"Yes. Those things out there, whatever the hell they are, aren't playing around. You expected them to attack the house, which is why you warned your tenant to hide. There is only one reason why someone in your position would leave for a long trip. You went for help. Doesn't look to me like you got it."
Underestimating him was a really bad idea. "And how did you deduce that, Mr. Holmes?"
He smiled. "Elementary, Watson. If you'd found help, you'd be more upbeat. Instead when you got out of your car, you looked like you were dragging an anchor behind you. I've seen that look before. It's the look that says 'I radioed for air support and they told me none will be coming and another enemy battalion is heading my way.'" He tilted his head. "You may not have the air support, but you have me."
"Wait a minute. Just yesterday some man barged into my house and ranted about handling everything himself. Was that you?"
"Yesterday I thought you were just a normal person and I didn't want to see you hurt. Dina, you're forcing me to split my attention. I'm reasonably certain you're safe in your house, but you keep leaving that safety. I can't patrol the neighborhood and babysit you at the same time, and since you haven't been forthcoming with information, I never know when you're going on another expedition into the subdivision. I have to sit here on my hands like a little kid and watch your house. I don't like sitting on my hands."
"I didn't ask for your protection."
"You did ask me to do something about the dead dogs."
He had me there.
"I've spent years being dragged halfway around the world and fighting because someone told me to do it. I chose this place to settle down. This is my territory as your house is your territory. This is home. I will fight for it. And for the record, I never intended to let the dog killings slide."
"And if I don't want your protection?"
Sean looked at me like I wasn't right in the head. "As I said, your house is in my territory. I will keep you safe."
Right. He was genetically engineered to withstand sieges and guard things against overwhelming odds. He probably couldn't overcome the protective impulse even if he wanted to, and he definitely didn't want to. "Aren't you too young to be guarding the gate, Sean?"
He frowned. "I don't follow."
Maybe he really didn't know. "I'm an innkeeper. Does that mean anything to you?"
He chuckled. "I hate to break it to you, but you own a bed-and-breakfast and your only guest seems to be a freaky old woman. Calling yourself an innkeeper is a stretch if you catch my drift."
He had no clue what I was talking about. "How about Auul? Does that ring a bell?"
When pronounced the right way, the name rhymed with Raul, but it was softer, said with more longing, each vowel stretched until it sounded like the howl of a lonely wolf under the full moon.
"Cute," he said. "Are you going to bark at me next? I don't mind being mocked, but I'd like to keep this conversation productive."
I pushed with my magic. "Terminal, Auul file, please."
The house shivered. A big screen formed on the far wall. On it a vast forest spread, viewed from above, a place of giants. Enormous trees with blue-green leaves shimmered in the night breeze, and above them midnight sky reigned, sprayed with sparkling stars that glittered like jewels. An enormous moon rose on the right, taking up a quarter of the horizon, glowing with blue and green, and past it the second moon, an intense gold shot through with red, hung in the distance. An enormous bird, the tips of its feathers glowing with pale blue, flew above the treetops.
Sean strained. His eyes lit up, catching the light. Muscles bunched under the strands. The elastic metal cords snapped and he stepped from the wall, staring at the image.
Wow. I let him go --there was no point in holding him. The torn metal ligaments melted, dripped down, and flowed across the floor toward me, reshaping themselves. They surged up and a broom handle touched my hand. I took it.
"Auul," I quoted. "Soft like the whisper of love on a mother's lips, harsh like a cry for vengeance, you are a memory, a child's dream, a debt still owed, watered with our blood, lost forever but never forgotten."
"Who wrote that?" Sean asked, his gaze still fixed on the image.
"A werewolf. Your kind got very poetic about your planet after you blew it up."
Sean turned to me. "My planet? I was born in Tennessee."
"Where do werewolves come from?"
"We were always here. We're a genetic mutation, an abnormality. Where does your broom come from?"
Aha. "Tell me this image doesn't call to you, Sean."
He looked at the moon again.
The image melted, replaced by a lean woman with fiery eyes. Her hair spilled over her back in a long reddish mane, held back by gold hair clasps. Delicate metal lace sheathed her shoulders. A narrow gold chain ran under her uncovered br**sts. Music came, quiet, haunting, and she began to sway, her long, diaphanous dark skirt flaring as she turned. She sang in a dead language and Sean listened to it as if he understood every word.
The woman finished her song. The file said it was a lullaby. I wondered if Sean had heard it in childhood.
"Okay," he said finally. "Hit me with it."
"You won't like it."
"Why don't you let me decide that?"
He did ask. I would remind him of that if he freaked out.