The wolf seeks to kill what he loves the most.
"I can't." I let go of my basket, backed away, and ran out of the market.
Dad didn't question why I came home without the ingredients for chicken-fried steak. He made mac and cheese instead. Don, James, and I were the only ones who joined him for dinner anyway. And I wasn't surprised at all when Dad asked Don how Daniel was working out at the market.
"Real great," Don said. "Mr. Day's been so stressed about Jess, he needs all the help he could get. Lucky Daniel needed a job."
Or convenient, I thought--but it was Jude's voice that echoed sarcastically in my head.
I pushed away my plate. Daniel had cared for Maryanne. She made him feel safe and loved. And now that she was gone, he had a comfortable place to live. Daniel had never met James, but he loved this family. "Saving" James had made Daniel a hero in my family's eyes, if only for a moment. Daniel and Jess had been in the same grade for many years. She'd lived in Oak Park while he was there with his mom. And then she had moved to the city and lived there until she disappeared. I knew all too well from Daniel's admissions that I was not the first girl in his life. People always described Jess as "troubled." Wasn't that the kind of person Daniel said he'd sought out for companionship? Was it possible that he could have ever loved Jessica Day?
All I knew was that she was missing, and Daniel had a good job that let him fulfill the requirements for Barlow's class. Which meant he'd be able to stay in Rose Crest indefinitely.
Convenient. It was all too convenient.
But to what end? Were they random attacks on people he cared about? Or did they serve some purpose? Did they point in some direction?
Did they get him closer to ... me?
Something deep down in my heart told me my doubts about Daniel had to be wrong. Dad had read those letters. He knew that Daniel's inner wolf would target the people he loved, and still, he kept Daniel here. He helped him get that apartment. He helped him get that job. He wouldn't do these things if he thought Daniel was hurting people, or if he would hurt me.
But the thing was, I'd thought the same thing about Jude's accusations. I'd thought that if Daniel had truly tried to kill my brother, Dad would never let him near our family. But I'd been wrong about that. He helped Daniel, fully knowing what he'd done--what he was.
Was Jude right? Did Daniel have Dad under some type of spell?
Or did Dad just know something that I didn't?
GETTING OUT OF THE HOUSE
I didn't know why, but I felt like I couldn't read the book of letters in my bedroom that night. Like the words that echoed off of them would be heard by everyone in the house. I drove to the library. It was almost closing time, but I settled into one of the scratchy orange couches, trying to push down the nerves that rumbled inside of me. I figured that if Dad really knew something that I didn't, then the answer was probably hidden in these letters.
My Sister, They have destroyed it. They have destroyed the great library!
The knights and their footmen have sacked the city. They have looted and plundered the great treasures. They have set fire to the library, destroying all I wished to learn. They call the Greeks heathens, jet our Knights of Christ are the ones who rape the city.
The smell of smoke and blood permeates my tent. I cannot abide it much longer. My vigor for a journey into the forest is renewed. I fear my writings of the true origins of the Urbat may be the only that exist after the destruction of the library. I must restore the documents of their secrets to atone for the sins of this campaign.
Thou may think me foolish, yet I will not be deterred.
God's love be with thee and Simon, Thy brother in blood and faith
Katharine--
We are betrayed!
I fear my Alexius is killed.
Our guides led us deep into the woods, and when it was close to nightfall, they took our horses and my twenty marks and left is stranded. Alexius was frightened when the howling encircled us. I do not know that has become of him. I do not recall how I made it back to my tent. My cloak is torn and bloody.
I fear I have been bitten. Something writhes inside of me. I must fight it. I must find the answers before the wolf devours my soul. Before it comes for thee, my most beloved
Even though Daniel was a monster, even though he could infect me, I still loved him. I wanted him to be innocent. I wanted him to be mine.
But Dad had given me this book when I told him about that love.
He told me to find the answers for myself.
But is this what he wanted me to know? That Daniel was drawn to kill me like this man to his sister? Did he want me to realize that loving Daniel was impossible?
That any idea of our ever being together was completely hopeless?
Because if that was his plan ... it had worked.
WEDNESDAY EVENING
Semester finals hit with a vengeance. I never did catch up with my studies in time. I struggled to push Daniel, Death Dogs, moonstones, and Jessica Day out of my mind. But in my religion and history classes, all I could think of was the Crusades. During my chem final, I wondered if Katharine's brother was ever able to find a moonstone for a necklace. It was nearly impossible to work calculus problems while wondering if Jessica was living or dead. And it wasn't possible for me to paint anything knowing Daniel was watching me from the back of the art room. So not only was my love life in shambles, my chances for college--for Trenton-- seemed just as hopeless as I turned in my jumbled English essay test on transcendental poetry.
At least it was the last day of school before Christmas vacation, and i'd have three weeks to recover before I had to face my parents with my report card. The dance was tomorrow, but tonight everyone was headed to the hockey game to blow off steam. As much as I wanted to be at the ice rink eating candied almonds with April, cheering for Pete, I couldn't bring myself to celebrate like everyone else.
I'd told Pete I was too tired to go out when he invited me to the after-party at Brett Johnson's. He looked so disappointed that I added, "Have to rest up for the dance, you know." He smiled and told me that I "owed him one." But even though I said I'd he spending the night in bed, I couldn't stay home, either. I guess that's how I ended up helping my father with his Wednesday night Bible-study class at the parish. I figured it would be the place I was least likely to run into Daniel. I should have known better.
I helped Dad pass out study guides and extra Bibles and then busied myself in the parish kitchen. I arranged Mom's fudge brownies on a silver tray and placed a mini candy cane in each individual mug of hot chocolate. The brownies were for later, but I passed out the cocoa to the cherry-nosed guests as they listened to my father's melodic voice reading from the Bible. His voice sounded like a lullaby, and Don Mooney's eyes looked heavy as I handed him the last steaming mug.
"Thank you, Miss Grace." He blinked, and took a sip.
I sat in the empty chair next to him. I was surprised Dad wasn't reading the story of Christ's birth the way he usually did this close to Christmas. Instead of mangers, and shepherds, and angels, he was reading the different parables of Christ. I found my own eyes getting a bit heavy, too, until I heard the outside doors to the parish creak open. Footsteps came down the hall, and I regretted not making a couple of extra mugs of hot chocolate.
"Let us move on to the prodigal son," my father said.
I flipped the pages of my Bible to Luke 15, and right on cue, the door opened and Daniel slipped inside the classroom. He breathed on his hands as he looked around for a place to sit, and noticed me watching him. I looked down at the open Bible in my lap.
Dad's voice went on without pausing. He read the parable of the father who had two sons. One son was good and steady and hardworking; the other took his father's money and squandered it on whores and riotous living. The latter son's life sank so low he decided to return to his father to beg for help. My dad read on about how the father rejoiced when his prodigal son returned, fed and clothed him, and called their friends together for a celebration. But the good son, who had stayed faithful to his father's teachings, was angry and jealous of his brother, and refused to welcome him home.
When Dad finished the last verse, he asked, "Why was it so hard for the good son to forgive his brother?"
His change of tone startled the audience. A few people looked around, probably wondering if the question was supposed to be rhetorical.
"Mrs. Ludwig," Dad said to the elderly woman in the front row, "when your son stole and wrecked your car last winter, why was it so hard to forgive him?"
Mrs. Ludwig colored slightly. "Because he didn't deserve it. He didn't even say he was sorry. But the Bible"--she tapped her worn, monogrammed copy-- "says that we must forgive."
"Exactly," Dad said. "We don't forgive people because they deserve it. We forgive them because they need it--because we need it. I'm sure you felt much better after forgiving your son."
Mrs. Ludwig pursed her lips and nodded.
My neck felt hot. I knew without looking, Daniel was staring at me.