Demon Child

afternoon. For another, the wolf has never prowled by day before.”
        “If the coroner was right about the time of death,” Jenny said, “then the wolf was prowling the stables about the same time Freya was hypnotized. About the same time that she was having that horrible nightmare. Remember, Walt, how she said that the wolf was anxious to taste the blood of a human being now?”
        He looked at her. He looked away. “That's silly,” he said.
        But it was the first time she had seen him even a little bit disturbed about any of this curse nonsense.
        She wished he would take her hand and hold it tightly. She wished that he would tell her how foolish her fear was. She wished he would use that great pool of his logic to reason away all the hideous specters of doubt that had risen to consume her.
        But he said nothing.
        After coffee, she left that tense room where the conversation had taken on a forced gaiety. She climbed the steps to her room, no better or worse than when she had come down them an hour or so ago.
        As she opened the door to her room, Richard stepped out of the room across the corridor and called her name. She turned and watched him approach her. He must have been waiting for her, she reasoned.
        “Why did you tell Hobarth?” he asked. He was wringing his hands as he spoke.
        “Tell him what?” she asked. She felt uncomfortable around him, as if he might spring at her.
        “About Lee's coming here, of course.”
        “You don't have to be so nasty,” she said. He had spoken to her as if she was worthy only of disdain.
        “I have a right, perhaps. I asked you to tell no one that Lee was coming up here. But you did. And now he's dead.”
        “I didn't tell the wolf,” she assured him, trying to adopt his own petulent tone. “And if you're trying to make me feel guilty about something, forget it.”
        “Look, Jenny-” he began, grabbing her arm, holding her so tightly that he hurt her.
        She tried to pull loose and could not. “ You look,” she said, her fear of him only making her anger twice as sharp. “You're the one who has a lot to answer for.”
        “Me?”
        He was really hurting her arm. He seemed not to be aware of it, but pressed harder now.
        “Yes, you!” It felt good to act, to attack rather than wait to be attacked. “You were half an hour late picking me up at the terminal last week. You opened my luggage and snooped through it that first day. You treated your stepmother awfully this past week. And who were you talking to on the telephone Saturday morning-when you talked about drugs and killers?”
        “You did eavesdrop!” he snarled.
        “I accidentally overheard,” she defended herself. Before he could make anything of that, she said, “And where were you sneaking to last night when you crept away from the house toward the stable? Why didn't you want to be seen then?”
        He looked crushed.
        She felt his grip lessen, in shock. At that precise moment, she pulled herself loose, whirled, slammed her bedroom door shut between them and threw the latch in the same, swift movement.
        She leaned against the door, whimpering. She listened to the noise for a moment, wondering what it was. Then she realized it was her, and she clamped down on the sounds, forcing herself to be strong.
        Her heart ached. Her face was flushed with excitement. It was all out in the open now. What would Richard do about it?
        For a moment, he did nothing but wait, too stunned to think or to move. Then he stepped forward and knocked on her door. It was not a polite knock, but strong and loud.
        “Go away,” Jenny said.
        He knocked again.
        The door shook slightly in its frame, almost as if he must be using both fists instead of one.
        “Go away,” she said.
        He tried the handle, found that she had locked it. He rattled it for a long moment, as if he thought the lock might slip if he tried hard enough.
        Should she scream? Or was it not that dire a situation?
        “Open up,” he said.
        “No.”
        “Open this door.”
        “Go away.”
        He was silent a while, but he did not move. She could hear him drawing breath; heavy, rapid breath which indicated his state of agitation.
        Again, she wondered if she should call for help. But what would she tell them when they charged up the stairs and