Werewolves of London

Act V

“Didn’t you say Dr. Neff has a beard?” Steed asked. Emma had followed him back to his apartment from the hospital. It was going on three o’clock in the morning, but her mind was racing with Miss Mallon’s information. Fortunately, Steed was as susceptible as she was to the excitement of new information. She poured them each a brandy while he took off his jacket and stretched out on the sofa.

“Yes,” she replied cagily, handing him his glass before taking a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. “As do many other men.”

Steed grinned wolfishly at her, raising his glass in a silent toast as she stretched her legs out beside his facing him.

“Bela was not wearing a wolf mask,” she pointedly changed the subject. She wasn’t actually defensive of Dr. Neff, but she knew that Steed was just baiting her because she’d spoken favorably of him. She found Steed’s possessiveness endearing – mostly because it was combined with deep respect for her -- but sometimes it could be distracting in the midst of a case.

“Because he lost it when he attacked Randy Styles,” he replied smugly.

“Have they had any luck finding the source of the mask?” Emma knew that
he had turned it over to the ministry’s researchers to find out where it had been purchased.

“A dozen variety stores in and around London sell that particular item at this time of year. Now that we have a description of the attacker, albeit vague, we can canvas all the stores.”

“Curious he didn’t just purchase another one, isn’t it?”

Steed took a sip of his brandy, stalling while he thought of a response.

“If you’d lost your mask while committing a murder, you would probably choose to change your disguise for the next one too,” he finally said.

“But tonight’s attacker chose to use no disguise at all,” she replied thoughtfully, sipping her own drink.

“We don’t really know that the mask was related to the previous murders at all,” Steed replied almost apologetically.

Emma shot him a fond smile. “Still, you should have someone take Miss Mallon’s description to the shops that carry them,” she said pointedly.

“I’ll call and arrange it in the morning,” he nodded, understanding her quite clearly. That kind of work was a waist of both their talents. They both sipped their brandies in silence for a few minutes, each lost in thoughts that gradually transitioned from the case to more personal notions. The tension of interviewing Miss Mallon was beginning to wear off.

“Do you really think the second man could have been Dr. Neff?” Emma asked after a while.

“I haven’t met him. What do you think?”

Emma sighed, picturing the eccentric psychologist with his tray of tea things. But then her memory focused on his shaggy head and yellow eyes and she shuddered involuntarily. But odd eye color and a bad haircut did not make him a criminal, and for that matter the second man had saved Iris Mallon, not attacked her.

“I can’t say,” she shrugged, then downed the last sip of her brandy and swung her feet to the floor. “He’s odd, and he knows a lot about werewolves. But that hardly means he’s involved with these murders or was in the park tonight.”

Steed was watching her as she spoke, a spark of desire smoldering deep in his warm grey eyes. She recognized it and indulged in a corresponding flicker of yearning. But she was also very tired. Stifling a yawn she stood up, took Steed’s nearly empty glass from him, and went to the kitchen. He followed, coming up behind her where she stood at the sink. His hands settled on her waist and his breath on her neck was a sensation nothing like the one she imagined Miss Mallon must have felt. Her body responded with a warm pulse of pleasure just as she stifled another yawn. Then he bit her neck gently with a playful growl and she couldn’t help giggling. She set the glasses on the drain board and turned to face him, placing her hands on either side of his face.

“Let’s go to bed darling,” she purred. “If you let me go to sleep, I promise to wake you up in the morning with a special surprise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he replied, his arms encircling her in illustration.

“I’m counting on it,” she purred, touching her lips to his and sighing at the attendant fizzle in her groin.

“Sure you can go to sleep?” he teased, releasing her and turning toward the stairs. She yawned again and followed him.

 

Steed brushed loose strands of auburn hair off of Emma’s temple and touched his lips to the delicate skin next to her eye. A smile curled her lips as she sighed contentedly. True to her word, she had awakened him more than an hour earlier in a most inventive manner. Afterwards they’d drifted in and out of sleep, holding one another, occasionally indulging in gentle caresses as if to reassure themselves that their lover was real. Steed cherished these moments when the dynamic, self-possessed Emma allowed herself to relax in his arms, disregarding the pull of responsibilities beyond their bed in favor of simply being held.

Emma cherished these times as well, knowing that although they did not speak of it these fleeting moments of quiet intimacy were the foundation of a powerful bond. She loved Steed – was in love with him – and she knew that even if he could not put that word to his regard for her, she had reached him on a deeper emotional level than the women who’d come before her. She did not flatter herself – he must have been in love with other women in the past. But she did allow herself to believe that the bond they shared was stronger than any other he had known recently.

Realizing that wakefulness was imminent, she shifted onto her side to face him, sighing again as he obligingly slipped his hand around her waist and stroked her back. She smiled into the blissful grey depths of his eyes a few inches from hers, then gave in to impulse and pressed her mouth to his in a tender kiss. He returned it, his lips parting slightly out of habit, but refraining from overt seduction. That was behind them for the morning. Now it was time to plan the day.

“What do you want to be for Halloween, John?” she asked as if speaking to a child.

“I thought I would wear that wolf mask,” he replied. A frown creased her brow and was rapidly replaced by a knowing smile.

“He might bolt if he’s at the party,” she said, referring to last night’s attacker. She thought she had followed Steed’s logic: If the second man last night had been Dr. Neff, then he knew the murderer and might have invited him to his party. But in fact she had misread Steed.

“I doubt that -- it’s his party,” he said. Emma’s left brow arched in consternation and Steed grinned wickedly. “What about you? Shall we visit Mr. Schenck of Universal Costumes?”

“I already have what I need,” She replied rather regally. He could tell from her secretive smile that she was not going to reveal her costume plans. “You shall have to visit him without me. I asked Dr. Neff to visit the scene of Randy Styles murder with me this morning. I think I’ll take him to see where Miss Mallon was attacked too. It will be interesting to watch his behavior.”

“Very,” Steed said, then placed a light kiss on her forehead and eased his arm out from beneath her before sitting up. It never failed – drowsiness dissipated at the prospect of action. His two loyalties – his job and his lover – were much like addictions battling one another for his attentions. Only his lover was also his partner, so she played a roll in his job. She had, he realized when he cared to think about it, insinuated herself into most aspects of his life. The things he kept to himself – his family and his past principally – were the last holdouts, but they were also nearly inviolate. He simply would not allow himself to consider sharing them with anyone. Fortunately Emma seemed to understand his reticence. In fact, when he cared to think about it, he realized that his current work and personal life was as near to perfect as it could be.

Emma lay back and put one hand behind her head, watching the play of muscles under skin as he stretched and rolled his shoulders. He glanced back at her and smiled rakishly.

“Go ahead,” she said, reading his thoughts. “I can make a call or two and shower after you.”

“You could shower with me,” he suggested, knowing she’d decline. As expected, she chuckled and gave him a shove toward the far side of the bed.

“Maybe later,” she said, watching him stretch again once he was standing. He ignored the little flash of heat in his loins at her suggestion and headed for the bathroom.

 

Act VI

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you an opinion here either, Mrs. Peel,” Dr. Neff said. He plunged his hands into his coat pockets, then pulled them out and scrubbed them together for a moment before dropping them to his sides. They were standing on the path in St. James’s Park at the spot where Iris Mallon had been attacked. It was their second stop after visiting the nearby scene of Randy Styles’s death.

The psychologist glanced furtively around, his yellow eyes flicking up and down the path, only pausing when they landed on Emma.

“Oh well,” she said, “I know it was a long shot – I appreciate your taking the time for me.” In fact, she had been surprised at his willingness – even eagerness – to join her in the park. She’d thought it meant he was innocent of any involvement with the murders, but watching him fidget she was revising her opinion.

“I am glad of the opportunity to spend a few moments with you, Mrs. Peel,” he replied. Emma was fortunate to have momentarily turned away from him, for her brows shot up at this overt flirtation. She schooled her features and turned to him with a warm smile.

“Mrs. Peel, would you join me for lunch?” he went on, his hands back in his pockets.

Emma knew that she was wading into treacherous waters. Neff had plainly developed a personal interest that she did not reciprocate. But lunching with him would give her more time to study him. She had hated deceiving male suspects in this way ever since the first time she’d done it working closely with Steed in Berlin. She knew it meant she could not be a professional agent, but she never wanted to become so hardened that using people would not bother her.

She checked her wristwatch – a pretense so that she could end the meal promptly. “I have an appointment this afternoon,” she said. “But I can join you for a quick bite.”

“Splendid!”

 

“No, Mrs. Peel, I cannot stress this often enough: lycanthropy is a myth. The man who attacked the woman last night may have been mentally disturbed, but he was not a werewolf.”

Neff had brought her to a café near the park where they had ordered a light meal and glasses of wine. The business of the meal taken care of Emma had returned to the subject at hand.

“Of course not Dr. Neff. But Miss Mallon seemed certain that the man behaved like someone who fancied himself an animal. Isn’t that possible?”

“Psychological defects manifest themselves in many ways,” Neff said, patting his mouth with his napkin although he had not consumed anything. “Some unfortunate victims do indeed fall prey to a sort of wolfish delusion.”

“I see,” Emma said thoughtfully, but withheld her full response. So what’s the difference?

 

“And did he explain the difference?” Steed asked a while later.

She had caught up with him at the ministry morgue where Dr. Mildred Booth had completed her report on Randy Styles’s corpse. He was seated at a stainless steel counter with the report open in front of him. Emma leaned against the counter beside him, her arms folded, as she described her meeting and lunch with Dr. Neff.

“I decided not to press the point,” Emma replied. “I could see the distinction is very important to him. And I did not want to antagonize him.”

“No?” Steed asked, turning a page in the report and then glancing up at her. She smiled at his sparkling eyes.

“No. He was very edgy in the park, and over lunch he seemed intent on convincing me. It seemed wise to let him.”

At that Steed half turned to really look up at her.

“He was very – intense,” she went on.

“Intimidating?” he asked with a puzzled frown. He had trouble imagining Mrs. Peel being intimidated.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Emma said. “But I think he was close to being very upset. And something told me I should not upset him.”

“So do you think he’s involved with the murders, or does he just have a bad temper?”

“I think that we should have a look around his cottage – unescorted. I’d like to see if he has any patient files or notes.”

Steed grinned eagerly up at her as he shut the autopsy file and stood up.

“We can’t go until after dark,” she added.

“Yes,” he drawled, retrieving his hat, umbrella and the file. “I was just thinking about all the things we could do between now and then.”

 

“That’s it?” Steed asked as he and Emma approached the cottage drive. She had parked her Lotus a little way back down the road and led him on foot the rest of the way. The moon had not yet risen and the night was very dark. Emma caught herself peering into every shadow and noticing every rustling leaf and branch.

“It’s charming, isn’t it?” she whispered back to Steed, focusing on the normal to dispel the sense of menace in the night.

“Quaint,” he agreed, following her up the drive. Half way along he paused, looked around, and hopped over the low white fence onto the small manicured lawn on the other side. Emma cast an indulgent smile at him, his playful antics further calming her strange nervousness. She made her way through the little gate and up to the front door.

“No car in the drive,” Steed observed, coming up close behind her.

“There was none the other day either – he may keep it in the garage.

“What if he’s here?”

“At lunch he mentioned that he was going out this evening.” Emma knocked on the door as she spoke.

They waited in silence, the small sounds of the night hushed in anticipation along with them. Emma and Steed exchanged a look, and then she produced a half rake from an invisible pocket in her royal blue catsuit and bent to manipulate the lock. Steed stood with his back to her watching the yard and the road until the door clicked open. She took his hand as she entered and he backed in behind her, shutting the door. He turned and nodded as she gestured toward the parlor.

They each produced a small torch and started on opposite sides of the room, carefully opening drawers and looking behind pictures, replacing everything much as they had found it.

“Look at this,” Emma murmured. Steed looked up from across the room. She was standing in front of the barrister’s bookcase. The glass pane in the cover of the shelf just below eye level was missing. Frowning slightly, she lifted the empty frame. A few bits of shattered glass remained on the shelf in front of the books.

“This was not broken when I was here the other day. And whoever cleaned up wasn’t very thorough,” she said.

“Could have been an accident,” Steed whispered.

“Could have been a scuffle,” Emma countered, studying the floor and other furniture in the area. Focusing her light on the floor she crouched and examined chips in the veneer of the delicate feet of a candlestand. Working her way up she examined the rim of the table top and found another chip. The table actually held a candle in a holder. Emma picked it up and the top half of the creamy wax taper slumped sideways.

“Poor thing,” Steed whispered, appearing at her elbow. “It’s gone limp.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him and set it down. “I think this table was knocked over,” she said, turning to survey the room. “What’s that?” she noticed that Steed was holding a small portfolio.

“Checkbook,” he opened it and pointed his light at the stubs still attached to the binding. “Your Dr. Neff has written three checks in the last six months to a Bela Zeklos. A total of ninety-eight pounds.”

“Bela,” Emma repeated, eyes locked with Steed’s.

Just above their heads a floorboard creaked.

Their eyes widened as the sound was repeated. Emma switched off her torch and moved toward the front door while Steed rounded the sofa to replace the checkbook where he’d found it. There was a scraping sound near the top of the stairs, and then the house filled with an unearthly, vibrating moan. Emma inched back from the stairway, feeling her way along the hall to the front door, eyes riveted on the shadows at the top of the stairs.

Her hand landed on the doorknob just as the moan became a menacing, throaty growl. She was certain something moved in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

“Mrs. Peel,” Steed was beside her nudging her hand off the doorknob to open it himself. He guided her out, pausing to look back and aim his torch up the stairs. The growl became a howl as the small beam of light cast hazy, undefined shadows. And then there was a flash of unearthly yellow and the shadows formed into a large creature bounding down the stairs. Steed slammed the door and grabbed Emma by the arm, dragging her with him along the path to the gate.

Behind him something slammed into the door as the bloodcurdling howling went on and on.

They pelted up the drive and onto the road, their sharp-edged shadows cast ahead of them by the newly risen moon. They covered the distance to the Lotus in less than a minute. Emma started the engine, maneuvering the car in a jagged, high-speed “K” turn before roaring away so fast Steed clutched at the dashboard.

“I think you’ve outrun it, Mrs. Peel,” he said after a few minutes of careening around the bends of the serene country road. He looked over at her, noting the set of her jaw and her tight grip on the steering wheel. “Emma, it’s all right to be spooked sometimes,” he added.

He had read her correctly. She inhaled a sharp breath, then eased up on the accelerator and her grip. When the car had slowed to a more appropriate speed she took another long breath and then glanced at him, her expression embarrassed.

“What was it?” she asked.

“A dog, I suppose,” he replied. “A very big dog.”

Act VII

“The data confirms it, Steed. There is a ninety-eight point nine six chance of another attack tonight,” Humphrey Ellis of the ministry’s research department pointed to a graph projected on the wall. Steed stood up and moved closer, peering at it from the side so as not to block the projector.

“Ninety-eight point nine six,” he repeated, his head snapping around toward Ellis.

“The graph shows the pattern. The frequency of attacks has steadily increased, but only within five day windows around the full moon each month. The attack two nights ago was at the apex of the lunar cycle. Tonight is the outer range of this window.”

“And there was no attack last night,” Steed added, moving away from the wall so he could see the big picture. Not, in any case, in St. James’s.

“And,” Ellis paused until Steed turned his head to look at him, “Tonight is Halloween. No self-respecting werewolf could resist.”

 

Steed tucked the wolf mask into his trouser pocket, adjusted his flowing black cape around his shoulders, and tapped the head of his walking stick on Mrs. Peel’s front door. It opened an instant later and he caught a glimpse of bare arm and leg before she spun on away on her heels, her own black cloak swishing into place to conceal the rest of her costume. She paused and looked back over her shoulder at him with a flirtatious smile.

“Ready Mrs. Peel?” he asked with a sense of anticipation. He suspected that he knew what she was wearing. He was surprised on several levels – that she would put it on again considering its source, that she actually still had it – and beneath his surprise was an undeniable buzz of excitement.

Emma turned slowly, grasping the sides of the cloak near her waist to hold it open. It was just as he remembered it when she’d worn it at the Hellfire Club: bare shoulders and décolletage drew his eye to the deceptively sheer black merrrywidow that clung to her curves. A small fringe around her hips implied modesty that was belied by the sexy, elbow-length gloves and sleek boots.

“Vixen,” he muttered with a salacious grin. She smiled victoriously and stepped closer to him, lifting her chin defiantly. The gesture drew his eye to the three-inch spikes on the dog-collar around her neck. He lifted one careful finger and touched the tip of one and then even more carefully reached over it to caress the side of her face.

“We have work to do, Steed,” she said, her voice full of mirth. His mouth curled in a crooked, wistful smile as he lowered his hand and offered her his arm.

“More than you know, my dear,” he replied.

“What do you mean?”

“After the party, we’re needed in the park. Our analysts insist that tonight is the night. Our man will attack, and I intend to be there.”

Emma stopped them at her apartment door. “In that case I’ll need to bring a change of clothes.”

“Must you?” he asked wistfully as her stiletto-heeled boots tapped across the floor toward her bedroom.

 

“Oh -- oh – almost there. Yes! Yes! Oh Yes. Perfect Mrs. Peel. Incredible! Who would have suspected such a lovely lady capable of such knife work?”

Emma set aside the paring knife and held up the peel that she had removed, on a dare, in one long strip from an apple. The party guests standing around the sofa where she was seated clapped politely as Dr. Neff’s strange yellow eyes met hers over the cocktail table.

“Judging by her costume keen knife work is exactly what I’d expect,” one of the other guests said.

Emma smiled impishly and took a bite out of the peeled apple.

“No no my dear, the peel,” Neff said with a chuckle. “Toss the peel over your shoulder and the spirits will make it will land in the shape of your beloved’s initial. That’s the tradition.”

Emma arched one brow skeptically, setting the peeled apple on a paper napkin on the table. She gathered the length of peel into one hand and stood up. “Just toss it on the floor?” she asked.

Neff nodded, an encouraging grin splitting his long face. Emma could not help noticing that his teeth seemed unnaturally large.

She squared her shoulders, tried for the sort of serious expression that seemed appropriate for this mystical rite, and tossed the peel over her shoulder.

“Hello? Is this the party?” a new crowd of guests tumbled from the entry hall through the parlor doorway. Emma turned around at the sound just as Steed came from the other direction carrying mugs of mulled wine. He held them high, rotating in place as the newcomers split to pass around him and make their way to greet their host.

“Oops, what’s this?” Steed asked, looking down when the crowd had thinned. Before Emma could react he switched both mugs to one hand and scooped up the apple peel. “Dangerous,” he tsked. “Someone could slip.”

Emma’s mouth curled into a smile as he straightened and handed her one of the mugs. “Silly tradition,” he murmured near her ear.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Neff had moved to the hearth. “Friends, it’s time for the costume contest,” his gaze drifted across the room and came to rest on Emma. “In keeping with tradition, I shall be the judge.

“Hardly seems fair,” Steed whispered, observing Neff’s gaze.

“Shhhh,” Emma hissed.

“Please take a moment to adjust your costumes – if you need it,” Neff went on, glancing over the room and returning to Emma, his expression indicating that he could not find anything about her that needed fixing.

Around the room guests adjusted collars and checked one another’s wigs, props, and makeup. Steed pulled the wolf mask from his pocket, unfolded it, and pulled it on over his head. Emma watched with interest as Neff’s roving gaze returned to her – as she’d known it would – and then darted to Steed by her side. He visibly stiffened, his hands plunging into and then back out. Emma could see his jaw grind beneath his dense beard.

A crash in the hall drew her attention away from their hose. She rotated on the balls of her booted feet, balanced for action. Steed, she saw, was already facing the hallway. Beyond him a figure in the hall dressed as Count Dracula stood with a shattered glass in a puddle of red wine at his feet, his gaze frozen on Steed’s mask.

“Bela?” Neff’s voice was strained. Emma’s eyes flicked to Steed and although she could not see his eyes behind the wolf mask she knew he had shot her a victorious look.

“Forgive me Crispin,” Bela the vampire took a step back and hit the far wall, his eyes riveted to the shattered glass. “I am very clumsy.”

“Never mind!” Neff replied with unnatural good cheer. “Someone mop up that mess. Let the contest begin!”

 

“The contest was rigged,” Steed grumbled a bit later as he opened the passenger side door of the Bentley. Emma patted him on the cheek before she climbed in. While he rounded the car she reached behind his seat for her bag.

“It was perfectly fair,” she replied when he was in his seat.

“Of course you would say that,” he quipped, starting the engine. Emma produced her black catsuit from the bag, then lifted one foot to unzip her boot. “What are you doing?”

“Changing into my ‘patrolling the park’ kit,” she replied, reaching for the other boot. “Besides, who would you have awarded the prize for best costume to?”

Steed glanced over at her, his gaze lingering on her too long as she wiggled around, working her legs into the catsuit over the lacy merrywidow. He looked back at the road just in time to maneuver around a curve.

“Steed?” Emma prompted.

“Perhaps it was fair,” he replied, glancing at her again to see her smoothing the left sleeve over her arm. She gave him a fond smile, then wiggled her right arm into the other sleeve.

 

Steed had arranged for Sir Lionel to meet them at the park with equipment for their vigil. He was pacing the sidewalk along side a camouflage green Range Rover with his hands resting on a rifle slung across his shoulders when they drove up. Steed parked the stately old Bentley in front of the rough-and-tumble all-terrain vehicle.

Emma had finished donning her catsuit and put on rubber-soled ankle boots during the drive. She stepped out the car, leaving her cloak on the seat. Steed tossed his cape on the back seat, the wolf mask on top of it. Emma smiled inwardly as she realized that his remaining attire – a neatly tailored black suit with a crimson ascot and stylish black ankle boots – was not a costume at all, but attire he might wear on any day.

Steed introduced Emma to Sir Lionel, whose eyes widened in appreciation when she inquired about the make and model of his rifle. He responded to her interest, then shot Steed an impressed look. Steed smiled genially, proud, as usual, of Emma’s competence in any situation and with any kind of person. Then he turned his attention to the Range Rover and their equipment.

 

“Use your best judgment about where to patrol, Sir Lionel, but please try to wound, not kill.” Steed said as they walked along a path into the forested part of the park. “Mrs. Peel will be at location alpha and I will be at beta. We will check in via radio every fifteen minutes.”

“Well planned Steed. I shall begin at the willow tree,” Sir Lionel replied, and then turned off of the trail and started through the underbrush making remarkably little noise.

“Be careful,” Emma called after him softly.

Steed touched her hand and looked up the path, indicating that they should keep moving. She followed, stepping quickly to catch up and lean her head close to his.

“You should be at position alpha Steed,” she teased.

“No no, my dear. I always reserve that position for you,” he countered with a flirtatious smile. She returned it, then focused her attention on their surroundings.

A few minutes later Steed left her at “position alpha” – a bend in the path that offered a good view in both directions for a long distance. He kept going, and Emma caught herself thinking about Iris Mallon, who’d been attacked near here the night before last. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and paced her stretch of path. The night was pitch black, with the moon not due to rise for another thirty minutes. High tree limbs rustled in a light, autumn breeze. Small creatures made small creature noises in the woods. Just going about their business, she assured herself.

And then, finally, her radio crackled and Steed’s velvety voice brought her back to the middle of London.

“Everything secure, Mrs. Peel?” he asked.

“Quite, Steed. And Sir Lionel?”

“I’m here,” the hunter’s voice sounded surprisingly hollow over the radio. “The willow is all clear. Nobody here. I’m commencing a search grid.”

“Very well. Standing by,” Steed replied. And then there was just the quiet of the forest again.

 

Steed settled on a large rock at the edge of the path and opened the small valise he’d brought with him. He was surprised Emma hadn’t questioned it – she had probably guessed that it wasn’t surveillance equipment. He took out a small Thermos and unscrewed the cup from the top. He smiled in anticipation at the rich aroma of the steam seeping out as he removed the pressure cap.

 

“Check in please,” Steed’s voice crackled in Emma’s ear.

“All’s quiet here,” she replied.

“Working my way toward your positions,” Sir Lionel’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m not alone out here.”

“Sir Lionel, do you need assistance?”

Emma could hear the excitement rising in Steed’s voice and it made her smile. His unswerving devotion to his work – and the courageous way he went about it – never failed to bolster her own bravery.

“Just radio silence if you please, Steed,” the hunter whispered back.

“Standing by.”

Emma focused on the forest along the side of the path, listening for sounds made by something larger than a vole. She paced a few yards in one direction, and then back around the bend the other way. Gradually she realized that she could see more details in the trees. The moon had risen and although it was still low on the horizon it was illuminating her surroundings.

By the time the next fifteen minutes had passed she could make out the trunks of trees several yards into the forest and the path seemed as bright as daylight.

“Check in,” Steed’s request came right on schedule.

“All quiet, but brighter,” Emma replied.

“Yes. But you know what moonrise means, Mrs. Peel.”

Emma rolled her eyes, unwilling to admit any possibility of a real werewolf roaming the park. Before she could formulate a response, Sir Lionel broke in.

“Keep a sharp eye,” he whispered. “It’s heading your way.”

“Is it our wolf?” Steed asked.

“Yes – I think so. It’s on the move. I haven’t been able to get a clear shot.”

Emma paced her stretch of path again scanning the forest for the first sign of a four-legged attacker.

“My eyes are as sharp as they can --.” The man who lunged out of the trees from the other side of the path took her completely by surprise. She dropped her radio -- the earpiece popping out as it clattered to the ground – and raised her hands to fend him off. But he had already moved inside her guard and now he wrapped his arms around her torso. She locked her hands on his shoulders at the base of his neck and used her considerable strength to push him away, at the same time landing a sharp kick on his shin. And then she recognized him – not that his identity was a surprise. It was Bela, the vampire from Dr. Neff’s party.

Her kick was effective. Unfortunately, Bela lost his balance he carried her down with him. They rolled across the path, Emma kicking relentlessly as she slipped her hand from his shoulder to his face. Her hand cupped his chin and she pushed with all her might, forcing his head back at an uncomfortable angle.

His hold around her loosened slightly. And then a gunshot exploded nearby and they both froze.

 

“Mrs. Peel?” Steed pressed the earpiece to his ear. “Mrs. Peel?”

He was already on the move, sprinting up the path toward her position.

 

Emma took her other hand from his shoulder and chopped at the side of his head. The blow seemed to thaw him from his momentary freeze. He heaved up, loosening his grip with one arm in order to lift himself. Emma landed another blow, this time to his neck. His responding growl was drowned out by a much louder, eerier one emanating from somewhere behind him. And then he was off of her, bowled over by a dark, furry figure that catapulted across the path.

Emma scrambled away on her hands, feet, and butt, eyes riveted on the man and beast tangled into a single, wrestling mass. And then the beast was on top, forelegs stiffening over paws planted on the man’s shoulders. The man lay still.

Emma found herself looking into familiar, weird yellow eyes. He blinked once, and Emma had the distinct impression of regret in its open-mouthed expression. And then he glanced into the forest, sniffing the air, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Suddenly he bounded off into the woods and vanished in a few strides. An instant later Sir Lionel stepped onto the path from the forest, his arrival nearly silent. He surveyed the tableau on the path – Emma’s attacker lay unmoving while Emma herself was getting to her feet. She pointed after the wolf.

“He went that-a-way. Go on. I’m all right.”

Sir Lionel nodded to her, then plunged into the trees after the wolf.

Emma stumbled over to Bela. He lay on his back, one arm stretched out to the side. The other lay across his chest, the skin and muscles of his forearm torn in a deep, bleeding wound. She crouched and pressed two fingers to his neck, feeling a weak pulse.

Running footsteps crunched along the path. She rose and spun around, relaxing her defensive posture when she saw Steed sprinting toward her. She met him with a warm smile as he stopped a few feet away, eyes darting from her down to Bela and back.

“Is he?”

“Alive, but bleeding. Sir Lionel went after the wolf.”

“The wolf?”

“Here Steed,” she held out a hand to him, “Do you have anything we can bandage him with? And did you bring some handcuffs?”

He frowned at her clumsy change of subject, but opened his case and removed a pristine cloth napkin. Then he dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a set of handcuffs. As she crouched to bandage the wound and secure Bela’s hands Steed’s radio crackled to life.

“Steed?” Sir Lionel sounded out of breath.

“Here Sir Lionel.”

“I lost it. I only had that one clear shot, but it went wide.”

“It’s all right, Sir Lionel. At least we’ve got Bela.”

“I’ve never seen canis move that fast. Darned odd. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Steed pocketed his radio and watched Emma checking Bela’s pockets.

“Anything?” he asked. She shook her head and stood up.

“Oh well. We have him for this attack, and we can have Miss Mallon identify him. I think we’ll be able to prove that he’s Bela Zeklos, and link him to Dr. Neff. Have some Irish coffee, Mrs. Peel?” Steed held out his Thermos to her.

 

Epilogue

“Have a look at this, Mrs. Peel,” Steed stepped into Emma’s apartment and handed Emma a creamy white envelope.

Emma left him to shut the door while she strolled back across the room and examined it.

“Very good stationary, neat hand – the address is written with a fountain pen loaded with indigo ink. Very discerning.”

“The note inside, Mrs. Peel,” Steed urged, moving to the drinks tray to pour himself a sherry.

The envelope had been sealed with black wax impressed with the letter N. Emma’s brows rose as she noted this before removing the note.

“My dear Bela, I have granted your wish at last,” she read the letter aloud. “May your soul be saved from eternal damnation, for now mine is truly lost. C. Where did this come from?”

“It was mailed from a central London post box yesterday and delivered to Bela Zeklos in the hospital this morning. Any idea what it means?”

Emma returned the note to the envelope and looked again at the outside.

“No return address,” she observed, then looked up at Steed. “Dr. Neff is claiming to be the alpha wolf. He bit Bela, making him the beta wolf. He’s implying here that Bela’s is the first human blood he’s drawn. A werewolf is only eternally damned when it draws human blood, before that it has a chance of salvation. I did some research.”

“Mrs. Peel, are you suggesting that you believe Dr. Neff is a werewolf?”

Emma took a deep breath and tried for the hundredth time since the events in the park two nights ago to reconcile her understanding of reality with what she’d seen. The supernatural, no matter how compelling, simply could not win out in her mind.

“No. Perhaps he has a trained wolf. Perhaps it was a costume and the darkness and eeriness of the night affected my judgment. I thought I saw a wolf. But I do not believe in werewolves. However, Dr. Neff clearly does.”

Steed studied her through her speech, her inner conflict clear on her face – at least to him. He knew she’d soon overcome her doubts and stand fully on the side of science. He was rather pleased to see this moment of weakness, this suggestion that she was capable of indulging in a flight of fancy. He could think of several flights he’d like to take her on.

“I was thinking of paying a visit to Dr. Neff. Want to come along?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied.

“Afterwards I was thinking of a hearty game dinner at a remote little inn. Someplace with two or three rooms to let and an inviting hearth.”

Emma nodded. “And how long do you imagine staying at this delightful location?”

“A day or two?”

She smiled and turned on her heel, heading for her bedroom. Steed sipped his sherry and enjoyed the combined warmth of the beverage and his anticipation of the next few days.

She packed a small bag and secured her apartment in a quick thirty minutes. She had learned the art of being able to go on very short notice from him.

The afternoon was waning as the Bentley rolled to a stop on the road in front of Dr. Neff’s cottage. Emma frowned as she looked at it. Overnight the idyllic garden had gone from autumn bounty to dreary winter. The summer perennials and fall blooms had faded, and the evergreens seemed to have paled in mourning for their loss. Shaking her head to clear it of such notions, Emma climbed out of the car stood by Steed’s side. The same thing had caught both their eyes. A pert red and white sign planted in the lawn near the front door.

“For Lease,” Steed read it.

“He’s gone.”

“Indeed.”

They examined the house, gaining entry once again through Emma’s quick lock picking. It was empty.

“I’m a bit disappointed,” Emma said when they met near the front door. “Not even a note.”

“You were hoping for a love letter?”

“Stop it Steed. I will admit that he was flirting with me. But honestly, you can’t think he left on my account. In any case, he’s obviously mad. It’s ignoble of you to be jealous.”

“Jealous!” Steed’s eyes widened in apparent horror. Emma smirked at him, then turned to the front door.

“Will you have him found, do you think?” she asked.

Steed followed her out, checking to be sure the door was secure, and tapping his hat firmly onto his head. Jealous indeed.

“For questioning,” he confirmed.

 

Steed settled back down onto the settee next to Emma, stretching his legs out toward the fire as he handed her a fresh hot buttered rum from the bar in the other room.

“Ummmm,” she sighed as she sipped it. As she did he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his body’s warmth combining with that of the fire and the drink to make her deliciously, drowsily content. They had the inn to themselves, except for the innkeeper, and he seemed extremely discrete. “This is a delightful place, Steed,” she said, turning her face to him. He turned his as well, their lips meeting in a light, lingering kiss that presaged much more to come.

“I did think I might have to defend your honor the other night, Mrs. Peel,” he said softly, watching her reaction. He had neither admitted nor denied the jealousy that she’d accused him of earlier.

“You know I’m quite capable of defending myself,” she pointed out, the hint of playfulness in her tone assuring him that she was not insulted.

“But it’s a gentleman’s duty. Won’t you allow me, should the need arise?”

“You will always be my knight in shining armor, Steed,” her mouth curled in a fond, indulgent smile that drew him back into their kiss.

 

On a chilly heath in southern Scotland a dark form paused to sniff the air, then ran on four legs to the top of a hill. The gigantic, near perfect orb of the waning moon hung low in the sky. The wolf’s haunches dropped to the cold ground and it raised its muzzle to it’s sovereign, howling out its loneliness and pain in a single, sustained note.