The Leaping Part 29

I walked backwards, and the lantern light was being reflected from pools and puddles all over the ground. I had not realised that there was so much blood. They had bled so much, our friends. The pools behind the pit were glowing orange, and those between the pit and the barn door were glowing blue, and Jennifer was in the middle, her torso rising from the landscape like she was sprouting out from underground, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and face streaked with dirt and pale in the moonlight.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'Come with me,' I said. 'We're not finished yet.'

She climbed up and followed as I walked out of the barn, and the whole valley was visible from the archway, and beautiful. Some astral light illuminated faint wreaths of woodsmoke that hung up above us and above the landscape, and the mountains seemed somehow peaceful and safe, and between the stars the sky was deep blue, and the lake was bright, like mercury. safe, and between the stars the sky was deep blue, and the lake was bright, like mercury.

'This way,' I said, and took her hand. I led her around the side of the barn and stopped by the outhouse and opened the door and turned on the light. I picked up the hacksaw and threw it backwards.

'Here,' I said. 'Sit on that chair.'

'OK,' she said. 'What are we doing?' She sat down and s.h.i.+vered at the contact of cold metal against her most sensitive skin, and she smiled at me.

I turned off the light and slammed the door and clicked the padlock shut.

She screamed and roared and hammered and shrieked so loudly and so hoa.r.s.ely and so fearfully and so angrily that she sounded like an animal, and maybe she had changed shape in her fury. I would have to reinforce the door, because as a wolf she might have been able to just beat it until it broke, or even just tear it up over time.

Jennifer. You must understand that fear makes us do things. I do not want you to forgive me. But I do want you to understand. I'm sorry.

Back in the barn, the b.l.o.o.d.y, meaty butcher's-shop smell was stronger than before, and I could hear Jennifer through the wall. She howled and sobbed and scratched and fell silent and then started again. She didn't sound human. I had done the only thing that I could have done. I had not killed her, so the situation was reversible if I was wrong. But I was not wrong. If I had not taken the steps I had taken, she would have killed me. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not until she was bored with me. But there would have come a time. was wrong. But I was not wrong. If I had not taken the steps I had taken, she would have killed me. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not until she was bored with me. But there would have come a time.

As I picked up the shovel again, I heard her smash her whole body weight against the door to the outhouse. I sighed and dropped the shovel. The grave-digging would have to wait.

Luckily, my car was not blocked in by all of the cars of our dead guests, so I drove it round and parked it outside the outhouse, mas.h.i.+ng the side of the vehicle into the wall and the door so that it could not be opened. That would have to do for the time being. I left the key to the padlock in the glove compartment and returned to the barn.

Outside, I could hear things moving. The wind rising quickly and cras.h.i.+ng through the dead orchard and clanging the gate against stone, and the sorrowful croaking of the big black birds. I could even hear the flapping of their wings, although, no, that would have been too quiet for me to hear in there. But the caterwauling of lovesick felines as they coupled until they bled, dragging their claws across each other's backs, I could hear that clearly enough. The sick dripping of light as it leaked down from the stars. The beginnings of decomposition in the bodies piled up beside me small rustles and gurgles. The smell of death was thickening. I picked up the shovel.

I dug and I dug and I dug.

The shovel hit something. I had driven it with such force that the obstruction sent an unbearable shock up through my arms. It sounded like I had hit metal. I rubbed my right elbow with my left hand, then I knelt and sc.r.a.ped earth from around the object. My head was aching anyway but the sudden jolt had made it worse and it throbbed now, like a beating heart. It was the feeling of the brain being too big for the skull, forcing itself against the walls of bone. I sc.r.a.ped at the thing in the ground, and I picked the shovel back up and found myself not just digging a pit, but excavating something buried. A coffin, I thought.

I found more of it, and gradually uncovered a curved shape. I was wrong; it was not a coffin. And even though I had something more pressing to be doing in burying the bodies, I had to see what this thing was.

During the excavation, I started to find bones. Human bones. This was part of some story that I didn't know. Teeth and femurs and gaping eye sockets and yellow vertebrae and splintered tibiae.

I had to dig almost the whole of the thing out of the ground before I understood, partly because the torch batteries were running out and the lantern was running out of oil and it was getting darker in there, and partly because it was the last thing I was expecting to find six feet underground beneath an empty barn half-way up a fellside.

Once I saw it I leant back against the side of the hole. I had no idea what time it was. The lantern had gone out and I was s.h.i.+ning the feeble torchlight downwards so that I could see the thing at the bottom of the hole. It was the only thing I could see in the whole world. and I was s.h.i.+ning the feeble torchlight downwards so that I could see the thing at the bottom of the hole. It was the only thing I could see in the whole world.

At my feet was an upturned rowing boat. The shovel had struck the metal oar-bracket. Were the bones somehow related to the boat? Was that what had grown from the seed I spilled? Had I fertilised that b.l.o.o.d.y soil?

I think I must have started to drift off as I stared at it, because I started to imagine myself rowing it out across the lake, accompanied only by some rolled-up bedclothes. The image didn't make any sense to me. I shook my head and tried to clear my mind, tried to wake myself up a bit.

I heard Jennifer start screaming some more and I wondered if she was only human after all. Maybe she was screaming because she was only human and she thought that I was one of them.

I looked at the hole, at the boat, and thought that it was probably deep enough. I put a hand to my head, hoping somehow to ease the pressure.

The bodies were just the weight I expected them to be. I lifted and carried and dropped them, still naked. I was finding strength and endurance that I didn't know I had. Internal organs and thick, tacky strings of viscous saliva hung down my back. The damage that had been done to those people.

If only I could have been like the happy, selfish creatures by the lake. Not to have to feel pain or fear or guilt. My head ached. I imagined my brain looking purple and smooth, like a blueberry, or a full sheep tick on the point of bursting, and I looked at my hand. The bite wound had nearly healed completely. smooth, like a blueberry, or a full sheep tick on the point of bursting, and I looked at my hand. The bite wound had nearly healed completely.

Nearly healed completely. Already! I dropped the shovel. She must must be one of them, so maybe I was too, now that could be the only reason that my skin was growing back so quickly. Something scrabbled on the roof of the barn, and I could hear dripping, leaking, wet sounds. be one of them, so maybe I was too, now that could be the only reason that my skin was growing back so quickly. Something scrabbled on the roof of the barn, and I could hear dripping, leaking, wet sounds.

The barn door squealed briefly, and then stopped. I turned to look and it started squealing again, being dragged open by somebody who stepped through into the barn once the door was open wide enough. He wore a long black cloak that seemed to change shape in the flickering light and a black, tricorne hat. Two huge dogs crept in alongside him, stomachs to the ground, and it was only as he got closer I saw that they were really wolves, n.o.ble and beautiful, and their eyes were slate-grey and calm, and their teeth were sharp and clean. Their coats were almost white at the sides, darkening to black along their spines. They made no sound at all. They just looked at me.

The man standing in between the wolves tipped his hat back so that I could see his scarred, tanned face, which was thick with black stubble. Black hair hung down from beneath his hat, and his eyes were as grey as the wolves' eyes. He was the man that I had seen holding Taylor by the throat. He smiled, widely.

'Evening, friend.' His voice was rough, raspy and low. 'Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle here.' He laughed, and it sounded like one of the birds that roosted in the dead orchard. 'What would your authorities say, eh?' and it sounded like one of the birds that roosted in the dead orchard. 'What would your authorities say, eh?'

'Who are you?'

'I'm just doing some business for a friend,' he said. 'Someone who could be a friend of yours, too, if you were willing. Bearpit is what they call me these days, ever since that last fight in the pit.' He looked down at my hand. I didn't ask for elaboration on the origins of his name. 'Looks like you've had a bit of a biting. Maybe just a delicate little peck from your pretty little la.s.s, but a bite is a bite is a bite, isn't it, eh?'

I looked down at my hand. There was no way he could have seen the bite-marks from where he was. My hand was shaking too much, anyway.

'You're one of them, aren't you?' I said. 'From down by the lake.'

'You could say that. Not how I'd like to be addressed, mind. Especially considering as I've come up here just to help you. And double-especially now that you could say that you're one of us too, now, eh?' He laughed again.

'Am I?' I said. The wolves sniffed and nuzzled at the remaining dead. He got a little closer, so that he was maybe only four or five feet away. His cloak was brus.h.i.+ng the puddles. He smelled like dead leaves.

'Well,' he said. 'It's complicated. More complicated than most people imagine, to be frank. You been bitten, now, so you got it in you.' He pursed his lips. 'You got the wolf,' he whispered over-dramatically. He grinned again, too widely. 'But to really use use it, there's more to it than a nice it, there's more to it than a nice little nibble from your lady friend. You've got to give something little nibble from your lady friend. You've got to give something back back.'

'Wh-what?' I managed to say.

'The soul, Jack. The self self. And seeing as we've cut straight to the chase how about it?'

'You know my name.'

'I know all kinds.'

'I don't understand. What if I don't give it?'

'Nothing, really.' He sniffed. 'Not the kind of thing that can be taken by force, see. You'll be all for giving it up soon enough though, see. Francis would've come begging if he'd lasted long enough. Not even a werewolf can survive having its head pressed flat.'

'I have plans for my soul already.'

'Yeah, I know,' he said. 'You and your girl. You think you need it for her. For what? A long and happy life? Don't make me laugh. What if she were to go and die, like that fine red-haired piece your Taylor friend got so cut up about? What if she got some cancer, eh, some uncontrollable gathering somewhere inside her? What would you do then, with nothing left to give? May as well get something for your money, is all I'm saying.'

'Like you said,' I replied, 'I've already been bitten.'

'Yeah, but you're not in control of it, are you? Don't quite know how to go about changing shape. Not to mention the guilt, Jack. You'll find the guilt is the killer. What I'm offering is a way of enjoying your life, Jack, because it's going to last a very long time now. No diseases, no old age. As long as that clever old brain of yours is intact, you'll be able to bounce back from anything. But trouble is, with all that soul of yours, you'll just spend all your time worrying, feeling rotten about yourself.' you'll be able to bounce back from anything. But trouble is, with all that soul of yours, you'll just spend all your time worrying, feeling rotten about yourself.'

'No,' I said. 'I'm not going to change my mind.'

'Well you're a f.u.c.king idiot then, Jack,' he said, and laughed again. 'And I'll be getting off. There's all kind of fun I could be having down by Wast.w.a.ter. Just remember this. I've offered you what you've always wanted. You think you've got it, but you don't know. You just don't know what's coming.'

'I don't want this.' I gestured towards the bodies and the blood. 'I don't want to do this. I know what I want now, and that's Jennifer.'

'As long as she submits herself to you completely, and just does whatever you want, you mean?' he sneered. 'As long as she's locked up nice and secure so she can't get out and live the life she wants to live, eh? As long as she gives herself to you?'

I didn't say anything.

'Your soul wouldn't amount to much anyway,' he said. 'Never do these days. Don't really know yourselves, do you? Everything you lot have got to give is p.i.s.s poor. Lot of poor f.u.c.king surface-dwellers, that's you. Well, you'll regret it. And I'm glad.'

He turned and left. The wolves followed without saying a word. Without making a sound.

The next day I woke to a pack of wolves howling their sad, lonely howls, but as I slowly regained full consciousness I realised that there was only one voice out there, and I had dreamed the rest. It was Jennifer in the outhouse. consciousness I realised that there was only one voice out there, and I had dreamed the rest. It was Jennifer in the outhouse.

I had to do something about the noise.

I found a working clock and saw that I had slept through to midday.

I fried some bacon and put it on a plate for Jennifer, and I started frying some for myself but then just pulled it out of the pan and ate it still raw, and eating felt more desperate than usual, less enjoyable, more functional. I thought about trying to find some jeans, but it seemed like such an effort for something so unnecessary, so I took Jennifer's food out naked. The sky was grey and the day was cold.

I opened the car door on the driver's side and saw that the seat was covered in the b.l.o.o.d.y mud of the barn. I didn't mind, as I was still covered in the stuff myself. I reversed away from the door and then drove back in front of it, but this time leaving enough of a gap to open the door slightly. I stopped the car and got out. I took the padlock key from the glove compartment and the plate of bacon from the pa.s.senger seat and put them on top of the car. Then I climbed on to the roof and slid across to the door. There was not enough room for Jennifer to get out.

I could hear her crying.

I took a deep breath and leant down and unlocked the padlock.

The door burst open and smashed into the car and she tried to force herself out of the narrow gap, face first, but she couldn't fit. Her face twisted and contorted and the corner of her mouth got caught on a nail that stuck out from the wood of the door. As I watched, her face started to narrow and elongate in order to get through the s.p.a.ce and her mouth stretched wider as the nail held one corner of it in place and the rest of it moved forward. There was something inside her struggling to get out, and it emerged from between her lips, which stretched like a foreskin. Gradually, a new, misshapen head squeezed through the widening hole and into the inches of air available, and she caught sight of me above her. Long, scrabbling arms emerged, broken and thickly furred, flailing wildly. I stayed where I was on the car roof. There was no way she could get out, no way she could fit. Not quickly, anyway; maybe she could have warped her body into ever thinner forms, elongating herself into a bony, hairy worm-thing that could have wriggled its way through anything. To think that I was fantasising about us having children! Could a normal healthy child really be born from the thing that tore and broke itself below me? What if she gave birth to another one and I had to keep them both locked up? tried to force herself out of the narrow gap, face first, but she couldn't fit. Her face twisted and contorted and the corner of her mouth got caught on a nail that stuck out from the wood of the door. As I watched, her face started to narrow and elongate in order to get through the s.p.a.ce and her mouth stretched wider as the nail held one corner of it in place and the rest of it moved forward. There was something inside her struggling to get out, and it emerged from between her lips, which stretched like a foreskin. Gradually, a new, misshapen head squeezed through the widening hole and into the inches of air available, and she caught sight of me above her. Long, scrabbling arms emerged, broken and thickly furred, flailing wildly. I stayed where I was on the car roof. There was no way she could get out, no way she could fit. Not quickly, anyway; maybe she could have warped her body into ever thinner forms, elongating herself into a bony, hairy worm-thing that could have wriggled its way through anything. To think that I was fantasising about us having children! Could a normal healthy child really be born from the thing that tore and broke itself below me? What if she gave birth to another one and I had to keep them both locked up?

Maybe I should just have given in and tried to transform myself. The two of us could run through the wilderness like animals, free and innocent in our hungers. Would she ever forgive me? My head ached like cold metal.

I pushed the door shut with all that was left of my strength, hoping that the pressure on her arms and neck would force her to retreat. It did, eventually, and I managed to get the padlock shut. The transformation must have been new to her. She could still get a lot stronger. managed to get the padlock shut. The transformation must have been new to her. She could still get a lot stronger.

I went inside and gathered up all of the books that I could. I had a huge collection of folklore, myths and legends, half of which I had never properly read. I had historical accounts of monsters and hauntings. I had eyewitness accounts. I had psychology and psychiatry books on beliefs and interpretations of beliefs of the supernatural. I had novels, short stories, epic poems. I had translations of Nordic sagas. I had literary examinations of the uncanny, of the phallus in fiction. I had books on the cultural significance of horror, fantasy and science-fiction writing. I had bestiaries. I had old role-playing games' rule books. I had encyclopaedias of faeries, dragons, aliens. I had spotters' guides to the flora and fauna of various different countries and different regions within different countries. I had shelves full of The Fortean Times Fortean Times. I had stubble, and was covered in dried blood. I threw all the books on the floor in the room that I had once thought of as my study and found some paper and a pen. The paraphernalia of my earlier life seemed stupid and simple and hopeless and sad. The pictures on the wall were just reminders.

I didn't know where to start. I picked up the nearest book. The Folklore of the Scottish Highlands The Folklore of the Scottish Highlands by Anne Ross. I started a pile of possibly useful books to my right. by Anne Ross. I started a pile of possibly useful books to my right. Fairy Tales and Feminism: New Approaches Fairy Tales and Feminism: New Approaches by Donald P. Haase. I discarded it. The books were everywhere. Some useful, some useless. I ploughed on through. by Donald P. Haase. I discarded it. The books were everywhere. Some useful, some useless. I ploughed on through.

The Tsathoggua Cycle (Cthulhu Mythos) by Robert M. Price. by Robert M. Price. The World's Greatest Mysteries The World's Greatest Mysteries by Colin Wilson and Joyce Robins. by Colin Wilson and Joyce Robins. Into the Unknown Into the Unknown, edited by Will Bradbury. The Vampire Encyclopaedia The Vampire Encyclopaedia by Matthew Bunson. by Matthew Bunson. The Book of Werewolves The Book of Werewolves by the Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould. by the Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould. The Trials of Life The Trials of Life by Sir David Attenborough. by Sir David Attenborough. Science Fiction After 1900: From the Steam Man to the Stars Science Fiction After 1900: From the Steam Man to the Stars by Brooks Landon. by Brooks Landon. The Lore of the Land The Lore of the Land by Westwood and Simpson. I kept getting up and walking around. by Westwood and Simpson. I kept getting up and walking around. The UFO Casebook The UFO Casebook by Kevin D. Randle. by Kevin D. Randle. A Delusion of Satan: The Full Story of the Salem Witch Trials A Delusion of Satan: The Full Story of the Salem Witch Trials by Frances Hill. Something, a bird, it must have been a bird, flew into the gla.s.s of the window and bounced off, squawking. I gritted my teeth. I had to work more quickly, but as I sorted the books and magazines and studies into either useful or useless piles I increasingly got the impression that none of this knowledge would help. Having all that knowledge was not going to help at all. by Frances Hill. Something, a bird, it must have been a bird, flew into the gla.s.s of the window and bounced off, squawking. I gritted my teeth. I had to work more quickly, but as I sorted the books and magazines and studies into either useful or useless piles I increasingly got the impression that none of this knowledge would help. Having all that knowledge was not going to help at all. Alien Constructions: Science Fiction and Feminist Thought Alien Constructions: Science Fiction and Feminist Thought by Patricia Melzer. I grew frustrated. by Patricia Melzer. I grew frustrated. Fantasy: The Liberation of Imagination Fantasy: The Liberation of Imagination by Richard Mathews. I threw the book across the room in disgust. by Richard Mathews. I threw the book across the room in disgust.

Having all that knowledge wasn't going to help. The words were stuck in my head. I was repeating them as a mantra. Having all that knowledge wasn't going to help. There was only one thing I needed to know, only one thing. One little thing. How did you reverse it? How did you go backwards? How did you exorcise the wolf from the human? Was that what had Francis told Taylor? What had they been saying out there? What had Graham and the axe prevented Taylor from telling me? One thing I was sure of was that I was not going to find the information anywhere in all those books. Outside the sky grew darker. the axe prevented Taylor from telling me? One thing I was sure of was that I was not going to find the information anywhere in all those books. Outside the sky grew darker.

One little thing.

Having all that knowledge wasn't going to help at all.

Books all around, paper written on, screwed up, torn and strewn across the floor. The light bulb was unreliable, despite being modern, and flickered from time to time, dimming and glimmering. This was one of the few rooms that did have curtains, but they must have been torn down as part of the clean-up because now the gla.s.s of the window was naked and the darkness outside looked straight through into me. There was a smell throughout the house. We had scrubbed and scrubbed but evidently there was enough bodily matter left for the decomposition of it to raise a G.o.d-awful stink, enough left in between the floorboards and soaked into furniture and hidden behind and underneath everything that we could perceive. It had trickled into every gap, crept into the s.p.a.ces that separated things. It was everywhere. It was in everything and around everything that we could see. It was almost as if it was inside me too, having clotted into some internal presence, some silent observer.

And I'm sorry, Jennifer. I'm sorry. I wish that I was religious enough and devout enough to be owed some sort of miracle, if that's how it works. I don't know how it works. of miracle, if that's how it works. I don't know how it works.

You were making that sound again, that sound like a whale far away underwater and in pain, in agony, a keening, a sad old animal song, like something huge and innocent. Perhaps innocent was the wrong word. Perhaps not. But you were making that sound again and it drew me to the window. It reminded me of Erin and her fear of whales; her nightmares of alien giants moving slowly through the deep murk of ancient oceans. She didn't seem dead to me. I couldn't believe that she was really dead. I found myself looking out over the darkened yard. The sky was black with cloud that night.

No. I had to find a way.

There was this recurring figure in the stories, in the werewolf stories that I had gathered there, and in those I had read before. The tall dark stranger, or a 'dark spirit', or the 'Lord of the Forest'. And though the Shepherd may have watched his flock by night He missed the cold stranger on a horse the Lord of the Forest come to promise the flock the power to avoid hunger and pain for ever and ever by turning into a wolf. Who would refuse a gift like that? A kind of true freedom? Except it was not a gift. It was a deal, as far as I could make out. It was always only ever a deal. In the stories, the Devil or one of His demons came and offered the power in exchange for the person's soul, like Bearpit did with me. And the power it wasn't really really power power, it was more just a kind of nihilism. It was the removal of your conscience and your compa.s.sion and your capacity for emotional attachment. Coupled with the ability to change at will. So yes, there was power in it, of a kind. It seemed there were two steps. First, there was being bitten, which turned you into a kind of unpredictable, schizophrenic wolf-man, and then there was making the deal, which took you to the next stage.

Pain burrowed through my brain again. My vision blurred and the wind carried Jennifer's howling in waves to my window. The metal impact of the gate rang out like some semi-intelligent creature was playing with it, delighting in the noise, attempting something like rhythm. Also, I could hear the awful shrieks of the cats as they raped each other, and small wings against the window and talons sc.r.a.ping around on the roof. I couldn't find the answer. I couldn't find it.

I woke up slumped over the pile of books, grey light stroking my eyelids with dusty fingers. White mist pressed its faceless self against the window. There was always something at the window. Something trying to get in.

Outside, the yard and the barn and the house were hazy through the fog, and everything was reduced to just a vague shape, the suggestion of itself, with indistinct edges. I was just the shadow, the silhouette, the idea of a person.

Through the mist, Jennifer keened, and the sound was sharp despite the clogged-up air and the wooden door between us. I made my way across the grey yard and caught sight of the gate as a bank of fog rolled back momentarily. I realised that I was still naked. I was living through a steady reduction of whatever it was that defined me as human. Leaving the house with no clothes on by accident. I shook my head and instead of going straight to the outhouse, as I had planned, I made my way over to the big barn door. between us. I made my way across the grey yard and caught sight of the gate as a bank of fog rolled back momentarily. I realised that I was still naked. I was living through a steady reduction of whatever it was that defined me as human. Leaving the house with no clothes on by accident. I shook my head and instead of going straight to the outhouse, as I had planned, I made my way over to the big barn door.

The barn door squealed as I pulled it open, and I imagined animals everywhere lifting their heads as they heard the sound, baring their teeth, breaking into a run at the high-pitched pain. I imagined people, if there were any left in the world, turning pale and shuddering, locking the doors and drawing the curtains. I imagined the dark red sky that I had seen from the window during my delirium.

Inside the barn everything was as grey as the world outside, but darker. My jeans lay on the ground, hard and crusty with filth. I picked them up and struggled into them, looking around as I did so, and I realised that the uneven patch of ground over there, the place where I had buried all the bodies, was not really ground at all it was just the bodies: limbs and joints and other bits level with the surface, some almost broken through. I couldn't tell one from the other. It could just have been one many-limbed thing from deep down, worming its way up to our world.

I turned to leave.

I closed the barn door behind me and turned to fasten it, and then stopped dead, a huge panic blossoming in my stomach and throat like smoke. it, and then stopped dead, a huge panic blossoming in my stomach and throat like smoke.

The axe was leaning against the wall. The last time I had seen the axe had been when Taylor and Graham were fighting.

One of them must have been here.

I took the axe and held it firmly in both hands, across my body like a bar. The mist was cold and impenetrable. I moved slowly around the back of the barn towards the outhouse, and saw that the car had been moved away from the door.

The door was wide open, swaying gently to and fro.

The mist turned to ice on my bare skin and I gripped the axe tightly.

My head was thudding with the flow of my body, each heartbeat carrying the impact of a battering ram, although making no sound at all everything was completely silent.

I didn't want to be there and I didn't want it to be like this.

Jennifer. The house. A future together. I had wanted it to happen but not like this. I'm sorry.

I heard fast-moving feet behind me and turned to see a huge four-legged something looming through the air towards me. I lifted the axe and the wolf landed on me, knocking me to the ground, but also smas.h.i.+ng its throat against the handle of the axe. It fell back, choking, saliva raining from its huge mouth, and I stood, feeling stronger than I ever had before, and brought the axe down on one of its hind legs. There was a splintering sound and a long, high scream. I cut again, and was astounded to see the leg come away from the body. My heart swelled with pride as the wolf limped away, and I bent to pick up the severed limb. high scream. I cut again, and was astounded to see the leg come away from the body. My heart swelled with pride as the wolf limped away, and I bent to pick up the severed limb.

By the time my hand fastened around the hairy thigh, it was not hairy, or even a thigh. It was the lower part of a human leg; it was the lower part of a female human leg. I looked up at the wolf to see Jennifer, crying, lying on her stomach, thick blood pouring from the stump of her right leg, truncated at the knee. 'Oh,' I said. 'Oh. I'm sorry.'

'Jack,' she said. She pushed herself up from the ground and rolled over, so that she was sitting up. Already the flow of blood was slowing.

'Jennifer,' I said. 'What happened?'

She managed to laugh, painfully, through her tears. She was naked in the fog. 'What kind of question is that, really?' she asked. 'After everything?'

'How did you get out?'

'The door was open. I think it was Balthazar.'

'Balthazar? Who's Balthazar?'

'You must remember, Jack. Our snowman. Don't tell us you don't remember. He'll be offended.'