The gun went off.
For an instant Hannah couldn't see where the bullet had gone and she wondered wildly if she had been shot. Then she saw that the black wolf was lurching backward. Blood dripped from its neck.
Steel won't kill it, the wind voice hissed. You're only making it more angry. .
But the black wolf was swinging its head to look with blazing eyes from Hannah with her picture frame to Paul with his gun, to the gray wolf with her teeth. The gray wolf snarled just then and Hannah had never seen an animal look closer to being smug.
"One more shot..." Paul breathed. "While it's cornered..."
Ears flat, the black wolf turned toward the only other window in the room. It launched into a vaulting leap straight toward the unbroken glass. There was a shattering crash as it went through. Glass fragments flew everywhere, tinkling.
Hannah stared dizzily at the curtains swirling first outside, then inside the room, and then her head snapped around to look at the gray wolf.
Amber eyes met hers directly. It was such a human stare... and definitely the look of an equal. Almost the look of a friend.
Then the gray wolf twisted and loped for the newly broken window. Two steps and a leap-she was through.
From somewhere outside there came a long drawn-out howl of anger and defiance. It was fading, as if the wolf was moving away.
Then silence.
Hannah shut her eyes.
Her knees literally felt as if they wanted to buckle. But she made herself move to the window, glass grating under her boots as she stared into the night.
The moon was bright, one day past full. She thought she could just see a dark shape loping toward the open prairie, but it might have been her imagination.
She let out her breath and sagged against the window. The silver picture frame fell to the floor.
"Are you hurt? Are you okay?" Paul was climbing through the other window. He tripped on a waste-basket getting across the room, then he was beside her, grabbing for her shoulders, trying to look her over.
"I think I'm all right." She was numb, was what she was. She felt dazed and fragmented.
He blinked at her. "Um .. . you have some particular fondness for gray wolves or something?"
Hannah shook her head. How could she ever explain?
They stared at each other for a moment, and then, simultaneously, they both sank to the floor, squatting among the shards of glass, breathing hard.
Paul's face was white, his red hair disheveled, his eyes large and stunned. He ran a shaky hand over his forehead, then put the gun down and patted it. He twisted his neck to stare at the wreck of his office, the overturned bookcase, the scattered books and knickknacks, the two broken windows, the glass fragments, the bullet hole, the flecks of blood, and the tufts of wolf hair that still drifted across the pine floorboards.
Hannah said faintly, "So who was at the door?"
Paul blinked twice. "Nobody. Nobody was at the door." He added almost dreamily, "I wonder if wolves can ring doorbells?"
"What?"
Paul turned to look straight at her.
"Has it ever occurred to you," he blurted, "that you may not be paranoid after all? I mean, that something weird and uncanny really is out to get you?"
"Very funny," Hannah whispered "I mean-" Paul gestured around the room, half-laughing. He looked punch-drunk. "I mean, you said something was going to happen-and something did." He stopped laughing and looked at her with wondering speculation. "You really did know, didn't you?"
Hannah glared at the man who was supposed to guide her back to sanity. "Are you crazy?"
Paul blinked. He looked shocked and embarrassed, then he glanced away and shook his head. "God, I don't know. Sorry; that wasn't very professional, was it? But..." He stared out the window. "Well, for a moment it just seemed possible that you've got some kind of secret locked up there in your brain.
Something... extraordinary."
Hannah said nothing. She was trying to forget about too many things at once: the new part of her that whispered strategies, the wolves with human eyes, the silver picture frame. She had no idea what all these things added up to, and she didn't want to know. She wanted to force them away from her and go back to the safe ordinary world ofSacajaweaHigh School .
Paul cleared his throat, still looking out the window. His voice was uncertain and almost apologetic. "It can't be true, of course. There's got to be a rational explanation. But-well, if it were true, it occurs to me that somebody had better unlock that secret. Before something worse happens."
Chapter 3
I he sleek white limousine raced through the night like a dolphin underwater, carrying Thierry Des-couedres away from the airport. It was taking him to hisLas Vegas mansion, white walls and palm trees, limpid blue fountains and tiled terraces. Rooms full of artwork and museum-quality furniture.
Everything anyone could ask for.
He shut his eyes and leaned back against the crimson cushions, wishing he were somewhere else.
"How wasHawaii , sir?" The driver's voice came from the front seat.
Thierry opened his eyes. Nilsson was a good driver. He seemed to be about Thierry's own age, around nineteen, with a neat ponytail, dark glasses despite the fact that it was nighttime, and a discreet expression.
"Wet, Nilsson," Thierry said softly. He stared out the window. "Hawaiiwas very... wet."
"But you didn't find what you were looking for."
"No. I didn't find what I was looking for ... again."
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Thank you, Nilsson." Thierry tried to look past his own reflection in the window. It was disturbing, seeing that young man with the white-blond hair and the old, old eyes looking back at him. He had such a pensive expression ... so lost and so sad.