Come the Night. Susan Krinard
He half expected Gillian to balk, but she allowed him to usher her and Toby across the esplanade and through a knot of parkgoers clustered around the carousel. “We can grab one of the streetcars on Surf Avenue,” he said.
Gillian maintained her silence, absorbed in her own thoughts, as if she were pretending she was somewhere else. It wasn’t possible for Ross to talk to Toby privately once they were packed into the streetcar, but he kept the kid entertained by pointing out the various attractions along Surf Avenue as the vehicle carried them toward Steeplechase Park.
“You’ve been here lots of times,” Toby commented, a wistful note in his voice.
“Not when I was a kid. I lived too far away, and my family didn’t do much traveling.”
“Where did you live?”
Obviously that was something Gillian hadn’t written down in her diary. And why should she? “We had a ranch in southern Arizona, near the Castillo Mountains.”
“I know where Arizona is,” Toby said with a touch of pride. “Did you rope cattle and fight outlaws?”
“Lots of roping, but most of the outlaws and cattle rustlers were gone by the time I was born.”
“At least you had plenty of bad guys to fight in New York.” He kicked his heels against the bottom of the seat. “What made you decide to become a policeman?”
“It seemed like it might be something I’d be good at,” he said.
“Yes,” Toby said. “You could do all sorts of useful things, like smelling the criminals before they could see you coming, or just being a lot better at fighting.” He paused as if a thought had just popped into his head. “Are there lots of werewolves in New York, Father?”
It wasn’t an unexpected question, but Ross knew he had to tread carefully. “Maybe a hundred,” he said.
“Truly? We haven’t nearly so many in England. Are any of them policemen like you?”
“Not that I know of.”
“All the European werewolves Mother told me about live in big houses in the countryside, where they don’t have much to do with regular people. Is it the same in America?”
Ross realized that Toby had given him an opening to learn more about how Gillian lived. “I don’t know how it is other places in the States,” he said, “but in Manhattan, most werewolves belong to one pack.”
“A hundred in one pack?” Toby frowned. “It isn’t like that with us at all. We have families instead.”
“Are there other werewolf families living near you?”
“There are some in Northumberland, Lancashire and Yorkshire, but we don’t see them very often.”
“But there must be other houses nearby, even if they aren’t occupied by werewolves.”
“Oh, yes. Uncle Ethan lives at Highwick, which is right next door to Snowfell. And there are farmers all around the fells, and people in the village.”
“Then you have other kids to play with.”
Toby glanced at his mother, who was gazing at the passing scene. “I’m much too old to play children’s games.”
“You must have friends.”
“Of course. I—” He squirmed, scuffing his feet on the floor, and then seemed to reach a decision. “I talk to the servants all the time.”
The servants. Fuming, Ross reminded himself that he was talking to a boy, not a man. “If you don’t play with anyone,” he said, “what do you do to have fun?”
“There are lots of things to do at Snowfell. Mother and I read a great deal. She orders books from London. We play chess nearly every day. And we’ve even found some old Roman ruins, where soldiers used to guard the border against the barbarians.” He beamed. “I’ve begun a collection of ancient coins.”
“That sounds…very interesting. Do you ever take trips away from Snowfell?”
“I’ve been to Kendal, of course, and Carlisle and Penrith, and once to London.”
“What do you do there?”
“Sometimes we go to museums or visit the park. But we don’t go very often.”
“And your mother? Does she go out alone sometimes?”
“Mother? Oh, no. Only when she takes me.”
“Does anyone come to see her?”
Toby’s speculative glance was keen enough for a kid half again his age. “No one comes to Snowfell. Not even Uncle Ethan. But sometimes Mother meets him where Snowfell borders Highwick.”
Warbrick again. Ross hid his scowl, but he needn’t have bothered, because Toby’s interest had been caught by the structure towering over the streetcar as it began to slow. “Is that the Thunderbolt?”
The boy craned his neck, peering up at the steel struts and towers, the sweeping curves of the massive roller coaster that projected above the fence running alongside Surf Avenue. He might have jumped off the still-moving vehicle if Ross hadn’t grabbed his arm.
“Stay right here,” he warned Toby, and turned back to help Gillian, who had already stepped down to the street. The day was growing warmer by the minute, but somehow Ross knew that the perspiration gathering on Gillian’s forehead had nothing to do with the temperature. She gazed at the vast structure before them.
“Toby,” she said quietly.
The boy obviously heard a world of warning in those two syllables. “It’s not as dangerous as it looks,” he assured her. “I’ll ride with Father. You stay here.”
Gillian continued to stare at the roller coaster. Ross sensed that it wasn’t so much the potential danger of the ride that worried her as much as Coney Island itself, this vast and very human place. She dropped her gaze to the unruly line winding around the base of the coaster, then looked around like a wild animal surrounded by hidden hunters, seeking the source of danger in an ever-changing, faceless crowd.
Toby had said she never went out and that no one came to Snowfell. How long had it been since Gillian was engaged with the world, as she’d been in London? What kind of life had she led before he’d met her? She’d said her family had welcomed her back after Delvaux’s death, but what exactly had she gone back to?
Was it possible that he’d never really known her, that he’d been mistaking arrogance for fear all along? Had she been battling demons of her own from the very beginning?
Hell, no. Not Jill. Upset that she’d let herself fall for a guy who was mostly human, sure. And worried about betraying her high-flown principles, concerned about Toby and his attachment to Ross, less than enamored with crowds of noisy, malodorous humans. That was the sum total of it. The rest was sheer fantasy.
He emerged from his thoughts to find her staring at him, the uncertainty in her eyes vanishing behind a wall of determination.
“We must go,” she said. She grabbed Toby’s hand. “Please show us to the exit, Mr. Kavanagh.”
“But we’ve hardly done anything, Mother!” Toby protested. He looked at Ross for support. “It isn’t fair.” Before Ross could respond, Toby tried another tack. “Mother, why don’t you go back to the hotel and rest? Father and I will go on alone.”
“Certainly not,” she said. “We have done quite enough for one day. I am certain that Mr. Kavanagh will understand.”
“Mr. Kavanagh doesn’t,” Ross said. “We had a deal. I’ll take you back to the hotel, and then Toby and I—”
But Gillian was already walking away, dragging Toby behind her, body tensed as if she were about to break into an all-out run. Ross caught