He didn’t even dare breathe. He lay there, frozen.

“Austin! Silly boy—I will find you. I can smell you, you know that. I’ll hear your little rabbit heart pretty soon . . . come on out. I can make it fun, and then . . . I can even make it easy. Catch that carotid while you’re still shaking with bliss. Don’t make me angry, Austin! I’m not fun when I’m angry. And I’m the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced when I’m not.”

Fear streaked through him with an icy vengeance. He could hear her sniffing—just as if she were a dog. Sniffing and sniffing the air. He heard her move, and he could almost see her, imagine her bending down, and figuring out that the marble slab that covered the bottom tomb wasn’t really a marble slab at all; it was a swinging door....

It opened. The moonlight in the main tomb seemed brilliant after he had lain in the slab-covered dirt area for many minutes. He saw her. Saw her perfect face, saw her smile. Saw the blond hair, sweeping down around her shoulders.

“There you are, Austin!” she said.

Then she cast her head back, and she let out an ungodly sound. It was a howl, it was worse than a howl; it was like a dozen wolves crying out beneath the moonlight in pure victory....

Wolves!

She contorted. Her head snapped back; her arms bent forward at a bizarre angle. Hair—luscious golden hair—suddenly seemed to burst out all over her body, and she fell down to all fours. Her eyes narrowed and her nose grew, and she opened her mouth and it was filled with sharp white teeth that seemed to glitter and gleam in the moonlight.

She growled and lunged.

He felt her breath, hot and fetid, and he felt the dripping of saliva and he closed his eyes, screaming as he nearly felt the reach of those teeth, snapping for him with fanged vengeance....

“Get the hell off him!” he heard.

And, miraculously, she was wrenched away from the tomb. The marble slab waved wildly, and Austin rolled out and as far across the tomb as he could, ready to lunge to his feet at any opportunity.

DeFeo Montville was there; he was back. And he had wrenched the Adriana-thing away from him just a split second before she could sink her fangs into his flesh.

She was massive; a massive golden wolf. But DeFeo had her by the scruff of the neck, shaking her. She yelped and growled, desperately trying to wrangle free and sink her teeth into him. But his grip was incredible. So strong.

Then DeFeo cast his head back and opened his mouth.

Austin let off a silent gasp of astonishment as huge fangs sprouted in DeFeo’s mouth. He sank them into Adriana’s neck.

She wriggled; she let out one last weak growl....

And she went silent, wolf’s head cast to the side.

He dropped her, shaking his head.

Then he stared at Austin. “Look, you’ve already got your occasional stray werewolf wandering into the city, the kooks who think they’re aliens . . . don’t ever, everget involved in any ridiculous demonology business again, and I don’t give a damn if you ever get laid again in your life!”

AUSTIN STOOD BACK.

The beautiful temple-style tomb with its pillars and portico and weeping angel looked magnificent, if he did say so himself. A little fresh plaster, and a nice new paint job, and flowers surrounding the gate. He had done a great job—really!

It had taken all day, and now dusk was falling, but he was done. He whistled while he finished his work, picking up the paint cans and the brushes from the last of his ministrations to the tomb. He crawled out of his work overalls, set them with his supplies in his wheelbarrow, and then hurried out. The gate would lock soon and he no longer kept a key.

He deposited the wheelbarrow and its contents in the back of his ordinary white van.

Letters advertised his new life’s plan on the van. CRAMER HOME REPAIR.

He drove on to his new favorite hangout on Frenchmen Street. Walking in, he took a seat at the bar. Joe looked up at him, nodded, and poured him a beer.

“Is he on his way?” Joe asked.

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Austin said. “I imagine he’ll be here soon.”

“I’ll get his special drink ready,” Joe said. Joe kept DeFeo’s “special” drinks in a refrigerator in the back. His daughter really was a nurse at the hospital, and she managed to keep him supplied with just what he needed.

“Anyone singing tonight, Joe?” Austin asked.

“A great girl. She can really sing the blues. And you’ll love the guys playing with her. A jazz trio. It should be a fine night, filled with real local talent.”

As he finished speaking, DeFeo walked in. “Hey, Joe!” he called, taking a seat. Then he turned to Austin. His eyes were sparkling. “You need a reference for that new business of yours, I’m your man. My home has never looked better!” he said. He lifted his glass and clinked it to Austin’s.

“And there’s great music tonight,” Austin said, grinning. “Local talent.”

In a few minutes, the music started up. DeFeo stood to watch. Joe stood by the bar near Austin. “Yeah, a great night! I love New Orleans! What a great place to call home. Especially when the damned werewolf population has been taken care of again. The vampires, they’re just fine, once they settle in. But you just never know when a wolf will turn on you, huh, son?”

Austin nodded.

“Hey, I may need some home repair next week, got a leak in the old roof,” Joe said.

“I’m your man—unless, of course, DeFeo needs me for something at his place.”

They both looked at DeFeo, but he was just swaying with the music.

He loved jazz and the blues, and he loved New Orleans.

And he sure loved his home. And from now on out, Austin would take the best damned care he could of that home.

That three-story Gothic mansion rose like a hulking mirage from the desolate snowy prairie east of Montana’s blue misted Rocky Mountains.

Five people came there that winter Friday.

Louisehoped rehabbing the old house with their friends Bob and Ali would spark a paternal instinct in her husband, Steve.

Stevehoped fixing up the deserted relic would get his wife off his case and let him hang out, that’s all, just hang out with Ali, Bob’s willowy wife.

Aliwas there because doing what Bob wanted kept her comfortable.

Bobtold himself that it was okay to keep secret how he was going to work their group investment because he was the guy who always turned a profit—and had the bankroll, the blond wife, and the do-gooder plaques to prove it.

Parkerstood in the front yard outside the mansion that cold gray morning as Bob said, “What do you mean you’ve never set foot in here?”

“Wouldn’t go in fifty years ago,” said Parker. “Won’t go in now. Stood here then watching Mom yell at my old man ’bout how he come to architect for Mister Rich—who had some heart attack, left this hulk and his fortune to my old man. Dad wouldn’t quit here for us. Saw him push Mom off that front porch. Watched her disappear day by day, die waiting for him to come to his senses. After the UPS guy found him froze like a statue here last month, if I didn’t need your money, I’d let this damn place rot to dust.”

“We won’t work in your pickup or our rental car,” said Bob. “If a storm is coming down from Canada, the longer you argue about that, the harder it will be for you to drive the thirty-seven miles back to town.”

“You folks really plan on staying here all night?”

“For four nights,” said Bob. “Power’s on—drafty, but the furnace works. Got a portable heater, fuel. Sleeping bags, food. Four nights now in December gives us ten percent of our ownership as occupants during our first calendar year—the minimum requirement for the homesteading tax credit.”