"It is the truth," Wolf agreed.

Liisi took her hand from his chest and, with a flick of her head, directed him up the tower stairs. When they were safely shut inside her tower room she said, "At initiation, all shamans need both an animal and a human sponsor. At yours, a spirit-wolf was the animal; I was the human. I have foreseen that in your time you will sponsor another of our line, one greater than either of us."

"Who?"

Liisi half-smiled. "Visions are never as clear as we'd like. For all I know this one of our blood or of our spirit may not yet be born. But be sure it will come to pass. At the moment I need your help with another of us. With Jennifer."

Wolf blinked. "I thought Samara had her under control." "If you mean Samara prevents Jennifer from fire-starting, yes. The world is safe from Jennifer as long as she remains at Wolf House and providing Samara's health holds up. Controlling the girl puts tremendous strain on Samara, though, and she can't go on much longer. At five the child is not yet old enough to be trusted to control herself. We need your help."

He spread his hands. "How? I have no talent for control."

"As a shaman, you can find the help you need in worlds other than this one. I dare not make another trip to the worlds below or above ours--I'm getting too old. You are younger and stronger and have a powerful spirit-animal to aid you when you reach your destination."

Wolf gaped at her. "You want me to make a shaman's journey when I have no idea of how to go about it?"

Liisi's smile was pitiless. "I intend to teach you. To survive the journey you must remember every word I say--and I'll be imparting to you all the knowledge I've acquired in my lifetime. If you'd had the sense to agree to your fate earlier, you'd have less to learn all at once. The first lesson will be here and now."

Hours later, Wolf descended the tower steps with his mind roiling in confusion, convinced he'd never master the lore he'd need to journey between the worlds.

I didn't want to become a shaman, he thought angrily. It was thrust on me.

He stomped down the stairs to the first floor, stopping abruptly when he heard the piano. Someone in the music room played the lively Spanish dance tune he remembered from those long-ago days when he was young and entranced by the grace and beauty of a green-eyed girl who despised him.

He was no longer the clumsy boy she'd called him. She was no longer an innocent young girl who yearned to be a great dancer.

Slowly, quietly, he entered the music room. Samara sat at the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys while Cecelia, dressed in a long, flowing black gown, twirled and pirouetted around the room. Little Jennifer McQuade watched from a red velvet settee near the archway.

Wolf slipped into the room and eased down beside Jennifer. He'd paid little attention to the child since that frantic night when she'd set fire to her parents' house and all but killed her twin sister. Lily had survived but was scarred for life.

Jennifer glanced at him and then ducked her head, reminding him of the way Gei sought not to be noticed. He wondered what she made of all that had happened. Did she blame herself, as her mother blamed her? Deliberately, he put his arm around Jennifer's shoulders and gave her a hug. Jennifer stiffened at first, then gradually relaxed until she leaned against him. The feel of her tiny, fragile bones under his hand moved him. How helpless she was.

He felt that Jennifer's spirit might be as badly scarred as her twin's skin. If he could help her, he would.

Since he couldn't bear to watch Cecelia dance, not yet, he closed his eye. In the darkness, his tenuous bond with Samara enabled him to sense how taut and driven she was. He sighed, aware that he was the only one who could help both her and Jennifer.

Throughout his convalescence he'd kept the vision of traveling to Russia at the back of his mind, telling himself someday....

He knew now he'd never make that trip, knew he must pass on the need to go to Arno and Ivan. They, not he, were the ones who'd fulfill Sergei's last request.

His only traveling would be between the worlds. Was it remotely possible his shaman journey might offer a clue to why there were Volek shifters? Wolf shook his head, doubting that he'd dare to take enough time to investigate. From the little he'd already learned from Liisi it was clear journeys to the upper or lower worlds were so perilous that the smallest error meant death. He not only had the dangers of the journey to overcome but he must also master every nuance of shamanism in order to know how to bring back help for Jennifer.

"Cousin Wolf," Jennifer whispered, poking him with her elbow. "Wake up. She's looking at you."

He opened his eye, belatedly aware Samara was now playing a waltz. Cecelia, standing in front of him, swayed to its rhythm, her green gaze fixed on him. When their eyes met, she held out her arms in a mute invitation to dance.

Wolf, feeling as awkward as he'd been at sixteen, stumbled to his feet, drawn to her by his mounting desire to hold her in his arms. When he touched Cecelia's hand her skin felt clammy and a chill ran along his spine.

Cold as death.

He'd danced with the Miwok men in hunting ceremonies but he'd never mastered the intricate steps of a waltz. With Cecelia guiding him, Wolf discovered he could follow the cadence of the piano as easily as he'd followed the beating of a drum. Waltzing with a woman in his arms, though, was not the same as dancing around an open fire with Miwok hunters. And waltzing with this particular woman was like nothing else in any world.

She smelled of secret night-blooming flowers, exotic and lush. Strands of her dark hair floated up to touch his lips and cling caressingly. Her supple body, moving under his maimed hand, pressed lightly, insistently, against his. He felt invaded by her. Surrounded. And aroused beyond all reason.

He whirled her through the archway and across the foyer to the foot of the staircase. With one arm still around her, he held her away, searching her face.

Her eyes, now cloudy as jade, revealed nothing but he felt her tense. Grasping her hand, he urged her up the stairs. Did she come reluctantly? He wasn't sure. God knows he had reservations as well. But it was too late for either of them to turn back.

There was no tenderness in their lovemaking. By rights so violent a coming together should have happened under the trees and in darkness rather than in his bed with sunlight pouring in through the open window. She was the night, she was darkness, wild and dangerous, and she met the fierceness of his taking with a feral passion that left him spent. When he regained enough strength to move, he raised on one elbow and looked down at her.

Cecelia smiled lazily, her half-closed eyes sated. For an instant Wolf recalled another time of passion when the woman's eyes had suddenly changed from hazel to blazing green. He drew in his breath. He'd hoped that memory had been locked away permanently.

Cecelia's hair was black, not red. Whatever she was, she'd come to him openly, not taking the guise of another woman as the one in New York had done. Her fire had been natural, like the lightning, not the choking heat of hell-flames.

She reached up and touched his scarred face with the tips of her fingers. "I don't remember hurting you," she said softly, her eyes sad.

"Grandfather told me a shifter's beast never shares its memories with its human half."

She bit her lip. "It's hard for me to believe such a vicious animal is a part of me." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'd rather die than ever shift again."

Though he'd never expected to feel tenderness for Cecelia, it flooded through him with her words. He lowered his head and kissed her gently. She wasn't the beast who'd attacked him, she was Cecelia and she feared that beast as much as he did.

"You're safe with me," he said, holding her close. It wasn't the truth, she'd never be safe again and they both knew it but saying the words comforted him. When she sighed and snuggled even closer he understood he'd reassured her as well.

We'll get married, he told himself. Cecelia will be my wife. But we'll have no children. Hawk was my last mistake.

In March of 1908 Nicholas was born to Wolf and Cecelia Volek.

"At least he's not a shifter," Wolf said as he cradled his newborn son in his arms after the doctor had left. Cecelia sighed in relief. "I took Liisi's potions faithfully," she said. "I don't know why they failed--but now that you've told me our son won't suffer my affliction, I'm glad we have him."

In 1910, in January, the Wolf Month of the Kamchadals, Reynolds was born to Wolf and Cecelia Volek after a long and difficult labor.

"I stopped taking the potions because I thought I was too old to have any more babies," Cecelia said, exhausted by her travail.

"You are too old," Wolf told her. "You damn near died bearing this one." He nodded at the child nestled at her breast. Glancing around to make certain they were alone, he knelt beside the bed and took her hand. "And I'm afraid our luck ran out."

Cecelia winced and briefly closed her eyes. "Is he--?" "Yes."

Later that morning, Wolf took Hawk for a walk through the woods. At thirteen, Hawk showed promise of being taller than his father. His Miwok and Kamchadal blood showed in his brown skin, straight black hair and slightly slanted obsidian eyes. But his eager enthusiasm was all his own.

"Maybe you can convince Ivan and Arno, papa," Hawk said as they left the house. "If they bought an aeroplane it really would be a faster trip between here and San Francisco. It'd be easy to make an airstrip in one of the fields and--" "Everyone's not as interested in flying as you are," Wolf put in. "Some people insist that if God had intended man to fly we'd have been born with wings."

Hawk's scowl showed what he thought of that. "Ivan said he and Arno decided to buy stock in a new plant being built to make aeroplanes," he went on. "If we're investing money in them, why not own one?"

Wolf smiled at him. "Have patience. Sooner or later we will."

Hawk sighed. "It's hard to wait. Baby Reynolds will probably be practically grown by the time Ivan and Arno make up their minds. Why don't you buy an aeroplane, papa?"

"What do you think of your new brother?" Wolf asked instead of answering the question.

"I'm glad he's a boy instead of a girl. But babies sure can't do much. Nick's almost two and he's still in diapers. I'll be an old man before they can go camping with me."

Wolf chuckled, pleasantly distracted by Hawk's impatience. He ruffled his son's hair. "If Arno and Ivan don't buy an aeroplane in the next five years, I promise I will."

"Five years!" All during their hike across the hills to the pine grove, Hawk bombarded his father with air records set by various pilots in different countries and the merits of one type of aeroplane compared to another.

Wolf listened with half an ear, his mind reverting to why he'd brought Hawk on this walk. The boy seemed so young but in truth he was older than Wolf himself had been when Sergei told him about his Volek heritage.

As soon as they stepped under the trees, Wolf held up a hand. "No more talking until I make certain no one else is anywhere near us."

Hawk's eyes widened and he instantly fell silent. When Wolf was sure they wouldn't be overheard, he sat under one of the big pines, motioning Hawk to sit next to him.

"You're a Volek, son," he began. "You're one of the lucky Voleks, like Leo and Nick. Quincy and Reynolds are not so fortunate. You're old enough to understand that what I'm going to tell you is not to be repeated to anyone outside the family. Not anyone at all. And within the family, not to any of the children younger than you."

Staring wide-eyed at Wolf, Hawk nodded. His eyes grew wider yet and his mouth dropped open as Wolf repeated the Volek legend handed down from father to son over the centuries, finishing with the history of the American Voleks and how two of the family shifters had died.

"I knew we were different," Hawk said after a moment.

"I mean other kids get to go to school in town or to boarding school. But shapeshifting! I guess I understand about shifters--but where do stalkers come from?"

Wolf shrugged. "I wish I knew. It was one of things I hoped to learn by making a trip to Russia. Maybe one day you'll go there in my place and discover why the Voleks breed shapeshifters and for what purpose." He looked blankly at Hawk, seeing instead the dying Sergei. "There must be a reason."

"Ivan said he and Arno were going to Russia sometime." "I hope so. One of the Voleks must trace our roots back to the forests where our ancestors came from."

"I will, papa. Maybe by the time I'm old enough to go they'll have aeroplanes that can fly all the way from California to Russia without stopping."

"Maybe. But in the meantime, remember what I said about shifters.

Quincy and Leo are twelve so it may be six years before Quincy shifts for the first time--or it may be only one. I'm leaving it up to Arno to explain the Volek problem to the twins because Arno can prepare Quincy better than I can. As for your brother, Reynolds, he has many years ahead of him to enjoy before--" Wolf broke off, shaking his head. "Doesn't Arno ever change into a beast any more?"

"No. Grandmother Liisi showed him how to control his shifting. She'll do the same for Quincy when he needs to learn."

Hawk pondered this for awhile. "What does it feel like to turn into a beast?" he asked.

"My grandfather, who was a shifter, told me it was the most horrible thing that could ever happen to a man."

Hawk made a face. "I guess I wouldn't like it then. Besides, a man could never be a pilot if he was a shifter 'cause what if he changed while he was up in the air? A beast couldn't fly the plane and it'd crash." His eyes widened. "Is that why Arno doesn't want to fly?"

"Could be."

"You explained about shifters but what about Jennifer? She isn't a shapeshifter, is she?"

"No."

"Okay, but there's something wrong with her, isn't there? Otherwise she'd have lessons at our schoolhouse with me and the twins and Melanie. And why does she live with us when she's got a mother and father? Her twin sister lives with them, why doesn't she?"

Wolf told him.

"Did that happen to her because she's a Volek?" Hawk demanded.

"Grandmother Liisi and I both think so. Just because a Volek is lucky enough not to be a shifter doesn't mean he or she can't pass that trait on to their children. My grandfather never mentioned fire-starting in the Volek line so either Jennifer's the first or--" he hesitated, then decided Hawk must face up to the worst--"or the first to survive. If any were born in the past they might have died young.

"Think about it. Think how dangerous a baby fire-starter would be. Nick, for example. You've seen him fly into a tantrum when he gets upset. What if he started a fire instead? Burned the people he was angry with? If a baby firestarter can't be controlled, he or she would have to be killed for the safety of everyone else."

Hawk swallowed. "Who controls Jennifer?"

"Samara. It's an ability she has." Wolf didn't mention how he'd tried to make a shaman's journey to bring back help for Jennifer and failed. Hawk had enough to digest without knowing his father and his Grandmother Liisi were shamans. Now that Reynolds had been born, as soon as Cecelia regained her strength, Wolf would be making the journey again. Or trying to. Which was one of the reasons he'd told Hawk about his heritage.

"Remember, son," he said, "if anything happens to me, you must watch over your two little brothers. Especially Reynolds. And don't forget what I said about Russia."

"I won't forget, papa. But you're not awfully old--you'll live for a long time yet. Won't you?"

Hawk looked so anxious that Wolf smiled reassuringly as he rose. "I'll do my best."

Hawk got to his feet slowly, his expression troubled. "You said Samara has an ability. And Druse has got one 'cause she's a healer. Grandmother Liisi foresees things. Quincy and Reynolds are going to turn into shifters. How about Leo? And Melanie? And Nick? How about me?"

Because he didn't want to get into the problem of Melanie--he hadn't told Hawk her father was a stalker--Wolf spoke lightly. "You were born to be a flyer. Your mother must have known that when she named you. I like to think aeroplanes were invented just so you could fly when you got old enough."

Hawk's face lighted up. "I'm going to!" he cried. "I will. And in case Leo and Nick don't have any abilities, I'll teach them to be pilots, too." He frowned. "Maybe even Melanie. Girls can learn to fly, can't they?"

"As far as I'm concerned, they can."

Together they walked deeper into the woods, the soughing of the wind in the pine boughs relaxing Wolf as it always did. The woods and Hawk's cheerful company made him forget for the moment that not only was he guilty of adding another Volek, and a shifter at that, to the clan but that he was forty-eight years old and no nearer to discovering the reason for Volek shifters than he had been at thirteen.

Chapter 16.

Wolf could no longer feel the deerskin of his shaman drum under his fingers but he heard the beat, alternating with the throb of Liisi's drum. He'd made the drum under her guidance from the skin of a buck stretched over a wooden frame formed from the wood of a lightning-struck tree. He'd killed the mule deer himself and Bear Claw, the Miwok medicine man, had overseen the tanning of the hide.

Wolf had painted his chosen symbols around the sides, symbols only he knew the meaning of. The steel cross hanging from the drum had been Morning Quail's, given to her by her dead shifter husband who'd had it fastened around his neck when the Miwoks found him as a newborn. Grandfather had recognized the cross as one he'd given to a Californio woman as a token of love. Now the cross belonged to Wolf--a remembrance of his grandfather that Liisi told him was his amulet from a friend.

Hanging from the drum's other side was the shriveled, mummified little finger of the female stalker. Unnoticed by anyone, Liisi had cut the finger off the dead body and preserved it.

"Your amulet from an enemy," she'd called it when she gave the grisly relic to Wolf.

The beat of his drum followed his haamu through the shadow-hole and into the darkness between the worlds; he'd ride the beat to his destination. Behind him stretched the silver cord tethering his shadow-soul to his living body, a body that would remain in Liisi's tower room until his haamu returned to animate it once more.

His destination was Tuonela, realm of the dead. He used the Finnish name because it described the nether world better than the English word hell. His first journey there had failed when the maiden of Tuoni refused to ferry him across the River of the Dead because he misspoke the crossing charm. This time he'd cross Tuonela's river on his own.

Liisi had warned him no two shamans experienced the realm of the dead in the same way. To Wolf it was cavernous and gloomy, lit by too few ill-burning torches. Monstrous shadows lurked in rocky recesses ready to pounce on the unwary.