Badly shaken, Nat struggled to pull Woody back toward the safety of Camellia Lane. Growling ferociously, with his teeth still bared, the Wolven still looked like he wanted to cause serious damage to the gang. When Teddy Davis was out of sight, Nat stopped to get his breath back.

“You tried to warn me they were there, didn’t you?”

Woody stopped growling and made a chuffing noise, wagging his tail halfheartedly.

“Well, next time do me a favor, don’t bother with the telepathy.” Nat grinned a little shakily. “Just howl your head off!”

CHAPTER 7
WHO’S THE MUMMY?

Ophelia Tate padded noiselessly along the landing like a great panther, her heavy body automatically programmed to move silently under threat of enemy invasion. She had served in the medical corps during Britain’s Falkland Islands conflict and seen plenty of active service, so she knew she would still be handy in combat. She had been unlucky this time, that was all. An egg-shaped lump where Scale had struck her head with his walking stick throbbed dully in her left temple.

Ophelia twitched with unspent rage. She was livid at being taken unawares; hadn’t she known that sooner or later they would receive a visit? She had just stepped out of the shower and put on her bathrobe when he’d struck, taking her by surprise. Although she had never met Scale face-to-face before, she had heard of his love of violence, and wasn’t surprised that he had come to do the interrogation himself.

As she came to from the crack on the head, she thought she heard Alec shouting. He would never win a prize for best husband, but despite the fact he had sold Woody behind her back, Ophelia couldn’t let him suffer at the hands of the creature in the parlor.

Creeping down the staircase, she hardly dared breathe. Her ample bosom heaved majestically within the quilted polyester bathrobe, her nylon-clad feet lightly skimming the synthetic carpet, working up an electrical charge that could have powered half of Temple Gurney. She was so charged with rage and static electricity that her long blue-black hair escaped from its braids and frizzed out in a wiry Medusa-style hairdo. She reached the bottom step and hesitated, her head cocked to one side as she listened.

Lucas Scale jerked his misshapen head toward the living room door, as if he sensed something outside. He had reversed his change for now, but his strange orange eyes and snaggleteeth still looked unmistakably evil.

Alec Tate slowly came to from his faint, and seeing Scale move, he felt a twinge of hope that someone might come and rescue him from this madman. Alec tried to remember what had happened before he’d passed out, but his mind blocked out the memory. Was Ophelia all right? What if Scale had hurt her badly … or even …? Scale looked capable of anything.