Secret of the Wolf (29 page)

sense of wrongness following those times. Had he committed some reprehensible act

that had won him enemies? If so, why hadn't he sensed pursuit? Loups-garous had too

many advantages over humans, at the very least in the keenness of their senses. And

he hadn't met another werewolf in all his journeying across America
.

But he was running. Harper was right about that. The soldier had recognized a man

running from himself
.

The very thing that made him want to run from the Haven was the same element that

kept him here, chained to this place by fragile dreams and desperate hunger
.

Johanna
.

"You're pining after that woman, and she feels the same. It's just that neither one of

you'll admit it.”

Hope had an insidious way of popping up in the most unexpected places. Deadly hope,

that intensified desire to fever pitch
.

Desire obliterated every other need, even the need for escape. The very idea of lying

with Johanna was more than he could bear. It raised within him the rapacious predator

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that wasn't appeased with stolen kisses in vineyards, or a gentleman's restraint. It urged

him, over and over, to let go. Take what he wanted
.

Take Johanna
.

She wants you
.

He swore foully and slammed the axe into the branch
.

Half of the branch spun into the air and flew like a cannon-ball to the edge of the woods.

He could prove at least one of Harper's predictions false
.

He raised the axe and brought it down on the branch with all his strength
.

Johanna was already to the edge of Silverado Springs before she realized she'd driven

the entire distance with no notion of how she'd made the trip
.

She gave thanks to patient, reliable Daisy, who'd followed the path to town on her own.

At the moment, the horse seemed to possess more intelligence than her owner
.

The same scene kept repeating itself again and again in her mind, just as it had done all

last night and this morning
.

"When I was in my trance, did I kiss you, Johanna?”

She touched her lips. The kiss in the vineyard was nothing compared to the one he'd

given her during his first hypnotic session, yet it had been all she could do to preserve

her mask of indifference and walk away as if she remained unmoved
.

Was he finally remembering that first kiss? Did he remember her uninhibited response?

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She could only pray he did not. At least she'd given him no encouragement. And they

would both have more vital concerns to explore in their next session
.

If there was a next session
.

She sat up straighter in the buggy's seat and patted the top of her hair. All pins were in

place, and she wore her best dress—the only one really suitable for meeting a fellow

physician. For the next few hours, she hoped to be thinking and speaking of nothing but

professional matters
.

Silverado Springs's main street was sleepy at this time of day, when luncheon was past

and anyone who had no need to be working outside sought shelter from the heat. Even

the usual loafers at the general store were absent. But as Johanna drove Daisy to the

Silverado Springs Hotel, she passed a handful of townsfolk who looked at her askance

and walked quickly away
.

Quentin had warned her. He'd warned her about many things, if she'd had the common

sense to listen
.

She arrived at the hotel and gave Daisy into the keeping of the stable boy, providing the

lad with enough coins to see to her comfort. There was no mirror to check her

appearance, so she satisfied herself with a few more minor adjustments to her coiffure

and brushing off the narrow skirt of her dress
.

The Silverado Springs Hotel was no longer the fashionable place it had been a decade

ago, but it did enough business to maintain the gardens, grounds, and mineral baths

that were its claim to fame. The lobby was empty save for a tourist couple discussing

possible local excursions with the concierge
.

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Johanna scanned the lobby a second time and sat down to wait in one of the slightly

worn chairs. She was early, and it wouldn't do to seem overeager. This Dr. Bolkonsky

might prove to be a disappointment, after all
.

She picked up a magazine and was idly perusing an advertisement for women's hats

when she smelled the strong and woody scent of expensive cologne
.

Her gaze moved up from the man's highly polished black boots with white spats, snug

gray trousers, single-breasted blue coat over a gray silk waistcoat, immaculate shirt and

cravat to the face above his starched stand collar. There she stopped, catching her

breath
.

He was beautiful. No other word would suit. And though her head had never been easily

turned by masculine beauty—at least not until two weeks ago—she found herself hardly

able to believe this man was real
.

Golden hair spilled in waves to his shoulders, framing a face made to inspire angels to

flights of song. His features were strong enough to be completely male, but delicately

carved, refined with the aesthetic appeal of a true intellectual. His eyebrows were

several shades darker than his hair, lending his expression greater definition; his nose

held an aristocratic arch. The sensitive mouth curved up in a charming smile
.

Charming, beautiful, perfect. Too perfect, she decided. A man without flaw must

inevitably grow tiresome. Quentin's face—attractive but humanly imperfect—hovered in

the back of her mind
.

"Dr. Schell, I presume?" the man asked, banishing Quentin's image. He tipped his top

hat and clicked his heels. "I am Dr. Feodor Bolkonsky, at your service. "Sehr erfreut, Sie

kennenzulernen, Frau Doktor.”

"You speak German!" Johanna rose, offering her hand.

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He took it in a firm clasp that did not condescend to her gender. "Sagten Sie nicht, Sie

hätten in Deutschland studiert, Herr Doktor?”

"Ja, in der Tat." He switched back to English, still smiling. "I have made it my business

to learn everything possible about your work, and your father's. I have been looking

forward to our meeting with great anticipation.”

"As have I." She returned his. smile, feeling foolishs for no good reason. "There is so

much I have been unable to discuss with others of like mind.”

He extended his arm. "I think you will find me very much of a mind with you and your

father, Dr. Schell. It was because of my interest in hypnosis that I first encountered the

elder Dr. Schell's work, and realized that much I had been considering had already been

taken up by you. I hope you do not mind my familiarity; I feel as if I know you.”

"I am not one to stand upon formality," she answered. "To the contrary, it is excessive

dedication to useless convention that all too often stands in the way of true progress.”

"Ah! A woman after my own heart. I can already see that we think alike." He briefly

rested his hand on her fingers
.

"We both believe that what some consider irregular methods are often the only ones

that bring results.”

He led her to a small private room off the main dining salon, where he offered her a seat

and ordered refreshments. "It is some hours until dinner, but I thought we might occupy

them with no difficulty." He took the seat beside her. "I hope you brought some of your

case notes and observations, Dr. Schell. I've heard something of the Haven since I

arrived in town.”

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"I'm sure you didn't judge us on the rumors circulating here," she said, concealing her

unexpected anxiety. "Many people have an unreasoning fear of madness, when so few

of the insane pose any danger whatsoever.”

"As you say. I am sure what you do here is the work of a pioneer who deserves far more

recognition than she has received.”

Johanna blushed as she hadn't done with anyone but" Quentin. "You give me too much

credit, Herr Doktor—”

"You will call me Feodor. No formalities, verstehen sie?”

"Yes." She sat forward in her chair. "I am not pursuing this work with an interest in fame.

It was my father's hope that we might develop new techniques to ease the burden of

insanity. I believe we have made real progress, and I am more than happy to share

what we've discovered. If you have worked with hypnosis, I have no doubt that there is

much I can learn from you

particularly if you have recently been in Europe. We are so

out of touch, here.”

"I hope to remedy that situation," he said. "I've brought texts from Germany and France,

as well as some of my own notes." His smile warmed. "I feel sure this will not be our

only meeting.”

Johanna resisted the urge to clear her throat nervously. It was much too soon to bring

up Quentin's case, but Feodor Bolkonsky seemed a most extraordinary man. He might

very well be what she'd been hoping for
.

"Will you be staying long?" she asked
.

"I am currently residing in San Francisco, which is why it was possible for me to seek

you out. To my great good fortune.”

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"I was recently in San Francisco for a lecture," she said, flattered by his compliment. "I

don't recall seeing you there—”

"Sadly, I was out of town at the time." He lifted a brown leather satchel resting against

the side of his chair and set it on the small table between them. He opened the satchel

and pulled out a pair of new books. "I hope you'll accept these as a token of my esteem,

Dr. Schell.”

She touched the covers reverently. Both were texts by well-regarded neurologists in

Europe whose works she had been unable to obtain in America. "Thank you

Feodor.

You must call me Johanna.”

"I will, with pleasure.”

They spent a few more minutes in small talk, on subjects ranging from the comparative

weather in San Francisco and the Napa Valley to the latest play Feodor had seen in the

city. But then the real discussion began. Johanna swiftly lost track of time as they

exchanged opinions on such fascinating topics as Wundt's Principles of Physiological

Psychology and Charcot's theories on hysteria
.

Feodor's knowledge of hypnosis was more thorough than that of any other doctor

Johanna had met, even in the East. He agreed with her belief that insanity was not

merely the result of lesions of the brain, but often stemmed from purely emotional

causes. He shared her hope that hypnosis might prove an invaluable method to cure

many types of madness, and possibly a number of physical illnesses as well. She

couldn't wait to hear his thoughts on her theory that taking patients into their pasts, in

search of inciting causes of insanity, was highly beneficial
.

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They hadn't yet reached the subject of specific cases when Feodor pulled out his watch

and made a sound of surprise. "How quickly the hours have flown. I see it's time for

dinner. I've arranged a private meal for us here. It will allow us to continue our talk.”

"That sounds excellent." When he turned away to summon a waiter, she touched her

cheek, wondering if it looked as warm as it felt. Her mouth was dry from the long

conversation
.

"A little wine before dinner?" Feodor asked. A waiter had already cleared and set the

table, and was presenting a bottle of wine in a silver cooler
.

"Please," Johanna said. The waiter poured, and Feodor tasted his wine with a

connoisseur's deliberation
.

"It will do." He signaled the waiter to pour for Johanna. In spite of her desire to be

cautious, thirst made her take a much larger sip of the wine than was prudent
.

"Bring water, as well," Feodor ordered the waiter, who hurried off. He leaned back in his

chair and watched Johanna. She set down her glass, still strangely flustered at being

the focus of his attention
.

"I hope," she said, "that after our meal I may have an opportunity to consult with you

about a particular patient. The situation is rather delicate—”

"You may, of course, rely on my complete discretion. I will be most interested to hear