"Do you mean that werewolves and the Devil are one and the same?"
"No. The werewolf is a servant of the Devil. No one becomes a werewolf by chance. It's like witchcraft. In return you pledge your everlasting soul."
"People willingly become werewolves?"
"Once it was not at all uncommon. In the Middle Ages life could be an ugly, painful existence if you were very poor, and the price of your soul did not seem too much to pay for the powers of the werewolf."
"But today surely there can't be people still making deals with the Devil."
"Not many, I imagine. Not in the old way."
"Then where would a modern werewolf come from?"
"The curse is passed on to succeeding generations. Unless the line is wiped out, there is no end."
"So to be a werewolf, you either have to make a pact with the Devil, or have a werewolf for a parent." Karyn was trying to be sarcastic, but it did not come out that way.
"There is another way," Inez said.
"What is that?" This is going too far, Karyn thought. I must stop humoring her.
"The bite of a werewolf, if it does not kill, can infect the victim with the taint. These cases are rare, because when a werewolf attacks, he usually kills. A blessing, in a way."
"I need a drink," Karyn said. "Do you want some more wine?"
"No, thank you."
Karyn went into the kitchen and made herself a strong Scotch and water. The way Inez was talking worried her, but she did not know how to ease away from the subject. She took a deep swallow of the drink before going back out.
"I can see I'm upsetting you," Inez said when Karyn came into the room.
"I'm sorry, Inez. I'm trying to listen seriously to what you're saying. But werewolves."
"Why is it so hard to accept? Don't we travel to the moon? Destroy cities with the force of the atom? Transplant organs from one human being to another?"
"But those are achievements of science. What you're talking about is superstition."
Inez's expression of utter conviction did not change.
Karyn took another approach. "All right, just for now let's say that these things do exist. Why here? Why in the Tehachapi Mountains of California? Why Drago?"
"The history of the town, for one thing," said Inez. "In the sixty-plus years that Drago has been in existence there have been an unreasonable number of strange deaths and unexplained disappearances in and around the village. I have books at home. Documents, records, newspaper clippings. I would have brought them with me tonight, but I didn't know you. I didn't know if I should bring up the subject."
"You still don't know me, Inez. I don't believe in your werewolves or your Devil or your God, and I don't want to hear any more about them." Karyn stopped abruptly as she heard herself turning shrill.
Inez looked as though she had been slapped. "I'm sorry, Karyn. Please believe that I'm sorry. I had given up talking to people about this because I knew they would think I was crazy. As I told you, they already think I'm odd. I can just imagine their reaction if I told them there is a werewolf at large in Drago. I took a chance on telling you because I sensed a sympathetic feeling between us. The last thing I wanted to do was upset you."
"Shall we drop it?" Karyn said. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." She placed her empty glass firmly on the table.
"I understand." Inez looked around uncertainly. "Well… I should be going."
Karyn walked with her to the door. "Inez, I didn't mean to snap at you. My nerves haven't been in the best shape lately. Please don't take it personally."
The taller woman touched her hand. "Really, it's all right. Goodbye, Karyn."
Karyn stood at the door watching Inez Polk walk to her car and drive away. Then she turned back and saw the books Inez had brought her from the library. For some reason she felt like crying.
Chapter Nine
As Roy Beatty approached the village of Drago, he breathed deeply of the balsam-scented air. He was relieved to be away from Karyn and her hangups, even for a little while. And because he felt relieved, he was twisted by guilt. Karyn was his wife. Now, when she was having problems, was no time for him to be making up excuses to go to Los Angeles, or to be rushing out of the house the minute somebody else showed up to take over the burden of keeping her company.
The fact that he could not get to the pulse of his feelings disturbed him. Roy Beatty had always been in control of his life. He was not a complicated man. He did not like surprises, and he did not like conflicts. For most of his twenty-nine years Roy had managed to keep his life running as smoothly as an engineering project.
And that was the way his life had gone — neatly plotted and well within tolerances — until that terrible afternoon when the shaky voice of his best friend on the telephone had brought him rushing home.
Now, just as he had begun to hope that the peace and quiet of Drago might help restore the Karyn he had loved, this business of the missing dog and the howling in the night had upset her again. When, Roy wondered bitterly, would life return to normal?
He came to the main street of Drago and turned to his right before really thinking about his destination. He had not intended to walk all the way to the village, but he had just kept walking. The logical thing to do now, he told himself, was to turn around and start back. However, a curious sense of excitement compelled him to continue down the street. When at last he came to a stop Roy had to admit this was where he had been coming all along. It was the little shop run by Marcia Lura.
He hesitated for a moment before opening the door. A kind of unnatural stillness hung over the town. He reminded himself that he was doing nothing wrong. Why should he not come to this shop? He might just find a nice little gift inside to take home to Karyn.
No, that would not do. The idea of the gift had just popped into his head, and he could not pretend to himself that it was the reason he had come. He was here because he wanted very much to see again the dark-haired woman.
He walked inside to the sound of the tinkling bell. Marcia Lura was standing in the center of the shop wearing a peasant blouse and a full, flowered skirt. She was looking at him.
"Hello," she said, "I expected you sooner."
"You knew I would come?"
"Of course. When you were in the other day I felt the attraction between us as strongly as you did. Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"
Roy caught his breath. In the dim light of the shop Marcia looked criminally beautiful. Her eyes seemed to have a light of their own. An intense pale green.
"No," he said. "You are not wrong."
"Are you uncomfortable with me?"
"A little. Believe it or not, I don't usually do things like this."
"I believe you," she said. Her smile showed strong white teeth. "And besides, you haven't really done anything yet."
Roy forced a laugh. It did not come out as casual as he intended. "What I had in mind was some sort of gift for my… my wife."
"Ah, yes. Do you see anything you like?" Marcia's mouth curled faintly at the corners. Her eyes challenged him. "What I mean, of course, is anything your wife would like."
Roy looked around in confusion. His hand closed mindlessly on the nearest object, a china figurine of a little girl in the costume of a shepherdess. It was overly cute with blue saucer eyes and round cherub cheeks. Karyn would hate it.
"How much is this?" he said.
"Is that what you really want?"
"Why not?"
"It is seven dollars."
"I'll take it."
Marcia moved toward him, stopping just before they touched.