My opinion didn’t matter.
But I wished that it did, because an uncontrollable fear surged through me, so strong that even the alcohol couldn’t numb it. Something was going to happen tonight, something dark and unexpected, and no one in Ticonderoga Falls—not even Ash himself—would be powerful enough to stop it.
Chapter 62
Shadowy Creatures
Maddie:
Fist clenched, my knuckles struck wood once, twice, three times, and the knock echoed with a dull thud. I glanced down at Tucker. He turned away from the door and stared back in the direction we had come, probably watching the crowd of trick-or-treaters as they disappeared around a distant corner.
Samwise stood at attention, ears forward, listening for movement on the other side of the door. Just then the dog cocked his head and looked up at the sky, as if he heard something.
I glanced back toward the sky too, still shrouded with cloud, moon peeking through, snow tumbling down. Sometimes the snow drifted up, as if it had changed its mind, white flotsam caught in an unseen eddy of wind. I hoped there wasn’t something lurking out there—something I couldn’t see.
Like another one of those shape-shifting chupacabras.
Standing on the porch, with all the other trick-or-treaters gone, I suddenly realized how vulnerable we were.
I should have stayed home like Ash suggested. I should have realized something was off-kilter in this Thomas Kinkade village.
A shadow drifted behind me, moved ever so gently, and when it did I saw the outline of a man in its midst—almost invisible except around the edges. The unnatural warmth returned and the snow around us began to melt. I instinctively draped one arm around Tucker’s shoulders.
Would the dog attack if I told him to? I’d never tried anything like that before, but then he’d never been a werewolf-hybrid before either.
Would you turn into a werewolf if I told you to, boy?
Samwise gave me a piercing glance, then answered with a hearty, “Wrrooof!”
The door swung open just then, revealed a light-filled room and a tall man dressed in flannel shirt and jeans. Joe Wimbledon, an unopened bottle of beer in one hand. He glared outside, eyes hooded, head tilted down as if he didn’t want to see what might be prowling beyond the edge of the porch.
Nobody said anything for a long moment, then Tucker started his trick-or-treat rap song.
“If you wanna trick or if you wanna treat,
I’m the one to folla ’cuz I can’t be beat,
If you do your part an’ give me somethin’ sweet,
Then I’ll leave you be an’ move on up the street—”
He opened his bag right on cue and flashed a bling-studded grin.
But Joe just stared at me, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.
“You’re that woman from the vet’s office today, the one that claimed chupacabras were in her house last night. But it was the wrong night, don’t ya know. They don’t come out ’til tonight. See”—he pointed to the sky, a black canvas where the clouds had pulled back to reveal a glorious moon—“full moon is tonight.”
He retreated a step, hand on the doorknob as if he were about to slam it closed. Just like I had done to Ash earlier.
“I think ya made the whole thing up,” he said.
I knew I had about a second or less to convince him to let us in. I grabbed my coat sleeve, hitched it up to my elbow. Exposed bare flesh on my forearm and a six-inch jagged wound. “Did I make this up?”
He cursed, eyes narrowed.
Then he reluctantly widened the door for us to enter. “You better get inside,” he said. “Whoever made that mark is probably lookin’ for ya right now.”
Chapter 63
The Darkness of His Soul
Ash:
The Hunt called, strong and sweet, just like it had for thousands of years. I crouched in a corner, behind a house, listening, trying to resist. I didn’t want to take Maddie against her will, but she was fair game as long as she was out in the open. I could swoop down from a rooftop, cast a Veil, put the boy and the dog to sleep while I harvested. None of them would even remember.
But the Legend was too loud tonight, and the version that curled through the trees was wrong—it was painting me too dark, with brushstrokes too broad. All the nuances of love and torment had been erased, the paint had cracked and bits had fallen off. I was no longer a noble creature who had cursed the village for a horrid wrong, I was now an evil captor who kept his sheep from roaming free, who kept Driscoll prisoner.
It said that madness was the cup I had offered the Driscoll family on that night, that mercy and hope had died with Lily. And now, the darkness of my soul was spreading throughout the village, it leaked down alleys and streets like dark oil, contaminating everyone. They all walked with my stain on their brow, all marked for my pleasure.
But none of it was true. Not really.