The Talisman

arms and legs – he was becoming Wolf again, Jack saw . . . and then understood fully what that meant. The old legends had lied about how only silver bullets could destroy a werewolf, but apparently about some things they did not lie. Wolf was changing back because he was dying.
    ‘Wolf, no!’ he wailed, and managed to get to his feet. He got halfway to Wolf, slipped in a puddle of blood, went to one knee, got up again. ‘No!’
    ‘Jacky—’ The voice was low, guttural, little more than a growl . . . but understandable.
    And, incredibly, Wolf was trying to smile.
    Warwick had gotten Gardener’s door open. He was backing slowly up the steps, his eyes wide and shocked.
    ‘Go on!’ Jack screamed. ‘Go on, get outta here!’
    Andy Warwick fled like a scared rabbit.
    A voice from the intercom – Franky Williams’s voice – cut through the droning buzz of feedback. It was horrified, but filled with a terrible, sickly excitement. ‘Christ, lookit this! Looks like somebody went bullshit with a meat-cleaver! Some of you guys check the kitchen!’
    ‘Jacky—’
    Wolf collapsed like a falling tree.
    Jack knelt, turned him over. The hair was melting away from Wolf’s cheeks with the eerie speed of time-lapse photography. His eyes had gone hazel again. And to Jack he looked horribly tired.
    ‘Jacky—’ Wolf raised a bloody hand and touched Jack’s cheek. ‘Shoot . . . you? Did he . . .’
    ‘No,’ Jack said, cradling his friend’s head. ‘No, Wolf, never got me. Never did.’
    ‘I . . .’ Wolf’s eyes closed and then opened slowly again. He smiled with incredible sweetness and spoke carefully, enunciating each word, obviously needing to convey this if nothing else. ‘I . . . kept . . . my herd . . . safe.’
    ‘Yes, you did,’ Jack said, and his tears began to flow. They hurt. He cradled Wolf’s shaggy, tired head and wept. ‘You sure did, good old Wolf—’
    ‘Good . . . good old Jacky.’
    ‘Wolf, I’m gonna go upstairs . . . there are cops . . . an ambulance . . .’
    ‘No!’ Wolf once again seemed to rouse himself to a great effort. ‘Go on . . . you go on . . .’
    ‘ Not without you, Wolf! ’ All the lights had blurred double, treble. He held Wolf’s head in his burned hands. ‘Not without you, huh-uh, no way—’
    ‘Wolf . . . doesn’t want to live in this world.’ He pulled a great, shuddering breath into his broad, shattered chest and tried another smile. ‘Smells . . . smells too bad.’
    ‘Wolf . . . listen, Wolf—’
    Wolf took his hands gently; as he held them, Jack could feel the hair melting from Wolf’s palms. It was a ghostly, terrible sensation.
    ‘I love you, Jacky.’
    ‘I love you, too, Wolf,’ Jack said. ‘Right here and now.’
    Wolf smiled.
    ‘Going back, Jacky . . . I can feel it. Going back . . .’
    Suddenly Wolf’s very hands felt insubstantial in Jack’s grip.
    ‘ Wolf! ’ he screamed.
    ‘Going back home . . .’
    ‘ Wolf, no! ’ He felt his heart stagger and wrench in his chest. It would break, oh yes, hearts could break, he felt that. ‘ Wolf, come back, I love you! ’ There was a sensation of lightness in Wolf now, a feeling that he was turning into something like a milkweed pod . . . or a shimmer of illusion. A Daydream.
    ‘. . . goodbye . . .’
    Wolf was fading glass. Fading . . . fading . . .

    ‘Wolf!’
    ‘. . . love you J . . .’
    Wolf was gone. There was only a bloody outline on the floor where he had been.
    ‘Oh God,’ Jack moaned. ‘Oh God, oh God.’
    He hugged himself and began to rock back and forth in the demolished office, moaning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JACK LIGHTS OUT AGAIN
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    1
    Time passed. Jack had no idea how much or how little. He sat with his arms wrapped around himself as if he were in the strait-jacket again, rocking back and forth, moaning, wondering if Wolf could really be gone.
    He’s gone. Oh yes, he’s gone. And guess who killed him, Jack? Guess who?
    At some point the feedback hum took on a rasping note. A moment later there was a high-gain crackle of static and everything shorted out – feedback hum, upstairs chatter, idling engines out front. Jack barely noticed.
    Go on. Wolf said to go on.
    I can’t. I can’t. I’m tired, and whatever I do is the wrong thing. People get killed –
    Quit it, you self-pitying jerk! Think about your mother, Jack.
    No! I’m tired. Let me be.
    And the Queen.
    Please, just leave me alone –
    At last he heard the door at the top of the stairs open, and