Jack Williamson - Darker Than You Think (Fantasy Masterworks)

"BUTI AM A WITCH"

Barbeehad not believed April Bell when she had said that, half mockingly,over drinks.

Butnow, feeling himself flow and change, assuming the lithe, powerfulshape of a wolf and loping through the night, he could believe her.

Forahead of him glimmered the white shape of a running wolf bitchwhocalled to him with the voice of April Bell.

DARKER

THANYOU THINK

JACKWILLIAMSON

ADELL BOOK Publishedby Dell Publishing Co., Inc. 1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza New York, NewYork 10017

Copyright1948 by Jack Williamson Copyright 1940 by Street & SmithPublications, Inc., for Unknown.

Illustrationscopyright 1940 by Street & Smith Publications, Inc. Illustrationsreprinted by permission of the artist, Edd Cartier

Allrights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,including photocopying, recording or by any information storage andretrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher,except where permitted by law.

Dell TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

ISBN:0-440-11746-1

Printedin the United States of America Reprinted by arrangement with theauthor. First Dell printingJuly 1979

CONTENTS

Chapter

I The Girl in White Fur

II The Kitten Killing

1. The White Jade Wolf

2. The Witch Child

V The Thing Behind the Veil

VI As a Wolf Runs

VII The Trap in the Study

VIII The Huntress in the Dark

IX Nightmare's Aftermath

X A Friend of April Bell

XI As a Saber-Tooth Slays

XII Hair of the Tiger

XIII Private Hell

XIV As a Serpent Strikes

XV The Human Side

XVI The Most Frightful Shape

XVII Not All Human

XVIII Rebirth of the Witch Folk

XIX On Sardis Hill

XX The Child of Night

XXI Into the Shadows

CHAPTERONE

TheGirl in White Fur

Thegirl came up to Will Barbee while he stood outside of theglass-and-stucco terminal building at Trojan Field, Clarendon's newmunicipal airport, hopefully watching the leaden sky for a glimpse ofthe incoming planes. There was no reason for the sudden shiver thatgrated his teeth togetherunless it was a fresh blast of thedamp east wind. She looked as trimly cool and beautiful as astreamlined electric icebox.

Shehad a million dollars' worth of flame-red hair. White, soft, sweetlyserious, her face confirmed his first dazzled impressionthatshe was something very wonderful and rare. She met his eyes, and herrather large mouth drew into a quick pleasant quirk.

Barbeeturned to face her, breathless. He looked again into her gravelysmiling eyesthey were really green. He searched her for thecause of that cold shudder of intuitive alarm, and became aware of anequally illogical attractionlife had turned Barbee a littlecynical toward women, and he liked to consider himself totallyimmune.

Hergreen gabardine business suit was modishly severe, plainly expensive,and cunningly chosen to accent the color of her eyes. Against thewindy chill of this overcast October afternoon, she wore a short coatof some heavy white fur that he decided must be Arctic wolfbleached,perhaps, or albino.

Butthe kitten was unusual.

Shecarried a snakeskin novelty bag, with the double handle over her arm,like two thick coils of a diamondback. The bag was open, like aflattened basket, and the kitten peered contentedly out of it. It wasa perfectly darling little black kitten, less than half grown. Itwore a wide red silk ribbon, neatly tied in a double bow.

Theymade a striking picture, but the kitten, blinking peacefully at thelights coming on in the cloudy dusk, just didn't seem to fit. Thegirl didn't look quite the type to shriek with delight over such aclever pet. And the slick chick she appeared to be, the chic youngbusinesswoman, simply wouldn't include even the very cutest blackkitten in her street ensemble.

Hetried to forget that odd little shiver of alarm, and wondered how sheknew him. Clarendon was not a large city, and reporters get around.That red hair was something you wouldn't forget. He looked again, tobe sure her disturbing eyes were really fixed on him. They were.

"Barbee?"

Hervoice was crisp and vigorous. The soft, throaty vitality of it was asexciting, somehow, as her hair and her eyes. Her manner remainedcasually impersonal.

"WillBarbee," he admitted. "Leg man for the ClarendonStar."

Morethan ever interested, he enlarged upon that modest fact. Perhaps hehoped to discover the cause of his brief shiver. He didn't want herto go away.

"Myeditor wants two birds with one stone tonight," he told her."The first is Colonel Walraventwenty years since he worethe uniform, but still he likes the title. He has just quit a cushyberth in the Washington bureaucracy and come home to run for thesenate. But he won't have much to say for the papers. Not till hesees Preston Troy."

Thegirl was still listening. The black kitten yawned at the lightsflashing on, and the little crowd of waiting relatives and friendsclustered along the steel-mesh barrier that kept the public off thefield, and the white-clad attendants beyond, busy preparing toservice the planes. But the girl's intense green eyes still watchedhis face, and her magical voice murmured softly: "Who is yourother bird?"

"Abig one," Barbee said. "Dr. Lamarck Mondrick. Kingpin ofthe Humane Research Foundation, out by the university. He's due heretonight, on a chartered plane from the West Coast, with his littleexpedition. They've been to the Gobibut probably you know allabout them?"

"No."Something in her voice stirred his pulse. "What about them?"

"Archeologists,"he said. "They had dug in Mongolia before the war. When the Japssurrendered, in '45, theycut all sorts of diplomatic red tape to get back again. Sam Quain,who is Mondrick's right hand man, had served on some war mission toChina, and he knew the ropes. I don't know exactly what they went tolook for, but it must be something special."

Shelooked interested, and he went on: "They're our home-town boys,coming back tonight, after two years of perilous tangles with armiesand bandits and sandstorms and scorpions, in darkest Mongolia.They're supposed to be bringing home something that will rock theworld of archeology."

"Andwhat would that be?"

"Myjob tonight is to find that out." Barbee still studied her withgray puzzled eyes. The black kitten blinked at him happily. Nothingabout her explained that brief tingle of intuitive alarm. Hergreen-eyed smile seemed still aloofly impersonal, and he was afraidshe would go away. Gulping, he asked desperately: "Do I knowyou?"

"I'ma rival." She was suddenly less remote; her voice held a purringchuckle of friendliness. "April Bell, of the ClarendonCall." Sheshowed him a tiny black notebook, palmed in her left hand. "Iwas warned to beware of you, Will Barbee."

"Oh."He grinned and nodded toward the little groups of passengers insidethe glass front of the terminal building, waiting for the airliner."I was afraid you had just stopped off, on your way back toHollywood or Broadway. But you aren't really on the Call?"

Helooked at that flame-colored hair, and shook his head in admiration."I'd have seen you."

"I'mnew," she admitted. "In fact, I took my journalism degreejust last summer. I only began Monday on the Call, andthis is my first real assignment." Her voice was childishlyconfidential. "I'm afraid I'm pretty much a stranger inClarendon, nowI was born here, but we went to California whenI was still a little girl."

Herwhite teeth gleamed, in a smile innocently hopeful.

"I'mso new," she confided softly, "and I want so much to makegood on the Call. Ido want to turn in a good story on this Mondrick expedition. It allsounds so strange and thrilling, but I'm afraid I didn't learn manyologies in college. Would you mind, Barbee, if I ask you a few sillyquestions?"