The Ice Wolves Read Online Free Page B

wholly to do with the weather.
    The turbulent weather reflected his feelings since he had studied the information Kate passed on about the werewolf attacks. So much brutality and bloodshed happening at once, and it was escalating. Where was it all leading, he wondered?
    His thoughts were interrupted by Lisa, who had fixed him with a cold eye. “When are you going to tell us what this is all about?”
    Hellboy had already decided he liked her: she was tough, blunt, uncompromising, and sparky. But he hadn’t yet made his mind up about Brad, who was so detached it was hard to get a handle on him.
    â€œYou punted away all my questions on the plane,” Lisa continued, “and in the cab ride from Logan. I’m glad we dumped the cab when we got caught up in that traffic so I can finally get you face to face.” Lisa jabbed a finger into Hellboy’s chest.
    â€œGet me inside the Grant Mansion, and you’ll know what I know. If we don’t get in, it’s better if you don’t know,” Hellboy replied.
    â€œWe’re not going to get in,” Brad said. “Trust me.” He headed off to a newsstand to pick up a copy of the Herald .
    â€œYour boyfriend’s not exactly Mr. Positive,” Hellboy noted.
    â€œHe’s not my boyfriend,” Lisa snapped, eyes flashing. “He’s had a tough time recently, that’s all.”
    â€œIn Iraq?”
    â€œHe saw some pretty bad things. They’re playing on his mind. He’ll get over it.”
    Hellboy watched Brad pay for the paper—the faint shake to his hand, the slight stoop as if he carried a heavy weight. “You sure?”
    â€œI’m looking out for him.” Determined, Lisa shouldered her camera bag and walked over to talk to Brad at the newsstand.
    Hellboy looked around the crowded streets. Something was wrong, although he couldn’t put his finger on quite what it was. Instincts honed by decades keeping the dark at bay were jangling out of control.
    â€œCome on,” he called. “Let’s move out before it gets dark.”
    Heading quickly through the darkening streets toward Beacon Hill, they came to Boston Common, almost fifty acres of grassland and trees crisscrossed by paths. A bitter wind blew across the open space, and people in T-shirts and light summer dresses scurried before it, heads down, arms wrapped around themselves.
    Lisa shivered. “Looks like we’re in for a hell of a storm.”
    â€œIs that—?” Brad held up a hand into the face of the wind, then examined it. “Snow? This time of year?”
    The lights had come on across the Common, and they could now see flakes caught in the gusts—just a few, but increasing rapidly.
    For a long moment, they watched the falling snow in incredulity before Brad and Lisa stumbled through a list of possible causes, none of which were convincing. Troubled, they turned to Hellboy for answers, but he had none. Attempts to laugh it off died quickly, and they set off again in silence, heads down, as they struggled to come to terms with events slowly skewing away from any understanding.
    Within five minutes, the Common was deserted as the snow swirled in the wind and gave everything a white coating. Halfway across the open space, Brad came to a halt, his attention drawn by the black smudge of trees in the northeast corner.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Hellboy asked.
    â€œThought I saw something,” Brad said.
    Hellboy made to move on, but Lisa had joined Brad to scour the tree line.
    â€œOut in the desert you build up a sixth sense,” Lisa told Hellboy. “All the journalists get it. Everything merges into the background in that landscape, but on some level you notice if something is out of whack, and you learn to pay attention to that feeling—it could be life or death.”
    â€œThis isn’t Iraq,” Brad said dismissively. He moved on, but Hellboy noticed he kept glancing toward