.
It's insane, she thought. It can't be. It simply, completely can't be. It's a 
coincidence, that's all. I've been reading too many Stephen King novels, watched 
too many Twilight Zone reruns at one in the morning.
She peeked out again and he was still standing there, just… standing there.
She turned and bolted up the steps to her apartment, taking the stairs two at a 
time. The world lurched around her as she hit the door of her apartment, which 
she'd left standing open. She ran in, slamming the door behind her and sagged 
against it, her heart hammering against her rib cage. She was uttering small, 
odd whimpering noises.
She closed her eyes against the insanity of it, clutching her pocketbook to her 
breast.
It was just impossible. That she had been visiting that wolf in the park for the 
past few weeks, fascinated by him, wondering why men didn't exist who had the 
same kind of (what, class?) that this wild animal bore. And now she saw some 
stranger who certainly had a kind of power and perhaps raw sexuality to him, and 
she had transferred her own fantasies onto him. Certainly, absolutely, that had 
to be it.
And in her imaginings, she could see the wolf standing there, on those rocks in 
his pen, and he tilted back his head and he howled. A long, beautiful sound of 
loneliness and—
Her eyes snapped open.
Howling.
"My God, howling," she whispered, and ran to the window.
That… that lunatic! That lunatic was sitting on her stoop, looking up at the 
full moon with those incredible, hypnotic eyes, and he was howling! He was 
goddamn howling like some animal. Passing cars slowed as drivers stared at him, 
and passersby crossed the street, and people in the next apartment over from 
hers were shouting through the paper-thin wall at each other: "Who the hell 
brought a damned dog into this apartment house? Someone's ass is grass!"




"I'd never been more miserable," said Josh. "An alien place, an alien body, 
alien feelings—rejected by everything. I needed, craved something familiar. And 
somehow I started to howl.
"It wasn't a good wolf howl—by wolf standards it was pretty damned miserable. 
But I found comfort in it, and the louder I howled, the stronger I began to 
feel. Humans say that howling is such a lonely sound, but it's not. It's the 
sound to make you feel less alone, because when I heard it issuing from my own 
throat, I knew that at least I had me.
"And then my howl was drowned out by something else, by the human equivalent of 
a howl. I looked up in shock, and there was a police car with its flashing 
light, barking at me with that siren noise that seemed to go in one side of my 
head and out the other.
"It slowed to a stop and the doors opened on both sides. The screeching of the 
siren had stopped, for which I was grateful, but that hypnotic red light was 
still spinning, and even worse, the policemen were approaching me slowly.
' 'What's the problem, Mac?' one of them said, and I started to crouch on the 
step. I remembered what the police had done to me back in Canada, and I wasn't 
anxious for a repeat. I wanted to run, and I think they knew that and weren't 
about to let me go. I find it very strange that such a natural thing as howling 
would be considered against the law. "
("Disturbing the peace, " I said.)
He smiled. "Well, I suppose if there's one thing humans are experts on, it's how 
to disturb the peace. They've disrupted the forest enough times, certainly. At 
any rate, they came towards me slowly, because I didn't look like someone who 
they particularly wanted to start wrestling with… probably because I could have 
broken them in half.
' 'Sir, would you like to come with us quietly?' one of them asked.
"I said 'No, I'd rather not come with you at all.' They started to separate, and 
it became clear that they were going to come at me from either side.''




      She threw open the door and saw him poised, ready to spring, saw the cops, 
and shouted, "Josh!"
He turned, surprised, staring at her with those eyes, and it couldn't be and it 
was impossible and it was…
It was.
She plastered a smile on her face and said, "Josh, I'm sorry. It was all my 
fault.'' She turned that smile which had frozen onto her lips towards the cops 
and said "Lovers' quarrel, officers. I'm sorry that we disturbed you."
The cop on the right stared at them. "You mean every time you and your boyfriend 
have a spat he sits on the stoop and howls until you let him in?"
"Well… it works," she said brightly. She had already wrapped her arms around 
Josh's left one, subtly tugging him towards the building. He took several steps 
up the stoop.
"Well, ma'am," said the other cop, feeling very Jack Web-bish, "I think we, and 
your neighbors, would appreciate it if next time you find a quieter way to 
settle your disputes. Have a nice night," and he reflexively touched the brim of 
his hat.
And just as Darlene pulled Josh into the apartment building, he raised a hand 
and stuck his middle finger at the cop, a smile on his face.
The cop caught it out of the corner of his eye and spun, but the door slammed. 
The officers looked at each other and shrugged. Wasn't worth the effort.
And as the cop car pulled away, Darlene stared up at Josh and said, "It's you, 
aren't you? You're him. He's you."
"I… believe I am me," said Josh.
"From the zoo."
He smiled and said, "Yes."
She shook her head and then stared at those beautiful, inhuman eyes.
"I've dated some wolves in my time," she said, "but this is ridiculous."



10
The sunlight streamed in through the window and Darlene, wrinkling her nose, 
turned over to get away from it, even going so far as to pull the pillow over 
her head.
Then she remembered the dream she had had.
"Ooohhh, Christ," she muttered, stretching her legs. She reached under the 
blanket and scratched herself idly and wished for the thousandth time that she 
had a body like Cybill Shepherd's. Well, at least she sure had an imagination 
second to no one's.
Wolves transformed into humans indeed.
But it was nothing to dwell on. This dream, like all dreams, was already 
becoming nothing more than a fast-fading memory.
She rolled out of bed and stepped on Josh's tail.
The wolf, with a startled roar, leaped to his feet. Darlene scooted back on her 
bed, tucking her legs under her in alarm and emitting a small shriek of panic. 
She scuttled back, kicking loose the fitted sheet as she went until her back hit 
the wall. She stared at the wolf in open-mouthed shock.
Josh stared back, his annoyance subsiding as he realized that it had been an 
accident. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity.
Then he trotted forward and put both his feet up on the bed, poking his head 
towards her. She didn't move. Her nightshirt had hiked up around her stomach and 
the wolf began sniffing at her legs.
"Nuh… nice wolf," she stammered.
Josh stuck his nose in her crotch.


"It seemed the polite thing to do at the time," he explained, frowning at my 
snickering.


"Hey!" yelled Darlene, and she twisted her hips away from him. He started to 
follow and she forcefully pushed his snout in the other direction, snapping in 
annoyance. "Not on the first date!"
The wolf stared at her in confusion, not growling or snapping, but merely 
looking puzzled. Perhaps even a little hurt. Her lips twitched and she said, 
"Hey, look…I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to get my scent."
She put out a hand, palm up, and the wolf stared at the invitation and looked 
back at her as if to ask, "You going to pull this away too?" But she held it 
steady and the wolf, accepting the offer, proceeded to sniff at her hand. When 
he was finished, she reached to the back of his head and scratched behind his 
ears as if he were a big German shepherd. And, just like one of those powerful 
canines, Josh flattened down his ears and took to the friendly gesture.
"Sorry I reacted like that," she said. Then she frowned and said, "Can you 
understand me? Growl or something if you do." But the wolf merely stared at her 
and she said, "I get it. You only understand me when you're… him. That's why I 
reacted that way, you know.'' She shifted her position on the bed, making 
herself more comfortable. "If I'd thought of you as just a plain old animal, I 
wouldn't have been so hyper. But I thought of you as… I dunno, a man in wolf's 
clothing. Not that I have anything against men, you understand," she said 
quickly. "Not that, y' know, I haven't had a guy or two south of the border 
before, but…"
She blushed and covered her face in embarrassment. "Oh, Christ, am I glad you 
don't understand this."
She stroked his fur thoughtfully and said, "What the hell am I going to do with 
you?"
And as she sat there and gazed into the wolf's eyes, she remembered how it had 
been mere hours before, when the wolf had first come to live with her…




"I've dated some wolves in my time, but this is ridiculous."
The muscular man stared down at her and said, "You've known other wolves? You 
mean that this has happened to others too?"
She shook her head. "It's just an expression. You… you must know about 
expressions. You talk well enough, although a little stilted."
"I know the words. I feel like…" He paused, scratching his head. "… like I have 
part of somebody besides self in me." He looked at her hopefully. "Do you 
understand?"
"Not in the least. Come on." She pulled on his hand. "Let's get up to my 
apartment."
"Apartment. Your den."
"Right. That's right."
She pulled on his arm and he tried to follow her… and tripped. He hit the stairs 
with a prodigious thud and sat there, looking down in surprise.
"What, you never climbed stairs?" she said.
"There were some stairs outside, but they were much larger.'' He stared down at 
the steps as if they had somehow betrayed him.
There was an apartment at the bottom of the stairs, and the door opened to 
reveal a wrinkled woman with a face that was a craggy roadmap of decades gone. 
"What are you doing?" she said in cracked irritation. "Dragging some drunken bum 
up the steps, Darlene?"
"He's my brother, Mrs. Michaelson."
"You think I'm going to be believe that?" replied the old woman. "You think I'm 
young and stupid? I'll tell you something, Darlene. You drag drunken bums in 
here, I'll get my shotgun and blow you both away."
"Yes, Mrs. Michaelson," she sighed.
Having stated her piece, Mrs. Michaelson stormed back into her apartment. Josh 
looked at Darlene curiously, and with a trace of fear. "She has… a gun?"
Darlene made a dismissive wave. "This week it's a shotgun. Last week it was a 
howitzer, next week it'll probably be a tank. If you believe Mrs. Michaelson, 
she has an entire armory in there. The slightest thing, she threatens to blow 
someone away with something or other.''
"Why does she do that?"
"Kind of a Rambo mentality. I guess she figures if she comes on tough, no one 
will bother her. The city can be a really scary place if you're old."
"I'm not old, and it scares me."
Moments later she had him securely in her apartment, the door triple locked. She 
turned and looked at Josh, who was staring in confusion at a piece of plastic 
fruit. He turned to her, his face a question. "Don't even think it," she said.
He put the plastic fruit down. "You don't have real food?"
"Yes, sure I do." She ran to the refrigerator and opened the door. Inside were 
two cans of Diet Coke, a box of two-day-old Kentucky Fried Chicken, and a coat 
hanger.
"I have to go shopping," she said apologetically. "I wasn't expecting… 
expecting…"
Her voice trailed off as she stared at him, and then, closing the refrigerator 
door, she staggered across the small apartment and slumped down onto the sofa. 
"I really don't believe this," she said in a small voice. "I don't know how this 
is possible. In my heart, I know it's true. But up here"—she tapped her head—"I 
don't believe it."
He sat down next to her. In this position he didn't loom over her the way he did 
when he was standing. "I don't either."
"How…" She tried to force her voice above a whisper. "How did this happen to 
you?"
"It was… after the creature."
"Creature?" she said. "What creature, Josh?"
He glanced at her. "Why do you keep calling me Josh?"
"Well, I've got to call you something. What creature?" she repeated.
He stood and shrugged off his coat. Then he started to remove his shirt and 
Darlene blinked, trying to ignore the musculature that look carved from marble. 
"What is this, charades? You were attacked by a male stripper?"
He pointed to his left arm, and she gasped, "There," he said.
On his bared upper arm she saw scar tissue in the shape of an animal's teeth 
marks. She stood and tentatively ran her fingers over it. "My God… you mean… you 
mean some creature bit you and… and…" She looked up, suddenly understanding, or 
thinking she did. "Some creature bit you and you turned into a wolf! You were a 
man and then when the moon came up you turned into a…" But then she stopped in 
confusion, looking out at the full moon suspended in the polluted Manhattan sky. 
"No, that's not right."
"I was a wolf," he said. "I was always a wolf until… the creature."'
She placed a hand on his chest and tingled unconsciously at the contact. His 
skin was incredibly hard and smooth. Quickly she withdrew it and said, "Tell me 
about the creature. What did it look like?"
He frowned and sat down again, she with him. She put her hand unobtrusively on 
his chest, telling herself it was to give him comfort and aid. "Huge," he said. 
"Dark. It smelled like… me. But me if I were dead, or unnatural.''
"It looked like a wolf?"
"Yes. But much bigger than any I had known. Fiercer. Terrible."
She rubbed her forehead. "This is too much."
"Too much what?"
She turned to look at him. "I don't want to believe they exist. Because if they 
exist, then maybe vampires exist, and walking mummies, and zombies, and the Loch 
Ness Monster, and Bigfoot, and UFOs, and all the other things I was quite 
content to think were just circulation-getters for supermarket throwaways."
' 'Would you be tremendously upset if I didn't know what you were talking about, 
Darlene?"
Her face lit up and in mild confusion he said, "Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing at all. It's just that… that's the first time you've said my name."
"Did I do it adequately?"
"Yes. Yes, you did it just fine." She couldn't believe it; she felt absolutely 
girlish. "I liked the way it sounded when you said it. Real husky and… intense." 
She shook her head as if trying to shrug herself out of the mood. "At any rate… 
it sounds to me like you were attacked by… if you can believe this… a werewolf."
He sat back, frowning. "Werewolf."
"You know what that is?"
"I think…" His face was a mask of concentration. "I've told you that I feel as 
if I've absorbed, or ended up sharing, part of another's mind. And the word 
'werewolf is in there, but… the concept is so alien…"
"Hold on." She went to a bookshelf and, after some rummaging, pulled out a book 
called Creatures of Myth. She looked at the title, looked at Josh, and snorted. 
"Myth. Hah."
She flopped back down onto the bed, trying with all her might to ignore the fact 
that he was sitting quite close to her and was naked from the waist up.
"Hold on. I think they have a whole chapter on it," she said as she flipped 
briskly through the pages. "Here." She stopped and slid the book over to Josh, 
who looked at the chapter heading that read "Crying Werewolf." Below that was a 
black-and-white picture, and he shook his head. "It didn't look anything like 
this."
She leaned over and looked where he was pointing. "That's Lon Chaney."
"You know an actual werewolf, by name?"
"No, he wasn't a…" She made a dismissive gesture. "Skip it. Although actually, I 
guess I do know one. I know you."
"Am I a werewolf?" He thumbed through the pages. "It says werewolf means 
literally man-wolf.''
"But that's for a man who turns into a wolf. You're a wolf who turned into a 
man. That's makes you a… a wereman."
"No, that can't be right," he pointed out. "That would mean man-man."
She looked him up and down. "Man-man would certainly cover it as far as I'm 
concerned."
Her tone was unmistakable as he regarded her, and he said slowly, "Are you in 
heat?"
She leaped to her feet as if she'd been stuck with a cattle prod, and her face 
flushed. Her words tumbled out, one atop the other. "You… I don't… That's a… 
You… a hell of a…"
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, standing up and once again towering over her. 
There was confusion all over his face. "I shouldn't have asked?"
"Look, I don't want to discuss this anymore," she said tiredly. "I know you're 
sorry. It's getting on midnight, I'm getting tired, you're probably getting 
tired…"
"No." She glared at him and quickly he said, "Yes. Very tired."
"Good. And I have to go to work tomorrow…no, forget that. I'll call in sick. I'm 
just going to need some time on this." She looked around. "Where the hell are we 
going to have you sleep?"
"I don't have to go back to sleep with the other wolves, do I?" he said with 
real concern.
She laughed lightly and walked over to her storage closet. From the bottom shelf 
she pulled out an old comforter and an extra pillow. "No. Not at all. You can 
sleep over there, next to the couch."
"And you?"
She went to the sofa, tossed the cushions off and pulled out the bed. "Ta-daa," 
she said.
He shrugged—such an odd-looking gesture when he did it with those powerful 
shoulders—and said, "Ta-daa," right back at her.
"I'll be right back," she said, and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. 
When she came back out she stopped and could actually feel the pulse pounding in 
her head.
He had set out the comforter and pillow rather well, and lain down on top of 
them. He had also removed the rest of his clothes and was in the process of 
stretching out, enjoying his nakedness. He looked up and saw her watching him, 
but it didn't seem to bother him particularly. "It's a shame you humans have no 
fur. Otherwise you wouldn't have to protect yourself with those artificial 
skins."
She couldn't take her eyes from him. He was, quite simply, magnificent. She felt 
her throat constricting and forcibly, very loudly, cleared it. "You're right," 
she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant, "but then all the designer-jeans 
people would be out of business. Can't have that."
"Can't have that," he agreed, and it was at that point she realized that he 
repeated what she said pretty much when he didn't clearly understand what she 
meant. He was like a foreigner who knew the language but not the customs or the 
subtleties of the culture he was visiting,
A foreigner. An incredibly built foreigner…
Quickly she vaulted into bed. "Good night," she said, and started to reach 
around to snap off the light.
Propping himself up on one elbow, he said, "Darlene— would you take your clothes 
off?"
She froze in mid-reach and looked down at him, and then forced herself to look 
at his eyes, and that didn't work because he had gorgeous eyes, so she looked at 
the top of his head, which was the least inflammatory part of him she could 
find. "Why?"
"I've never seen a naked human female. I'm interested."
"Sorry," she said, trying to sound icy. "Only when I'm in heat."
"Oh. All right. Good night." And he turned over and rested his head on his arm.
She turned off the light and lay there, staring up into the darkness.
He could have at least sounded disappointed, she thought. She turned over on her 
side and realized that she wasn't the least bit tired. So why was she in such a 
rush to get to bed?
Probably because everything that had happened had simply been so mind-boggling, 
so overwhelming, that she didn't know how to deal with it. The only defense 
mechanism her overtaxed mind could devise was to withdraw from it completely.
She went to sleep and dreamt of a powerfully muscled body atop hers, and eyes 
and a voice that called to the wild things inside her…




A low growling from the wolf forced her back to the present. They stared at each 
other, his tongue hanging out. She opened her mouth wide and let her tongue hang 
out as well, but the wolf merely stared at her as if she'd lost her mind which, 
until she actually saw him there, she thought she had.
Then he turned away and walked over to the kitchen, although to call it a 
kitchen was to be generous. It was so small that, with the refrigerator directly 
across from the stove, if you turned around too quickly you wound up turning on 
the gas with your buttocks.
The wolf's claws clicked on the bare floor, and he stopped at the refrigerator, 
poking his nose at the rubber gasket along the edge. Then he turned back and 
stared at her plaintively.
"Oh, you remember that's where I keep the food." And then she slapped her 
forehead. "Food! You must be starving!" She bounced out of bed, went to her 
dresser and pulled out underwear, a sweatshirt and jeans. "I'll go right out and 
get something." She reached down, about to pull off her nightshirt. Then she saw 
the wolf staring at her, his head slightly to one side.
She changed in the bathroom.




Ten minutes later she was back from the butcher, unwrapping a slab of steak that 
had been more expensive than she'd cared to think about—certainly more than 
she'd spent on herself in who knew how long. She laid it down on the floor and 
took a step back, not wanting to come between the wolf and his meal.
Josh stared at it, prodded it with his nose, and then backed away. He looked up 
at her and his meaning was clear: he wasn't remotely interested.
"What's the problem?" Naturally he didn't answer. "What's wrong with it?" and 
her voice raised slightly in irritation. "It's perfectly good. I just got it 
from the butcher. If it were any fresher it would be…" And then she realized. It 
wasn't freshly killed. He wanted something just dead, preferably something he'd 
killed himself.
"Now… now look," she said. "We're in the middle of Manhattan. We don't have a 
forest you can go running around in, tracking down elk and rabbits and stuff. I 
mean, what am I supposed to do, bring you over to the Bronx Zoo and say Bon 
appetit? I mean, where the heck am I supposed to get something fresh for you to 
kill?''




"The sign says you're having a sale on rabbits?" The pet-shop owner, a rotund 
man who kind of looked like a rabbit himself with his short white hair and 
ingenuous expression, approached her and said, "Oh, yes. We have quite a 
few—more than we can handle. And with Easter coming up, you know, all the kids 
want one."
Darlene was standing next to the rabbit case that was set up against the front 
window of the store. One of the rabbits, white with a little black spot on his 
back, looked up at her, twitching its nose. She gulped and said, "Uh… how much?"
"For this fellow?" The shop owner reached in and lifted out the rabbit. He 
practically shoved it into her arms. "Three dollars. You can't beat that price 
anyplace in town."
She cradled him in her arms. "Three dollars. Jeez, that's cheaper than steak.''
The shop owner smiled, not quite understanding where the conversation was going. 
"Well, yes, that's quite true. Not only that, but they're much better pets than 
steaks. Sure, steaks don't each much, but they just lie around and get spoiled. 
You know—I think he likes you."
Darlene held him out at arm's length, biting her lower lip. Its little legs 
pinwheeled, and it stared at her and twitched its little nose again with its 
cute little whiskers, and its little ears were so soft and cute, and it looked 
at her with its big eyes as if to say, "You're going to feed me to a wolf, 
aren't you? You're going to stand by as it clamps its jaws on me and rips me to 
itsy bitsy rabbit pieces."
"Oh, my God," Darlene choked out, and she shoved the rabbit back at the puzzled 
owner. "Forget it! I can't do this! I thought I was a big nature buff, and that 
the food chain didn't bother me, but I just can't do this!"
She spun and shoved through the door. The attached bells above jingled 
cheerfully. The shop owner stared after her, then stared at the rabbit. "What 
did you say to her?" asked the shop owner.




Darlene barely contained her tears as she ran back to her apartment. What was 
she going to do now? Her wolf was hungry. This was just splendid. Also insane. 
She was actually running so that she could get back quickly to her apartment 
with the hungry wolf in it. The hungry wolf who was going to be disappointed, no 
less.
She ran up the stairs, hesitated outside her apartment, and then, mustering her 
resolve, she opened the door.
The smell hit her, and for a moment she thought she'd walked into a New York 
subway station. Her nose wrinkled, and then she remembered what a lot of 
derelicts do in the stations that make it smell that way.
The wolf was over in a corner, lifting his leg against it and marking that out 
as his territory, too. He'd already taken care of the rest of the place. He 
looked up at her with a certain amount of pride. See what I've accomplished, he 
seemed to say. So where's my breakfast?
Her mouth worked for a moment but nothing came out. Finally she found her voice 
and she said, "You creep! You pissed all over my apartment!"
He seemed taken aback by her tone of voice and she slammed the door behind her, 
coming closer towards him and shaking her finger angrily. "This is not your 
territory! This is mine! And you will not go around leaving your damned animal 
scents all over the place. You could get me thrown out of my apartment. You 
could get the health people to come and arrest me. Don't do it again!"
The wolf backed up until he couldn't back up anymore, his tail between his legs. 
He looked to right and left, as if trying to find someone else who might 
possibly be the subject of her ire.
"And another thing!" she said, her fury building on itself. "I am not going to 
bring Thumper home so you can eat him. Or Bambi or any other fun forest animals. 
You will eat what I give you. And don't expect steak all the time! I'll go 
broke! They make really good dog food these days and I'll get you that, with 
steak maybe once or twice a week. But that's it! And if you don't like it," and 
she pointed to the door, "you can just leave and see if anybody else is 
interested in taking care of you. Get it? Good!"




' 'Of course I didn't understand anything she was saying,'' said Josh. ' 'But 
her mood was perfectly clear—she was upset with me. Now part of me was inclined 
to just tear her throat out, because that would have quieted her right down. But 
there were other factors—for one thing, I was still one little wolf in a very 
big city, If she was dead, then I would be alone, and I was quite certain I 
couldn't handle being alone.
"And the other thing was, I liked her. I really, truthfully did. I had never 
been near a human that I liked. It was an unusual experience for me, one that I 
did not want to end.
' 'So when she had spent all her anger, and was just standing over me—her finger 
still pointing at me like a spear—I realized that, although I was accustomed to 
being the pack leader, things had changed. I was going to have to, at least 
temporarily, turn control of my life over to someone else.
' 'So I rolled over onto my back.
"She seemed surprised at first. Perhaps she realized that I was quite a proud 
wolf, and submitting in this manner was not something I did lightly. Then she 
knelt down next to me, and she did something very strange. She scratched me on 
the belly. It felt quite nice.
' 'And I ate her cold steak. At least she hadn't cooked it. If she had, I 
wouldn't have eaten it. "He sniffed disdainfully. "One has to have one's 
standards, after all. "




11
The coffin sat deep in the basement, dank and ominous and filled with 
foreboding. Somewhere chords were being played on an organ. Candelabras were 
laid out all around and there, chained in a corner of the room, was a young, 
blonde-haired, lustrous virgin. Her gown was of the purest white, but her wrist 
was torn and bleeding from pulling at her manacle. She had already screamed 
herself raw shouting for help, and now she knew that none would be forthcoming. 
She was doomed. Doomed and damned.
Somewhere a clock struck the hour of six. And slowly the coffin lid began to 
rise, accompanied by a hideous creaking that sounded like a chorus of gleeful 
rats.
"Oh, God." she whispered. "Oh, God, please, no." The vampire sat up with 
incredible speed. Duncan was wearing a tuxedo with a red sash across his chest. 
His face was deadly white, his eyes blazing. He turned slowly, and when he 
spotted the sacrifice his mouth pulled back, revealing long, pointed fangs that 
were still tinged with blood from yesterday's meal.
"Sssssoo," he hissed. "Guess who's coming for dinner?"
He stepped out of his coffin and approached her, his cape swirling about him, a 
low, evil chuckle in his throat getting louder. And she found her voice and 
screamed, but it was a small, pitiful thing, drowned out by his laughter that 
echoed and…
Someone prodded Duncan with a stick.
Suddenly the virgin and the coffin and the ominous music all vanished, the dream 
disappearing back into the recesses of his imagination. Everything was black 
around him, because he was zipped up completely in his sleeping bag. The 
sleeping bag that he had long ago emptied of its insulation and refilled with 
dirt taken from his native Fresno.
Someone prodded him again and he shouted through the bag. "Knock it off!"
"Sir! Come out, please."
"This is my sleeping bag, and my cardboard box. and my alleyway, and I'll be 
where I damned well want to be!"
Duncan checked the display on his digital watch and saw that it was just past 
six. The sun would have just gone down-safe enough. Then again, he had thought 
he would be safe enough in this alley—no one had bothered him there for ages, 
which had been pleasant since he'd already been rousted out of Grand Central 
Terminal.
"Look, what do you want?" said Duncan, unzipping his sleeping bag and poking his 
head out.
A man in a business suit and a checked tie said, "I'm Jack Wilcox, from the city 
social agencies. We're trying to improve your life."
"Oh, really?" said Duncan. He slithered out of his sleeping bag, which was 
inside of a refrigerator box lying on its side. He dusted off his raincoat and 
said, "How?"
"We have city shelters that we would be happy to bring you to. If you go 
voluntarily," smiled Wilcox, "then we wouldn't have to force you."
"Is that a fact?" smiled Duncan. "Well, I have to admit that I'm really not 
interested."
"But you can't enjoy this life. Aren't you uncomfortable and hungry?"
"Comfort doesn't matter that much to me," replied Duncan. "But I am hungry, yes. 
And I admit that there is a way you can improve my life."
"Really?" said Wilcox eagerly. "How?"
"By giving me yours."
Duncan's hand lashed out, grabbing Wilcox by the throat.
Wilcox's eyes opened wide in shock as Duncan lifted him off his feet and dangled 
him there.
He bared his fangs and smiled. It wasn't a virgin in a flowing white gown, but 
it would do.
After tossing the body in a dumpster, Duncan made his way to a pay phone and 
made a collect call to Canada.
"Where the hell have you been?" said Parsons in irritation. "What's going on 
down there? Did he finally invite you in?"
"There's… been a slight problem," admitted Duncan. "I think he's gone."
' 'Gone ?!''
"I went over there last night and he wasn't there anymore. It might be that he 
turned into a human and escaped."
"Escaped?!"
Duncan frowned. "You know, you don't save any money on phone bills by using only 
one-word sentences. It's not like telegrams."
"Can't I trust you to do anything?"
"Look, you think you can do so much better? You should have come down here 
yourself."
"I couldn't get away."
"Excuses, excuses. I think you're afraid of him."
There was dead silence at the other end, but Duncan could practically see the 
smoke fumes coming out of the receiver.
"Look… Ed," Duncan said. "We've been friends a long time, ever since you and I 
nailed the gypsy who did this to us. Okay? But don't go pushing it."
There was a low growl on the other end.
"Ed?"
The growl evolved into a full-throated roar. Duncan held the receiver at arm's 
length and it was still deafening. He turned around and looked up at the sky. 
Sure enough, the moon had risen.
"Ed!" Duncan shouted at the phone. "I'll catch you later!" Suddenly the phone 
went dead, and Duncan realized that Ed had probably pulled the phone out of the 
wall.
He hung up and signed. "He's always so difficult to talk to during his time of 
the month." 



12
Darlene stepped back and admired her handiwork. Then she gave an appreciative 
two-note whistle.
Josh stared at her and said, "Why did you do that?"
"That?" She whistled again and he nodded. "That's what you do when you see 
something really good looking. It's called a…" She hesitated, then shrugged. "A 
wolf whistle."
"Really?" He stared down at his clothes—black slacks, a yellow turtleneck, and a 
rust-colored sports jacket. "Wolves don't whistle."
"That figures. What do you do when you see something really good-looking?"
"We usually eat it."
"Oh. Okay, look, first things first. We'll both go down to the Shop-Rite and get 
some food to last a while. I figure it's easier to go now with you in tow, 
rather than when you're Rin-Tin-Tin."
"Rin-Tin-Tin?"
"Skip it."
"Okay."
"Good. And after that, we'll go—"
"Home? To my forest?"
She stopped as she was pulling on her windbreaker and looked at him. "Home. 
Jeez, I hadn't thought of that."
Slowly she sat down on the couch. "I was running around today, shopping for 
clothes that would fit—guessing all along the way and doing a good job, I might 
add. And it never occurred to me you wanted me to find you a way to get home."
"Are you upset, Darlene?"
"No. No, of course not," she said uncertainly. "I mean, heck, I'd offer to drive 
you except I never learned how. Where is home, anyway?"
"The forest."
"The forest. So you said. Well, that sure pins it down. Any special forest?"
"The forest where I live."
She rubbed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Josh, this isn't getting 
us anywhere. I need geographic location. Where is it actually located?"
He stood there, trying to grasp the idea of what she was saying. Then he tapped 
his chest. "I only know it here."
"Well, that's just sweet as all get-out, Josh, but it's not going to do diddly 
for getting you home."
"Then what will do diddly?"
"We'll discuss it in the store. Come on."
They went downstairs, past Mrs. Michaelson, who complained that Darlene's having 
this man stay overnight was indecent and she was going to get her shotgun. They 
ignored her. They walked several blocks to the supermarket, and Darlene imagined 
that everyone was looking at her enviously because of the gorgeous guy she was 
with. Either that, she realized, or they were wondering what a guy who looked 
like that was doing hanging out with a little shrimp like her. Selfconfidence 
was never going to be her strong suit.
Josh stepped up to the door and it swung open obediently. He jumped back several 
feet, emitting a cry of horror, nearly knocking over Darlene. Passersby slowed 
down a moment at his reaction, and Darlene said quickly, "He's from out of 
town."
She tried to push him towards it but he held his ground, saying "Uh-uh. No. 
Something's wrong with that door."
"It's automatic, you idiot," she hissed. "Now move your tail." And she shoved 
him through, following close on his heels.
Once in the store she got a shopping cart and they started down the aisles. The 
first one they got to was fruits and vegetables. She stopped by the melons and 
oranges and said, "You like fruits?"
"I don't know. I never tried them."
"We'll expand your horizons." Quickly she bagged some apples and oranges. Then 
she lifted a melon and squeezed it.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"You're always supposed to do that. You squeeze the melon to see if it's ripe. 
It shouldn't be soft. It should be firm."
"Oh."
She turned away to look at the grapefruits, and then a moment later heard a loud 
splutch. She turned and saw Josh standing there with a handful of massacred 
melon. The pulp was dripping and oozing from between his fingers, and he said, 
"I don't think this one was hard enough."
She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, and then she quickly pulled 
some tissues out from her pocketbook and handed them to Josh. He wiped his hands 
obediently.
They slowed down when they reached the dog-food aisle, and Darlene waved. "Any 
preferences?"
He studied them all. "None of them looks particularly good," he said.
"Not now, maybe. When you've got a little more hair on your chest—and face, and 
arms, and legs—hopefully it will look better."
"Humans don't eat this?"
"No."
"What do humans eat? Besides fruit, that is?"
"C'mon. I'll show you."
She brought him over to the frozen food section. "Behold," she said. "Every 
possible sort of meal known to mankind."
He stared down at the array. "You eat this?"
"Sure. Don't the pictures look good?"
He reached down and picked up a box. "Salisbury steak? What is that?"
"Nobody knows."
Before she could stop him he tore open the box. "Hey! Now I have to buy that!"
But he wasn't paying attention. Instead he was staring at the tray with the 
clear plastic covering. "It doesn't look very good," he said doubtfully.
"It used to look slicker," she admitted. "Back when they had aluminum foil on 
it. Now everything is microwave sa— hey! Don't!"
It was too late. Josh had bitten off a piece of the tray and the plastic and 
even a small portion of the steak, and was chewing it thoughtfully. She covered 
her eyes as his face twisted into an expression of distaste, and he promptly 
spat out what he'd bitten off.
"Terrible," he said. "And that thing in particular." He prodded the meat with 
his toe.
"That? That was the Salisbury steak. That was the only thing that was actually 
edible."
"Not to me. Darlene, if that's human food, I think I'm beginning to understand 
why hunters come through and shoot animals."
"Well…" She started taking a number of frozen dinners out of the case. 
"Actually, when hunters go shooting animals, a lot of times they don't actually 
eat them. Actually."
She started to push the shopping cart and he placed a hand on it, looking at her 
curiously. "They don't."
"Not always, no."
"Well, then… what do they do with them?"
She hesitated and then said, "Look, this hasn't been the best introduction to 
human food. How about a restaurant, my treat?"
"All right," he said, allowing Darlene to believe she had successfully changed 
the subject.




"Darlene hadn't realized that I'd already figured out at least one aspect of 
it,'' Josh told me. ' 'On our way over to the store, and once in the store, I 
spotted several women who were clothed in animal skins. It was clear that they 
were wearing them solely as some sort of decoration. One woman was even wearing 
the skins of a rabbit. " He shook his head and then looked up at me. "Tell me, 
my friend… would you have been able to do what Darlene was unable to do? Namely, 
purchase a rabbit in a store in order to feed it to a wolf?"
(I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Probably not, " I admitted.)
"By the same token, could you find it within yourself to purchase a coat made 
from those selfsame creatures?"
("I doubt if I could find it within my personal finances.'")
"Money aside. Could you do it?"
(I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I could. If the right woman came along and I 
really wanted to impress her, I'd be capable of buying something like that. ")
He smiled ruefully. "You are all such hypocrites. "
("I know. But when you and Darlene went out to eat, who picked up the check?"}
"She did. "
("So you see. We're hypocrites, but we've got all the money. ")




Josh stared at the menu. "I don't understand any of this."
"It's in French."
Josh looked around at the opulence that surrounded them. Plush velvet seemed to 
envelop absolutely every fixture in the place. Chandeliers, exotic potted 
plants, and as if the place wasn't big enough, the walls were lined with mirrors 
that served to double its apparent size.
Josh stared at the mirror, slowly running his fingers over his cheek in 
wonderment. The changes that had been wrought on him… they were simply beyond 
all belief. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought them possible.
From across the table Darlene said, "Josh. Let me order, okay?" Distracted by 
his reflection, Josh simply nodded.
An oily waiter oozed over and, looking appropriately unctuous, said in a brittle 
French accent, " 'Ave m'sieur and mad'moiselle decided what they would like to 
'ave?"
Josh turned and looked at the waiter with curiosity. "What?"
Darlene quickly put up a hand and said, "Josh. Remember, I'm handling this. 
You're in my neck of the woods." She closed her menu in utter confidence and 
rattled off a lengthy string of French.
The waiter stared at her and then said briskly, "As you wish, mad'moiselle. Two 
orders of breaded umbrella, two side orders of dirt and two glasses of white 
shoes.'' He stared at her icily and said, "Would you care to order dessert out 
of the Sears catalogue?''
In a moment, with the menu opened in front of her, Darlene placed a more edible 
order.
The wine came first. The waiter proffered the bottle to Josh for inspection, and 
he stared at it uncomprehendingly. From across the table Darlene caught Josh's 
eye and nodded. Obediently he nodded as well. The waiter then, using a 
corkscrew, removed the cork with a little theatrical flair and handed the cork 
to Josh. Josh took it, glanced at it, and popped it in his mouth.
"Josh," moaned Darlene as Josh crunched down on it and made a face. "You were 
supposed to smell it."
Josh scrunched his face up and spat out assorted pieces of cork onto the napkin. 
"It tasted better than the Salisbury steak," he said.
The waiter was staring at him in undisguised disbelief, and Darlene quickly 
said, "Just pour the wine, okay?" This the waiter did and got away from the 
table just as fast as he could.
Darlene raised her glass and said, "To the wild things."
"To the wild things," he repeated in that tone that indicated he didn't 
understand. Darlene drank it down and Josh attempted to do so as well. Then his 
mouth opened wide, his eyes seemed to leap straight out of his face, and he 
proceeded to gag. People from tables nearby looked around at him, wondering 
whether or not somebody was in need of the Heimlich maneuver.
"Are you okay?" she said in a worried whisper.
He managed to get his coughing fit under control and croaked out, "Why didn't 
you tell me I wasn't supposed to eat that either? I feel like I swallowed a 
burning log!"
"You were supposed to eat that. That's alcohol."
He stared at the glass and swirled the liquid around. "You mean it's supposed to 
taste like that?"
"Yes."
"Why? How does anybody consume it? Why would anybody?"
"Because we like it. It relaxes you."
"I was relaxed. Now I'm tense. And the taste…"
She shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "You get used to it."
"Why would anyone want to get used to it?"
"We get used to all kinds of things. The sharp taste of alcohol, the bitter 
taste and caffeine shakes from coffee, the smoke and yellow teeth and coughing 
from cigarettes. We're real good at getting used to everything we have to suffer 
with in order to have a good time."
"I see."
"No, you don't."
"No, I don't," he admitted.
When the meal came, Darlene was gratified by the look of pure joy that leapt 
into Josh's face. "Raw meat!" he said. "You got me raw meat! How considerate."
"It's called steak tartare, actually."
He reached for it with his hands but she quickly placed hers on top. "Watch me," 
she said, and daintily began to cut her meal up with a knife and fork. "Like 
this."
He watched her skeptically. "Is that another one of those bizarre human habits 
that you learned to live with?''
"Kind of, yeah."
Looking doubtful but giving it a game try nonetheless, Josh picked up his knife 
and fork and dutifully ate his meal that way as well. "I would have liked to 
just eat this quickly," he said. "This is the first decent meal I've had in a 
while."
"You shouldn't wolf down your… uhh, skip it."
"You tell me 'skip it' a great deal."
"I know. That's because there's a lot of things you shouldn't worry about."
He finished eating, put down his knife and fork and said, "I want to go home."
"Sure, after dinner."
"No, I mean my home."
"We've discussed this, Josh. We have to find out where your home is. I don't 
think you have any idea just how big this world is." She pushed aside her plate 
and leaned forward. "I don't know where you came from. How can I possibly get 
you back there?"
"You have to try. My pack… whatever's left of it… depends on me. And my mate, 
and my cubs…"
"Are you telling me that you have a wife and kids?"
"Of course. Well… no cubs yet. They've yet to be born." He looked sullen. 
"Perhaps they may never be born. Not with that… creature roaming the forest. 
Perhaps they are all dead by now. Either way, they are my pack, and I have to 
return to them. You have to help me."
He took her by the hand and she felt something within her begin to burn. Maybe 
it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he was looking at her. Suddenly she 
didn't care about the forest or the pack or his mate and cubs-to-be. All she 
cared about was—
"Dessert?"
She turned and there was the waiter, wheeling a pastry cart. "Oh, not for me. 
Maybe you, Josh?"
"I don't think so. If there's something that you won't eat, I certainly don't 
want to try it. There's enough things you do eat that have caused me problems."
"Oh, it's not that there's anything wrong with it. I just have a sweet tooth 
that's caused me too many problems already."
"A sweet tooth?" said Josh, as the disgusted waiter wheeled the cart away. 
"Where?"
"All over." She opened her mouth and pointed in. "See? A mouthful of cavities, 
and a mouthful of fillings and caps to go with it. I'm still paying off the 
dental bills."
"Is that another one of those things you have to get used to for the sake of 
enjoyment?"
"Exactly. Tell you what…I'll get the check and I'll take you out to show you 
something else we get used to for enjoyment's sake."




The disco was pounding, the walls shaking as if with life of their own.
Josh flinched back automatically as Darlene tried to pull him along, weaving 
their way through the crowd of dancers and drinkers. "Isn't this great!?" she 
shouted at the top of her lungs.
The music pounded and Josh felt it through his body, through his mind, as if it 
were a physical thing. He felt his heart speeding up, panic and an instinct to 
run flooding through him. His face was covered with sweat and he whimpered 
slightly. "Get me out of here," he said in a strangled tone.
"What?" shouted Darlene.
"Get me—" He lost his grip on her hand and was suddenly swept onto the dance 
floor.
Josh looked all about him, and everywhere there was flashing lights and the 
cacophony of music and noise, and people laughing and glasses clinking. Couldn't 
they hear his heart? he thought frantically. The pounding of it against his 
chest seemed overwhelming.
People smashed into him, bouncing him around like a pin-ball. He turned quickly, 
not knowing where to look, where to concentrate, and he fell to the floor. But 
there was no escaping there either, because the floor was lit up as well, and 
the dancing feet of the humans all about him pounded and stomped without let up.
He leaped to his feet and roared.
It was not a human sound. It penetrated the chaos of the club as people backed 
away, staring at him in shock or confusion or drugged surprise.
Darlene shoved through the crowd, grabbed Josh by the elbow and pulled him back 
out of the mass of strangers.
Within moments they were back out on the street, Josh hugging a lamppost and 
sucking in the air which the previous night had seemed stale but now seemed to 
be the sweetest smell he'd ever known. Darlene, standing several feet away, 
looked at him apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Josh. I guess you weren't ready for that. I should have realized."
"Yes, you should have," he said in the first angry words he had ever spoken to 
her. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry. You were just 
trying to show me… what are the words? A good time. Yes, that's it. Darlene…"He 
turned and leaned back against the lamppost. " I think I would have a very 
difficult time getting used to being human. This… club… could never be my idea 
of a good time. I need peace, quiet, beauty. Not… manufactured fun."
She nodded and then said, "I understand. Tell you what. I know someplace that 
might just fill the bill for you. And at the same time, maybe it will get across 
to you… in a way I haven't been able to… just how big a problem we've got in 
trying to find out where you come from."




He stared open-mouthed across the Manhattan skyline. The breeze cut through them 
and Darlene huddled closer to him, only partially because of the wind. 
"Gorgeous, isn't it?"
They stood on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Below them, in 
its multicolored majesty, was Manhattan. It was a beautiful, cloudless night, 
the stars twinkling down from the blue-black sky. The noises of civilization, of 
cars honking and people yelling and radios blasting and babies crying, all were 
distant and melded together into a faint, almost comforting hum.
"Josh? Are you okay?"
"I had… I had no idea…" He tried to pull together his scrambled thoughts. "Is 
that… the world?"
She laughed. "A small part of it."
"You mean there's more!"
"Oh, much, much more."
He gulped. "Can we see my home from here?"
"Not unless your home is in Manhattan, Queens, or North Jersey, which I doubt." 
She squeezed his arm. "Are you beginning to see the problem, Josh?"
She felt his arm shaking, a choke in his voice, and looked up at him.
His powerful chest was heaving, and his face was twisted in misery. He put his 
hand up to his face and came away with moisture. He stared at it in shock and 
said, "It's raining on my face."
"Those are tears, Josh," she said, and her heart ached for him. "It tells us 
when we're sad."
"Humans need so many things!" he wailed. He backed away from her and flailed 
randomly in the air. "Smiles to know when you're happy, tears to know when 
you're sad. You're all so… so…" He stared at his pitiful, clawless hands. "… 
helpless. Please"—and the tears started to come faster—"help me, Darlene. Help 
me get home."
He went to her and, bending almost in half, put his face against her shoulder 
and sobbed into it, great racking sobs that attracted the attention of everyone 
around them. They all responded in the usual human manner by giving someone who 
was truly miserable a wide berth.
Darlene put her arms around him, finding herself unable to reach all the way, 
and she patted him awkwardly and said, "Don't worry. I'll get you home. I'll… 
I'll get you home. Somehow.''



13
Amy glanced up from her pile of work as Darlene bustled into the office and went 
right by her without her customary cheerful greeting. The office of P.A.W. only 
consisted of five people, so the absence the previous day of twenty percent of 
the staff had most certainly not gone unnoticed.
Amy got up from her desk and sidled over to Darlene's. Darlene was busy going 
through a Queens phone book as Amy said, "You feeling better?"
Darlene looked up. "Better?"
"From when you were sick yesterday?" she said helpfully.
"Oh, yeah. Right." Darlene took a deep breath and thumped her chest. "Right as 
rain. Must have been a twenty-four-hour thing."
"Uh-huh." Amy put her hand flat on the open phone book, not allowing Darlene to 
turn the page. "Who is he?"
"Who is who?"
"You're involved with a new guy. I can tell. I can always tell. You refuse to 
make eye contact with me for any length of time, because if you do you'll be 
forced to tell me all about him and you don't want to do that because you're 
afraid I won't approve."
Darlene blinked and, not making eye contact, said, "Why should I care whether 
you approve or not?"
"Because in addition to being your immediate supervisor,
I'm also just about the only really close friend you have." She leaned forward 
on the desk. "Tell me all about him."
Darlene sighed and looked up. "I met him at the zoo," she said.
"Yeah. Go on."
"During the day he's a wolf. But he was bitten by a werewolf and he turns into a 
man at night. His name is Josh, because I named him that. And he's gorgeous but 
all he wants to do is go back to his forest to be with his bitch and his cubs. 
So I'm about to call the head of the zoo in Flushing Meadow and see if I can 
strong-arm him into telling me where Josh came from originally. That answer 
everything for you?"
Amy sighed patiently. "You'll tell me when you're ready." She turned and went 
back to her desk.
Darlene smiled to herself. At least now, having made a clean breast of it, she 
would be able to look Amy in the eyes. She paged through the phone book until 
she found what she wanted, then picked up the phone and dialed.




"Look, Ms. Abramowitz, I really don't see how the source of our animals is any 
concern of M.A.W.'s."
She couldn't stand his voice over the phone. He sounded like a creep. "Look, Mr. 
Ruben, it's P.A.W., and I'm not interested in your animals in general. I 
couldn't care less where the diseased groundhogs and whatever else you have 
there came from. What I'm interested in is one of your wolves."
"We have a number of wolves."
She stared at the pencil she was playing with and imagined it was Ruben's neck. 
"There's one I'm interested in in particular. ''
"Why? Can't get a date for Saturday night?"
The pencil snapped like a rifle shot. "It is"—she forced herself to speak 
patiently—"a large gray wolf, with one green eye and one yellow eye. A 
relatively recent acquisition, I should think." She paused. "You know the one 
I'm talking about.''
"Yes. Yes, of course." Now there was in his voice exactly what she'd hoped she 
would hear—unease. "I know the one you mean. But I see no reason to tell you 
where it came from."
"Really? You do still have that wolf, don't you, Mr. Ruben?"
She hesitated to ask. If he said that the wolf had died, or had been shipped to 
another zoo, she might have problems. But he didn't sound too sharp, and he 
didn't sound like much of a sldlled liar.
"Yes," he said after a moment, "of course we still have him. Where else would he 
be except here?"
Bingo, she thought smugly. "Mr. Ruben," she said silkily, "you're lying. That 
wolf has escaped, hasn't he?"
"That… that's ridiculous."
"I was by the zoo yesterday. I noticed he wasn't in his cage. Furthermore"—and 
now she decided to go whole hog— "I have a witness who will swear they saw the 
wolf wandering around loose."
"You're lying!"
"Fine. Expect a call from the Daily News." She started to hang up.
"Wait!"
She smiled at the near panic in his voice. "Wait for what, Mr. Ruben?"
"Do you know where the wolf is?"
"Not at all," she replied. At least one of them was an accomplished liar. "But 
don't you think the public has a right to know that there's a wild animal 
trotting around loose somewhere in the park?"
"Why? They'll just panic!"
"There's that."
"Look, Ms. Abramowitz… what do you want?"
She smiled. "Funny you should ask…"




Darlene lay on the floor, her head propped up in her hands, staring at the wolf 
who was staring back.
"I know where you come from, Josh," she said. "I could pack you on a plane, we 
could be there tonight. And then what? Then I never see you again?
"And what are you going back to? Your friends, your whole pack, might be dead. 
That creature is running around, the one who did this to you. What'll he do if 
he finds you again? He might kill you—probably will. If I bring you back, I'm 
probably returning you to certain death.
"But if you stay here…"
Suddenly the wolf twisted, reared back as if hit with a massive jolt of current. 
Darlene was startled out of her monologue as the wolf hit the floor, flipping 
from side to side, and tilting his head back in a groan of agony and despair.
She saw his hind legs start to lengthen and she did exactly what she had done 
the previous night—she bolted from her apartment.
She slammed the door behind her and tried to ignore the howls of pain that were 
coming from her apartment. Then she heard the sounds of footsteps and saw the 
people who lived above her, an elderly couple whose name she couldn't even 
remember, coming down the stairs.
They stopped in front of her, reacting to the sounds coming from within her 
apartment. The grunting and moans caused them to raise their eyebrows, look at 
each other, then at her.
"I got a friend visiting," she said, and when she realized that that alone 
wasn't carrying much weight she added gamely, "She's got really bad cramps."
"She sounds like some sort of animal… no, wait," said the elderly woman. "Now 
she sounds like a man."
"Hormone shots. To help the cramps."
"Hmmph," said the old man. "They're not helping very much, you ask me."
They walked on past and now the moans had tailed off to gasps. She rolled her 
eyes as, from downstairs, Mrs. Michaelson shouted, "I'm coming up there with my 
bazooka."
Darlene opened the door, walked in quickly, and there was Josh, naked and 
exhausted, lying on the floor. He turned to look up at her and said, "This is 
getting to be very, very painful."
"I know. I'll take you out somewhere to make up for it."
He sat up slowly, carefully. "First things first. Did you find out where I came 
from?"
She bit her lower lip, and looked into those eyes, and imagined those 
cable-muscled arms wrapped around her…
"Not yet," she said. "No luck. But I will. I know I will."




This time she didn't fool around with a French restaurant. She took him to 
Beefsteak Charlie's. They brought him a steak the size of a Buick, with a price 
tag equal to the national debt. Darlene had ordered it to be cooked as rare as 
possible. But what shocked her was Josh's reaction when he bit into it. His face 
wrinkled and he said, "I think it needs to be cooked a bit more."
She stared at him slack-jawed. "Cooked… more?"
"Yes." He realized how odd that sounded coming from him. "I'd just… I'd like to 
try it that way. Just this once."
"Well, sure, of course." She signalled to the waiter and had the steak sent back 
to be cooked to medium. And when it was brought back, Josh ate every bite and 
smiled as he did so.
He saw the waiter walking past with a pitcher filled with yellow liquid and 
inquired as to the contents. "Beer," said Darlene. "You wouldn't like it."
"Can I try it?"
"Well, sure, if you want." She dutifully ordered him a mug of beer and, when he 
sipped it, she waited for him to spit it out.
He finished every drop and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Can I get another?" 
he asked.




The Rialto was playing a double feature—Silver Bullet and An American Werewolf 
in London. It was an extremely difficult double bill to resist.
When the first film came on, Josh was astounded. He sat there for a moment, 
blinking in confusion. Then he got up from his seat, went straight up to the 
screen and put his hand against it, staring at the flat image.
Cries of "Hey! Knock it off, you idiot!" rang through the theatre and Darlene 
had to hurry and drag him back to his seat before he was lynched. Once she had 
settled him in, and bought him a jumbo popcorn, and explained to the best of her 
ability just how a movie worked, he sat there fascinated throughout the entire 
double feature. He was particularly interested in the human-to-wolf 
transformations, and, try as she might, Darlene found it impossible to explain 
the concepts of special effects to him.
Still, for all the excitement that bubbled through him during the films, he was 
strangely quiet when they came out. They walked down the street, her arm through 
his, and she said, "Josh? What's bothering you?"
He looked down at her and said, "Would you be capable of shooting me with a 
silver bullet? To end my life? Like in those films?"
Her mouth opened and then closed again. "You're kidding, right? I mean… I 
couldn't even off a bunny rabbit. Kill you? No. No way."
"I see."
"You believe me, don't you?"
"What I believe," he said, "is that the life of a werewolf— or whatever it is I 
am—seems doomed to be a short one ending with violence."
"Josh." She stopped, took him by both hands and faced him. "I will never let 
anything happen to you. No matter what. No matter what kind of trouble you're 
in, I will be there to help you. I promise."
He smiled. "I suppose I've sounded pretty depressing, huh?"
"Nothing I can't live with."
Grasping her hands firmly, he said, "I've depressed you. I didn't mean to. 
Please accept my apologies. In fact, I know how to cheer you up." He pointed 
further down the street.
She looked where he indicated and shook her head. "Oh, no, Josh. Not a disco. 
You had a really tough time there last night, and I don't want to put you 
through that again."
"I'm game. Sorry," he said quickly. "A forest animal should never say he's game. 
Some hunter might be nearby and misinterpret. But tonight I'm human, and you've 
worked hard to make things good for me. The least I can do is try to return the 
favor." And he pulled her, in no uncertain terms, towards the disco.
She waited for the same panicked reaction to set in as it had the previous 
night. This time, however, Josh glided through the crowd, holding her hand 
firmly but not using it for a lifeline as he had before. And this time, instead 
of shielding his eyes from the lights, he was watching the dancers carefully.
Anxious to get him away from the crush of humanity, Darlene started to point and 
say, "Look, there's a table over in the corner," but she never got the chance. 
She was almost yanked off her feet as Josh pulled her straight into the middle 
of the dance floor.
He spun her around and her face was against his chest. He looked up and there 
was a feral smile on his lips as he began to move to the music. He placed his 
hands on her hips and pressed her against him. She gasped at the closeness and 
could only follow along with his overwhelming strength as his pelvis began to 
gyrate slowly, back and forth to the music. The sound pulsed through them, 
filling them with something primal, something unmistakably sexual.
He laughed low in his throat, his face slick with sweat, and she continued to 
move with him. He placed one hand against the small of her back and swept her 
down, almost to the floor, and back up again. She rubbed herself up against him, 
her breath coming in short gasps, and she managed to get out, "You pick up on 
this stuff fast."
His reply was lost in the sound and the beat and the talking of the people 
around him… lost in humanity.
By the time they left it was well after midnight, and Josh had downed several 
more drinks during their time in the club. But the liquor seemed to have had no 
effect on him, except maybe to make him even more relaxed with her.
He was adapting incredibly fast, she realized as she brought him back to her 
apartment. He was losing the fear of civilization that had encompassed him. He 
was learning, learning that there was nothing to fear from humanity… or from 
her.
She opened the door and suddenly felt herself lifted up. He had swept her up in 
his powerful arms and was now carrying her into the apartment. "Josh!" she 
laughed. "What do you think you're doing?"
He kicked the door shut behind her and buried his mouth in the base of her neck. 
She trembled in his arms and sighed, "Oh, God, Josh, stop it," but she didn't 
say it with any sincerity.
His voice rough, he said, "Are you in heat yet?"
"I'm getting there," she replied. "What about your mate?"
"She'll be fine without me." He set her on her feet and then slowly bore her to 
the ground. His hands worked their way under her shirt. Hoarsely he said, "Take 
this off."
She slid her shirt over her head and then, taking his face in her hands, she 
kissed him deeply.
He howled.
He pulled his head away from her with startling fierceness and grasped at his 
mouth in pain. "What did you do?" he moaned.
"Nothing! A kiss! We call that a kiss."
"Don't do it again," he said. "It hurts."
"But it shouldn't—" And then words were lost as he overwhelmed her.
And part of her mind shouted at her that it was wrong, that she was making a 
terrible mistake. That this was not a human, despite all outward appearances, 
but a creature of the wild. Of the supernatural.
And she agreed. She knew she shouldn't. She knew it was a huge mistake, even as 
she pulled off her clothes and revelled in the feel of his body against hers. 
She knew that she was entering a new step in a relationship that could only end 
tragically, even as they twisted and writhed in each other's arms.
It was awkward and clumsy, for his preferred position was most definitely not 
hers, but eventually they found a compromise.
You'll be sorry! her mind screamed at her, and she knew that she would be, but 
as the heat flooded over her, washing away the last of her inhibitions and 
concerns, she didn't care. She simply didn't care.



14
He soared above the skies of Manhattan, not certain what he was looking for.
Duncan flapped his wings and angled down, mindful that he had to hurry since 
soon the sun would be rising, and to be caught outside of his sleeping bag at 
that crucial time would give him a case of permanent sunburn, all over.
Parsons had described, to the best of his vague knowledge, what the human form 
of the wolf looked like. It shouldn't be too difficult to spot a massively built 
naked man running around. On the other hand, the city was huge and besides, if 
he was really naked, he'd probably be locked up somewhere at the moment.
Duncan hit a pigeon.
He wasn't expecting it, and what the hell was the stupid bird doing out at this 
time of night? For whatever reason, it was there, and Duncan and the pigeon 
collided in full flight. They smacked off of one another, the pigeon spiralled 
away, and Duncan never did discover what ultimately became of it. All the 
vampire bat knew was that he was now careening out of control towards the 
street.
He flapped his wings furiously and pulled out of his plunge, finally pulling 
himself together and arcing upward. The sun would be up inside of half an hour, 
though, and with a mental shrug he gave up and flapped off to his refrigerator 
carton and home.




Darlene spent the day making preparations.
It was Saturday and she spent it shopping. Shopping for sexy lingerie for 
herself, for sexy clothing for Josh, for a sumptuous meal that she was going to 
prepare, for velvet ropes to add an air of kinkiness to the proceedings (as if 
sleeping with a man-wolf wasn't kinky enough). At home she made preparations 
under the interested gaze of the wolf.
And that evening, as the moon came up, she was prepared. A bottle of wine on the 
table, a candle flickering in the middle. The bed already pulled out and fitted 
with silk sheets (her credit limit already bent near to the breaking point as 
the result of her new relationship). She was wearing a pink silk teddy and, over 
that, a short purple kimono. She had laid out an appropriately leisurely 
ensemble for Josh to wear once he transformed.
She sat down, legs crossed demurely, and waited for the change.
And waited.
And waited.
By the time she had waited a half hour, with the wolf staring at her blandly, 
she began to realize something was wrong.
She looked out the window and realized, with sinking heart, that the full moon 
was beginning to wane. Her hopes for a romantic evening waned even faster.
She put down the glass and said softly, "Aw, shit."
Then she went into the kitchen, pulled the roast out of the oven and brought it 
back to the table. Under the wolf's watchful eye she cut it in half and then 
simply tossed it to him. And as he gobbled it she said sadly, ' 'bon appetit.''




By the next morning she had managed to put aside her disappointment, and was 
even chiding herself for being foolish enough to forget that werewolves only 
change at full moon. It would be another month before Josh the wolf would change 
back into Josh the human.
She spent the next month making it the best month that the wolf had ever spent 
in his life.
Darlene had been astounded at the speed with which Josh had become acclimated to 
humanity. But that was only Josh. Now it was time to woo the wolf over to her as 
well. She decided to do so by giving the wolf the absolute best of everything.
She stepped up real meat to four times a week, becoming such a fixture in the 
butcher shop that the butcher took a liking to her and started cutting the price 
for her. He was also more than happy to give her large bones that had enough 
meat left on them to give Josh something to gnaw on. Josh just adored those.
She started to buy from a gourmet pet-food store, until she realized that it was 
costing her more, for that than the meat she got at the butcher shop. So she 
returned to the more normal dog food for those days she couldn't afford fresh 
meat.
She made Josh his own bed out of a futon, and even took the plunge and got cable 
TV. She recorded six hours worth of werewolf films from a variety of cable 
stations, and alternated them with six hours worth of Lassie reruns which the 
wolf also seemed to enjoy. She would plug these into the VCR before she left in 
the morning so that the wolf could be entertained.
And when she came home she would pamper him, brushing out his fur or scratching 
behind his ears, which he really seemed to like. She got him a flea collar. She 
got him every doggie toy she could think of.
Then she got a book on wolves, and one of the things it emphasized was that 
wolves, being wild animals, are damned near impossible to domesticate.
It made her wonder briefly how she had managed it. How had Josh gone from being 
a wolf accustomed to foraging in the wilds of Canada to a happily housebound 
animal? She realized then that Josh was no longer simply a wolf. Even in his 
wolf form, there was still elements of the human in him now, elements that were 
serving to…
To what? Domesticate him? Well, that should make her happy. Shouldn't it?




April turned unusually warm and she began taking Josh for longer and longer 
walks. One Sunday the temperature actually hit the 70s, unusually balmy for that 
time of year in New York.
That day Darlene was feeling especially adventurous. Besides, it was becoming 
apparent to her that Josh was starting to go a little stir-crazy. He didn't 
scratch at the door so much as stand there and stare at it in clear irritation. 
The only time she took him out was early in the morning and late at night to do 
his business.
It was time, therefore, for an adventure, especially with the summerlike 
weather. As Josh watched expressionlessly, Darlene changed into a bikini and 
pulled on a T-shirt and jeans over it. Then she reached into a drawer and pulled 
out the leash.
Josh growled in annoyance. Darlene stopped and, from several feet away, said, 
"You always gripe abut it, but it can't be helped. You have to have a leash on, 
or some cop is going to stop me, and that's all we need." She approached Josh 
slowly and, although he was still clearly reluctant, he submitted and let her 
put the leash on him.
Moments later they were out in the street, and Darlene flagged a cab. It slowed 
down as it approached but then the cabbie spotted Josh. "No way, lady!" he 
shouted as the cab accelerated and went on its way.
Darlene sighed and looked down at Josh. "I guess we walk, sport."
Fortunately it was a lovely day, and the hike to Central Park was nothing 
overwhelming. Occasionally someone passing by would question her as to what 
breed of dog Josh was, and she would hedge her bets by saying that he had a 
little wolf in him. This, she reasoned, was most definitely true.
When they got to the park they wandered through until Darlene found a reasonably 
grassy area where the sun was shining unobstructed. She found that a number of 
people were already there sunbathing. She realized that she had forgotten a 
towel, but the hell with it. There was no way she was going to walk all the way 
back home just to get a towel.
"Lie down, Josh," she said commandingly, and Josh did so. Then she stripped down 
to her bikini and, arranging the clothes under her as a makeshift cushion, she 
lay down on the grass, her head tucked on Josh's stomach, and closed her eyes. 
There was something incredibly "relaxing about being surrounded by all that fur 
and inner strength. Josh, enjoying a rare moment of outdoor relaxation, rested 
his head on his paws. He, however, did not close his eyes. Despite all 
appearances the world of humans could still be a threatening place, and he 
didn't want to take his eyes off it if he could help it.
She had no idea how long she had fallen asleep for, because she wasn't wearing a 
watch, but she was awakened by a soft clicking and a low growling. The latter 
came from Josh, the former from a camera. She opened her eyes, shielding them 
with one hand from the glare of the sun.
A man was standing several feet away, taking snapshots of her. Without moving 
from her spot she said, "You want to tell me what you're doing?"
He lowered the camera. He didn't look like a pervert. He looked like a college 
kid. "I'm a photographer," he said. "You looked real good lying there and I was 
hoping you wouldn't mind if I took a couple of shots of you."
She raised an eyebrow, patting Josh on the head to let him know there was no 
immediate threat. "You really think I look that good? I've been dieting like mad 
over the winter."
"It shows."
"Really?" This kid sure knew how to push the right buttons.
"Yeah. Of course, I guess having your friend around takes care of extra table 
scraps, so you don't nibble them later."
"Who, Josh? Yeah, you could say that."
"Josh. And you are?"
"Darlene. Darlene Abramowitz."
"Live here in Manhattan?"
"Yep."
He bobbed his head slightly in acknowledgement. "Thanks, Darlene. Enjoy the 
day."
"You too."
Bobbing his head once more, he walked away. "Nice kid," Darlene said to Josh.




As Darlene was getting dressed for work the next morning, her phone rang. She 
picked it up and said "Hello?" while pulling on a sneaker.
"Ms. Abramowitz? This is Mr. Feld."
She blinked in surprise. Mr. Feld her landlord? He owned a number of buildings 
and she rarely saw him. The super handled problems around the place—Mr. Feld was 
just a name at an address where she sent an ungodly amount of her pay every 
month. Thank heavens for rent control. "Hi, Mr. Feld. What's up? Shutting down 
the gas heater again for a week for repairs?"
"Not at all. Ms. Abramowitz, you are aware that there is a no-pets clause in 
your lease."
She froze and stared at Josh. "Uh… yeah."
"So what are you doing with a large dog in your apartment?"
"Oh, he's… he's not a dog, exactly."
"Is he a canine?"
"Well, yes."
"Then he's a dog," said Feld with finality.
"Look, Mr. Feld." She started to tie her shoe. "How did you find out about 
him?''
"Page two of the Daily News," he said.
"What?" She stopped tying. "What do you mean?"
"The photo of you in the park. Very becoming, but I believe you owe me an 
explanation."
That little fink! she thought furiously. Out loud, she said, "Look, Mr. Feld… 
he's not technically a pet. A close friend of mine passed away, and she lived 
alone and hadn't left any provision as to what was supposed to be done with her 
dog, Josh. And the family members just wanted to give it to the pound, and I 
couldn't let that happen. Seven days and then he's killed. You saw him in the 
paper, he's a gorgeous animal. And you know I—"
"Yes, Ms. Abramowitz, I know animals are a very big part of your life," he 
sighed. "Look, I'm not a bad guy. Pets are just bad business, like children. 
They lower property values. I personally love animals. I don't want to be 
responsible for having the dog killed. But I have my investment to consider. You 
know what a dog can do to an apartment."
Having scrubbed the place down three times with Lyso! and still barely gotten 
the scent out, Darlene said regretfully, "Yeah, I know."
"Now if it's a temporary thing, that's fine. But it can't be long-term. I'll 
give you thirty days to find another home for him. Otherwise I'm afraid you'll 
have to find another home for both of you. Fair enough?"
She didn't think so, but she had a feeling it was the best she was going to get. 
"Yeah. Sure. Fair enough."
"Good." He hung up without any further words.
She stared at the phone and then blew a Bronx cheer at him.
When she went out to work she stopped by a newsstand and grabbed a copy of the 
paper. Flipping it open she gasped to find a shot of herself, bikini clad, lying 
in the park and dozing against Josh. Below it was a caption that read, 
"Manhattanite Darlene Abramowitz signals the arrival of spring as she lounges in 
Central Park with her dog, Josh. Temperatures hit the 70s yesterday and are 
expected to rise that high again today.''
"Great," she said in irritation. "Now I'm part of the damned weather report."
When she got to the office she was greeted with a chorus of whistles. On her 
desk she discovered several dozen copies of the picture, clipped out neatly and 
arrayed on her desk top. The others were grinning as Amy sidled over and said, 
"I see your dieting did wonders for you, Darlene."
"Jealous, Amy?" she replied silkily, a response that got a chorus of cat hisses 
and poised fingernails as if claws had been bared. Feigning a direct hit, Amy 
staggered away, leaving Darlene to wonder if there had been anyone who had not 
seen the photograph.
As it happened, there was. Mr. Ruben at the zoo, for example, read the New York 
Times, a paper considerably beyond printing photos of skimpily clad women. So he 
never saw it, which was fortunate, for if he'd recognized the wolf in the photo, 
as he most assuredly would have, all hell could have broken loose.
And Duncan didn't read it, for there was very little in most newspapers to 
attract his attention. Besides, he too preferred the New York Times when it came 
to papers, since there was more to wrap himself up in.
However, the wire services picked up the picture, since other parts of the 
country were going through a significant cold snap and they thought it would 
warm the cockles of other readers' hearts to see that spring might actually be 
on the way.
The picture eventually, through the magic of wires, wended its way up to Canada 
and landed in the morning newspaper of Doctor Edward Parsons.
Parsons leaned forward so abruptly when he saw it that he knocked his coffee 
over. The brown liquid cascaded across the neatly completed personnel reports 
that he'd been working on and dripped down to the floor, leaving stains like 
dried blood.
"Goddamn," he spat out.
He read the caption silently, mouthing the words. Her name leaped out at him, as 
did the word "Manhattanite." And the wolf's face. Since the photo was 
black-and-white, he couldn't tell what color the eyes were, but he would bet 
anything—his life excluded, of course—that it was the wolf. The wolf.
He spun and looked at the calendar he had hanging on the wall. It had come from 
an insurance company, and the thing that was helpful about it was that it had, 
neatly printed under each day, a little drawing of the moon and what phase it 
was in. He looked at it only out of habit, to confirm what he already knew. The 
next full moon was in two days. If only that idiot Duncan would call in.
He leaned back and toyed with the idea of hopping a plane down to New York and 
attending to this himself. It would be so simple. Just track her down. Where she 
would be, the wolf also would be. And then he would fire a silver bullet, or 
simply wait until the full moon and rip the wolf to shreds in its human guise…
Except…
Except…
He stared at the wolf in the picture and felt a cold shiver clamping on his 
spine. There was something about that creature. Something that he didn't like. 
Something that a gut instinct, some primal intuition, warned him about.
He had been a werewolf for some years now, moving from town to town when the 
murders started to pile up in one particular area. No one ever associated the 
deaths with him, of course, for they were all clearly the results of animal 
attacks. And no one in this enlightened day and age gave the concept of 
man-into-beast any credence at all.
During the first months of his curse he had been frightened, certain that behind 
every building or around every corner there lurked someone with a gun loaded 
with silver bullets, ready to kill him. But as months turned into years and he 
went on undetected, a certain sense of confidence began to envelop him. And as 
the years went by the confidence turned into a sense of invulnerability. Nothing 
could hurt him. Nothing could stop him. The curse was a blessing and he would go 
on and OR, year after year, killing and feeding as he pleased.
Except…
Looking at this wolf in the picture, this one lousy thrice-damned wolf, stirred 
in him the feelings that he'd had when he was first transformed. He felt 
uncertain, nervous. He felt as if somehow, through some horrible accident, he 
had sown the seeds of his own defeat. He saw his own death between those jaws.
And there had been dreams recently. Dreams of teeth clamping down on him, 
filling him with pain and agony beyond all belief. He had tried to shake them 
off but had been unsuccessful. He had not been able to see the source of the 
pain, of the teeth, but he could imagine it. Imagine it all too vividly.
Looking at the picture one more time, he decided that things would remain as 
they were. When Duncan called, Parsons would tell his brother-in-curse what the 
picture had told him. Perhaps Duncan himself had already seen it and was working 
on it from his end. Besides, with any luck at all, perhaps the wolf would choose 
not to come back. From the way the wolf was just lying there, he was looking 
pretty damned comfortable.
Perhaps civilization was treating him quite well.


15
Darlene had been looking forward to the first night of the full moon with more 
anticipation than she could recall since her prom night. Of course, on her prom 
night she'd thrown up in the girl's room half the time, so twisted in knots was 
her stomach. However, she had a few more years under her belt at this point and 
there was no nervousness on her part, but only anticipation.
For the first time in quite a while she became a clockwatcher. Work went very 
slowly, even bordering on coma, and the hours seemed to drag by. Eventually, 
however, the hour hand crawled towards 5:00. She had her desk cleared by 4:45 
and waited patiently, hands folded, her feet bouncing agitatedly under her desk.
At five minutes to five all hell broke loose.
Amy had been gone most of the day but when she banged in through the door, her 
arms loaded with papers and file folders, Darlene felt her heart sink down to 
her shoes.
"All right, people!" she shouted. "Gather round!" She slammed the massive pile 
down on Darlene's until-recently spotless desk. "We have what you could call a 
significant problem!"
Amy was wearing her one and only dress-for-success power outfit, so Darlene knew 
that she'd been off doing serious business-type things. "What's going on?"
The others gathered around as well. "Looks like you had a wonderful day," said 
Gretchen.
"It would seem," said Amy tightly, ignoring all attempts at civil greetings, 
"that our legislators have been extremely busy in our nation's capital. A bill 
has been introduced that caters entirely to the American Rifle Association, 
would put several already at-risk species in danger of complete extinction, and 
would turn several hundred acres of currently protected forest land into a 
shooting gallery."
"Holy shit," murmured Joe.
Gretchen gave an unpleasant laugh. "Your tax dollars at work.''
"That is really the pits," said Darlene. She glanced at her watch. "Well, I 
gotta go."
"Hold it!" said Amy in no uncertain terms. "No one goes anywhere. "I've got 
piles of phone numbers here. Senators, congressmen, lobbyists, reporters, other 
animal-rights groups—anyone who'll listen. We're going to be working late, 
making calls to anyone and everyone who'll listen. I hope nobody had anything 
planned."
"But Amy!" said Darlene urgently. "It's five o'clock! I mean, other offices will 
be closed anyway if we try to call them."
"Only Eastern Standard Time," replied Amy. "And for those people who aren't 
around, well, that's why God created home phone numbers."
Darlene blew air from between her teeth. "You're really going to be obnoxious 
about this, aren't you?"
"It's a very obnoxious bill. And what's with you, anyway?" Amy looked at her 
with some surprise. "You're the original go-getter. You're the original 
damn-the-consequences-let's-nail-the-bastards woman. Something up with you 
that's more important than this?"
Darlene hesitated, then sighed. "Nothing's more important. Gimme some of those 
phone numbers."




By the time they got out it was well after 9:00. Darlene ran from the subway 
station, her heart pounding, nervous and agitated. She had tried to call Josh 
once the moon had risen but there had been no answer. Was he okay? Had he lost 
control of himself and gone wandering through the streets, naked and wild once 
more? He could be lost, he could be dead, he could be anything. Josh, Josh, her 
mind screamed.
She got to her apartment, pounded up the stairs and shoved open the door.
Josh belched loudly.
She stopped in the doorway, staring at him.
He was seated on her couch, his legs propped up on the table. He was wearing one 
of her T-shirts, which was ludicrously small on him, so a vast expanse of his 
belly was exposed. And he was wearing undershorts and socks, and seemed 
perfectly content in that attire. In one hand he was cradling a beer, and there 
were several empties lying strewn about.
The TV was on, tuned to a miniseries that was an adaptation of a Sidney Sheldon 
potboiler. Josh turned to look up at Darlene and smiled. "Oh, hi, Darlene." He 
slapped the cushion next to him. "Sit down. I was wondering where you were."
Slowly she crossed the room and sat down next to him. She stared at him. "Josh… 
are you feeling okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine. Why?"
"You look… real relaxed."
"Well, why shouldn't I be?" He belched again. "Sorry." He crushed the can and 
tossed it across the room, missing the wastebasket by a good two feet. "You got 
any more of this stuff?"
"Josh, are you sure you're feeling all right?"
"Yeah, I feel fine. Why do you keep asking?"
"I don't know." She paused. "I went food shopping yesterday, so I got plenty of 
stuff. Want me to make you some dinner? Or we could go out."
"I ate."
"Ate? Ate what?"
"A box of Hostess Ho-Ho's."
"Hostess Ho-Ho's?" she said incredulously. "You can't be serious."
He stared at her. "Why not?"
"Well, because it's not… not…"
"Not what?"
"Not you!"
He seemed taken aback. "It's not?"
"No! Look… let's go out, okay?"
"But I'll miss the show."
"Screw the show! I've gotta get you out of here. I've got to get out myself a 
little bit. Otherwise I don't know what's going to happen with you."
"But it's late," he whined.
"It's nine-thirty! You're supposed to be a night creature."
"Oh, all right," he sighed. "If it'll make you happy."
"Yes, it would. Very."
She got him into some reasonable-looking clothes and shoved him out the door. 
Moments later they were walking along Third Avenue, and she said, "There's a 
really nice Italian place I'd like to take you to. Francesca's, over on 28th. 
You'll love it."
"Hold it." He stopped and sniffed an aroma that wafted through the late evening 
air. "Let's try that place. It smells great."
She looked where he was pointing and she felt her spirit plummet. "McDonald's?"
"Absolutely."
"McDonald's? I want to take you to a great Italian place and you want to drag me 
to McDonald's?"
He stared through the large front windows. "It seems very popular there."
"It's cheap! That's the only really good thing about it."
"Well it seems fine from here, and I want to try it," he said in an 
uncompromising tone.
Bowing to the inevitable, she took him to McDonald's. There she nibbled 
halfheartedly at a fish sandwich and watched in growing dismay as Josh quickly 
chowed down no less than four Big Macs and an order of large fries. The only 
trace he left was the paper it had been wrapped in.
"Great stuff!" he said cheerfully, and she moaned in disbelief.
She wanted to stay out late, to somehow get the old wolf juices flowing, but 
Josh insisted on returning home and watching the last half hour of the movie. 
When "To Be Continued" appeared at the end he moaned in dismay. "When does it 
continue?" he demanded.
"Tomorrow night," said Darlene tonelessly.
"Well, we'll just have to see it then." He paused. "What's on now?"
"The news." He nodded and sat back.
Darlene stared at him. This was not the way it was supposed to be going. What 
the hell was wrong with him?




"It was, quite possibly, one of the most humiliating times of my life," Josh 
said to me.
("Well, I don't see what was that big a deal, to be honest,'' I said. "I mean, 
you weren't doing anything illegal or immoral. And millions of people spend 
evenings like you did— watching TV and eating junk food and stuff.'')
"But Darlene was right. It wasn't me. And I couldn't see it. " He shook his 
head. "I was… am… a creature of the supernatural. When a man turns into a wolf, 
he becomes acclimated to what it's like to be a wolf. And I was becoming… 
civilized. A full human. Worse… a typical human. It was… not pretty.''




"Get up, Josh," she said briskly. He obeyed, then stood to one side watching the 
news as she removed the sofa cushions and pulled open the bed. "I'll be back in 
a little bit," she said.
"Uh-huh," he nodded.
Darlene walked into the bathroom, being careful to leave the door partially 
open, as invitingly as possible. As she undressed she became more and more 
uneasy about the change that had come over Josh. And there was most definitely a 
change, despite what he said.
For one thing he had not even asked whether, after all this time, she had 
discovered where he hailed from. It had been her guilty secret for close to a 
month that she had not told him when she first found out. She had dreaded his 
asking. Except now he didn't appear remotely interested. It was as if something 
in him had simply died.
Well, she decided, a small smile playing on her lips, what she was going to have 
to do was find a way to reawaken the animal in his soul. That was all there was 
to it. And she was most definitely capable of doing so.
Now naked, she started up the shower, letting it run off her hand until she was 
satisfied with the temperature. Then she stepped into the tub, sliding the 
shower curtain closed around her. But it was one of those clear plastic shower 
curtains, designed for keeping the bathroom dry but most definitely not for 
hiding things from prying eyes. Rather than concealment for modesty, it was more 
of an invitation to dance.
She lathered herself up, cleansed every part of her. Then, in as silky a voice 
as she could muster, she called out, "Oh, Josh… I could use someone to do my 
back.''
She waited for an answer. Nothing.
"Joooossshhh," she cooed, and she tried to keep that sultry tone while raising 
her voice—not an easy trick. "I could reeaaaally use someone to scrub my 
baaaaacckk."
Still no answer.
Now beginning to feel a little annoyed, she shouted, "Josh! Can you hear me?''
Once again, no response.
She sighed in irritation and shut off the water. Stepping out of the shower, she 
quickly towelled off her hair. Then she towelled off the rest of herself but, 
instead of putting on the bathrobe that was hanging on the hook near the door, 
she instead wrapped the towel around herself. It was decent by barely a quarter 
of an inch, which was exactly what she wanted.
If the mountain wouldn't come to her, she would have to go to the mountain.
She stepped slowly out of the bathroom and cooed, "You must not have heard me, 
Josh. You missed the chance to do my back. But you still have the opportunity to 
do the rest of… me…"
Her voice trailed off as she stared at her lupine paramour.
Josh was asleep, snoring loudly.
Her arms dropped, as did the towel. She stormed across the room and, leaning 
over Josh, grabbed him by the shirt front. One of her breasts brushed against 
his face.
"Wake up, you idiot!" she shouted in his face. "Wake up and have one of the 
greatest sexual encounters in your life!"
Josh half-opened a bleary yellow eye. "What?" He yawned, and the beer on his 
breath threatened to knock her out.
"Oh, Christ," she moaned and let go of him. He sagged back down and snored all 
the more loudly.
She sat there, naked and mortified.
There was a scratching at her window.
She turned.
There was a man there. His feet were braced on the narrow ledge beneath him, his 
hands holding clawlike to either side of the window. A raincoat billowed out 
around him like a cape.
Darlene jumped back, emitting a screech and automatically grabbing up a sheet to 
cover her nakedness. His face was dark, unshaven, but his eyes seemed to glimmer 
in the darkness.
"Get out of here, you sicko!" she shrieked… or started to. What she managed to 
say was "Get…" and then she forgot what she had been saying. A hypnotic haze 
settled in over her mind, and those dark eyes flickered with an unholy fire.
"Darlene Abramowitz," he said in a low tone laced with passion. "You should have 
had an unlisted phone number."
Downstairs the aged Mrs. Michaelson was just coming home from a frustrating 
evening of playing bingo. As the wizened woman arrived at the front door of the 
apartment building, she looked up and saw the dark figure clinging to the 
outside of the structure. "Hey! You!" she said with a surprisingly strong voice. 
"Get down from there, you pervert!"
The dark figure looked down and hissed, "Shut up, you old bag!"
"Pervert!" she raised her voice. "I'm calling the police!"
"I'm not a pervert," he said in irritation. "I'm a vampire! Now get lost before 
I suck out what little blood you've got left!"
"Vampire!" she snorted. "Get down from that window right now, you vampire, or 
I'm getting my shotgun!"
"You do that, lady."
Angrily Mrs. Michaelson opened the apartment building's front door and slammed 
it behind her.
Duncan shook his head. He was going to have to wrap this up fast. The last thing 
he needed was the police all over him. He turned back to Darlene, who had 
obediently remained in her hypnotic trance while his attention was diverted. He 
smiled admiringly, his lips drawing back, displaying his fangs.
She was quite an attractive little number. The old wolf had done well for 
himself.
She stood there obediently, like something in his dreams. "Now, Darlene," he 
whispered. "Invite me in."
"Invite… you?" she said hazily.
She was fighting it. The old woman had distracted him, and he was going to have 
to reinforce his hold. "Yes," said Duncan. "I can't enter unless you invite me 
in. You have to say 'Come in.' " He glanced at the sleeping form of Josh. "If 
your wolf friend hadn't been so far away at the zoo, I would have forced him to 
invite me there. I need to be very close up for my hypnosis, Darlene. You like 
close up, don't you?''
"Yes." She sighed and started to walk slowly towards him. Her breasts swayed 
slightly. "Close up."
"Invite me in." He licked his lips. "Invite me in and I'll make all your dreams… 
and my dreams… come true."
It would be so simple. Even a werecreature such as Josh would be susceptible to 
being torn limb from limb. Silver bullets were not the only answer. And then 
there would be the girl, and it had been so long since he'd had one like her.
"All our dreams," he repeated.
"All—" She was closer to him.
"Yes."
"All our dreams?" She was tantalizingly inches away.
"Yes." He smiled and reached towards her. "Invite me in. That's all it will 
take. Just—"
Mrs. Michaelson shot him in the ass.
The impact of the shotgun blew Duncan clear off the ledge while ripping off a 
considerable portion of his buttocks. He screamed, high and long, and started to 
fall.
Now there was pandemonium throughout the building as windows started flying 
open. Somewhere in the distance a police siren wailed.
As he started to fall, Duncan instinctively began to revert to his bat form. 
Pain ripped through him as his torn flesh bent itself around, shrinking and 
bleeding. People witnessing the transformation flat-out did not believe what 
they were seeing.
Through it all Mrs. Michaelson remained unflappable. She was outside, leaning 
against a lamppost, a small throw pillow against her shoulder to absorb the 
recoil from the . 12-gauge shotgun. The change in midair from human shape to 
flying rodent cut no ice with her as she calmly chambered another round. The bat 
spun, orienting itself, and Mrs. Michaelson squeezed off another shot. This one 
ripped through the bat's right wing and he spun, out of control, and fell to the 
ground not five paces away from Mrs. Michaelson.
His form rippled, and took human shape again. He staggered to his feet, holding 
his limp arm. "You… you…" he stammered out, and then lunged at her.
She waited until he was almost on top of her, then brought her hand around and 
shoved a crucifix against his forehead.
It burned into Duncan's skin and he howled, the hissing and the scent of burning 
flesh filling the air. He spun away, tripped over a fire hydrant and staggered 
back to his feet. He heard the ominous ka-chak as Mrs. Michaelson prepared to 
blow away another part of his anatomy.
At that moment a police car roared up in response to the shooting and the 
alarmed calls to 911. The cops leaped out, shouting "Hold it!" and not quite 
knowing who they were addressing—the apparently harmless but heavily armed old 
woman, or the darkly menacing but severely wounded man.




High above the street, the naked and somewhat woozy Dar-lene slowly drew out of 
her trance and now, reflexively, jumped back from what had previously been in 
her window— except he wasn't there anymore. She blinked in surprise, and then 
went to the window and looked out, picking up the sheet to cover herself once 
more.
Below her was pandemonium.




Duncan ducked behind the policeman, his face still aching from the crucifix 
burn. The cop, gun out, shouted at him to "Hold it!" But Duncan, hurt and 
frustrated and royally pissed, had no patience at all. His hand lashed out with 
such force that it snapped the cop's head halfway around, instantly breaking his 
neck.
The cop's partner saw it, swung his gun away from Mrs. Michaelson and aimed it 
at the vampire. "You! What did you do?"
Duncan started to reply but once again the shotgun fired, the blast just missing 
him and taking out the windows of the police car. He spun and saw to his dismay 
that there were ejected shell casings on the ground near the old woman's feet, 
and she had just chambered another round. And who knew how much more ammo the 
old woman had on her in case she depleted the magazine.
"Jesus Christ," he said, and then moaned as his tongue burned. Enough was 
enough. If he'd been pushed so far that he was forgetting and doing damage to 
himself, it was time to pack it in.
He transformed into a bat once more and launched himself skyward. Another blast 
ripped through the night, but his flight was so erratic from his one injured 
wing that he was difficult to draw a bead on.
The cop ran over to his dead partner, gasped out the man's name, then grabbed 
the police radio and summoned an ambulance he knew would be too late. Tenants 
were slowly coming out now that things seemed to have quieted down.
Darlene, tossing on a bathrobe and running past the still-snoring Josh, was 
downstairs in a flash. She approached Mrs. Michaelson, who was now holding the 
throw pillow under one withered arm. She started to say something to the old 
woman, but realized she wasn't sure what. Thanks seemed appropriate, but she was 
still hazy about what had happened.
For her part, Mrs. Michaelson didn't seem to care. Instead she watched with 
irritation as the bat flapped away, out of range. She put her crucifix back onto 
the chain around her neck and slide it under her dress. Then she shook her head.
"Goddamn vampires think they run the whole city," she said.



16
Darlene sat at her desk, staring out into space. Amy had to address her three 
times before she looked up, and even then she had trouble focussing. "I'm sorry, 
Amy, what's up?"
"You want to tell me what's bothering you?"
"I don't really think so, no."
"Well, you better. Because there's sure as hell something on your mind.''
She sat back in her chair and just shook her head. ' 'There's a guy I know… or 
thought I knew. And he's just changed a little, that's all."
"Changed how?" She made a face. "Don't tell me this is Derrick again."
"No, it's not Derrick again. Okay?"
"Okay. So how has he changed?"
She paused and considered the best way to answer. "When I first met him he was 
probably the most exciting man I'd ever met. There was something about him that 
made him different from anyone I'd ever known. He was inquisitive, dynamic…"
"Sex?"
"Incredible sex," admitted Darlene. Once such a statement would have made her 
blush, but somewhere along the way she had lost her blushes. "Really great, 
yeah. And now,
I was together with him last night and he was… he was like a couch potato."
"Bummer."
"Yeah, bummer."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
Darlene pulled at her lower lip. "I don't know. What do you think I can do about 
it?"
"You've got to remind him of what he used to be like. You've got to let him know 
that you're really unhappy with the way he's being. Or…"
"Or what?"
"Or dump him."
Darlene looked taken aback. "No. No, I couldn't do that. If I dumped him, he'd 
have nowhere to go. He'd be helpless."
Amy stared at her in disbelief. "For Chrissakes, Darlene, is this guy an infant 
or something?"
"No. No, of course not."
"Well, then what's the big deal? He survived before he met you, and he'll 
survive after you dump him." Suddenly her eyes narrowed. "Hold it. You didn't 
move in with him, did you?"
"No."
Amy let out a sigh of relief.
"Actually," Darlene continued, "he kind of moved in with me." At Amy's 
expression she said quickly, "It seemed like the thing to do at the time."
"Aw, jeez, Darlene, how could you? Now you've got a real problem." She leaned 
against the desk and said, "Don't you get it? Men are like stray dogs. If 
there's a stray dog hanging around you and you don't feed him, eventually he 
goes away. If you feed him, then you can't get rid of him. Even worse than that, 
he can become overly dependent on you."
"Yeah," said Darlene. "Yeah, I think you're right. Thanks, Amy. Thanks for 
everything." She stood and started to gather her belongings.
Amy blinked in surprise and glanced over at the office clock. "It's a little 
after three! Where do you think you're going?"
"I have some errands to run. Oh, and I won't be in tomorrow, probably."
"Well where the hell are you going?"
Darlene patted her cheek. "Off to follow your advice. You going to fire me for 
that?''
She hurried out of the office before Amy could reply and hoped that she would 
have a job left to come back to.




As the moon began to rise, she laid out the clothes for Josh and then waited. As 
the change began, this time she forced herself to watch it with unwavering eyes. 
If she could do this, it would help her find the inner strength to say what she 
had to.
It started with the legs, and she did not avert her eyes as Josh flopped onto 
his side, howling in agony as the change began. Partway through someone started 
banging underneath her. Josh, in his pain, was making too much noise for the 
people who lived beneath her. But Darlene had no patience for that this night, 
and she stomped on the floor and shouted, "Don't worry! He won't be bothering 
you anymore!"
There. She had said it for the first time, voiced what she hadn't wanted to 
admit.
She was reminded of a T-shirt she'd seen. It read, "If you love something, set 
it free. If it doesn't return to you, hunt it down and shoot it." There was 
something to be said for that.
Her mind had wandered, she realized. A remarkable achievement, considering what 
was happening in front of her. She brought her concentration around and saw that 
the transformation was nearly complete. Josh's face was, like silly putty, 
acquiring its human quality. The howling died down to a low moan, and then he 
sat up, rubbing his jaw as if he'd just been slugged.
He looked up at her and said, "What's on TV tonight?"
She sat down across from him and said, "Josh… I found out where you came from."
He blinked in surprise. "You did?"
"Yes."
"That's… interesting." He paused, then stood and started to pull on his clothes. 
"Oh, I remember… it's almost time for the second half of that show from 
yesterday."
"Josh!" Her hands fluttered about. "Don't you care?"
"Yes. Yes, of course I do. Where is it?"
"A small town in Ontario called McKeeville."
"I see." He crossed to the TV and turned it on. "What channel was it, do you 
remember?"
She stepped in front of the TV and snapped it off. "Hey!" he protested.
"You stood there at the Empire State Building," she said angrily, "and you told 
me you have to get back. You made me promise to get you home."
"That was… before," he said uncomfortably.
"Before what?"
"Before what happened to us happened." He took her by the shoulders. "Darlene, I 
love you."
She shook him off and pulled away. "You've got a mate, remember?''
"She's a wolf!" he said. "She's the mate of a wolf! But I'm part man now, and a 
man has different needs, different wants! Don't you understand?"
"Yeah, sure I do," she said. "Like Ho-Ho's, and beers, and TV."
"Does all of that upset you?" he said in confusion. "Fine. Whatever you want. No 
more junk food. No more TV."
"It's not that!" She had to fight back the tears, to concentrate on what was 
being said. "Those are just symptoms of the problem. The problem is that you're 
losing everything that made you special. That made you yourself! You're turning 
into everything that's worst about people." She sat, but when he came towards 
her she brushed him away. "It's not your fault. It's me. I made life too easy 
for you. I wanted everything to be so good for you. I figured that it would be 
better for you if you didn't have to live the rest of your life like… an 
animal."
"But you were right. I don't want to go back to that life."
"No! No, I was wrong! Don't you see, Josh? You're dying. Bit by bit, little by 
little. You're losing the animal spirit, and there's nothing to replace it with. 
I'm killing you! Killing you with kindness."
"Darlene—"
She put up a hand, reached around to her pocketbook and pulled out some Polaroid 
snapshots. "I was over at the zoo today.''
"Zoo?"
"The Flushing Meadow Zoo. Here. Your old pals say hi." She handed him the 
photos.




"I looked at those pictures, " said Josh, "and memories gone for a month came to 
me. I stared at those lackluster wolves in the pictures, and the first thing 
that occurred to me was, basically, So what? They're just wolves. What am I 
supposed to get from this? What point is she trying to get across?
"And that's when the memories came back, as I mentioned. I recalled what it had 
been like when I first arrived at that zoo. How the wolves were so lackluster, 
so dreary. They were resigned to their fate. They had had no fire in them. And 
I, the newly arrived wolf from the wild, had nothing but disdain for them. How 
could wolves, proud wolves, allow themselves to fall so low? I had thought.
' 'And I realized what had happened. I realized that pampering, that the removal 
of the day-to-day drive to survive, had had the same effect on me as it had had 
on those wolves. You stop caring. When you don't have to fight for life, then it 
loses its meaning.
' 'Yes, I remembered the disdain I had felt for those wolves— and now I felt it 
for myself. And somehow, Darlene had known seeing those pathetic creatures would 
trigger that. Instinct. I guess she got that from me. "




Josh stared at the pictures of the wolves, and his large fist closed on them. 
They crumpled.
"McKeeville, eh?"
"That's right."
"My pack."
"They may be dead," she pointed out.
"I know. But I've got to find out."
She looked for the fire in his eyes and found it. The fire in his body was there 
as well, she knew, and suddenly she wanted it inside her…
… and knew that she couldn't. Now was not the time. Indeed, it might be that the 
time would never come again. But there was nothing she could do about that.
"All right," she said. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"La Guardia."
"Where's that?"
She stood, brushing off some imaginary dirt. "An airport. I checked and there's 
no direct flight to McKeeville. It's too small. We're going to have to take a 
plane to Toronto and change there. I bought tickets already." Reaching into her 
handbag, she pulled out a pair of tickets.
"And we're… we're leaving right now?" Despite the realization he'd come to, it 
still wasn't easy for him.
"Yeah. That's right. It's going to be necessary for us to travel at night, 
because there's no way I'm going to be able to get a wolf past Canadian customs. 
A man, however, should have no problems. It doesn't even matter about a 
passport— they hardly ever check."
"All right." He smiled. "All right."
He stood there in front of her, with that smile and his powerful body, and now 
the tears came. "Goddamnit, why'd you have to go and be a wolf?"
"Birth defect."
She went to him and he enfolded her in his arms. He bent his face towards her 
and she kissed him, and again he drew his head back quickly with a moan.
"I forgot," she said. "You don't like kissing," and they simply stood there, 
holding each other.
Moments later they were in a car heading for La Guardia.




Across town, a cab slowed down to pick up a man in a somewhat tattered raincoat. 
A rolled-up sleeping bag was strapped onto his back.
"Where to, sir?" he asked as the man stepped in.
Duncan settled back in the seat. "La Guardia Airport," he said tightly.
The cab moved out into traffic.
"Queens,,huh?" said the cabbie. "I try to stay out of Queens. There's all kinds 
of nuts out there. There was this one guy I picked up a while back-Duncan leaned 
forward and said, "Look, I really rather would not hear it, okay?"
"Sure. Fine." The cabbie shrugged. "Where you off to, anyway?''
"Canada."
"Business?"
"Kind of. I'm going to kill a friend because of all the aggravation I've gotten 
into over him."
"Aggravation?" The cabbie glanced into his rearview mirror to get a better look 
at his passenger and, oddly, didn't see him in it.
"Forget it," said the passenger tiredly. "It was just a stupid joke."
"Oh. Ha, ha," the cabbie laughed uncertainly.
Duncan leaned back and slid a hand into his pocket. He felt a twinge of pain in 
his right shoulder—it was going to be a while before that was fully recovered. 
The advantage of being dead was that it was tough to kill you. The drawback was 
that it took a long time for wounds to disappear. Either way he didn't want to 
shift into his bat form until he was certain his flight wouldn't be erratic.
He caressed the gun in his pocket. The revolver had five normal, typical bullets 
in it—and one of gleaming silver.
His mind went back to when he had acquired the gun.
It had been not too long after he had become a vampire, and Ed a werewolf.
He remembered when he'd been down in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. The entire city 
had been one huge party…
And the vampire-killer had come after him, mere days after he and Ed had killed 
the old gypsy. The vampire- and werewolf-killer, actually, who had thought that 
silver was just as effective against vampires as against werewolves.
He'd been partially correct. Silver was certainly irritating. It caused him to 
break out in a rash. But the five silver bullets that had penetrated Duncan's 
body, including the one that had drilled him through the heart, had most 
definitely not killed him. He, however, had killed the vampire hunter, and kept 
the gun and the sixth silver bullet as a souvenir.
Or had it been merely a souvenir? Had he known that, eventually, he would want 
to use it?
He had considered Parsons to be a friend, a partner in misery. But he saw now, 
more painfully than ever, that Parsons had simply used him. The other night when 
he'd called Parsons on the phone, just before the doctor's transformation, and 
Parsons had told him of the photograph, the doctor had been particularly 
abusive. Why, he had demanded, wasn't Duncan capable of finding out these sorts 
of things himself? Why was Parsons the one who had to do all the thinking?
Well, last night, with a buttload of ammo and an injured right arm, Duncan had 
had plenty of time to think. And what he'd been thinking wasn't particularly 
pleasant.
Enough of Parsons. Enough of his demands. Enough of this misery-loves-company 
crap. Ed had put Duncan's ass on the line and Duncan had gotten it shot off. And 
all the time Ed had been cowering in Canada, not wanting to come down and do his 
own dirty work.
All right, then. One silver bullet remained in that gun. Duncan would have liked 
to have more, but he sure couldn't afford silver, and besides, where in New York 
was he supposed to go to have someone melt down silver and cast it into a 
bullet? Even if someone might do it, all the gunsmiths and people he might find 
closed up shop at dinnertime and went home like normal people. By the time 
Duncan was up and around, they were all gone.
Well, it didn't matter. One silver bullet was all he was going to need.



17
The werewolf, stalking through the forest, suddenly stopped. The rest of the 
forest seemed to have become silent.
He swung his great head, looking for danger, but there was nothing. Nothing he 
could smell, nothing he could see, nothing he could taste.
But…
… there was something.
Even if he couldn't taste it or see it or smell it, it was there just the same. 
Some sort of danger, coming for him.
There was a brief, uninvited flash in his mind, a flash of a dream dreamt by 
another who was him and not him. A flash of silver, and jaws tearing and 
rending. A flash of the future.
Danger was not here, but it was coming. Coming for him.




Traffic was heavy at LaGuardia that night, and Duncan's cab sat in traffic for 
what seemed an ungodly amount of time. Finally, however, it pulled up to the 
passenger drop-oif area. The cabbie glanced at the meter and said, "Twelve bucks 
even, fella. Lucky you we came by the bridge or you'd have the tolls too."
"I don't have any money," said Duncan.
"What?" Annoyed, the cabbie turned. "Don't pull this crap on me. I didn't have 
to pick you up, you know."
Duncan's good arm lashed out, grabbed the cabbie and yanked him halfway into the 
back seat. "Hey!" shrieked the driver.
"Don't you want your tip?" said Duncan, and his fangs gleamed in the moonlight.
Moments later Duncan was in the front seat, with the drained body of the cabbie 
in the back. He shifted into drive, calmly steered the cab over into long-term 
parking, found a spot and left it parked there. He made certain that all the 
windows were rolled up before he left.
Duncan gave a passing thought to the smell that would greet the unfortunate 
devil who wound up opening the cab to discover the body. He took a measure of 
amusement in that.
He followed the walkway into the airport and moments later was standing in line 
at the Air Canada Terminal. He politely waited his turn and, once up to the 
front of the line, saw that there were two clerks—a gruff-looking man and a 
rather distracted young woman. It was the man who was free, however.
Duncan stepped to one side and gestured to the customer behind him. "After you." 
Not questioning his fortune, the man went to the ticket seller who Duncan had 
disdained to approach.
Now the woman was free, and this time Duncan walked forward with confidence. 
"Hello," he said pleasantly. "I'd like a ticket to Toronto, the next flight, if 
you can."
"Of course, sir," she said. She promptly started to push buttons on her 
terminal. "How will you be paying?"
"I won't. You will."
She blinked. "I will?"
"Yes. With your credit card."
"But…" She wavered slightly with uncertainty. "But why should I do that?"
"Because I told you to."
"Oh," she said.
"Of course," she said.
"Right away," she said. "Your name?"
"Lugosi. BelaLugosi."
In a hypnotic fog, she nevertheless went through her long-practiced, automatic 
steps of punching up and printing out a ticket.
"Smoking or non?"
"Nonsmoking, definitely. Those things will kill you."
"Aisle or window seat?"
"Window. On the wing, if you have one." He smiled. "I always prefer to be on the 
wing."
"Checking your luggage?"
"Noooo… I think I'll keep it with me."
Something suddenly jabbed Duncan in the small of the back. "Stick 'em up!" a 
high-pitched voice said from behind.
He turned slowly, keeping his irritation in check, to see a six-year-old boy 
wearing a baseball cap, a Mets jacket and Oshkosh overalls had crept up behind 
him. The boy was wielding a miniature baseball bat with the words "Junior 
Slugger'' emblazoned on it, and it was this that he was using to poke at Duncan.
He had escaped the eye of his mother, who at last caught up with him and grabbed 
him by the wrist. "Gary!" she exclaimed. "Don't bother the man. I'm sorry, sir. 
He's a little overactive. It's past his bedtime."
"Oh, that's all right," said Duncan soothingly. "Maybe he'll become a batboy." 
He hunkered down at Gary's level and looked piercingly at him. "I could 
personally arrange for him to become a batboy, in fact." And, safely below the 
mother's eye level, he drew back his lips just slightly and flashed his fangs at 
Gary.
The boy jumped back in alarm. Duncan took great delight in this until the small 
bat smacked him in the side of the head.
"Gary!" his mother shrieked once again and this time, without any further 
flustered apologies, picked the child up and carried him bodily away. Duncan 
heard the boy protesting, "But he had fangs, ma!" as he was toted off into the 
distance.
From behind him the ticket agent called, "Sir?"
He snapped to his feet, fury starting to build. "What is it?!"
Smiling and still completely under his influence, she extended a ticket. "Here 
you are, sir."
He sighed. "Yes, fine. Thank you."
Turning on his heel, he went towards the security check-in area, his sleeping 
bag slung underneath his arm. He walked to within range of the security check-in 
and then stopped several feet away and waited. He had plenty of time until the 
plane took off. He could afford to wait for what he needed.
He saw little Gary and his mother go by. Still irritated by her son's errant 
behavior, she had him tucked under one arm until she got up to the security 
check. There she placed him on his feet and he walked through, waving his bat at 
a security guard in what he believed to be a threatening manner. The guard, for 
his part, didn't seem remotely amused.
Then, further on down the hallway, heading towards security, Duncan saw what he 
hoped he would see: a woman with a baby in a stroller. As she approached him, 
Duncan saw that the infant could not have been more than three months old and it 
was sound asleep, covered with a cheery pink baby blanket with dancing yellow 
elephants. The mother was pushing, walking with brisk steps, an airline ticket 
clutched in her hand.
Duncan had no idea why he seemed to have an easier time hypnotizing women than 
men. The chauvinist in him made him think that perhaps women were simply 
mentally inferior. Then again, it could be that putting a woman under his spell 
simply brought out the best in him. Either way, he certainly found himself able 
to do his best work with them.
He stepped forward, intercepting her, and smiled. "My, what a charming baby you 
have."
She tried to go around him, but he stepped deftly to one side, blocking her 
path. She looked at him intently and said, "Get out of my way or I'll scream."
His eyes flashed as he said, "Now why would you want to do that?"
She hesitated, her mind foundering, and she admitted, "I… don't know why I would 
want to."
"It would certainly upset a lot of people here," he chided her. "Upset me 
terribly. Can't have that."
"No. Can't have it," she agreed.
He squatted down, looking at the baby as he reached into his coat pocket. 
"Charming child. How old? Three months?"
"Two, actually."
"Two! Big for her age."
' 'I know.''
And as the baby's mother beamed at his praise, he took his gun and slid it under 
the baby's blanket. Then he neatly rearranged it so that there was no visible 
bump. He stood. "Well," he said, sounding all business, "you must have a plane 
to catch."
"Yes, absolutely. I do."
"Then don't let me stop you."
He stepped aside and gestured grandly as she rolled the stroller past him and up 
to the gate. There the security guards, as was their custom, waved her around, 
since the metal detectors always went nuts if a stroller came through. And 
besides, who would try to smuggle anything through in a baby carriage?
Duncan, meantime, calmly placed his sleeping bag on the conveyor belt, which 
rolled it through the fluoroscope and naturally detected nothing. As for Duncan, 
since he wasn't carrying any metal, he walked through the detector with no 
problems at all. He picked up his sleeping bag and walked further on down the 
hallway.
About twenty yards away from the security clearance area, glancing around to 
make certain that no one was watching, he stopped the fogged woman with the baby 
carriage and retrieved his gun. He started to tip his hat to her but then 
thought better of it. There were still traces of the burned crucifix on his 
forehead, and in the event the police were looking for him—which they most 
likely were—that would certainly be one of the main distinguishing features. So, 
keeping his broad-brimmed hat slid down, he merely thanked the woman, commanded 
her to forget ever seeing him, and made his way over to the gate.
There he sat himself in a corner, away from the general hustle and bustle of the 
other passengers. As a result he did not notice when Darlene and Josh showed up 
moments later and seated themselves on the opposite side of the gate area.




"A dozen things were going through my mind at that moment, '' said Josh. ' 'And 
yet the thing that concerned me the most was what was going to happen to 
Darlene. I had grown so close to her in the relatively short time I'd known her. 
Yet, when wolves mate, we mate for life. What was I going to do?"
(' 'It's kind of funny, y' know ?" I said. ' 'With humans, you say a guy's a 
wolf, it means he goes after practically any woman he sees. ")
"Yes. I've noticed that 'wolf is a pejorative term in many aspects of human 
expression," he said. "The Big Bad Wolf attacked Red Riding Hood. The Big Bad 
Wolf tried to eat the three little pigs. The wolf tried to eat Peter in 'Peter 
and the Wolf.' Humans do whatever they can to tear down the wolf.''
("Why do you think that is?")
He considered it. "You're probably just jealous, " he decided.




Duncan slowly surveyed the gate area. Something was wrong. Something was 
definitely off. His nostrils flared slightly as if he could scent the 
disturbance. There was something here, irritating him. What could it be?
The small baseball bat cracked across his knee.
He grunted in pain and grabbed at his knee. He looked up and there was Gary, an 
intense expression on his face. "You're not coming on this plane with me, 
fang-face," he said, and swung his bat around again. His mother was nowhere in 
sight.
For one brief moment he considered killing the child. But that would probably 
cause a delay in the plane taking off, and that wouldn't do. So instead he 
simply caught the bat in its arc and effortlessly ripped it from the boy's 
grasp.
"Hey!" said Gary.
"This will be your little neck if you come near me again," said Duncan, and he 
snapped the bat in half. He threw the pieces down and hissed, "Now get back to 
your mother and keep the hell way from me. And if you tell her how the bat got 
broken…" He bared his fangs fully and spoke in his best graveside voice. "I'll 
get you when you're sleeping."
Terrified, the boy stumbled back, grabbing up his broken toy and bolting like 
mad in the direction of his mother. He wrapped himself around her leg as if he'd 
been epoxied, and she looked down in surprise. "What's wrong?" and then she 
looked further. "How'd your bat get broken?"
"I dunno," he whispered.
"Well, throw it out."
"I wanna keep it."
"Fine, keep it," she said, beyond caring.
                                            ****

"I noticed the little boy, saw how scared he was," said Josh. ' I asked Darlene 
why he might be so concerned, and she said to me—''



"Oh, he's probably just afraid of flying."
"I see." Josh paused. "Should I be afraid of flying?"
"No. Not at all. It's as safe as driving. Safer."
"Really? Why is it safer?"
She paused. "I'm not sure. But that's what the airlines always say. 
Percentagewise or something like that, it's a lot safer. As long as you don't 
mind going thousands of feet in the air…"
"Thousands of… feet?" Josh's voice had gone up an octave, and his face was now 
markedly the color of paste. "In the air? Like a bird?"
"Uh-huh." She placed a hand on his forearm. "Josh, you're going to be okay, 
aren't you?"
"Oh, absolutely. I'm going to be fine. I'm going to be fine, because I'm not 
going to fly." He started to get out of his chair.
With strength that surprised her, she shoved him back down. "Knock it off! This 
is the best way. We've got to go while you're human, like I said. I don't know 
how to drive, and with ground transportation, you might change back into a wolf 
while we're in transit. With an airplane, bang you're up, bang you're back down. 
We'll be way in the clear and past customs hours before the sun comes up. So 
don't sweat it, okay?"
"But I don't want to go thousands of feet in the air."
"The airplane won't crash."
"The airplane is like a bird?"
"Right."
"The wings go up and down like a bird's?"
"Well… not exactly."
"Not exactly?" He gulped. "What keeps the plane in the air, then?"
"Flight insurance."
"I don't under—"
"It was a joke! Jesus, lighten up, Josh. If it wasn't safe, do you think I'd be 
going on it with you?"
"Maybe you're stupid," he pointed out.
"Every minute I spend with you sure lends support to that theory. Josh, it's 
going to be fine. Don't be such a wimp. Act like a man, or a wolf, or 
something—anything but a coward. The pack. Your mate. They need you, remember? 
So pull yourself together, for pity's sake. Okay?"
He trembled. "Okay."
"Everything will be fine."
"Fine. Just fine."
"Flying nowadays, it's a perfectly normal thing."
Twenty minutes later, the Boeing 727 with a number of perfectly normal Americans 
and Canadians, one perfectly normal werecreature and one perfectly normal 
vampire, took off for Toronto.



18
"Keep your seat belt buckled, Josh," said Darlene. "You'll feel more secure."
Josh stared out the window, somewhat grateful that the ground below was shrouded 
in darkness. He had a strong feeling that he didn't want to see just how far 
down the ground was.
Darlene sat in the seat next to him, just holding his hand and lending him 
silent support. The takeoff had not been easy for either of them. For Josh the 
difficulty had been feeling as if his stomach was going to end up somewhere 
about three rows behind him. For Darlene the problem had been that Josh had 
squeezed her fingers so hard that she thought he was going to break them. 
Happily, neither instance had come to pass.
The aisle seat was empty. Ordinarily Darlene would have slid over to give them 
some room between each other, but Josh was so apprehensive that she felt the 
best thing to do was just stay where she was.
From the row in front of them, over the top of the aisle seat, a small boy 
peered over. He looked like a little Kilroy come to life. He studied the two of 
them as if trying to make some sort of decision about them.
Darlene leaned forward and waggled her fingers at him. "Hi there," she said.
He waggled back and replied, "Hello. I'm Gary."
This apparently caught the attention of his mother who was seated, unseen, next 
to him in the middle seat. "Gary," she said in a harsh whisper, "don't bother 
the people back there."
"No, it's all right," said Darlene quickly to the still-invisible mother. "I 
like kids. Really. I don't mind at all." She leaned forward and asked Gary, "Is 
this your first trip on an airplane?"
He nodded, the Mets baseball cap bobbing on his head. "We're going to visit my 
gramparents."
"That's nice."
"But I'm never going by airplane again."
"That's for damn sure," the tired-sounding mother seconded.
"Why not?" asked Darlene sympathetically, remembering what it was like to be a 
kid and have the whole world against you. Hell, she was an adult and she felt 
that way.
"Because the boogeyman rides the airplane."
"The boogeyman?" Josh looked at Darlene quizzically. "Someone I should know?"
"It wouldn't surprise me if you did," she said.
"The boogeyman broke my baseball bat." Gary held up the broken bat, displaying 
the splintered ends.
At this point his mother snatched the pieces away. "Stop playing with that! I'll 
get you a new one, all right?" And she put them on the floor under his seat. 
Gary glanced at his mother and then back at Darlene and Josh with a "What's a 
kid gonna do?" expression. He sighed and slid back down and out of sight as if 
he'd been deflated.
Darlene laughed silently. "Kids, huh?"
Josh smiled. "Actually, that's the first one I've spoken to, really. Small 
humans. I hope my cubs are as enchanting."
He had to remind me of them, she thought. Carefully she disengaged her hand from 
his.
"Is something wrong?" he asked nervously.
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Calm down, for pity's sake. I'm just going to go to 
the bathroom. You stay here and talk with your little friend about the 
boogeyman."
She stood and he said nervously. "How long before we're back on the ground 
again?''
She glanced at her watch. "Maybe another fifteen minutes, tops. In fact I think 
we're starting to descend already. See? I told you it wouldn't be long at all."




"The boy spoke of the boogeyman, " Josh said with an air of self-annoyance. "If 
I'd listened to him, the panic might not have broken out. Matters might have 
gone much more smoothly. Instead I didn't listen, and dismissed it from my 
mind—more the fool I.''




Duncan was slumped down in his seat, looking out the window, when something 
caught his eye. He turned his head imperceptibly and, to his astonishment, saw 
Darlene Abramowitz walk by. There were some differences this time. She was not 
naked, for one thing, although she was definitely one of those females who 
looked much better unclothed. Also, she was not under hypnotic control, as she 
had been the last time.
She walked past him without taking any notice of him at all, which was fine. 
Because already his mind was racing past the one aspect of the situation and on 
to the next—namely, that if the Darlene woman was here, then Ed Parsons' 
"offspring" was probably in the vicinity as well.
He stood slowly, watching as she walked past. Was she heading towards her seat, 
or—?
No. She had gone to the bathroom and stepped inside, bolting the door behind 
her. So much the better. This would give him his chance to—
His chance to what?




"I sensed the danger before I knew it was there. I felt that same sensation that 
I had felt several times before, when I was in the zoo. Somehow, some way, I 
always knew when he was in the vicinity. So even as I turned, I knew who—or 
should I say what—I was going to see.''




Slowly Josh turned to see the man in the raincoat seated next to him. From in 
front of him he heard the little boy hiss, "Mommy! The boogeyman's got the man 
in back of us!" For this warning the boy was rewarded with an audible slap, 
which was followed by sounds of whimpering.
Josh stared unflinchingly at his new seatmate. "Who are you?" he said in a low 
tone.
"Don't you mean 'What are you?' " he replied ironically.
"That too, I imagine."
"Didn't you hear the little boy? I'm the boogeyman." He smiled, speaking between 
thinned lips almost like a ventriloquist.
"You were at the zoo."
"So were you. I, however, was not behind bars."
"Perhaps you should have been."
The creature with the pale face looked hurt. "You insult me, sir. And here I've 
come to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes. My name is Duncan. Like the yo-yo, not like the donuts." When Josh merely 
stared at him, he went on, "I am what, in the common parlance, is referred to as 
a vampire."
"Vampire."
"That's right. And you'd undoubtedly remember my old partner, Doctor Ed Parsons. 
He's the one who turned you into what you are."
Slowly Josh nodded once. "We're acquainted."
"I thought as much."
"You are partners in evil?"
"Us? No, much worse. Real estate."
"Real estate."
"Oh, yes. It was many, many years ago." He leaned back in the chair, 
reminiscing. "Ed and I, we were barely out of college. And we ran real-estate 
swindles. Sold property that we didn't have to people for all the money we could 
get from them. Everything was going fine. Then we made a serious mistake—we 
bilked some gypsies. Never"—he raised a finger—"and I can't put too fine a point 
on this—never bilk a gypsy. They get real pissed.
"This old woman in the family that we took, she put a curse on us. Turned Ed 
into a werewolf, me into a vampire. Then they took off. Ed and me, we chased 
them across half the damned country before catching up with them in New Orleans, 
while Mardi Gras was going on. We killed her. thinking that would take the curse 
off us. It didn't. So we wiped out most of the family, after Ed raped the 
granddaughter. One of the sons survived and came after us—caught up with me and 
tried to polish me off. That's where I got this."
Josh looked down at the gun that was now pointed between his second and third 
ribs.
"Don't move," said Duncan pleasantly. "I don't know if you're up on all the ins 
and outs of this business, but a silver bullet will polish you off very quickly, 
and that's exactly what happens to be in this gun."
Josh resisted the temptation to look at it.
"Ed and I, we went our separate ways eventually," he said. "Ed decided to get a 
real career. You can do that if you're a werewolf. He became a doctor. Now me, I 
discovered that my needs were very few. Blood at night, a place to sleep. When 
you're dead like I am, creature comforts tend to be unimportant. I found that I 
was quite content to be one of the homeless, living in the streets, wandering 
from town to town. When you're a vagrant, always passing through, nameless and 
faceless, no one ever tags you with a few dead bodies. It's very convenient."
"You intend to kill me?"
"You are single-minded, aren't you? Well, that's what I had intended last 
night," said Duncan. "Before I almost got slaughtered by Grandma Rambo 
downstairs from your girlfriend. Oh, yes," he said as he saw Josh's expression, 
"I was by there last night. I was indeed going to kill you. Now everything's 
messed up for me. I'm a cop-killer in New York City, which is always a pain. An 
easily identifiable cop-killer, I might add, thanks to this," and he tilted up 
the brim of his hat slightly, pointing at the crucifix burns. "I had to leave 
Fun City. I blamed it largely on Ed for getting me into this mess. I had 
intended to kill him. Now, though, you're here. So perhaps I'll kill you. Or 
have you help me kill him. Would you like that?"
Josh looked him up and down. "Ally myself with someone who would kill his best 
friend? How am I supposed to trust you? Somehow," he said, "I find the concept 
of you and I working together a bit difficult to handle."
Duncan nodded, sighing. "Yes, I suppose you would. Then I'll just have to kill 
you, I suppose."
"THE BOOGEYMAN'S GOING TO KILL SOMEBODY!"
Gary's cry of alarm resounded through the airplane. People got half out of their 
seats, some groggily, looking around in confusion.
Duncan spat out a curse, and a stewardess seemed to materialize from nowhere, 
leaning over Gary and his profusely apologizing mother, asking what the problem 
was.
"The boogeyman!" howled Gary, pointing behind him. The stewardess's gaze, 
although she didn't take the child seriously, automatically flickered to the man 
in the row behind. She spotted the gun and shrieked.
Duncan leaped to his feet. "Nobody move!" he shouted, waving the gun.
Josh lunged towards Duncan—and was stopped short, held securely by the seat 
belt. Duncan swung the gun around and Josh grabbed the vampire's wrist with one 
hand, while reaching down and desperately pulling at the seat belt with the 
other.
Now people all over the plane were screaming, crying hysterically. In the 
cockpit the flight crew, who had already begun the descent and could see the 
lights of Lester B. Pearson International Airport spread out below them, heard 
the hysterics but had no idea what was causing the panic.
Darlene came out of the bathroom but the aisle was blocked by the pushing and 
shoving of people trying to see what was happening.
Josh ripped free of the seat belt and stood, banging his head into the luggage 
compartment but not letting go of Duncan's gun hand. Duncan struggled in his 
grip, pitting his vampiric strength against the cabled muscles in Josh's arms. 
Duncan felt the bones in his hand begin to crack under the strain of the 
werecreature's grip and yet slowly, inexorably, he started to swing the revolver 
around towards Josh's massive chest.
"Get the captain!" shrieked the stewardess.
Duncan placed his left foot against the armrest and shoved his full weight 
against Josh, slamming him back against the wall. He lost his grip momentarily 
on the vampire's wrist, and then felt the barrel of the gun against his chest.
The hammer drew back.
Josh shoved Duncan's arm upwards and the gun went off, discharging its deadly 
cargo harmlessly into the overhead luggage compartment. The gunshot set off a 
new round of screaming from the passengers, as those people who had tried to 
calm the initial hysterics now became hysterical themselves.
Josh shoved Duncan backwards and they tumbled into the aisle. Now the gun was 
being held straight out, still in Duncan's grasp. People scrambled frantically 
to keep out of the way of that deadly barrel, and now Josh was on top, battering 
the vampire's face mercilessly. He growled, angry and furious, happy at last to 
find something tangible on which he could take out his frustration and 
confusion. The sounds that came from his throat were barely recognizable as 
human.
Duncan reached up with his free hand and grabbed Josh by the throat. Furious, he 
slammed Josh's head against the hard metal edge of the seat. Stars exploded 
behind Josh's eyes, and then a second and a third time he felt the cold metal of 
the chair smashing into his temple. His vision blurred. And suddenly the vampire 
wasn't under him anymore. He was on top of him, knees in Josh's chest, shoving 
him downward.
Everywhere there was screaming. No one knew what to do. No one knew what was 
happening. "Get the gun, you idiots!" Josh wanted to say, but Duncan's iron hand 
had clamped down on his throat. And the hand was so cold, as cold as death. 
Death was everywhere, death filled his nostrils, decaying flesh held him and 
dead fingernails drove into his throat.
He saw Duncan leering down at him, saw his mouth pull back like a laughing 
death's head to reveal those awful, pointed fangs. Josh's right hand was free 
and he pounded on Duncan, but it didn't do any good. Duncan knocked it aside and 
Josh's hand fell to the floor. He reached out, trying to find some sort of 
weapon, any sort of weapon. A bottle, a rock, anything.
In a second, he knew, those fangs were going to descend and rip his throat out.
Somewhere in the distance he heard Darlene scream.
And his fingers settled around something round, something wooden.
He grabbed it and, at the same time that Duncan's face began to descend towards 
his neck, he brought it between them, splintered point upward.
The wood penetrated the vampire's chest, piercing his heart easily. You'd think 
it was difficult, but it wasn't, for the human body isn't meant to exist in that 
unreal state and welcomes any release, any excuse to let true death claim it.
Duncan didn't even realize what happened at first. His fangs halted mere inches 
from Josh's neck and then, slowly, he started to sit up. He found he 
couldn't—his body had stopped obeying his commands.
Trembling, he looked down at his chest. Sticking out of it was a neat, brown 
piece of wood, professionally rounded and varnished. The dark red liquid that 
passed as his blood was trickling down the wood, and had already almost filled 
in the words burned into it. The words "Junior Slugger."
He screamed once. It was a sound that no one on the plane would ever forget. A 
scream that started out sounding almost human but went higher and higher in 
register, going past the length that a scream should go, going past the pitch 
level that a human scream should reach. It lost its humanity and achieved the 
high-pitched, skin-crawling sound of a rodent's squeal.
Then it stopped. Just like that.
The gun dropped from his unfeeling fingers and Duncan slumped forward. He fell 
against Josh, the impact driving the stake—the stake he himself had 
inadvertently created—further through him and out his back with an awful thwutch 
sound.
They were embraced like two lovers and then Josh slowly got up, shoving the 
vampire's corpse off himself.
Duncan lay there, unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. There were sobs from 
nearby, sounds of choking and reaching for airsick bags and vomiting. Darlene, 
shoving her way through the crowd finally, took Josh by the arm.
"Parsons," said Josh tightly. "He said the werewolf's name is Doctor Ed 
Parsons."
"Oh, God," said Darlene. "Look."
Duncan's skin was blackening and shriveling, faster and faster as if anxious to 
depart. His eyes sunk into his head and vanished, his hair fell out, his skin 
burned with an invisible flame that rapidly was leaving only his skeleton. His 
clothes, given nothing to hold them up, sagged around him as limp cloth.
Josh imagined that he felt something go by him. Something unpleasant and ugly 
and unhappy…
… but relieved. Very oddly, relieved.
And Gary turned to his mother and said, "I want a bigger bat next time."



19
"You want to go over this one more time?"
Josh glanced nervously at the clock and said, "We've gone over it more times 
than I can think about. It's getting on towards morning. Can't I leave now?"
The Canadian official and the two police officers looked quite calm and 
self-possessed, as opposed to the increasingly fidgety Josh. The room that they 
had brought him into was very sparse, with bland white walls and a few sticks of 
furniture. Most significantly, there was a clock on the wall—a clock which told 
Josh that morning was approaching with awful speed.
The official walked forward slowly. He was lean and hawk-faced, wearing a dark 
blue suit and a laminated ID card clipped onto his lapel. In the ID card he was 
wearing a moustache but now he was clean-shaven, for what that was worth. He had 
introduced himself as Mr. Gascon.
"Now I must admit, Josh," said Gascon slowly, "that I don't understand what the 
problem is here. From what the other people on the plane have told us, you're 
something of a hero."
"And do Canadians always welcome their heroes by sticking them in small rooms 
for hours on end?''
Gascon placed one hand on Josh's shoulder. "We do when there's a case of 
manslaughter involved, no matter how justified that manslaughter might be. We do 
when the victim of that manslaughter  turns into a skeleton. We do when the hero 
has no identification whatsoever—not so much as a library card."
"I don't read."
"A driver's licence."
"I don't drive."
"A credit card."
"I don't credit."
Gascon stepped back and shook his head. "Obviously, Josh—that's all the name you 
have, right? Josh?"
"Yes, my parents were very poor. We couldn't afford last names."
"I see. Obviously you don't credit, Josh. You don't credit me with enough 
intelligence to realize that there's more here than simple self-defense, more 
than a frustrated plane hijacker or robber or whatever he was."
He walked around to the one table that was in the room. On it were two items. 
First was Darlene's pocketbook, with all her travelling items, wallet, and other 
important items. Next to that, in a neatly sealed plastic bag, was the gun 
Duncan had wielded. The bullets had been removed and were in the bag with it. 
Gascon picked up the bag. "There were bits of dead flesh in the trigger guard," 
he said.
"Your lab people are very efficient," said Josh. "I'm surprised they're even 
working this late."
"Round-the-clock law enforcement. That's the Canadian credo." He put the gun 
down. "Now look, Josh, given all the oddities of this situation—if you were in 
my position, what would you do?"
Josh only had to think about it a moment. "I'd let me go."
"Yes, I suppose you would."
Josh's head began to hurt. He felt the first stirrings of the change in him and 
made a mental effort to force it away.
"Josh?" Gascon's voice seemed to come from far off.
"Darlene," grunted Josh. "I want… Darlene. Quickly."
"She's busy right now, Josh."
' 'Get her!''
Gascon was utterly cool. He had long practice, and was generally at his calmest 
when those he was interviewing were at their most strung-out. Turning to one of 
the cops, he said without any trace of emotion, "Bring in the American woman."
Seconds later Darlene entered, escorted by the cop. She saw Josh on the chair, 
saw him trembling, and realized instantly what was happening. She went to him 
quickly, put her hands on his shoulders. "Josh, I'm here."
"Darlene, we…" He fought to possess himself. "We have to leave."
"I know." She turned quickly to Gascon. "We've answered all your questions. You 
can't keep us here forever."
With deliberate slowness Gascon said, "We can keep you for a while. And, since 
your friend has no identification, we don't even have to let him in the 
country."
"Then we need to be alone for a little while!"
"Yes, I can imagine why," said Gascon, stepping forward. "Where do you keep 
them?"
"Keep what?" said Darlene in confusion.
"The drugs." He gestured towards Josh. "Do you think I'm blind, or stupid? That 
I can't recognize a man in desperate need of drugs? Withdrawal is a very ugly 
sight, Ms Abrahams."
"Abramowitz."
"Whatever."
"I'll tell you right now, Mr. Gascon… I've seen ugly. Uglier than you've seen. 
But not as ugly as what you'll see if you don't let us out of here."
He came towards her and leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. "And 
just what will I see? If you tell me, I may even let you go."
She looked from the moaning Josh to the clock and back at the implacable 
official. "All right," she said. "I'll tell you. But you won't believe me."
"Try me."
"Okay. He's a werewolf."
"A werewolf."
"Yeah. And he's going to turn into a wolf just about any minute. So if you guys 
value your lives, you'll let me get him away, fast."
"You're saying"—he gestured towards Josh—"that he's about to change into a 
wolf."
"That's right. And that man he killed on the plane wasn't really a man. He was a 
vampire."
"I see. And who might you be? The bride of Frankenstein?"
"No, I'm just a friend."
"You have odd choices in friends." He laughed. "You really, truly think I'm 
stupid. That I'm going to accept this insane story. At least give me credit for 
knowing that 'werewolves' transform at night, not in the daytime."
Josh moaned loudly and pitched forward off the chair, curling himself into a 
ball. His body trembled. "Josh!" cried out Darlene.
Losing his patience, Gascon said, "Get him off the floor!" The police officers 
moved to either side, and tried to haul him to his feet. Josh staggered in their 
grasp and then started to struggle. "He's putting up a fight!" said one of the 
cops.
"Let him go, you assholes! You don't know what you're fucking with!" shouted 
Darlene.
' 'Neither did you two when you thought to make idiots of us," shot back Gascon. 
Josh was half bent over, and Gascon grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face 
into view. "Now listen, you drug-crazed—"
He froze.
Josh's face was completely covered with hair. Dark gray hair. No, not just hair. 
Fur.
Josh snarled, his teeth lengthening before Gascon's eyes into sharp, canine 
teeth. With what sounded like a cracking of bone his jaw started to lengthen, 
his entire face twisting and distorting. His nose turned small and black, and a 
snout grew from the sides of his face.
Gascon stepped back, his expression one of paralytic fear. With a twist of his 
massive body, Josh threw the cops to either side of him, sending both of them 
crashing into the wall.
Gascon pulled out a gun from a shoulder holster and fired point-blank.
Josh, still transforming, howled as the bullets slammed into him. He staggered 
under the impact as his arms shrunk, turned gray and furred, and his fingers 
lengthened into claws.
' 'Don't!'' shrieked Darlene as Gascon emptied his gun at Josh. Darlene dove for 
cover beneath the table as two more bullets hit Josh, the rest missing him and 
smacking into the wall. But the bullets that did strike Josh had no effect on 
him except to slow him down slightly. Josh's teeth and claws tore away the 
clothes and he leaped the distance to Gascon, driving him to the floor with his 
powerful front legs. He stood snarling over him, his snapping jaws only inches 
away from the terrified official's face.
"Oh, God," he whimpered, "Oh, God, please, no…"
"Josh!" shouted Darlene with as much command as she could summon in her voice. 
"Let's get the hell out of here!"
For a moment the wolf seemed to hesitate. Then he turned, obeying the woman he 
loved. She threw open the door and they ran out.
Gascon scrambled to his feet. He felt an odd sensation in his crotch and 
realized that he'd lost more than his composure when the werewolf had had him 
pinned down.
The two cops were starting to come around. One of them said, "I'll alert the 
airport guards!"
"No! Hold it," said Gascon. He had removed his jacket and was now holding it 
draped casually in front of himself. "I…I have to think."
"Think?"-said the officer in shock. "Think about what? We have to catch them! 
Look!" He pointed to the table. "She took her pocketbook, and the gun! We have 
to—'
"Have to what? Make a full report? Is that what you're going to say, officer?"
"Well… well, yes."
The other cop, who had become alert more slowly, had already picked up on the 
drift of the conversation. "I think I see what he's saying, Joe."
"Do you? I don't."
"All right," said Gascon. "Let's file the report. Let's say, 'The woman claimed 
that he was a werewolf, and then he changed into a wolf and escaped.' Would you 
care to sign your name to that report?"
The officer's mouth moved, but no words came out. Gascon looked to the other 
cop, but that one wouldn't even meet his gaze.
"That's what I thought," said Gascon. "Now I'll tell you what my report will 
say. A heroic American stopped a madman from hurting a planeload of people. The 
madman died in the struggle. The madman's body was cremated. I'll make sure of 
that. The American was questioned and released. And if my superiors don't like 
that I didn't get his intended destination or otherwise feel I should have been 
more thorough, I'll get a reprimand and six months from now it will all be 
forgotten. You, gentlemen, were simply obeying my instructions and so will 
suffer not at all.
"Otherwise," he continued, pausing significantly, "we will be 'the werewolf 
men.' Is that how you would want to be remembered—especially if, even if an 
alarm is given, they manage to get out of the airport? Then we have no 
substantiation… and no careers."
The cops looked at each other, then back at Gascon.
"The bar should be opening in fifteen minutes, gentlemen," said Gascon. "And I'm 
buying."




Darlene couldn't understand why the airport seemed so quiet. She had expected 
that there would be pandemonium all around them, that there would be cops 
chasing them and people shouting and everyone getting out of their way. She had 
shoved the gun into her pocketbook. It was still unloaded, but at least she 
could put on the appearance of being someone that shouldn't be messed with.
However, she wasn't getting the opportunity. At the most, people afforded her a 
quick glance before going on about their business. Fortunately, when Darlene and 
Josh had been brought into their respective little rooms to be interrogated, 
they had bypassed the customs area, so there was nothing standing between them 
and freedom, except her certainty that they were going to be caught.
Yet here they were, standing on the outside of the airport, and no one had 
interfered with them. Darlene wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she had 
the strong feeling that someone had decided to call it quits. Either that or the 
Big Guy Upstairs had finally decided to cut them a break.
She turned to Josh and said, in no uncertain terms, "Now you stay here." Then 
she went over to the taxi stand and found a driver sitting there in his cab, 
reading a newspaper. He looked up at her politely and said, "Can I help you, 
miss?"
"Yes," she said politely. "I'd like to go to McKeeville."
"McKeeville?" He frowned. "Can't say I know it. Hold on."
He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a map. As he did so, 
Darlene gestured quickly with her hand and Josh obediently trotted over towards 
her.
The driver unfolded the map, stared at it, then consulted the town location 
index and slid his finger along horizontally until he found it. "Good Christ, 
lady. That's three hours away. Forget it. Rent a car or something."
"I don't know how to drive."
"Now's a good time to learn. Like I said, miss, forget it."
"Are you going to make this difficult for me?"
Darlene, who had been leaning against the window of the front door, now pulled 
open the rear door. Unseen, Josh slid in. The driver, meantime, was becoming 
increasingly annoyed. "Look, miss, close the door. There's nothing you can say 
that's going to make me haul myself all the way out there."
"How about if I tell you that, if you don't, I'll have my wolf rip your throat 
out?''
He laughed. "Your wolf?"
There was a low growl from behind him and then Josh put his front paws up on the 
back of the seat. He poked his head over it and rested his muzzle on the 
driver's shoulders.
The driver turned several different and interesting skin colors as Darlene said 
calmly, "Now if you drive us, you'll have lots of money" (Darlene wondered idly 
how she was going to explain to her landlord that she didn't have the money for 
the rent this month—she'd spent it all cabbing to McKeeville) "and if you don't, 
you'll have lots of blood… all over the front seat of the car. Now what do you 
say?"
The driver stammered out, "So… b-b-been in C-C-Canada long?"
"Why, no," she said sweetly, taking that as her cue to climb in. She slid into 
the front seat next to the driver. "But you know, I think I might stay a while. 
Everyone's been so polite and so helpful."
"We Canadians are like that."
"Funny. You know, I thought you all said 'eh.' '
"We Canadians are like that, eh?"
The cab rolled out of the airport. Darlene calmly took the map and proceeded to 
navigate, watching the road signs carefully due to her suspicion (well founded) 
that the driver might try to get them hopelessly lost. Josh, in the back seat, 
settled down and slept.




'I had another dream at that point. I dreamt of him. Of the werewolf, the one 
who had made me what I was. He was very angry. He was looming over me, and 
somehow he knew that the vampire was dead. He knew I had killed him. He sensed 
it, either through some sort of link with the vampire, or with me.
' 'And he snarled at me, and he said, 'All right, come back here, then. Return 
to your precious pack. Come back and try to kill me. We could have been friends, 
you and I, if you had succumbed to me when we first brushed minds. But you had 
to remain pure.'
("Was he speaking as a human?" I asked.)
' 'Human at first. But he slowly changed into a wolf as he spoke, and he said, 
'You killed my curse-brother.' I tried to tell him that his precious 
curse-brother had wanted to kill him, but he didn't believe me. No reason for 
him to, I suppose. He told me to return, to visit my pack one last time, because 
that night he would track me down wherever I was hiding, and he would kill me. 
Kill me and everything I loved. And he kept saying one other thing, too… over 
and over again. He kept saying, 'I'm not afraid of you.'
"It was odd. I wasn't certain whether he was trying to convince me of that… or 
convince himself.''



20
Doctor Parsons woke up screaming.
He was lying on his living-room floor as he always was when he returned from an 
outing. He staggered to his feet, drenched in sweat, and looked around 
nervously. But there was no one there.
But the dream he had had—oh, that dream.
Duncan dead. Could that be right? Could he have dreamt that and been correct? At 
the hands of… of that monster. That animal.
Their minds had touched once more, Parsons and his unnatural creation. The 
details were more than his conscious mind could recall, but he knew for certain 
that the creature was somewhere out there. Somewhere, coming for him.
Flight. That was his immediate reaction. It would not be any great difficulty. 
The house was only rented, after all. He could pack up, disappear tomorrow. 
Hell, he could disappear today.
And run. Run from the creature that had killed Duncan. He had created the 
monster. He had tried to get Duncan to stop it for him, and his curse-brother 
had paid the price for it.
"Duncan," he whispered. "I'll get him for you. I swear I will."


                                                                                 
    ****

"Police protection?"
Henri LeRoq, still working on a crossword puzzle (and Parsons couldn't help but 
wonder if it was the same puzzle he'd had two months ago), looked up in 
surprise. "Now, Ed, you know that'd be pretty difficult. I'm not exactly what 
you might call crawling with manpower. That big wolf is still chewing up 
residents and I got the mayor on my ass to get that case wrapped as quickly as 
possible. You have reason to believe that someone is out to get you?''
"Yes."
"Well, okay." The sheriff put down his crossword puzzle, took out a pencil, 
licked the tip and brought it down to a pad of paper. "Want to tell me what he 
looks like?"
"Urn…"
Parsons had never seen the creature in human form. He'd gotten varied, 
conflicting reports from the people at the hospital, but other than that he had 
no real idea. "I'm… I'm not sure."
"Not sure?"
"He's big. A real big guy."
"You've never seen him."
"No. Never have."
"So, he's like what? A hit man? There's a hit man after you? Who would want to 
kill you, Ed?"
Parsons could tell from LeRoq's tone of voice that he was extremely skeptical. 
He could understand why. Why indeed would someone want to kill the quiet, 
unassuming hospital administrator? Then something occurred to him that hadn't 
before. Did he really want the police hanging around his house? Had he become so 
overconfident that he'd forgotten there were certain things he did that the law 
would hardly approve of?
He rubbed his forehead and forced a lopsided smile. "Look… Henri… I've been 
under a lot of pressure lately.''
"We all have." LeRoq was still studying him carefully.
"Could use a vacation, I suppose."
"I can't remember the last time I had some time off," said LeRoq 
sympathetically.
"I've seen this guy around, thought he was looking at me, but now…"He shrugged. 
"Forget I mentioned it. Forget I brought it up." He extended a hand and the 
sheriff shook it firmly. "Everything's fine with me."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Well, good. I'd hate to think that someone has it out for you."
"Me too. Definitely, me too."




"The closer we got to home, the more the excitement filled me,'' said Josh. ' 
'Darlene didn't have to say anything. I could smell the difference in the air. I 
could sense the nearness.
' 'And I was worried. Worried about the pack, worried about Darlene. Worried 
about everything except… myself. And you have to understand, for me, that was 
somewhat unusual. Once my main concept had been 'self.' That I was able to think 
beyond myself at all was what made me the pack leader. But I only did that to a 
limited degree. Now, however, as I sat in the back of the taxi, my head hanging 
out the window, I was focussed entirely on matters outside the self. Probably 
more of the insidious influences that humanity had had on me. "




By the time they reached McKeeville, Darlene had turned on her charm 
sufficiently, and opened her wallet adequately, that the driver was no longer 
upset over his being shanghaied out to the middle of nowhere. Indeed, as the cab 
dropped them off at the edge of the woods, he actually wished them luck before 
turning and heading back in the general direction of Toronto.
Darlene stood there, looking into the dense forest. In New York it seemed that 
all green growing things had been ruthlessly eradicated. McKeeville, however, 
still had the air of a frontier town. Directly in front of the woods was a paved 
street, and looking onto the woods was a row of small, frame houses. 
Civilization staring nature in the face, and nature in turn watching the 
encroaching civilization nervously. Never being quite sure when man would be 
tired of only living on that side of the street and decide to live on the other 
side as well.
Darlene barely afforded the houses a glance, turning away without noticing that 
the third house on the right had a shingle hanging in front of it that read 
simply, "Edward Parsons, M.D." Her attention instead was entirely on the wolf.
She squatted down next to him and said, "You want to find out what happened to 
your pack, don't you? Really, I should just leave you here. But… but if I do, 
then there's a real good chance that I won't see you again. And I don't think 
I'm ready to cope with that just yet. Soooo…" She stood and clapped him on the 
back. "Let's go find your pack, Jack."
The wolf looked up at her curiously.
"Josh," she amended. "It was kind of a joke. Not a very good one, I guess. 
Lousy, in fact. Let's go."
They made their way into the woods.
Darlene was amazed by how quickly the "real" world had been left behind. She had 
done more than her share of camping, but she had never gotten over the change 
she felt within her every time she went into the woods.
She looked down at Josh, wishing with all her heart that he could speak to her. 
He could not, of course, and even if he could have, his mind would most 
definitely have been on something else. Whereas she felt as if she were walking 
with blocks of concrete on her shoes, Josh made his way through the woods with 
growing confidence.
Good lord, what am I doing here? Darlene asked herself over and over again. Why 
didn't I just leave? I've done my job, haven't I? But she had already answered 
the question, and so there was nothing for her to do but press on gamely.
Josh stopped several yards ahead of her and sniffed carefully at the base of a 
tree. Then he went on ahead of her, picking up speed. "Josh, wait!" she called 
out to him, but he paid her no mind at all.
"Josh, please, I can't keep up!"
All attempts at quietly moving through the woods were forgotten as Darlene 
crashed through the brush like a miniature bulldozer. Anything short of a troop 
of deaf Boy Scouts would certainly be alerted to her presence in the woods, but 
it didn't matter. None of it mattered except keeping track of Josh.
And in that, her only goal, she was totally unsuccessful. She caught brief 
flashes of him but they became less and less frequent, and within minutes Josh 
had vanished.
She sagged against a tree, her chest heaving, trying to suck in air. "Aw, shit, 
Josh," she murmured.
Mustering the few reserves she had left, she pressed on, deeper and deeper into 
the woods. Fortunately she was prepared for this little sojourn. She wore a 
heavy quilted jacket over her cotton shirt, and had on khaki slacks and thick, 
rubber-soled shit-kickers on her feet. She could just imagine trying to 
negotiate these woods in an evening dress and high heels, or even pumps.
She darted around a tree, shouted, "Josh! Where are y-"
And that was when the wolf jumped her.
She went down under its weight, its claws tearing at her shirt, ripping ugly 
gashes in her right shoulder. It crouched on her, snarling in her face, and she 
screamed.
From nearby a roar filled the air and a gray figure streaked through the air, 
slamming bodily into the wolf on top of her. It had happened so quickly that 
none of it fully registered in her mind. All she could think of doing was 
scrambling to her feet and backing away as fast as she could.




"For the second time in as many months, " said Josh, "I found myself placing 
myself against wolves on behalf of a human. It was a very strange sensation, 
especially when these were members of my own pack, the pack that I'd been part 
of for as long as I could remember.''




The wolves slowly came out from all sides, staring at Josh. One of the older 
wolves looked at him askance and said, "You are just returned to us, and already 
you act strangely."
"This human means us no harm," replied Josh.
"She is a threat to selves."
"No."
"She is in the hunting ground of the pack," said another.
"She looked for self."
"To kill you." The older wolf growled. This was human behavior he understood.
"No. This human will not kill self. And this human did not know that she was in 
pack hunting ground."
And now Ayesha came forward, very slowly. Heavy with cubs waiting to be born, 
she really should not have been away from the packplace. But when word had gone 
through the forest that her mate had returned, she found that she could not lie 
in the cave and wait to find out if it was true or not.
So her mate had indeed returned. Yet he was acting… strangely.
Ayesha studied the human. "This is a human female?" she asked.
"Yes."
There was something about the human. Something… not right. Something between the 
human and her mate that she could not specifically define, and yet it was there. 
She did not want it there. She did not like it.
"I want the human gone," she said. "Make it leave, or I will kill it."
"I am pack leader," said Josh angrily.
He took a step towards his mate but she had the advantage. She knew he would 
make no serious strike against her, because of the cubs she was carrying. "I 
want it gone, now," said Ayesha.
And now the other wolves took up the sentiment.




"Poor Darlene must have been terrified, " said Josh. "We were all there, 
gruffing and barking at each other, and she had no clear idea what was 
happening.''
("What was happening, anyway?" I asked.)
' 'My pack… wanted order restored. They had lost two packmates. They had lost 
their leader, until my return. They had lost a good deal of hunting ground, for 
rather than face the creature from hell again, my pack simply withdrew into the 
caves and hid on the nights that they scented the creature prowling through the 
woods. They wanted things to be the way things used to be. That's what I wanted, 
too.''
("But how—?")
He put up a hand. "Patience," he said. "I know what you're going to ask. I've 
promised I'll tell you everything, and I will. But in my own way.''




Darlene stood there, looking from one wolf to another as they growled. Now they 
all seemed to be growling at Josh, and the gray wolf was standing his ground, 
but it didn't seem like a vote of confidence to her.
Then Josh turned to her, walked over and placed his body against her legs.
He pushed her. Not angrily, but with enough force to make his intention clear to 
her. She stepped back a couple of paces and waited, confused. Josh shoved her 
again, then withdrew into his pack. They all looked at her, waiting.
Waiting for her to leave.
"Josh… ?"
He made no move towards her and, when she stood there, he set his teeth and 
growled at her in an unmistakable tone. A tone that said, "You are not welcome 
here."
Next to him a pregnant wolf that Darlene took to be his mate growled as well. 
And the female wolf moved over several steps so that she was right up against 
her mate. It was a universal gesture that cut across all varieties of the animal 
kingdom.
"So that's the story, huh?" said Darlene. She hadn't known what to expect, but 
realistically it really shouldn't have been anything else than what it was. Josh 
wanted to return to his pack. She'd brought him there. Whatever else happened 
was incidental. She'd served her purpose, and now he was done with her.
"Fine," she said, "Fine. You're on your own." She looked at the female wolf. 
"Bitch," she said.
She turned her back on them in a gesture of disdain—the only thing she had going 
for her—and walked away.
She waited for one of the damned things to come leaping at her and tear her to 
ribbons, but nothing happened. She walked another ten paces, turned and, as she 
had expected, saw that the wolves had melted back into the woods. She suspected 
that if she tried to follow them again she would go down under an assortment of 
teeth and claws, and this time there would be no reprieve.
She sighed and started to walk back to civilization.



21
She didn't know how long she'd wandered through the woods. All she knew was that 
her shoulder was really throbbing from the cuts that one wolf had made, and if 
she didn't get it tended to soon, the wounds would become royally infected. That 
was all she needed.
The sound of a round of ammo being chambered was so loud, so unexpected, that it 
caused her to jump about twenty feet in the air by her estimation and let out a 
shriek. When she landed she saw a man standing nearby with a thick red moustache 
and beard. He had been aiming a rifle at her, but was now swinging the barrel 
away and muttering, "Sorry."
"Jesus Christ," she managed to get out. "Who the hell are you?"
"They call me Yosemite Sam," he replied.
"Oh, right. The roughest, toughest hombre west of the Pecos."
"More like northeast, actually," he replied. He took a few steps forward. "You 
shouldn't be wandering around out here, ma'am. Wolves and such. Ain't safe."
"You're here."
"I'm a man," he said simply.
"Well, can't argue with that logic. You're too clever for me. See you around."
She tried to walk past him and he put out a hand on her shoulder. "Hold it," he 
started to say, but was cut off by the hiss of pain as she sucked in air through 
her teeth.
"You okay, ma'am?" he asked and then realized that his hand had come away with 
blood on it. "Ma'am, what in hell happened to your shoulder?''
"I got spiked sliding into second base, okay? Now if you'll excuse me—"
"You should have that looked at."
"Well you're looking at it and it's not doing a damn bit of good. Now if you 
don't mind—"
"Look, ma'am," he said, and reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a 
compass. "You look like a capable young woman. You probably don't need me, but 
frankly, everyone can use a little help nowadays." He handed the compass to her. 
"I figure you know how to use it. Just follow the sucker due west and that'll 
bring you out of the woods and, if you do it just right, Doc Parsons' place. 
He'll get that patched up."
"That's real swell of you, but you don't have to…" She stopped and said, "Doc 
Parsons. Doctor Ed Parsons?"
"You've heard of him?"
She ran quickly through her mind what Josh had said on the plane—that the 
vampire had named the werewolf as being this Ed Parsons. But was it the same 
one? And maybe the vampire was lying. Vampires weren't noted especially for 
their veracity.
"I think I've heard of him somewhere, yeah. Which way did you say he was?''
"Due west."
"Thank you."
She took off, trying to keep an eye on the time. The last thing she wanted to do 
was be anywhere near this Parsons guy when the moon rose. Still, she had to 
know. She had to find out, and when she did—
When she did, then what? Go to the cops? Tell them there was a werewolf living 
in town and here's his address? They'd think she was flat-out crazy and lock her 
up before they'd even consider checking out her story.
What she needed was some sort of proof. A gutted body would be real nice.
Even as thoughts tumbled through her mind, she made her way west, and soon the 
woods thinned in front of her. Almost before she knew it she was at the edge of 
the forest, looking out at the houses. She scanned over the houses that were 
there and, sure enough, there was one that had ol' friendly Ed Parsons' shingle 
hanging out in front of it.
Of course, since she was facing west, she had an excellent view of the setting 
sun, which was already hanging very low on the horizon. She was going to have to 
hurry.
She ran across the street, a plan formulated in her mind. She had the scratches, 
after all. They needed to be treated. While she was there, she would see if she 
could spot anything at all that looked like it might be proof.
And as long as she could get out in time, she would be okay.
Of course, that was a major league "if."
She ran across the street, trotted up to the front door and, trying to look as 
nonchalant as possible, rang the bell and waited.
And waited.
But there was no answer and she stood there, arms folded, tapping her foot.
"He's not home yet."
She turned and there was an elderly man passing by. "Doc doesn't get home from 
the hospital until later most days."
"Oh. Okay, thanks."
As the old man walked away she trotted down the front stairs of the house and 
started to leave, all the while keeping a wary eye on the old fellow. The moment 
he was out of sight, she ran back to the house and then circled around to the 
rear.
She tried the dining room windows and they were locked, but when she shoved 
upwards on the kitchen window it slid open. "Bingo," she said, trying not to 
think about the fact that she was breaking and entering. Well, maybe not. After 
all, she hadn't had to break any window to get in, she reasoned. So this was 
just entering, and somehow that didn't sound nearly so bad.
Darlene slithered in through the window, falling to the floor in the kitchen but 
still clutching her pocketbook. It was exactly what one would expect of a 
kitchen, with neat linoleum tiles and a colonial styling to the kitchenette.
She had not exactly been silent when she came in, making a quite loud thud on 
the floor. She paused, waiting for footsteps, but none came. He definitely 
wasn't home, or if he was, then he was in a coma and hardly a threat.
On a hunch she went over to the kitchen counter drawers and opened them.
No silverware. Just plastic knives, spoons and forks.
She nodded. "Now how did I know?"
He could have kept stainless steel flatware around, like Josh had used in the 
restaurant, but obviously he was taking no chances.
This, of course, was more than enough proof for her, but she hardly thought that 
she could sell the authorities on it.
Time to check out the rest of the house.
There was nothing particularly enlightening about what she found downstairs. In 
the living room were a piano and more colonial furniture. Also a dining room 
that had been converted into a den with a cluttered desk against the wall. The 
upstairs was also nothing interesting. She was checking out the bedroom and 
wishing that she were looking for a vampire, because then all she'd have to do 
is find a coffin and she'd be set, and then something clicked in her mind.
She had barely glanced at the desk downstairs in the den earlier, but now she 
ran back down to it. What she'd seen out of the corner of her eye had not fully 
registered until just then, but now she saw it clearly, taped against the wall. 
She went to it and pulled it gently off, not wanting to tear it.
It was the picture of her, the picture that had made the wire services. It had 
run in a Toronto newspaper, and he had clipped it out.
"Jesus," she muttered.
She folded it once and slid it into her pocket. Then she returned to the living 
room and noticed something else she hadn't before—there was a door that probably 
led down to the basement.
She tried to open it, but it was locked. So she went back to the kitchen drawers 
and rummaged around until she found a long, thin skeleton key. "Figures," she 
muttered.
Moments later she had the door open.
Something had died down there.
She wasn't sure what. She wasn't sure when. But something had most definitely 
died.
The basement was dark and she reached out, feeling along the wall until she 
found a light switch. Then slowly, hesitantly, she made her way down the stairs, 
taking one careful step at a time.
The first thing she saw was a workbench. A nice, mundane workbench. A hammer, a 
saw, a can of spray paint, and a few other assorted tools and knickknacks. A 
disassembled clock radio sat on it, its pieces scattered around, and Darlene 
wondered if he would wind up doing what she did whenever she tried to fix 
something electrical: namely, putting it back together with fewer pieces than it 
had when she started.
She took one more step down and then saw it.
Over in the corner of the basement there was a large, heavy-duty cage. The door 
was hanging open and, in the hook of the latch, was a large combination lock.
It looked like the kind of cage they kept wild animals in, bars running up and 
down and around. And on the floor of the cage were large spots of dried blood…
… and parts of a skeleton.
A skull stared up at her with eyeless sockets, a few bits of decayed flesh still 
clinging to it. A forearm was over in one corner, and attached to the wrist of 
the forearm was a manacle. A length of chain was in turn attached to that, about 
five feet long and bolted at the other end to the floor. Over in another corner 
was a leg bone.
And the leg bone's connected to the hip bone, she thought giddily. Oh, God, Oh, 
God, let me out of here.
A wave of nausea swept over her and she fought it back as she ran up the steps, 
taking them two at a time. She slipped, banging her knee against a stair, but 
she ignored the pain as she ran up and out of the basement. Not even bothering 
to close the basement door behind her, she ran for the front door of the house.
A second before her hand touched the knob, it turned by itself.




Josh cradled Darlene's limp, gutted body in his arms and tears streamed down his 
face. "Oh, God," he moaned, "Oh, God, why? Why did this have to happen?"
Incredibly, Darlene was still clinging to life. Putting the last bits of 
strength she had left into it, she managed to raise her right arm and brush away 
a tear from Josh's face.
"Don't… don't cry," she croaked, her voice barely recognizable.
"Is this… is this what it is to be human?" he asked, his voice hoarse with 
emotion. "It hurts so much. A pack leader, a wolf, doesn't know this kind of 
loss. Not this kind of hurt."
"I'm…" She choked on her last breath. "I'm sorry I hurt you… leader of the 
pack…"
All of this flashed through Darlene's mind in a split second as she saw the 
doorknob turning.
No way in hell.
She heard the jingle of Parsons' keys and, in a desperate leap, flung herself to 
one side. There, providing haven, was the hall closet. She threw herself inside, 
clutching her pocketbook to her breast, shoving past coats and burrowing as 
deeply into the back as she could. Coat hangers swung merrily and she tried to 
draw herself up into a little ball.
She heard the front door open and then close. She crouched down on the floor of 
the closet, trying to pull back to the furthest, darkest corner. It was not 
terribly large, but she managed to dig her feet into a pile of shoes, hopefully 
obscuring herself from view.
She held her breath and tried to instruct her heart to pound softer.
The closet door opened.
She shut her eyes, in her desperation falling back on the traditional, childlike 
logic that if she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her. She was biting her 
lower lip so hard, in order to prevent a scream, that she drew blood.
She waited for the "Who the hell are you?" or the low laugh that would certainly 
come as Parsons recognized her and delighted in the trouble that she had gotten 
herself into.
She saw his feet, and then she heard a coat hanger rattle as he removed it, hung 
up his coat, and then slid shut the closet door.
Still Darlene did not breathe, did not move. Had he really not seen her? Was 
this some perverse way of toying with her? If it was, it was a terribly 
effective perverse way.
All the while, through her mind, was running the fact that the sun was setting, 
that the moon was rising, that she had to get the hell out of there.
She listened for his footsteps. He was moving across the living room. There was 
the sound of something scraping on the floor—a chair, perhaps—and then music 
floated through the living room. He was playing the piano.
The tune he played was almost childlike, and yet its simplicity had made it one 
of the immortal tunes. With what sounded like great gusto, he was banging out a 
stirring rendition of "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"
Oh, my God, she thought. That's worse than "Leader of the Pack."
The music stopped and suddenly, with quick, decisive steps, Parsons strode back 
across the living room. She heard him start down the basement stairs, the door 
slamming shut behind him.
This was her chance.
She scrambled to her feet, tossing aside subtlety in favor of a mad dash for 
freedom. She slid open the closet door and barrelled towards the front door.
She yanked on it, and it didn't open.
To her dismay, she saw that it was held closed by a dead bolt—the kind that 
didn't have a knob on the inside, but instead opened with a key. A key that 
Darlene did not have. She remembered an article she'd read not too long ago 
about an entire family that had perished in a fire, unable to open their own 
front door. She had skimmed the article, shaken her head, clucked 
sympathetically and gone on to read the gossip column. Old newspaper articles, 
come back to haunt her.
She turned, and there was Parsons.
He was leaning against the basement door, smiling.
"Well, well," he said. "Your picture doesn't do you justice."
She made a cross sign with her two index fingers. "Stay back!"
"You're joking, of course." He was wearing a smoking jacket and pleated maroon 
pants. His feet were bare. "It's so good of you to come by, Ms. Abramowitz. And 
here I thought I'd have to go out to eat."
The living-room window was nearby. She turned quickly and started towards it, 
but Parsons covered the distance in half the time it would have taken her. He 
was incredibly fast, and now he was blocking her exit. "Where's your friend, the 
wolf?" he asked.
"Where you'll never find him." She spun and ran towards the kitchen.
He ran after her, catching up with her at the open basement door. He grabbed her 
by the arm, and his grip was like a vise. "Now, Darlene, don't be embarrassed," 
he said soothingly. "I'm a doctor, you know."
She slammed her heel down on his bare foot, as hard as she could on his instep. 
He growled in pain, and the growl didn't sound strictly human.
She swung her hand around, fingernails extended, and raked them across his face. 
"You bitch!" he shrieked as thin ribbons of blood welled up on his face. He 
turned quickly and hurled her down the basement steps.
Darlene went as limp as she could as she thud-thud-thudded down the steps. She 
landed at the bottom and skidded away.
Everything hurt. She looked up and Parsons was standing at the top of the 
stairs.
His eyes were glowing deep red. "Problems?" he said, and his voice sounded 
thicker, more hoarse. "Let me fix you right up."
She scrabbled backwards towards the workbench as he leaped down the stairs, 
landing in an animalistic crouch at the bottom. "You haven't got a prayer," he 
said. "Humans are nothing but meat. Meat to be consumed by their betters."
"You were human," she said as her back banged into the workbench. She clambered 
to her feet.
He came towards her slowly, crouching. His face was beginning to darken, his 
fingernails distending. "I saw the light," and he didn't speak so much as snarl. 
"Humans won't survive. They'll never survive. Only animals have what it takes. 
If you want to live, you have to become an animal… and you don't have the balls 
for it.''
She grabbed a hammer and hurled it at him. He knocked it aside and advanced on 
her. His mouth started to grow, to ripple outward, and his eyes shined even more 
brightly red. Hideous growls came from his throat. His ears started to grow. His 
sporty smoking jacket ripped down the back seam as his musculature twisted 
around and grew more and more powerful.
She was transfixed by his relentless gaze as he started to grow, to tower over 
her. Speech was replaced by inarticulate, fierce sounds. His pants ripped away, 
a huge tail uncoiling, his legs an insane combination of human and wolf. His 
body was covered with thick, dark fur, and he let out a full-throated roar.
Darlene swung her hand around, grabbed onto a can of spray paint, and even as 
the werewolf lunged at her, she sprayed it in his face.
The paint got in his eyes, his mouth, and he howled in fury. One massive, clawed 
arm swept out, missing Darlene and striking the workbench, smashing it to 
pieces. Darlene backed up quickly as the creature, blinded, lunged in her 
general direction.
"Help!" she screamed, but there was no one to hear her, particularly since she 
was drowned out by the wolf's furious roars. Her back hit the cage and she 
quickly jumped in, slam-ming the door shut. It seemed perfectly sensible. If she 
locked herself in, the monster couldn't get in at her.
The creature heard the clang of the door and lunged towards it. And Darlene 
realized to her horror that the door hadn't fully shut—the combination lock was 
still in the hook and wasn't allowing it to close fully. She had to yank out the 
lock, close the door, then thread the lock back through the latch and lock it.
She had the opportunity to do exactly none of this. By the time she reached 
through the bars for the lock, the creature had slammed into the door. She 
yanked her hands away before the monster broke her fingers.
The creature seized the bars of the door and yanked. Darlene tried to hold on 
but her strength was no match for his and the door was pulled open, and suddenly 
there was nothing between her and the jaws of the werewolf. Worse, she was in an 
enclosed space and couldn't run.
With a roar the werewolf leaped, his massive paws hitting her dead center in the 
chest and bearing her down to the ground. The werewolf was over her. All she 
could see was his snarling face, his massive teeth, each of which was as long as 
her finger.
He brought his mouth down and clamped down on her skull.
Not Darlene's own skull, though. For as the werewolf's maw descended, she shoved 
into it the white skull from the earlier, nameless victim that had been lying on 
the floor next to her. She shoved it in so tightly that it became lodged in his 
mouth. She yanked her hand away before she lost a finger as the werewolf shook 
his head, thrashing about madly, trying to shake the blockage loose.
On the other side of Darlene was the chain. She grabbed it and, with all her 
strength, snapped it around and hit the werewolf on the side of the head with 
it. It sliced across his right eye, opening a gash, and blood started to trickle 
down, further obscuring the vision that was already hampered by the paint she'd 
sprayed into it.
With a strength born of desperation, Darlene shoved the infuriated creature off 
of herself and scrambled to her feet. The werewolf hesitated a moment and then 
slammed his jaws shut, crushing the skull to fragments. He turned to pursue 
Dariene and Darlene, out of the cage, kicked the door shut just as the werewolf 
leaped forward after her. The door hit the creature in the face, knocking him 
back, and he let out a howl of anger and frustration. What the hell was 
happening here? This prey should not be any problem. How was it staving off its 
death this long?
Darlene made it to the stairs and ran up them two at a time. She heard the 
creature behind her shove open the cage door. He was about to be right on her 
heels again. "Oh God Oh God Oh God," she kept saying as she raced up the stairs 
and slammed shut the basement door.
She ran three paces, then realized that she'd gotten her bearings screwed up. 
She was heading for the living room rather than for the kitchen and escape. She 
turned back towards the kitchen as the werewolf smashed through the basement 
door, sending shards of wood flying everywhere. He was dazed but still furious 
enough to tear her to pieces.
She spun and ran back to the living room, looking for something to use as a 
weapon. The werewolf cleared the distance between them in one leap, knocking her 
to the ground, flat on her stomach, and there was no way, simply no way that she 
was going to make it now.
"Josh," she moaned.
In answer, the living room window smashed inward.
Glass flew all over as a huge, naked man hit the floor and rolled into a crouch. 
For the moon had risen, and all were-creatures in the area had undergone their 
transformations.
The werewolf turned, Darlene instantly forgotten. He regarded the newcomer for a 
moment and then, as happened once before when they faced each other, the 
werewolf laughed.
And he spoke, in words that only Josh could hear.
"Welcome, my creation," he said. "Are you ready to die?"
The creature knew at that point that all his fears had proven groundless. He 
would kill the abomination. He would kill the woman. There would be no end to 
his life, no flashing jaws and pain of silver. The dreams and fears were 
groundless, for now, actually face to face with that which he had feared, he 
knew that he would triumph.
He leaped at Josh.
Josh, still in a crouch, jumped to one side, trying to shield his vulnerable 
belly and genitals. The human body was woefully inadequate when it came to 
fighting, particularly fighting such as this.
His feet crunched on the glass as the werewolf spun and leaped towards him 
again.
"Josh!" shrieked Darlene.
Josh jumped up and shoulder-rolled across the expanse of the piano. The werewolf 
was on the other side, growling, and Josh, muscles rippling, upended the piano 
onto the werewolf. The creature darted to one side, just escaping being pinned 
under it. His vision was still hazy, but at this point he didn't really need 
perfect sight. Smell was more than enough.
Eight feet of muscle and fury, the werewolf sprung at Josh. Josh turned 
sideways, trying to catch the creature's neck in the crook of his arm… and 
succeeded.
The monster was twisted almost in half, and then managed to find footing and 
shove his weight against Josh. The strain overbalanced Josh, and he and the 
werewolf tumbled together to the floor. The werewolf spun and his claws raked 
across Josh's chest. Josh screamed, a human scream, and a primal instinct howled 
in his brain, "Self-death! Self-death!"
He shoved the werewolf off himself and staggered back, hitting a coffee table 
and tumbling over backwards. The werewolf covered the distance with no trouble, 
but suddenly Josh wasn't there. The werewolf spun, looked around, and suddenly 
Josh was on top, straddling the creature. His arms were down and around the 
werewolf's neck and he twisted, clenching his teeth and grunting. The werewolf's 
head snapped around…
… and his neck broke with an audible snap.
The werewolf screamed, a long, awful sound. Then he went slack and limp.
Josh stood there for a moment, not quite believing it. Then slowly he lowered 
the creature to the ground.
Darlene, sobbing in relief, was still on the floor. "Oh, God, Josh…"
His body covered with blood, Josh still managed a half-smile. "It's all right," 
he said. "It's over."
Then a piece of Josh's torso flew across the room.
At first he didn't realize what had happened. One moment everything was fine; 
the next there was a huge gash in his side and a piece of his flesh had been 
sent flying across the living room. Blood began to pour from the wound, and he 
sank to his knees.
The werewolf stood over him, head at an impossible angle. His eyes were glowing, 
his lips pulled back away from his teeth in the rictus of a death head's snarl.
And he said, "You're not animal enough to kill me."
He fell upon Josh, jaws snapping. Josh blocked the creature's mouth with his 
forearm and the fearsome teeth clamped down. Josh's blood trickled through the 
creature's teeth.
And in that moment, Darlene remembered the gun.
Her pocketbook! Where the hell was her pocketbook?
She lunged over the hall closet and burrowed into the shoes, trying to shut out 
the screams she heard from Josh. Her desperate fingers found the pocketbook and 
she yanked out the gun.
It wasn't loaded. The bullets were still rattling around in the bag.
Her hands trembled as she flipped open the cylinder, not sure what the hell she 
was doing, and shoved in several bullets. They looked like regular bullets to 
her, not silver, but that stupid vampire wouldn't have been packing a single 
silver bullet, right?
She swung the gun around just as the werewolf was about to tear off Josh's arm. 
"Freeze!" Perfect. Just like on TV.
The werewolf obediently froze, his head cocked in that same insane angle. Then 
he suddenly grabbed up Josh with his clawed arms and held the bleeding man in 
front of him.
"Darlene," Josh managed to get out, his voice thick. "Shoot."
"I'll hit you!"
"It doesn't matter. Kill him. Or he'll kill us both, and where's the sense 
in—arrgghhh!"
The werewolf was trying to tear Josh in half, and with a scream and a cry 
Darlene pulled the trigger.
It clicked on the empty cylinder.
She fired again and this time the gun spat out a bullet. She missed by a good 
two feet and, with tears in her eyes, took a step closer and fired again.
The bullet passed through Josh's chest and out the back of the werewolf. Both of 
them gasped at the impact and, screaming, Darlene emptied the gun at them.
Josh slid out of the werewolf's grasp. The creature staggered, and then he 
touched the wounds and laughed. Not silver. No problem. He bent over Josh to 
finish his work.
And Darlene, furious beyond all imagining, horrified that she had actually shot 
through her own lover, shrieked, "Get away from him!"
The werewolf laughed and ignored her.
"Get away from him, you son of a bitch!"
The rest of her words dissolved into incomprehensible hatred as she leaped 
towards the werewolf and sank her teeth into the back of his neck.
And her teeth, laced through with silver fillings and caps from all those trips 
to the dentist, cut through. The silver mouth which, even in a kiss had given 
pain to Josh, bit down on his tormentor.
It all slammed back to the werewolf even as agony beyond his wildest imaginings 
overwhelmed him. The dreams of tearing and rending teeth and silver. But it had 
always been an animal…
With a roar the creature turned away from Josh, pain galvanizing his movements. 
Furious, growling and snarling, Darlene held on, one hand around his left ear 
and the other buried deep in his thick fur. She brought her legs around and 
locked herself around him. A red haze covered her and she forgot everything. 
Forgot humanity. Forgot Josh. Forgot everything but the kill, the kill that was 
hers.
With those silver-laced teeth she ripped out massive chunks of the creature. He 
screamed, rolling onto his back to try to dislodge her, and even as she was 
crushed under his weight she still wouldn't let go. The werewolf's movements 
became more and more frantic even as the poison of the silver worked its way 
through him.
And then one of her caps came loose in the twisting and slid under the 
werewolf's pelt.
It was as if someone had poured acid into him. It slid under him and against his 
muscle, leaving a trail of poison carnage in him. He writhed in her grasp, 
fighting her, fighting death.
Something grabbed his upper jaw. He tried to slam it shut but now something had 
his lower jaw as well, keeping him from biting down. He was on his side, trying 
to escape the clawing and biting creature on his back, and now two huge hands 
had taken his maw firmly. One large foot was placed against his neck. He looked 
up.
Josh stood over him, muscles rippling, wounds in his chest already healing, and 
said, "So long, you bastard."
He pulled in one direction with his arms, and pushed in the other with his foot.
The werewolf's head came loose from its shoulders.
Josh hurled the head across the room. It bounced once, twice, and rolled up 
against the front door.
The body continued to struggle for some moments more, not quite realizing that 
it was dead. But when that realization sunk home it slowed down, its paws 
clawing at the air for a few more seconds, and then it stopped.
And still a hoarse growling came from the body.
Darlene. "Darlene?" said Josh slowly.
She was panting fiercely, barely recognizable as herself.
By degrees she raised her head and looked up at Josh, her blurred eyes 
refocussing. "Josh?"
"Yes." He knelt down beside her and stroked her hair, matted and thick with 
blood. Her face was covered with gore, like the face of a wild thing might be. 
Her clothes were torn and there was blood under her fingernails. "Josh… you came 
back to me."
"I…" He lifted her up and cradled her in his arms. "I followed your scent. I got 
all the way here before changing, then saw the sign with the name hanging 
outside…"
"It pays to advertise," she said sagely. "Josh… why did you come back?"
"I had to make sure you were all right."
"Ooohhh…I'm fine," she said through blood-encrusted lips.
"Did he bite you?" asked Josh urgently. "If he did—"
"No. No, he clawed me, terrified me… didn't bite me." And her eyes widened. 
"Josh… bite me."
"What?"
"Bite me. You're a were-something-or-other. Bite me and I'll be like you. I 
can—"
"No."
"But—"
"No," he said more firmly. He set her down. "I don't know what you would wind up 
like. But I know that the way you are is the way you have to be."
"And will you stay with me?"
"I can't. I have the pack. And my mate. Wolves mate for life, you know."
"I need you! You're mine! I'll fight for what's mine!"
"Darlene…"
She began to do things to him, her hands playing along the length of his naked 
and blood-encrusted body. Guttural, animal sounds came from between his lips. He 
moaned as she did, blood pounding through him, and he started to pull her 
clothes from her…
There was a gunshot as the lock was blown off the front door.
Josh and Darlene spun as Henri LeRoq kicked open the door and brought his gun 
around. "Don't move!" he shouted. "Police!"
"Oh, thank heaven. The authorities," said Josh drily.
LeRoq looked around at the mess all over the living room and then jumped back 
with a start as he saw, at his feet, the wolf's head. "Good Christ," he said. 
"Neighbors reported a hullabaloo, but…"He looked up at the naked man and 
bloodied woman. "I…I can't believe what I'm seeing."
"Two minutes later and you would have seen a lot more," said Darlene.



EPILOGUE
Josh told me that rumors continued to fly for months regarding the end of the 
business about the murdering creature. Rumors such as this:
That Sheriff LeRoq had not singlehandedly caught the creature and killed it but 
that, in fact, it had been killed by some other folks, including a massively 
built naked man. That the sheriff had accepted the naked man's offer to give 
full credit to the sheriff in exchange for not dragging the man into jail and 
forcing him to make a statement. That LeRoq had sent the man on his way after 
getting him some clothes out of Doc Parson's closet.
And then there was this really weird rumor about how the creature's body 
disappeared the next morning in the morgue, to be replaced by Doctor Edward 
Parsons' body, ripped apart in exactly the same manner. This was deemed entirely 
too gross to be true, although Doc Parsons was never seen again. This didn't 
bother anyone all that much, since no one had ever really liked him.
And other rumors, mixed with fact. Like the fact, for example, that wolves do 
mate for life.
Of course, if a wolf happens to have two lives, then of course that changes 
things a little bit.
And this goes hand in hand with a rumor that there was a woman also involved 
with the death of the killer creature. No one knows for sure who she was and 
what she looks like. But there's this rumor that she comes to town once a month, 
using a variety of disguises, and checks into a hotel for four days and three 
nights, when the moon is full. Just like clockwork. And she hardly leaves her 
room during that time.
And one last rumor, started by some folks who supposedly had the room next to 
her during one of her supposed stays, is that at night you hear the damnedest 
noises coming from her room. All kinds of growling and laughing and snarling, 
and it sure sounds like two people really going at it and having some serious 
physical encounters…
Then again, I've never been one to spread rumors. And besides, what two 
consenting adults do in the privacy of their hotel room three nights a month is 
certainly their own business.
Although, just between you and me, some people can be such animals.