We said our good-byes and she pulled away. I sat in my car a few minutes, pathetically waiting to see if Malachi would reappear. I could stay and watch the performance, but after last night and today, I didn't think I'd make it through without falling asleep.
I called the office, but Joyce either wasn't in or wasn't answering. I guess it was kind of late. I dialed her house and got the same response. Maybe she was on her way here. I could wait, or I could assume that if there were a problem, she'd have called me. That's what cell phones were for. I started the car and headed for home.
As I turned off the gravel path from the lake and started up the winding hill toward town, the sun died, spreading shadowy tendrils across the road. Grace was long gone; not even an echo of her taillights flickered in the distance.
Two dozen cars passed me going in the opposite direction, and then the highway was deserted. The last vestiges of light filtered through the pines, making dust motes dance across the windshield.
Everything was so quiet. No wind, not a single birdcall. The air had that still, close feeling that comes right before a tornado. I pressed my foot harder on the accelerator. I just wanted to get home and lock the door behind me.
A dark shape shot in front of the car; I barely had time to brace myself before I hit it. I slammed on the brakes, yanked the wheel to the right, and stopped with a jerk that threw me forward so fast my seat belt caught with a sharp click. Whatever I'd hit hadn't been big enough to cause my air bag to deploy, or maybe I just hadn't hit it hard enough.
I released the catch and jumped out.
A large, black wolf lay beneath the right bumper of the car. Blood darkened the pavement, and his neck was twisted at an impossible angle.
I inched closer, and the beast opened his eyes. "Balthazar," I whispered.
The animal jerked his neck, and the resulting crack made me take a single step backward. He shook himself, and blood flew from his fur, pattering against the pavement and the front of the car like rain.
&
nbsp; I dived inside. The thunk of the automatic locks made me feel safe for the single instant it took the wolf to land on the hood.
I didn't have time to think, let alone react, though I don't know what I would have done. The wolf with Balthazar's eyes lunged, smacking his snout against the windshield, leaving a smudge of blood and gore across the glass. I yelped and cringed against my seat.
"He can't get in," I assured myself, though the tremor in my voice did not inspire confidence. "Windshields are a lot harder to break than we think. "
I reached for the ignition and Balthazar struck again. The glass shattered.
His snout was through, snarling, slavering; his claws scraped against the front of the hood as he fought for purchase. I sat frozen, horrified and fascinated. I'd always known Balthazar had it in for me.
I straightened. I hadn't planned to let him best me in an election; I wasn't going to let him best me in. . . whatever this was.
I snapped on my seat belt and started the car; then I stepped on the gas. The vehicle lurched forward, bringing the wolf dangerously close. I stomped on the brakes, and he flew backward, glass spraying all over the hood. His rump hit the slick surface and slid off the front.
I didn't wait. I slammed my foot onto the accelerator and ran over him.
My front tires rose and fell with a sickening thud; then my back tires did the same.
"Brakes. Reverse. " I completed the tasks as fast as I could. Nevertheless, when I glanced over my shoulder, Balthazar was already climbing to his feet.
I hit him once more, ran over him again.
He got up.
"What I could really use is a solid silver car. "
Balthazar, the wolf, stood poised in the glare of my headlights. I could keep running over him all night, and it wouldn't do any good. He meant to kill me.
I reached for my cell phone, but I was afraid to take my eyes off the wolf for even an instant. He charged; so did I. A game of chicken.
An instant before impact, there was a sharp crack, and the wolf exploded. I ran over him anyway. I couldn't stop.
I was terrified my car would blow up, too. I didn't pause until I was several yards beyond the fire. Then I peered into my rearview mirror and watched him burn.
Someone had shot him. Someone who knew enough about werewolves to buy a silver bullet and a gun to use it.
My eyes scanned the forest, but no one was there.