Demon Child

more understandable once he explained them to you. Human actions seemed so much less mysterious, exceedingly more rational than she had come to believe they were.
        She wished he could explain Richard to her, though. All through the meal, snatches of the young man's brooding nature returned, though the doctor's good humor kept Richard from growing as surly as he had been on previous occasions. Often, as they ate, she caught Richard watching her with an odd, mystified expression on his face.
        What, she wondered, was on his mind?
        Hobarth excused himself around a quarter of ten by explaining that he wished to tape-record his impression of this morning's session so that he would not lose his early viewpoint as he continued the study. Cora went into the kitchen, shortly afterward, to speak with Anna about something. That left Jenny alone with her cousin.
        He spoke almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for such an opportunity at privacy all evening. “Did you hear a wolf this afternoon when you were down by the woods?” he asked.
        She did not think that he really wanted to ask that. It appeared as if it was only some bit to break the ice with.
        “I don't know if it was a wolf or not,” she said. She tried to force the pleasant tone that she had once used naturally with him, but she could not manage it very well. She hoped that he did not see how ill at ease she was with him.
        “Lee Symington is coming around tomorrow,” he said. “That's the veterinarian to whom I took Hollycross.”
        She saw that she was expected to carry on this exchange. “What on earth for?” she asked. “What could he find here?”
        “I don't know. But anything would help. Maybe he could find clues as to what sort of wolf it is.”
        “What good would knowing the species do?”
        He frowned. “It might do a great deal of good. But I can't tell you what I mean yet. I just-just wanted you to know Lee would be around. No one else knows. Not even Cora. I want to keep it that way, if at all possible.”
        Then why tell me? she wondered. Why confide in me all of a sudden?
        It was a bit of the unexpected. A small fragment, to be sure, but enough to make her wary.
        “Do you like Hobarth?” he asked.
        She nodded. “He's very nice. When he gets in a story-telling mood at dinner, he's marvelous.”
        “I think he'll do Freya some good,” he said. But the tone of his voice was somber, not hopeful.
        “He seems to think he can break through her shell,” she agreed.
        For a moment, neither of them spoke.
        The sounds of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen. Upstairs, a water tap was run, reverberating the pipes throughout the house.
        “Listen, Jenny-” he began, leaning forward on his chair in a conspiratorial manner.
        But Cora returned, interrupting him.
        Shortly after that, Jenny excused herself and went upstairs to her room where, as was becoming customary with her, she sifted through the events of the day, totaling the debits and credits.
        There were a lot of credits under Hobarth's name. The more she saw of the man, the more she respected him. She had not been so attracted to another human being in her life, so pleased to be in the same room with him, pleased to hear him talk and explain.
        Explain…
        Yes, that was what she liked the most about him. He could so simply and concisely explain another human being's motivations. He was so secure in his hold on the world and his relationship to the rest of society that he was like a rock, a post that could not be budged. When he was around, she had a sense of security that she experienced at no other time. She intuitively sensed that she could not be surprised by any disaster so long as she was near him.
        She could not have put any of this into such uncomplicated sentences. She only felt it all as an indefineable but comforting force that simmered at the back of her mind and eluded description.
        And how did Hobarth feel about her?
        She was almost certain that there was a special tenderness in his regard for her. He had waited with her while she finished breakfast. He had come to sit with her and watch the squirrels. Surely, that meant something.
        But she wouldn't hope. She wouldn't want anything. Because, when you wanted something and hoped for something, you never got it.
        When she