"What is it?"
His eyes ticked toward her, head moving in short jerks, a predator on the hunt. A shudder went through him and when he spoke, she thought his teeth might have grown longer. It also seemed that there was more hair on his chest, and Courtney doubted that was her imagination.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to hide in the bathroom," he said, voice a low growl.
Courtney frowned, appalled by the idea. She inhaled deeply, sitting up straighter on the bed, making it clear to him that, bad leg or no, she was determined to take care of herself.
Bill reached out a thick, powerful hand to her. "Come on, then. Stay with me."
Sliding off the bed, she tried to grab for her clothes.
"No time," Bill told her.
When she glanced at him again, he held her cane in his huge fist. Courtney took it from him and clutched the sheet around her as best she could as she followed him out into the hall. The crash in the office had been followed by at least one loud thump, possibly more.
It occurred to her that it could be an ordinary burglar, in which case Bill's appearance might cause them trouble. Then she recalled the way Bill sniffed the air, and Courtney realized that there was no guesswork on his part. Bill's animal senses had already identified the intruders.
Outside the door to the office, he glanced at her with regret in his eyes. Then he turned his back to her and began to change. Courtney could not help it. She recoiled in horror. It was the second time she had seen Bill change, seen him reveal the true face beneath his human guise, but he had been clothed before.
This time she could clearly see the fur forcing its way through his skin. What disturbed her most, however, was the snapping sounds made by his jaw bones as they extended into a snout. With a shudder she tried to compose herself, not wanting him to see her react.
She knew what he was, but had convinced herself she was all right with that. Now, being there with him . . . he seemed so huge, hunched over slightly, as he sniffed the air. Courtney did her best to hide it, but she was just as afraid of him as she was of whatever had climbed the fire escape and pushed in the window fan there. It hurt, and though she realized that it was the only sane reaction, she felt disappointed in herself.
At the moment, though, it was hard to remember that this thing was her friend, her lover. Bill glanced at her, eyes narrowed. He sniffed at her now, and Courtney knew that she could not hide her fear. She began to speak, to try to communicate what she felt, but he held up an enormous hand, a claw-tipped finger to his nose. This monster was shushing her. The absurdity of it calmed her, at least as much as possible considering the situation.
Anxiously, Courtney glanced around at the other doors off the hallway. If they had come, there was no way for her to know how many of them there were.
Bill would know.
He hesitated just out of sight of the open door. Then he turned to her again, needle teeth gleaming, pointed ears twitching for the slightest sound. He leaned toward her and she felt his hot, wet breath on her throat. Courtney closed her eyes.
"Trust me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Her eyes snapped open and she stared into his . . . and her fear disappeared. The eyes were Bill's. Courtney nodded. She trusted him.
He opened the door and grabbed hold of her arms. Then he spun her around and, propelled her backward into the office where the Prowlers waited to tear out her throat.
Courtney screamed as her bad leg gave out beneath her and she tumbled to the floor, rolled over several times, and slammed painfully into the legs of her desk.
There were two Prowlers, slavering thick drool that spilled upon the floor as they sprang at her. Courtney screamed again. Even as terror struck, so did the heartbreak of what Bill had done.
He . . .
Before she could finish the thought, Bill was there.
The two Prowlers had leaped at her simultaneously. Bill moved so quickly that Courtney's eyes could barely follow him. His huge arms were raised, and he brought them down in a savage swipe of murderously long claws that tore through fur and flesh. Both of the Prowlers roared with agony as they sprang away from him. One leaped on top of Courtney's desk and the other rolled into a corner and began to rise, grievously wounded.
The stench of them was awful. Courtney was trapped, pinned to the floor beneath them even as the battle raged. Blood spattered around the office as the one on the desk leaped at Bill. The intruder's claws grazed Bill's chest, drawing a bit of blood.
Courtney winced.
But Bill had let the Prowler get that close for a reason. He was bigger than these other two. Stronger and faster. When the intruder clawed him, both of Bill's hands clamped on the sides of the creature's head and he twisted with such ferocity that the Prowler's neck broke with a sound like splintering wood.
The corpse flopped to the floor beside Courtney, and she saw that Bill had twisted so hard that the head was turned around backward, the flesh ripped in a long gash. He had nearly torn the monster's head off.
Courtney's stomach convulsed and bile rose in her throat. Only the terror of the moment, the fact that it was not over, kept her from throwing up.
Chest heaving with deep, snarling breaths, Bill stood over the other. The monster reached behind his back and drew his hand forth again, smeared with his own blood.
He glared at Bill with bright green eyes. "Didn't think you still had the wild in you. Never figured you to be so nasty . . . so fast . . ."
"I know you," Bill growled. "Dubrowski."
The injured Prowler stood a little straighter. "It was a long time ago, Cantwell. You were a coward even then."
"Is that what you call it?" Bill mused.
He stood a little straighter, then, and for the first time, Courtney could see some of the man in the monster. Then it was gone, subsumed within the Prowler, the savage beast.
Bill's claws flashed down again. The injured Prowler blocked one of Bill's arms, but missed the other, and a quartet of deep furrows was torn into his chest.
Again the beast roared.
Bill grabbed hold of Dubrowski with both hands and slammed him against the wall hard enough to knock a framed print off its hook. The frame hit the ground and glass shattered. The injured beast snapped at Bill, jaws clamped around his wrist, fangs digging into flesh.
With a hiss of pain, Bill slashed the Prowler's face.
This time Dubrowski did not roar.
He shrieked.
Courtney winced at the horrible brutality of it and felt tears begin to brim at the corners of her eyes.
"Jasmine sent you," Bill snapped at the monster who was bleeding all over the floor. "Where is she?"
The other Prowler laughed, a sound almost like choking. Bill rammed him against the wall again, and a window cracked with the impact.
"Where?" Bill roared.
No more laughing. The Prowler wiped blood from his face and glared balefully at Bill, not even glancing at Courtney, who lay sprawled on the floor only half a dozen feet away.
"We haven't seen Jasmine since the night your little friends killed Tanzer, traitor. She ran. Only Braun and I were faithful enough to stay behind, to wait for a chance to end the lives of the ones who killed the leader of our pack."
Dubrowski sneered. "The word from the other packs is that Jasmine has been running since then, trying to find a place to rest, to rebuild. Last I heard she was headed to the sanctuary in Vermont to rest up before coming back for you."
"And you were thinking to beat her to it, establish primacy over the pack," Bill said, a clear spark of understanding in his eyes.
Courtney got it now. They wanted to lead the pack. This Dubrowski did. And they would have bought themselves that leadership with the blood of the people responsible for Tanzer's death.
She shuddered.
Then something else occurred to her. The sanctuary in Vermont.
"Bill? Vermont?" she said quietly.
He stiffened, black lips curling back from his
fangs, and leaned in toward Dubrowski. "Where is this sanctuary in Vermont? What town?"
"No town. It's in the mountains," Dubrowski replied, again wiping at the blood on his face. "As though I'd tell you the name of the town anyway."
Courtney glared at him. She pulled herself up to a seated position, leaning on the desk and beginning to rise.
"Buckton," she said.
Dubrowski twitched, unable to hide his surprise at the mention of the town's name.
"Damn it!" Bill roared.
The injured Prowler took that moment of distraction as an opportunity to break Bill's grasp and lunge for his throat. With a snarl, Bill slapped his hands away as though his opponent were beneath notice. He loomed over Dubrowski, grabbed the bleeding creature by the human clothes he still wore, and took two strides before propelling Dubrowski through the half-open window, shattering the glass.
The monster fell thirty feet to the pavement in the alley below in a shower of glass. When Courtney had managed to retrieve her cane, she moved around the fallen fan - which the Prowlers had pushed in to gain entry - and went to the window to glance down at the broken body below.
Bill had been here to protect her. But Jack and Molly were on their own. She turned around to find that Bill had withdrawn inside the human disguise within which he lived most of his life. He stood naked before her, dressed in an illusion of vulnerability that she doubted she would ever truly believe again. How that would impact her feelings for him, she had no idea.
"Call Detective Castillo," she said quickly. "He'll get rid of these bodies quietly. I'm going to call Jack and warn him."
"I'll leave for Vermont as soon I board this window up," Bill told her. "I think you're safe now."
"Safe as I'll ever be."
The moon hung low, just above the mountains, peeking in on them around every curve in the road. It was already nine-thirty and Jack was glad finally to be doing something he felt was constructive. He and Molly had spent the afternoon at the movie theater, then had a late dinner at the Jukebox. Though he knew that the Prowlers were unlikely to move on the library until long after dark - if they did so at all - and it would not have been practical for them to have come to the library earlier, the hours had passed slowly for him.
The headlights picked out a narrow road on the left and a wide blue sign with the words Buckton Regional High School. The library was just next to the school.
"Here we go," he said as he slowed for the turn.
Molly had been almost completely silent since they had left the restaurant. Now she let out a long breath.
"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she said. "Are you sure we should do this?"
"No. Did I sound sure?"
That earned him a smile, but only a very halfhearted one.
"Bill's going to be here tomorrow night," Molly continued. "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this without him."
The road up to the school passed a small lake on one side - barely large enough to make the upgrade from pond - and he gazed at the body of water briefly.
Buckton was a nice town. Old New England the way that most of New England had forgotten how to be. It was a shame that the Prowlers had to ruin it.
"Jack?" Molly prodded.
He braked slightly, the Jeep slowing as they glided around a long curve in the road.
"We could wait," he agreed. "Maybe they won't come at all. We could be totally wrong. And even if we're right, it may not be tonight. But if we're right about their reasoning here, hitting the library is the obvious next step."
Hands gripping the steering wheel, a chunk of ice in his gut, he glanced at Molly. "I've gotta do something, y'know? We spent the whole day sittin' around, and I can't do much more of that. Let's just check it out, see what we can see."
Molly did not respond. He glanced at her again and found her staring at him.
"What?" Jack asked, an edge in his voice.
"Whatever's going on, Bill will protect her. You know that."
"Yeah," he agreed. "I know that."
Molly's expression was sweet and gentle, and he regretted having snapped at her.
"I can hold my own, Jack. I've done it before," she began.
"I don't doubt that," he replied quickly. Molly waved his words away. "I know you don't. What I'm telling you is that I'm with you, all the way. But I'm afraid that the reason you don't want to wait is that you're so worried about Courtney and Bill that you're looking for something to worry about. We need to be careful, here."
"I'd never - " Jack began, but he bit off the denial. After a moment he exhaled. "Maybe there's something to that. But I think we need to find out as much as we can. If the book is here, and they get it, we might never find them. I need something to take my mind off things in Boston, yeah, but that doesn't mean this doesn't need to be done."
Molly reached out and touched his arm, then drew her hand away. "I just wanted to make sure."
Slowly she opened the glove compartment and removed the gun she had placed there earlier. Molly held the weapon in her hands and did not put it down again.
Buckton Regional High was all cement and faded brick and glass windows. There were houses scattered along the road, and a few beyond it. Several other official-looking buildings were within spitting distance of the school, and one of them was a circular stone structure.
"The library," Jack said softly.
The trees were farther back from the road here, and the heavy moon cast the night with an eerie, surreal illumination. Enough, in fact, that to Jack it felt like they were on some massive movie set.
He turned into the library parking lot.
"Jack, look!"
The large glass doors of the library and several of the windows were shattered. Their theory had proven itself correct, but Jack was not sure he was pleased.
"But it hasn't even been dark that long," he said, mostly to himself. "I never thought they'd come so early."
"Me, either," Molly agreed. "But it's really remote down here, not a lot of homes. I can't believe they beat us here. I thought we'd be up half the night."
"Let's check it out," he said.
He put the Jeep in Park and they got out quickly. He went around the back, keys jangling, intending to get something with more stopping power than the pistols they carried.
"They're still here," Molly whispered. "They're coming out."
Jack ran around to her side of the Jeep to see that several Prowlers had come out the front door and were already loping around to the side of the library and heading for the forest and the mountains beyond.
As they watched, others emerged. One of them carried a girl over his shoulder. At first Jack thought she might be dead or unconscious, but then she began to scream and beat at her captor.
Before Jack could stop her, Molly raised her pistol and fired once into the air.
"No!" Jack shouted, but it was too late.
The Prowler holding the girl stopped to glare at them. Even from a hundred yards away, Jack could see him sniffing the air, getting their scent. Others ran out of the library as well, and they began to gather on the lawn, some of them moving across the grass toward the parking lot.
"Get in the Jeep!" Jack said.
"But the girl - "
"There are too many." He had counted at least twelve so far, including those who had run into the woods.
Molly backed toward her door, gun in both hands.
Several of them hesitated. One, his muzzle dark with something Jack suspected was blood, snarled at the others. The one carrying the girl glared at them a moment, then turned and ran for the forest. One by one, most of the others in front of the library followed.
Two were left behind. A pair of Prowlers, snorting and slavering. They charged across the lawn toward the parking lot. Jack tested the weight of the keys in his hand, glanced through the back windshield of the Jeep at the crate Bill had loaded in there, and knew that he did not have enough time to get to those weapons.
Ninety yards away.
<
br /> Not even enough time to get into the Jeep.
Molly took a step back.
"Too late," Jack told her. "If we run, or try to get to the Jeep, they've got us. Stand your ground."
Seventy yards.
He pulled the pistol from the clip at the small of his back. It slid out quickly, and the weight was good in his hands. Side by side, he and Molly lifted their guns.
She fired first.
As though they sensed the shot before she took it, the Prowlers darted out of the bullet's path.
Impossible, Jack thought. Or, at least, it was impossible for them to have dodged the bullet. They must have seen her aim, gauged the trajectory . . . how close would they have to be before that trick wouldn't work?
Forty yards.
"Wait," he said. "Don't waste your clip. When I tell you, you shoot mine and I'll shoot yours."
"Jack . . ." Molly said, voice revealing her terror.
It matched his own.
"You know," growled one of the Prowlers, "I usually don't like to eat this late."
Twenty yards.
Just what I need. A monster who thinks he's funny.
Ten.
"Fire!"
He twitched his aim over to fire at the Prowler lunging at Molly, and squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession. The beast dodged at least one, another went wild, but two bullets ripped into his chest, stopping his momentum. He dropped dead.
Jack flinched as he turned to face the one coming for him.
He was on its back, limbs splayed wildly, part of his head missing where a bullet had shattered his skull.
"I didn't even hear you firing," he whispered in relief and amazement.
Molly went to him and her arms slipped behind his back in a light, quick embrace. "What now?"
Jack swallowed hard. "The girl. Molly, I . . ."
"I know," she said. "We can't just leave her to them."
Together they went to the back of the Jeep. Jack unlocked the crate and flipped the top open. Though they had retrieved two pistols from the large chest before, the two of them gaped at its contents. Two rifles. Three pump shotguns. Boxes of ammunition and clips. Half a dozen small round objects Jack suspected might be grenades. At least five semiautomatic pistols, though he thought there might be more. And an assault rifle, a small thing with a long clip jutting from its belly and a metal stock stretching out behind it.
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