I'm glad we went. It was the right thing to do."
I'm glad we went. Jack's mind swirled with images of horrible violence and bloodshed, and he shook his head in amazement.
“Yeah. Me, too."
For a moment, Molly searched his eyes. Her smiled faltered. “Well, good night."
“Night," Jack replied.
Molly paused, then started for the hallway. Just short of the open door, she stopped. As he watched her hesitate there, Jack held his breath. Molly half-turned toward him, eyes downcast, lips pouting slightly. Her mane of red hair fell across her face, partially obscuring her expression.
Then she lifted her head, chin raised, and strode toward him. Her step was determined, but her eyes were wide with fear. Molly reached up with both hands, grabbed Jack by the back of the head, and pulled him down to kiss her. Their lips met, and Jack felt as though they burned a little. It was a deep kiss; his heart thundered in his chest, and it seemed he had never felt so invigorated and yet so weak at the same time.
The kiss slowed, became softer, more gentle, as if they were merely tasting each other's lips.
Molly lay her head on his chest a moment. Jack caressed her upturned cheek. A sweet smile blossomed again at the edges of her lips. She stood back, shook her head as if in disbelief, and then turned to walk toward the hall again.
“Good night," he called weakly after her.
“Sleep tight," Molly replied almost in a whisper.
She hurried from the room and he stood and stared after her until he heard her door close softly down the hall.
“Oh, my God," Jack gasped. “What the hell do I do now?"
“What you have to do."
Jack spun, startled, and yet he was not truly surprised to see Artie shimmering there in the middle of the room. Through the spectral form, Jack could still see the television screen, and the canned laughter that filled the room made the scene even more surreal.
“You were watching?" Jack asked quietly.
“Just the last few seconds. I just got here," Artie explained. “Sorry. I wasn't peeping, though. Seriously."
As if slowly deflating, Jack sank onto the sofa. “What do I do now, Artie? This whole thing . . . you . . . Molly . . . it's too complicated. Before it was hard enough, but now I feel like you're this big secret I'm keeping from her. It feels wrong."
Artie nodded solemnly. “I know, Jack. But you know it's for the best. As for what you're gonna do now, you're gonna just keep doing what you've been doing.
Taking care of business, and taking care of Molly."
His black eyes flickered, and the ghost glanced away. “You should be with her, Jack. It's . . . it's harder for me to take than I thought it would be. I mean, I know it's the right thing, but . . ." Artie's entire form seemed to ripple, as though the air itself was folding in around him. Then he solidified again, and he stared at Jack.
“This is the way it should be. Let it play out."
Jack exhaled slowly, with a shake of his head. “I just . . . maybe, Artie. But can we change the subject? Not talk about this for a while?"
For the first time, Artie had turned to look at the television set. Onscreen, Dick Van Dyke was having a bad dream, restless in bed.
“Oh, I love this one," the ghost said excitedly.
As though he could still feel it beneath him, the spirit of Artie Carroll settled down on the sofa next to Jack. They watched television in silence for a few minutes.
In some ways it was wonderful for Jack, filled him with a nostalgia for simpler times with Artie. For those same reasons, it was also painful.
“What you did up in Buckton was really something," Artie said at the commercial break. “Lot of lost souls not so lost anymore, thanks to you."
Jack frowned. “They really have moved on, then?"
Artie nodded. “But why the long face? You should be happy for them?"
“Well," Jack said slowly, “no offense, but, we took care of what was keeping you here a long time ago, but you're still around. I just . . . I mean, why?"
The ghost smiled.
“Somebody's got to watch out for you, bro."
The wind whistled through the trees on Pine Hill, but aside from that, the mountain was dead silent. It was as though even the wildlife was afraid to move, afraid to cry out. Below, in the town of Buckton, people tried to make sense of the disappearance of more than two dozen of the small town's citizens.
In the clearing upon Pine Hill where the Bartleby place had once stood, the two survivors argued about what to do next. One was determined to have vengeance upon Sheriff John Tackett. The other wanted simply to flee. And so they argued, and they hunted for meager sustenance, and they lingered there together, wondering how long it would be before Tackett came to the clearing.
They were still there when she arrived, tall and thin, with eyes so cruel they both lay quickly before her, offering their throats. They had not the heart to fight.
The face she wore, the faÆade, was dark and exotic by human standards, but they could sense the power of the beast underneath. She demanded to know what had happened, and they told her all of it.
“This cannot be," she whispered. “This was supposed to be the sanctuary, the place to rest and to start again."
“The sheriff killed them all. A boy and a girl, outsiders, they helped him," one of the survivors replied, “and one of us. He killed his own."
The female sniffed the air. “I can smell them. They have been here, fouled this sanctuary with their presence. Their scents are familiar."
Fury raged in her, but she forced herself to be calm. “Come then. We'll begin again together, we'll gather others around us. A great Pack, just as Tanzer dreamed of. And when the moment is right, we shall all have our vengeance upon these murderers."
The survivors bowed their heads to their new mistress. She laid a hand upon each of them, reassuring, and yet also establishing her place as their pack leader, their Alpha.
“Just as you say, mistress," said one of the survivors.
“Jasmine," she corrected. “Call me Jasmine."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHRISTOPHER GOLDEN is the award-winning, L.A. Times bestselling author of such novels as Straight on 'til Morning, Strangewood, Prowlers, and the Body of Evidence series of teen thrillers.
Golden has also written a great many books and comic books related to the TV series Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. His other comic book work includes stories featuring such characters as Batman, Wolverine, Spider-Man, The Crow, and Hellboy, among many others.
As a pop-culture journalist, he was the editor of the Bram Stoker Award-winning book of criticism, CUT!: Horror Writers on Horror Film, and co-author of both Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Monster Book and The Stephen King Universe. s
Golden was born and raised in Massachusetts, where he still lives with his family. He graduated from Tufts University. He is currently at work on the third book in the Prowlers series, Predator and Prey, and a new novel for Signet called The Ferryman. There are more than four million copies of his books in print.
Please visit him at www.christophergolden.com
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Laws of Nature -2 Page 21
