"Not real magic," Aiden said. "I wish it was. Life is a drag most of the time - birth, school, work, death  -  you know. I wish something magic would happen."

You want magic? I could give you magic, she thought. "What kind of magic?" she asked. "Like finding a door to a magical country? Or a coin that grants wishes? Or meeting a witch?"

Aiden laughed. "All of the above."

"What if she's a wicked witch?"

"Maybe I'd find the good in her."

"What about vampires?"

"I dunno. Maybe there's some good ones, too."

"What about horny werewolves?" Vivian said.

Aiden slid his arms around her. "Now you're being silly."

They sank into the long fur of the river meadow, entwined with each other. The smell of sweet crushed hay filled the air.

"You're wild," Aiden mumbled woozily into the cleft between her breasts before he kissed the mole there.

"Um-hmmm." Vivian stroked his hair, reveling in the way she'd made him drunk with wanting her.

He kissed her mouth, and she returned his kiss fiercely, pressing hard against him, holding him tight by his shirt. Her fingers found a circle behind his pocket - the rolled rim of a rubber encased in foil. A thrill ran through her so sharp and delicious that for a moment she thought she was changing.

With trembling fingers she unbuttoned Aiden's shirt. She smoothed her hands up his firm abdomen and across his chest. His flesh was burning hot and oh so sleek and alien to her touch. She tested his neck with her teeth and tried not to bite too hard. His breath became ragged.

A chorus of howls echoed down the river. A cherry bomb burst in the distance.

Or was it a gun?

Vivian froze.

"Ow! Your nails." Aiden pulled back.

She quickly sheathed her claws. "I'm sorry. I . . ."

Aiden laughed wickedly and reached for her again. "You wild woman."

Vivian felt a vibration in the ground. She struggled to her knees while Aiden held on and murmured in protest. Out in the night a dark mass swept though the grass, coming their way.

"What's wrong?" Aiden asked and rose to kneel beside her.

"It's nothing," she said, and flung her arms around him and carried him to the ground. That can't be the pack, she thought. They wouldn't run in town. But there were too many to be only the Five.

Aiden rolled over on top of her, and she tried to fake interest. She had to keep him occupied. If he saw what hunted tonight, he might panic and run; if he ran he was prey.

The grass hissed louder and louder as if a storm approached. Voiceless they came - many paws softly thundering.

They passed to the right.

"What the . . ." Aiden sat up.

Vivian snaked an arm around his neck and dragged him back. "Stay down," she told him. "Dogs. They're crazy in packs."

Aiden looked startled. "Jeez, there's a lot."

The musk of them filled the air - familiar scents. Astrid was in the lead. Damn the bitch. What was she thinking to lead a run this large through the middle of Riverview?

After Astrid came Lucien Dafoe, Rafe's father, stinking of drink. Rafe was rapidly edging him out. The rest of the Five were there, but so were others, mostly Astrid's age-mates, no elders, and all male. Ulf brought up the rear. She could hear him pant with an asthmatic wheeze.

Then they were past, racing upstream, devouring the night.

"Wow," Aiden said. "For a moment I thought it was the wild hunt - Herne the Hunter chasing down the damned."

She could feel the goose bumps on his arm.

"People shouldn't let their dogs run loose like that. Maybe we should call the pound."

"At this time of night?" Vivian said.

He grimaced humorously. "Guess not."

A shout came from up the river.

"Scared someone." Aiden laughed.

Unlike Aiden, she could hear that someone scramble down the bank. Her heart leaped to her throat, but the pack didn't turn to follow the human.

"We should get out of here," she said. "They might come back." And who knew what they'd do if they got the urge for blood on the muzzle? She had to send Aiden home.

Aiden chuckled. "It's not like you to be nervous."

"What do you know about what I'm like?" she snapped. She was sorry instantly, yet irritated by how chastened he looked. Couldn't he fight back? "I'm sorry," she said. "But I don't think it's safe."

He tried to pull her down with him again, unwilling to give up, but the spell was broken, leaving her frustrated and angry. "I have to get home," she lied, removing his hands and standing up. "My mother will worry."

"Oh, man," Aiden said. He climbed awkwardly to his feet, adjusting his clothes. "All right," he grumbled, and she saw him touch his pocket briefly as if bidding his plans goodbye.

Damn. Damn. Damn, she thought.

"What do you mean, tell Gabriel?" Vivian demanded.

It was two in the morning and Rudy had just come home. Esmé was still out the Moon knew where.

"Why him? He hasn't won the Ordeal yet." She had decided not to keep quiet if she saw things going wrong again, but she hadn't expected to tell Gabriel.

Rudy paced the living room. His sturdy compact form and firm stride should have been comforting. "And what did you expect me to do?"

"Talk to Astrid. Make her stop."

Rudy laughed bitterly. "That'll be the day."

"So why would she listen to Gabriel, then?" Vivian asked.

"Because she respects him."

"Because she wants to screw him, you mean."

Rudy stared her down with piercing gray eyes that made her feel ashamed. "She respects him because she's afraid of him. Power's the only thing Astrid understands. She isn't sure how far he'll go." He paused. "And neither am I."

"Then why tell him?"

"As far as I can see, he's the only option we've got right now. We can't use a leader who wants to rule with his brains but not his teeth."

Vivian rose to her feet. "My father led with his brains; you mean he wasn't a good leader?"

Rudy ran a callused hand through his hair. His eyes looked sad. "Your father was the best leader we could have had for the time we had him, but this is a time of unrest. We need a leader who understands the power of his jaws."

"I'm tired of violence."

Rudy nodded. "But it doesn't matter what we're tired of, we've got it all the same. You would have never moved the Five so quietly out of West Virginia if Gabriel hadn't beat the sass out of them."

Yeah, thought Vivian. He'd taken them on in the charred ruins of the inn yard when they were set on waging a stupid, hopeless war against the town. Rafe was knocked silly and the others bloodied, but not a scratch on Gabriel. He'd threatened to kill any one of them that moved three paces from the convoy going to Maryland. Smeared with ashes, he'd strutted afterward and she'd hated him for it, even though she'd have beaten the Five herself if she could have. Her father was barely dead, and Gabriel was taking control. He wasn't a leader; her father was a leader. Her father had dignity.

"And when you all arrived," Rudy continued, "Gabriel was one of the first to get a job and put all his money toward getting others settled while he crashed on people's floors or in the woods."

And boy did he smell like it, she thought. Nothing like a welder with no place to bathe. "So you're gonna support Gabriel at the Ordeal and not go for it yourself," she said.

"Yeah, guess so. Now, time for bed, babe. Too late to do anything tonight."

Gabriel's black-and-silver motorcycle was in the parking lot of Tooley's bar the next night, exactly as Rudy had guessed. Rudy went in to find him while Vivian waited outside, her arms folded, her foot tapping.

A pair of bikers in cut-off denim jackets over bare chests came out of the bar. The tall one did a double take on her. He grabbed his crotch and issued her a very specific invitation. The other one laughed as if that was the funniest joke he'd ever heard, and his gut jiggled.

She gave them the finger.

"Hey, you're not too friendly," the tall biker complained, changing direction to walk slowly toward her. The smile had left his face. "Ain't you got no respect?"

His buddy trailed him. His grin was mean.

Oh, shit, Vivian thought.

"But tell you what, maybe we could kiss and make up," said the tall biker.

"I'd rather kiss a slug," she said, her temper flaring. She regretted her words when she saw his hands ball into fists. His skull ring glittered ominously.

She felt her legs knot with the first stage of the change. Control it, she coached herself. Only enough to put some muscle on. She didn't doubt for a moment that she could take them if she changed fully, but she couldn't do that now, could she? A couple of good strong smacks would change his mind.

"I see you've met my sister." Vivian recognized Gabriel's throaty growl.

The tall biker froze for a second, a look of panic on his face; then he turned. "Hey, Gabe! Your sister, man. Wow. Real pretty girl. I wuz just tellin' her. Yeah. Your sister. Wow."

"Uh, come on, Skull. We got a party to get to," his friend chimed in.

When they turned the corner Gabriel and Rudy burst out laughing.

"I could handle it," Vivian said, annoyed at his amusement.

"I know, baby," he answered, surprising her. "And any other time I would have gladly stood and watched, but Rudy tells me you've got news for me."

"I'll smack him around another time, then," she said.

They walked farther out into the shadowed parking lot. "So, what's the word - little sister?" he asked. She wanted to cut him down for keeping up that sister crap, but the smoldering look in his eyes made her bite back her sarcastic response.

"Astrid led a run along the river last night," she said.

"She did, did she?" His tone was casual but she saw a slight tic in his cheek. "And who was on this run?"

While she listed them he listened with head bowed, stroking the small scar on his lip.

There was silence when she'd finished. She glanced at Rudy, but he was watching Gabriel, a worried look on his face.

Finally Gabriel spoke. "I guess I'll be paying Miss Astrid a little visit," he said softly. He looked up and his pupils caught the glare from a distant streetlight -  they glowed red.

What have I started? Vivian thought.

Chapter 12

12

Vivian dumped her shopping bag of new paints at the base of the stairs. It fell over, and an economy-sized tube of burnt umber, fat as a sausage, rolled out and rocked gently on the hardwood floor at the edge of the hall rug. The house was so quiet that the muted rumble of the tube's brief passage echoed in her ears. Where's Esmé? Vivian wondered. Monday was her day off, but no music blared through the house, and no smell of dinner wafted through the air.

Vivian's answer came when she walked into the living room and was startled to find her mother sitting on the floor surrounded by photographs, more tumbling out of an upturned shoe box beside her.

Esmé looked up with tears in her eyes. "I couldn't remember his face," she said.

Vivian sank to the floor beside Esmé, her mouth tense with worry. There were pictures of her father spread all over the rug: Dad laughing, Dad chopping wood, Dad in the kitchen at the inn, making sauce.

"I tried so hard to forget him so losing him wouldn't hurt anymore," Esmé said, "and then today I thought of him and couldn't see him. It was like I'd torn away a part of me and crippled myself. Like I'd looked into a mirror and couldn't see my reflection." The tears rolled down her cheeks.

Vivian ached to see her mother this upset. She didn't know what was worse, the hard glittering jewel her mother had become this year, or the heartbroken woman beside her now. She couldn't think of anything to say. Instead she picked up a picture of herself at age three, in OshKosh overalls and nothing else, at her father's side as he weeded in the herb garden. She'd been "helping" him, and she could still hear in her mind his patient voice saying, "No honey, not that one." He'd had to say it over and over.

"Dad would have straightened everything out, wouldn't he?" Vivian said. "We wouldn't be in such a mess if he was around."

Esmé shook her head. "I don't know."

Shock cut through Vivian like a sharp little knife. "Sure he would. He'd know how to keep Astrid in line. He'd stop anything bad happening."

"But he didn't, did he?" Esmé said. "The inn burned. People died. If he'd lived, he'd be challenged as unfit."

"That's not true!" Vivian cried.

"You know it's true," Esmé said. "In his wolf-skin he was as strong as any of them, but he was a gentle person in many ways. He'd feel so bad about failing he'd probably step aside for someone else without a fight."

Esmé was right, but for a moment Vivian hated her mother for saying it.

Esmé didn't see Vivian's anger; she was absently shuffling the photos around on the rug as if she could read the future in them like Tarot cards. "Maybe Rudy's right. We need a different kind of leader now. One who doesn't hesitate to hurt if he has to, for the good of all." She reached out a trembling finger and touched the lips of a face that would be nowhere now, ever, except on a square of Kodak paper. "But for his time," she whispered, "oh, he was the best."