Katherine listened, feeling sad and slightly ill as Michael catalogued all the things in which he had taken a second place to Alex, listing things that others would have considered triumphs of a first order but which he — in his obsessive competition of which Alex was never fully aware — put down as defeats.
“But why the Satanism?”
Michael licked his lips. “It was a way.”
“A way to what?”
“Strike back.”
“At me?” Alex asked.
“Yes.”
“You don't believe in that stuff—”
Michael's voice changed, grew more urgent, even while his gaze remained distant, unseeing. “I do believe. We have successfully summoned Him forth many times.”
“Satan?”
“Yes.”
“I don't believe it.”
Michael shifted in his chair, as if he were sitting on tacks and was in considerable pain. “You saw the wolf.”
“Did I?”
“K-Katherine did.”
“What wolf is this?” Alex asked.
“The wolf at the dance, in the woods, earlier tonight. It's Him, a manifestation that human eyes can accept.”
Cartier drew back, blinked, looked at Katherine and then, clearly not believing a word Michael said, shook his head sadly.
“Suppose you actually did summon the devil,” Alex said. “How could you use him to hurt me?”
“By having Him possess Katherine, to begin with,” Michael said.
Katherine shivered, tipped her mug of hot chocolate to her mouth and found that it was empty, put the mug on the table and looked back at the interrogation.
Michael said, “From the moment I watched you showing her the town, being oh so solicitous, I knew you were interested in her, that you liked her more than a little.”
Alex looked down at the floor, glanced quickly at Katherine and then away. “And you'd steal her away. That was my first punishment.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“When we had enough members in the cult,” he said, “I planned to summon up fire spirits. I planned to destroy Owlsden.”
“I see,” Alex said.
“It would have been a pleasure to watch all of you burn to death,” Michael said. He laughed shortly, like the bark of a dog, then slipped back into his semi-coma.
“Enough?” Carrier asked.
“Almost.”
“Finish it, then.”
Alex said, “Where did you get the key to Owlsden?”
“The carpenter in Saxonby, the one who does your work here, makes your keys.”
“He gave them to you?”
“Hardly,” Michael said. “But he orders his lumber from my father. I delivered it a few times, learned where he kept his master keys, found the one tagged for Owlsden and, when he was out of the shop, stole in and made myself a few duplicates.”
Michael sighed and turned away from the other man. He said, to Carrier, “Okay. He's yours from now on.”
Later that same evening, Alex asked Katherine into the kitchen, where they sat alone at the table, in the glow of the fireplace, and sipped two more mugs of hot chocolate. At first, she thought that there was something he wanted to discuss with her, but soon she realized that he just enjoyed her company and that he wanted to ramble on about anything that came to mind.
They had been there about an hour when she said, “Did you see a wolf in the woods tonight?”
He looked at her, held her gaze. “I saw a dog, a German Shepherd.”
“It looked more like a wolf to me,” she said.
He shook his head negatively, insistently. “It was a dog, probably belonged to one of them. We'll know in a couple of days, when they've all been properly questioned.”
“But,” she persisted, “it acted so strangely for a dog, getting onto its hind feet like that. It almost seemed to be — dancing.”
Alex rose and went to the window, looked out at the mounds of snow. She joined him as he said, “A trained dog, then.”
“Perhaps it really—”
Without warning, he turned and slipped both arms around her, drew her against him. “Am I being too bold?” he asked.
She laughed softly. “No.”
He leaned forward, placed his lips on hers and kissed her for a long while. “Too bold now?”
“No,” she said.
He kissed her again.
When they broke apart this second time, she said, “I can't help but feel that the wolf was more than a dog that—”
“Now,” he said, interrupting her, “you're the pessimist, and I'm the optimist. How did this reversal of roles come about so quickly?”
“Really, Alex, the whole thing scares me.”
“Let me tell you an old superstition.”
“I've heard enough of those lately, thank you.”
He kissed her nose and said, “This one is different. There is an old superstition that states that no evil can touch a man — no werewolf claw him, no vampire bite him, no devil claim him — if he loves someone and if someone loves him in return. Therefore, with a little time and a little trust, I think we can safely forget about the wolf. It won't be able to touch us.”
“Now,” she said, “you're getting a bit too bold.”
“I am?”
“Yes,” she said. “But tell me the same story tomorrow and see if I find it less forward than I do now.”
“Do you think you will?”
“That's a distinct possibility,” she said.
“I'll tell you that story every day from now on, if necessary,” Alex said. “Since you work here, I've got a captive audience.”
The snow had ceased altogether, and the wind was far less furious than it had been a few hours earlier. A pair of owls departed the rafters of the house, hooting as they began a search for prey. The sound of their hollow voices carried to Katherine and Alex and seemed, in their gentle way, to be presentiments for a more peaceful, happy future.