The Best Paranormal Crime Stories Ever Told by Martin H. Greenberg Read Free Book Online Page B

had earned that right. And together they would stop the monster from eating the boy.
    For the first few minutes after the change, he mostly thought like the wolf, but as the pain subsided he settled back into control. He shook off the last of unpleasant tingles with the same willpower he used to set aside the desire to snarl at the boy who reached out with a hand . . . only to jerk back, caught by the strap on his wrist.
    David hopped on to the bed and snapped through the ballistic nylon that attached Devonte’s cuff to the rail and waited while the boy petted him tentatively with all the fascination of a person touching a tiger.
    “That’ll be a little hard to explain,” said Stella.
    He looked at her and she flinched . . . then jerked up her chin and met his eyes. “What if the Linnfords ask about the restraint?”
    It had been the wolf’s response to seeing the boy he was supposed to protect tied up like a bad dog, not the man’s.
    “They haven’t been here,” said Devonte. “Unless they spend a lot of time in hospital prison, they won’t know it was supposed to be there. I’ll cover the cuff on my wrist with the blanket.”
    Stella nodded her head thoughtfully. “All right. And if things get bad, at least this way you can run. He’s right, it’s better if the restraint is off.”
    David let them work it out. He launched himself off Devonte’s bed and onto the other—forgetting that Devonte was already hurt until he heard the boy’s indrawn breath. David was still half-operating on wolf instincts—which wasn’t very helpful when fighting vampires. He needed to be thinking.
    Maybe it had only been the suddenness of his movement though because the boy made the same sound when David hopped through the almost-too-narrow opening in the ceiling and onto the track in the plenum space between the original fourteen-foot ceiling and false panels fitted into the flimsy hangers that kept them place. The track groaned a little under his sudden weight, but it didn’t bend.
    “My father always told us that no one ever looks up for their enemy,” Stella said after a moment. “Can you replace the panel? If you can’t I—”
    The panel he’d moved slid back into place with more force than necessary and cracked down the middle.
    “Damn it.”
    “Don’t worry, no one will notice. There are a couple of broken panels up there.”

    She couldn’t see any sign that her father was hiding in the ceiling except for the bed. She grabbed it by the headboard and tugged it back to its original position, then she did the same with the chair.
    She’d forgotten how impressive the wolf was . . . almost beautiful: the perfect killing machine covered with four-inch-deep, redgold fur. She hadn’t remembered the black that tipped his ears and surrounded his eyes like Egyptian kohl.
    “If you’ll get back, I’ll see what I can do with the wall,” said Devonte. “Sometimes I can fix things as well as move them.”
    That gave her a little pause, but she found that wizards weren’t as frightening as werewolves and vampires. She considered his offer, then shook her head.
    “No. They already know what you are.” She gathered her father’s clothes from the bedspread and folded them neatly. Then she stashed them—and the plastic bag with Devonte’s clothes—into the locker. “Just leave the wall. We only need to hide the werewolf from them, and you might need all the power you’ve got to help with the vampire.”
    Devonte nodded.
    “Right then.” She took a deep breath and picked up her catch-all purse from the floor where she’d set it.
    Her brothers had made fun of her purses until she’d used one to take out a mugger. She’d been lucky—it had been laden with a pair of three-pound weights she’d been transporting from home to work—but she’d never admitted that to her brothers. Afterwards they’d given her Mace, karate lessons, and quit bugging her about the size of her purse.
    Unearthing a travel-sized game