“I think,” Allen said. “I spoke to Professor Carpenter.”

“Uh-huh. And what did ganja-head say?”

“That I’d be helping you with research. Something with Kafka.”

“Yeah, that’s the story, but I’ve got something a lot more important for you to work on. A real challenge for your research skills.”

“Oh?”

“I’m getting a grant from the university for the trip, so it has to be some lit thing. I’ve basically written it already. But frankly, I have more important things to work on. Are we clear?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in later,” Evergreen said. “Stop looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like somebody pissed down your back. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

“If you can give me some kind of idea what I’ll be researching, maybe I can get started right away,” Allen suggested. “Get a head start.”

“Save it for later. Think of it like a scavenger hunt. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

Allen went back out to the party and marched straight for the wine. He was in for a long semester. And a long summer. He gulped the wine, refilled the cup. Maybe he’d make himself drunk. Why not?

Penny planted herself in front of him. “Where the hell have you been? I told you to stay with Blanche. Why are you dressed like that?”

“I don’t have time to babysit your distraught friends. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not having a very good time.”

“Just tell her I’m looking for her if you see her.”

“Where are you going?”

“Into those woods,” Penny said. “If I know Blanche, she’ll go in there and try to catch Kurt making out with whatever skank is next on his to-do list.”

“The woods? Don’t go into the woods,” Allen said.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s… the woods.”

“If I see the big bad wolf, I’ll point him toward Grandma’s house.”

“Just yell if you need any help.”

Penny rolled her eyes and left.

Allen sipped wine. The party came and went around him. Dull.

“I hope you don’t mind if I introduce myself.”

Allen looked up from his wine, raised an eyebrow.

The man who had addressed him was a priest-black suit, white collar. Tall and athletic, late thirties or early forties. His hair was a deep black and just over his ears. Blue eyes. Crow’s-feet. But a bright, energetic smile. He shook Allen’s hand firmly.

“Father?”

“I’m Father Laramie,” said the priest, “but I hope you’ll call me Paul.”

“Father Paul.”

“Just Paul.”

“Okay.”

“Penny tells me you’re Catholic,” said Father Paul. “I didn’t know if you were aware we held a Wednesday mass in the chapel on campus.”

“Ah.” Allen took a swig of wine to buy himself a second. He’d mentioned to Penny that he’d been brought up Catholic, but he hadn’t attended mass in years. He had not even realized Gothic State had an on-campus chapel. How long since his last confession? Well, really, what did Allen have to confess?

This thought depressed him somewhat.

“I’m hoping I can convince you to come around and see us sometime,” Father Paul said. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t encourage you a little.”

“Uh.”

“I know how busy you students are, but it’s often just these busy times when students need to take a break from the frenzy of the semester and refocus on something spiritual and calming. We have a surprisingly large congregation.”

“Oh.”

“I’d like you to have something.”

Father Paul pushed something into Allen’s hand. He looked down into his open palm and saw a velvet jewelry box. He opened it and saw a silver crucifix.

“That’s a little welcome gift we present to all of our Catholic students,” the priest told him. “We want people to know we’re here and that we care.”

Allen took the crucifix from the box. It wasn’t small; it was heavy, maybe solid silver. Allen had a hard time believing they gave out one of these to every Catholic on campus. He started to hand it back to the priest. “I think this might be too much. I don’t feel right.”

“No, no, please don’t worry,” Father Paul said. “We pay for them out of the orphan fund.”

Allen blinked.

“That’s a joke, Allen.”

Allen smiled weakly. “Sorry.”

“There’s no obligation,” Father Paul said. “Why don’t you wear it?”

“Well, I don’t generally-”

“Wear it, Allen.” The priest put a firm hand on Allen’s shoulder, and an abrupt gravity descended upon the conversation. “You’d be surprised how such a simple gesture can bring… comfort.”

Father Paul’s firm gaze held him a second, and Allen’s mouth fell open, speechless. What the hell’s going on here?

Allen was about to firmly insist he didn’t want the crucifix when a piercing scream split the night.

“Penny!” Allen dropped his wine and ran for the line of trees. He plunged into the woods along the narrow hiking path. “Penny!”

Thin branches slapped his face in the darkness. Allen winced but kept running. He turned a corner and smacked into somebody coming fast from the other direction. They both tumbled, went into the bushes. Allen stood, reached for the person with whom he’d collided, and pulled her to her feet.

Blanche threw herself on Allen. “Oh, my God, oh, my God.” Hysterical. Gulping for breath.

Allen shook her by the shoulders. “Where’s Penny?”

“My God, it’s awful. He’s dead. He’s-he’s been-it’s-” She shook her head frantically, the sobbing coming back double.

He’s dead, she’d said. Not Penny. Allen shook her again by the shoulders, thought about slapping her like he’d seen people do in the movies. “Who’s dead, Blanche?”

Blanche made a new, even shriller, panicked sound, pushed away from Allen, and ran back in the direction of the party.

Allen followed the path in the other direction, but he didn’t run now. His feet felt leaden. Fear sweat broke out on his forehead, and silver moonlight filtered through the thin canopy of leaves overhead. With Blanche’s hysterical keening fading into the background, an eerie silence blanketed the woods. The bird chirps, the rustle of leaves, and the scurrying of squirrels had all been swallowed by the pall of dread that had suddenly sunk its claws into the landscape.

Allen stopped walking, his breathing coming shallow. He looked back over his shoulder.

No. Keep going. Penny is still out here someplace.

He made himself jog forward, his footfalls crunching leaves so loudly that the sound seemed obscene. A smallish clearing opened before him, and he immediately saw the body lying on the ground, looking waxlike and unreal in the moonlight. Allen took three quick steps toward the body and froze.

The head was missing.

Allen approached more slowly, fighting down a wave of nausea. A bit of spine stuck out from the ragged neck hole, as if the head had been twisted off savagely and suddenly. Blood still oozed like raspberry syrup. A thick, wet coppery smell permeated the air. Allen didn’t need the man’s face to identify the body. The bomber jacket told the story.

Kurt Ramis, Blanche’s loudmouthed boyfriend.

Allen briefly fantasized about Blanche flying into a rage at Kurt’s infidelity, wrapping her arms around his neck, and wrenching Kurt’s head free of his body.

Unlikely.

Who the hell could do such a thing?

Allen heard a rustling in the bushes to his left. His head jerked around to see, and his body froze. He heard it before he saw it, a breathing and snorting, and then the low growl. Something in Allen’s bowels went watery.

It poked its head through the bushes. Eyes glowed like green fire; he saw a muzzle and pointed ears, red-brown fur standing out in spikes. A dog, an enormous dog of some kind, growling, drool dripping from gigantic fangs. No. Not a dog.

A wolf.

It was gigantic, dwarfed any wolf he’d ever seen at the zoo. It snarled, lips peeled back to display two rows of yellow teeth. It crouched low, and Allen could almost feel its muscles tense, the powerful creature poised to spring.