Wolf ran up the stairs, woke Druse and told her about the call. When he came out of her room, Liisi stood in the corridor.

"I heard the phone ring, I overheard what you said to Druse," Liisi told him. "It'll be a fire, connected in some way to the twins. I knew the flames I saw at the wedding boded ill."

Liisi was right, though the fire was out by the time Wolf and Druse pounded up on their horses. Rodney, his father Paul and two nearby ranchers sloshed water from buckets on the smoldering remains of the south wing of the house. Tanya crouched in a wagon, a lantern by her side, one whimpering twin bundled in her arms. The other twin sprawled motionless on the wagon floor.

Wolf had to shout at Tanya to make her notice him. "Are the twins hurt?" he demanded, climbing into the wagon. Tanya prodded the motionless one with her toe. "Take her away," she said, her voice low and toneless. "I never want to see Jennifer again."

Wolf crouched to examine the girl and found to his relief that she was breathing. Druse, standing beside the wagon, reached for Lily.

"Give her to me, Tanya," she said firmly. "I'll help her." When Tanya didn't respond, she repeated her words. Slowly, as though each movement was an extreme effort, Tanya held out the whimpering bundle to Druse. "Don't let Jennifer near her," she begged. "Don't even put them in the same house."

Druse turned back the blanket to look at Lily and drew in her breath. "Oh my God," she whispered.

Wolf leaned over to look and wished he hadn't. On the left side, the skin of Lily's face and chest was blistered and blackened--not simply burned but charred.

Tanya pushed at Jennifer with her foot. "Take her," she cried, her voice rising. "If you don't I swear I'll kill her."

Wolf gathered the unconscious Jennifer into his arms and jumped down from the wagon.

"Wait!" Tanya shrieked. "Bring Lily to Mother McQuade's, not to Volek House. Take Jennifer to Liisi. Tell her--" Tanya's voice faltered--"tell her Jennifer starts fires. With her mind. And don't ever, ever bring Jennifer back. Not after what she did to her own twin."

Wolf started home with Jennifer while Druse went on to the senior McQuade's house with the badly burned Lily, leaving Tanya with her husband. Jennifer still hadn't roused when he carried her into Volek House. Liisi was waiting, Samara with her.

Still holding Jennifer, Wolf told them what Tanya had said.

"A fire-starter," Liisi whispered, shaking her head. "I should have guessed."

Samara blinked, staring at Jennifer.

"Bring Jennifer up to the tower room," Liisi ordered, "where I can set a guarding spell on her so she won't burn the place down when she wakes. Other than that--" she shook her head. "I've never dealt with a fire-starter."

Samara trailed after them, muttering, as they climbed the stairs. "Red," Wolf thought she said. "Angry red." "Jennifer's not quite four--too young to set her own controls," Liisi said when they were all inside the tower room. "She doesn't realize she can maim and kill. I'll have to try to find a way to shut down her fire-making. If I can."

Wolf lay Jennifer onto the blue silk rug in the center of the room, noticing for the first time the dark bruise over her right forehead and temple.

"Someone hit her," Samara said.

"And a good thing," Liisi put in. "If she hadn't been knocked unconscious they'd all be dead. We'll have to tie her within the circle I make."

Near dawn Jennifer roused. She whimpered and tried to reach a hand to her head before opening her eyes. When she discovered she couldn't move she began crying for Lily. "Jennifer," Liisi said. "Lily's not here. You're at Volek House because you burned your sister."

"Didn't," Jennifer sobbed, staring at Liisi through her tears.

"We know you can set fires," Liisi said. "It's dangerous, so we can't let you do it--that's why you're tied."

Something sizzled between Jennifer and the edge of the circle enclosing her. Wolf swallowed, realizing she'd tried to burn Liisi.

"We can't keep her tied!" Samara protested. "The poor little thing doesn't understand."

"The poor little thing will burn the house down around our ears if I release her," Liisi said tartly.

"There must be something else you can do," Samara said. Liisi eased down onto a three-legged stool. "I don't like tying her any better than you do." She put a hand over her eyes. "I'm so tired, so very tired. And I don't know enough about fire-starters to stop Jennifer."

Never before had Wolf heard his grandmother admit to any weakness.

Liisi glanced at him as if in warning, then fastened her gaze on Samara. "What will become of the poor child? If she isn't controlled, every time she gets the least bit angry everyone around her will be in danger. Not just Voleks but others. Sooner or later someone will kill her to stop her. I'm afraid the best all- round solution would be to do away with her here and now."

Samara balled her fists. "No!"

Liisi opened her eyes wide. "Do you have a solution?" Samara didn't answer the question directly. "I can feel red inside her," she said slowly.

"Like you felt darkness inside the stalker." Liisi spoke softly, carefully, her expression reminding Wolf of a stalking cat readying itself to pounce on a mouse.

Samara, intent on the sobbing, struggling Jennifer, nodded.

"You controlled the stalker," Liisi said. "You paralyzed her and you were only three. You're a grown woman now, you're stronger."

The night of the stalker came back to Wolf with such disturbing clarity his heart began to pound. Samara had stopped the stalker from shooting. He recalled being frozen into position himself. Only Mima, badly wounded as she was, had been able to move, to retrieve the dropped gun. To kill....

"Why wasn't Mima affected?" he asked without thinking. Liisi answered. "Because she was dying. Those near to death can't be easily controlled."

"I'm afraid," Samara whispered.

Liisi sighed. "Then there's no hope for Jennifer." Unable to bear the look of anguish on Samara's face, Wolf put his arm around her. She stiffened but when he spoke soothingly, she gradually relaxed.

Like the tentative brush of an evening breeze after a hot afternoon, he felt something inside him. A moment later his world turned a fiery, raging red. Startled, he almost released Samara before he realized she'd linked with him as she had when she was a child.

He was looking inside Jennifer.

Involuntarily, his mind filled with the cooling image of mountain snow-melt pouring over high rocks and falling hundreds of feet into Yosemite Valley.

"Water," Samara whispered.

"Yes," Liisi agreed.

Liisi opened a tiny crack in the warding circle and Samara poured Wolf's image of the mountain falls through the opening and into Jennifer. He didn't know how she did it, though he was aware his presence lent Samara strength.

After a few moments the child's sobs cut off and she stopped struggling, fixing her gaze on Samara.

"The fire's out, Jenny," Samara said. "The fire's out and the water won't let you start another. No more fire." Liisi handed Samara a pair of scissors and she reached into the circle, cut the ties binding Jennifer and lifted the girl into her arms.

Quivering from head to toe, Jennifer buried her face in Samara's shoulder. Wolf, discovering there was no longer even a trace of the angry red that had clouded his vision, glanced at Liisi. She smiled reassuringly as she rose from the stool.

"Jennifer's controlled," Liisi said. "But we'll have to keep her here at Volek House with Samara, just in case." Wolf's shoulders sagged in relief. Not only was Jennifer rendered harmless but in helping the child Samara seemed to have helped heal herself.

His elation was short-lived when he remembered Lily's charred face. Poor Lilyhad to pay the price of her twin's fire-starting. If she survived, she'd be scarredfor life.###

Chapter 13.

Key in hand, Wolf turned away from the Palace Hotel desk, resigned to spending the night. There wasn't much about the city he cared for. Except for the greenery in Golden Gate Park, April in San Francisco lacked the color and scent and the spring promise of the San Joaquin Valley.

He crossed to the elevators and waited for a car. He'd have chosen another hotel but Ivan and Arno had insisted he must use the suite reserved for McDee Industries at the Palace and there was no point in being churlish about it. Besides, it was just for one night.

Tomorrow morning he'd be sailing for Russia at last! Excitement pounded through him, making him less aware of the crowded elevator car.

God knows it had taken him long enough. How many years had it been since he promised Grandfather to go? He'd been thirty-two then, he was almost forty-two now. It was past time to honor his vow, past time to search for his personal destiny as well, a destiny he believed was linked with his Volek heritage.

"I've never seen the hotel so jam-packed," a middle-aged woman said to the younger woman next to her. "Everyone's in town to hear Caruso tonight," the second woman replied. "He sings so divinely. Don't you just love Carmen? It's my favorite opera."

Wolf listened to their conversation with half his attention until the women got off. Since the McDee suite was at the top, he was the last to leave.

The older he became, the less he tolerated crowds. Even in the privacy of the McDee suite he felt hemmed in and uneasy, sensing the mass of people in the city. He began to pace, scarcely noticing the luxury of the three rooms. Enough! he warned himself after a time. You've only tonight to get through. Relax. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. He picked up the complimentary copy of the Chronicle from a table and sat in one of the upholstered chairs to glance at the morning headlines for April 17, 1906. SUPREME COURT INVALIDATES DIVORCES.

ENRICO CARUSO TO SING AT METROPOLITAN OPERA.

VESUVIUS FUND TO AID VICTIMS OF ERUPTION TOPS $20,000.

DANCER CECE WEDS SOCIETY DOCTOR.

Wolf went rigid, staring at the last headline, reading it over and over again before he numbly went on to the story. Thomas H. Swanson M.D. was described as a distinguished fifty-year old physician who treated some of the city's wealthiest families. The marriage was to have taken place this morning at the chapel of Mission Dolores; the reception was being held in the Garden Court of the Palace Hotel in the afternoon. This afternoon.

Wolf glanced at his watch. Just after three. He rose and took two steps toward the door. Paused. Shook his head. Started to turn away. Stopped again.

Damn it, why shouldn't he go down to the Garden Court? Why shouldn't he have a look at Cecelia and her new husband? Unable to think of a reason not to, he strode to the door. After edging through the throng of wedding guests until he was close to the bridal couple, Wolf deliberately looked at the groom first. Dr. Swanson's fair hair was as yet untouched by gray. He had a blond mustache, a hearty manner, laughed frequently, and looked younger than his fifty years. Though well built, he was half a head shorter than most of the men at the reception.

Cecelia, Wolf knew, would be close to forty-three. Had she waited this long to marry to avoid bearing a child? Not that she was too old yet--but it would be less likely to happen. Bracing himself, at last he looked at her.

For a moment his eyes stung with unshed tears. Maturity had made her more beautiful than ever; in her long pearl white gown she seemed as lustrous as the moon. And about as approachable. Even though he knew she'd never been meant for him, he envied Thomas Swanson as he'd never envied another man.

He was about to leave when her gaze crossed his. She held for a moment, her green eyes widening, then bit her lip and quickly glanced away. Not wishing to spoil her wedding day by reminding her of the unpleasant past, Wolf retreated to his room.

He stood by the windows of the suite's sitting room looking down on the city while turning the silver cat's head buckle over and over in his hands. He never traveled without the buckle. The bustle on the streets below, noisier than ever now that automobiles had joined the trolleys and horse-drawn cabs, was overlaid with the images in his mind: Cecelia dancing in the music room of Volek House; Cece's erotic dance at the St. Francis Hotel; Cecelia in his arms on the crest of Powell Street....

Apparently he'd been wrong about Cecelia being a potential shifter. If she hadn't shapechanged in forty some years it was unlikely she ever would. He was certain she never had shifted because otherwise she surely wouldn't take the chance of marrying Swanson.

I'm glad I was wrong, he told himself firmly. Shifting is a terrible curse. Cecelia's lucky to be normal; she deserves to be happy.

But a tiny mouse of doubt nibbled away at his reassurances. Even though she was over forty, how could she be certain she would never shapeshift? He thought of his grandfather--Sergei could control his shifting and, after General Custer's death, he'd vowed never to shapechange again. He'd broken that vow. In the California foothills when Wolf was not yet a man he'd seen his grandfather become a beast in a time of peril. He'd watched the awful transformation again when the stalker threatened Stefan. What if some vast and overwhelming danger confronted Cecelia? Was it possible a great shock could trigger her into shapeshifting?

He turned from the window, upset by his musings and tormented by the knowledge she was another man's wife. He'd heard one of the wedding guests remark that the newlyweds planned to spend the night at the hotel before embarking in the doctor's new Packard touring car for a honeymoon at a seaside hotel in Monterey. Why should he bother going to bed when it wasn't likely he'd sleep tonight.

By four-thirty, when false dawn began to lighten the night sky, Wolf could no longer stand being confined inside the suite. The city streets wouldn't be a great improvement but at least they'd be nearly deserted this early in the morning.

As he walked away from the Palace down Market Street toward the Ferry Building, Wolf noted that the ubiquitous morning mist was thinning, no doubt the sun would soon disperse it. It would be a fine day to sail through the Golden Gate bound for Russia. Unfortunately the earliest he could board his ship was noon. He'd have to fill the hours somehow.

Here and there a man stood on a corner waiting for a trolley car. A laborer, dressed in overalls and carrying a dinner pail, crossed the street ahead of Wolf. There was little noise except for an occasional milk or newspaper wagon clattering by.

The rising sun brightened the mist, poking its golden light through rapidly widening gaps in the grayness. Somewhere in the distance a dog began to howl. A dray horse turning onto Market off Fremont Street suddenly threw up its head, whinnied shrilly and began to struggle in the traces. Wolf stopped to watch while the driver fought to control the frightened animal. Looking around he could see nothing to upset the horse--especially since it wore blinkers.

Then the earth under Wolf's feet seemed to slip away, sending him reeling and staggering. As he tried to regain his balance, he realized what was happening--an earthquake. Since it wasn't by any means his first experience with a California temblor he didn't take undue alarm until he found himself thrown flat on his face in the street.

Stay down, ride it out, he told himself, not even trying to regain his feet. A low rumbling began, growing louder and louder until it reverberated in his very bones. On the street ahead of him the horse, dray wagon and driver disappeared in a shower of dust and debris as a great crack opened and swallowed them up.

Shocked, Wolf struggled to sit up. Failed. Above him the tall buildings swayed in a macabre dance. Bricks and chunks of masonry shot through the air like cannon balls, slamming onto the street so close to him that chips from them stung his face.

The poor doomed horse had sensed the quake before it started, he thought. Most animals could. Shifters, too. He remembered how Grandfather always knew a quake was coming before the shaking began. Arno had inherited the same ability.

Would Cecelia know? The thought of her at the hotel, helpless and injured--or worse--drove him to his knees. He began to crawl over the shuddering ground toward the Palace.

In the bridal suite on the fifth floor of the Palace Hotel Cecelia woke abruptly and sat up in bed, screaming. "What's wrong?" Thomas demanded, startled from sleep. She was too frightened to answer; she couldn't stop screaming. He tried to take her in his arms but she fought him.

"My dear, be still!" he ordered. "Nothing's wrong, you've had a bad dream, that's all."

The nightmare hadn't been in her sleep, it was now--didn't he understand? She tried to gasp out that something dreadful was about to happen but the words were choked off by her terror.

He succeeded in wrapping his arms around her, holding her close despite her struggles to free herself.

"No," she managed to cry. "No!" But he wouldn't let her go.

All her senses screamed Danger! Her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird struggling in a hunter's net, she gasped for breath. Her stomach wrenched in painful spasms. "Let me go," she begged, hearing the growl in her voice with amazed horror.

"What in hell's wrong with you, Cece?" Thomas sounded exasperated, holding her away to look at her in the dim light of early morning. She had no time to worry about his feelings, convulsed as she was by the struggle going on inside her.

"Jesus Christ, look at you!" Tom's shocked voice was shrill in her ears as he abruptly released her.

The bed began to quiver, to shake. The overhead light fixture swayed like a pendulum. Earthquake! But the knowledge didn't alarm her nearly as much as what was happening to her. After one final terrible inner wrench that twisted agonizingly through her body, Cecelia's surroundings began to fade. Her last conscious thought was of Wolf and his final warning to her all those years ago on Powell Street.

The beast, immediately aware of threat, spent little time reveling in her freedom. The human was close. Too close. His yells hurt her ears and his fear was rank in her nostrils. She snarled a warning and he flung himself away from her, falling to the floor. She leaped over the end of the bed. A part of her knew she was in a room, a room that made her feel trapped, caged.

The floor rocked sickeningly under her feet, the roar outside was deafening. Plaster fell off the ceiling, unseen objects thudded from table tops onto the floor. From the other side of the door she heard humans calling in alarm. The man shut in with her shrieked as he scrabbled away from her. Whatever the danger outside, she couldn't bear being confined in this room.

She had to get out! But how? Her taloned paws weren't capable of opening a door.

The human could. If he would. As she tried to keep her balance in the violently shaking room, she kept a wary eye on him. He stopped screaming. Pulling himself to his feet by clinging to a dresser near the window, with one hand he pawed through objects, his breath rasping harshly. When the shaking eased, he swung around, pointing something at her. A gun.

He meant to kill her! Rage rippled through the beast. She crouched and sprang. The gun roared. Something struck her in the shoulder, scarcely slowing her. Her claws raked down his right side and she breathed in the exciting tang of blood.

He cried out and flung himself sideways. Glass shattered, he disappeared and damp air laden with scores of strange and unpleasant scents flowed around her. The beast padded to the broken window and looked out. The man sprawled motionless on the pavement below. Too far for her to safely jump. But the alternative was being trapped in the room.

She crouched and leaped through the jagged hole in the glass.

The landing, on all four feet, jarred through her, robbing her momentarily of breath. When she was able to move, her first step shot pain along her right front leg. She kept on despite the pain, instinct warning her to seek a hiding place. She needed trees, bushes, a jungle--there she'd find sanctuary. And prey.