Laws of Nature -2 (16 page)

Jack let out a long breath. "I think we're going to be up late tonight."

The Buckton Public Library wasn't much to speak of. Once upon a time it had served as the headquarters for the Town Council and the Historical Society, but sometime in the late 1950s that had changed. In truth, despite attempts to modernize as much as possible, many of the books in the library - a round building of stone and glass - were leftovers from that era.

Still, on the nights her father had to work late, Janelle Meredith found plenty to entertain herself. It was funny, really. She did not like school at all - tests, teachers, whole boring classes filled with stuff she had no interest in - and yet she loved to learn. The library was like a treasure trove, filled with fantasy stories as well as those that were true. Though Janelle liked novels, she liked history and geography the best, learning about the world and the past.

Her teachers were always after her to study harder. The problem, as they saw it, was that Janelle did not apply herself to the things she was being taught. As Janelle saw it, however, the problem was simply that they were not always teaching her the things she wanted to learn. On the other hand, Mr. Giordano, who was her history teacher, grew frustrated with her because she always wanted to know more about a topic than he was willing to teach.

Secretly, she suspected it was because he did not know any more than he had prepared to lecture about.

It was summer now, which was a wonderful relief. All she had to do was make it through her senior year in high school, and then she could leave Buckton behind and find a college where they had real teachers.

That Saturday night, when most kids in town were either at a party or the movies, or at the Pizza Bubble, Janelle had opted to hang around at the library. Not only did it mean she could spend a couple of hours roving through the stacks, but she got to spend some time just hanging around with her father.

Ned Meredith was the athletic director at Buckton Regional High. He had started out years before - Janelle wasn't sure how many, but she knew it was a lot -

as an assistant football coach. Back then he had picked up the second job of cleaning and maintenance man for the small library. These days he probably could have gotten by without the extra money, but it was his responsibility. And he knew how much Janelle enjoyed the time they spent together with the stacks of books all to themselves.

During the school year, he coached football games on Saturday morning, spent the afternoon with his family, and saved his duties at the library for the night, and Janelle often accompanied him. When summer came, Ned didn't have to coach, but he kept his schedule the same, regardless.

They didn't really talk much while they were there. Ned had his work to do, and Janelle was lost in a world of discovery. From time to time she would call out to him, insist that he come have a look at some book or other that she had unearthed.

That night, she lay sprawled on the carpeted area in the ancient history section, entranced by a book about the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae. There was something so tragic, yet so romantically heroic about that bit of history that when she was finished, she poked her finger into the book to hold the page and then rose to go find her father.

I wonder if he knows this story,
she thought.

Almost on cue, she heard the sudden whine of the enormous machine he used to clean the tile floor out by the front desk.

With an excited smile, Janelle walked a bit faster. She went out of the stacks toward the center of the library, where a pair of ten-year-old computers, which represented the entirety of Buckton's involvement in the cyber age, sat. There were enormous old wooden cabinets that still contained a card catalog, though the library had also finally created a catalog on computer.

Janelle brushed past them, book in hand. The whine of the buffing machine grew louder as she approached, and it reminded her very unpleasantly of a dentist's drill. When the carpet ended and the tile began, it was cold beneath her bare feet, and she wished she had not left her shoes back in the stacks. She wore a T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts, and with the chill of the floor rising up her legs, she suddenly found that her whole body was cold.

Over the whine of the buffer, she could hear her father whistling an old rock song she vaguely recognized. She passed the enormous checkout desk on her right, and then her father came into view. The foyer of the library was dimly lit, and the moonlight streamed in through the wide glass doors at the front, and the line of windows that went around the circular building.

Ned Meredith wore a pair of light gray overalls and black sneakers. He was a thin guy, with round glasses - not at all the picture of the average athletic director, Janelle suspected. But her dad was in excellent shape, and he was reportedly merciless on the field. The buffer was a heavy piece of equipment, but he almost seemed to dance with it as he moved it across the tile floor.

"Dad!" Janelle shouted.

Over the hum of the machine, he did not hear her at first, so Janelle walked over and tugged on his arm.

"Dad!"

Ned gave a little jump of surprise as he glanced back to see his daughter gazing at him impatiently. He reached down to click off the buffer.

"What's up, 'Nelle?"

She grimaced at her childhood nickname, but had long since given up trying to break him of the habit of using it. Instead, she lifted up the book to show him the cover.

"I was just reading the coolest story. These Spartan soldiers - "

Thump!

Janelle frowned, glancing around for the source of the noise.

"Now what the heck was that?" her father asked.

Just then Janelle's gaze fell upon the double glass doors at the front of the library, and the trio of faces beyond them. Animal faces, shaggy creatures down on all fours with long snouts and glowing eyes, each pair a different color: blue, green, orange.

With a tiny gasp, Janelle stumbled backward a step. Her breathing came fast and her heart raced. She pointed at the doors, even as she glanced around and saw that there were more of them at the windows on either side of the entrance.

"What the hell . . ." her father muttered.

"Daddy, what are they?" Janelle whispered.

"Not a clue," Ned replied. But he puffed out his chest and took two steps toward the door. He waved his hands out in front of them as if he might whisk them away.

"Scat!" he shouted.

The strange beasts, which had been on all fours, stood up suddenly on two legs. Like humans.

Janelle heard her father cursing under his breath.

Then the glass shattered as the monsters moved in after them.

Window fans hummed all through the apartment above Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub, providing little relief from the hot, damp night. A summer did not go by without Jack's asking Courtney why they had central air in the restaurant downstairs, but not in the apartment. She always told him that it was an additional and unnecessary expense, something they needed to avoid to stay afloat in the restaurant business.

Nights like this, she regretted her frugality.

Of course, at the moment, the heat was the last thing on her mind. Or, rather, it was merely a distraction so that she did not have to think about how quickly her control over her life was slipping from her grasp. Courtney Dwyer's life was usually nice and predictable. This had been a bad year for predictability.

Though she could not see the clock from where she lay on her bed, tangled in the sheets, Courtney thought it was close to ten o'clock. Downstairs, the late dinner crowd was just finishing up. The hostess, Wendy Bartlett, along with reliable Tim, would have things completely under control. The bar might be a bit hectic, however, as Bill had the night off.

Bill was next to her, stretched out on her bed, skin glistening with moisture from the humid night. Courtney was cradled in the crook of his arm, her head upon his chest, listening to his heart beat.

Fast.

Too fast.

The beat of his heart seemed odd to her, abnormal . . . inhuman. And yet she could not decide if this was because he
was
something other than human, or if she were manufacturing this detail to remind herself of that fact.

Eyes closed, she breathed in the smell of him, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. Time and time again, a little voice inside her tried to remind her of his true nature, as if it ought to bother her. But each time, she found that she did not care. Whatever else Bill was, he was a man of integrity and passion, loyalty and strength.

And yet, he was
not
a man.

In her mind's eye, Courtney relived a tiny moment from an hour or so earlier. She had come up from the pub and found Bill standing by the windows in the living room that looked down on the busy street below. When he had glanced over his shoulder at her, there had been a kind of fire in his eyes that blazed brightly for a moment before subsiding. Then he had smiled warmly.

"Hey" was all he'd said.

Then the words spilled out of her mouth, and Courtney still was not quite sure where they had come from. She had certainly not expected them.

"I think I'm going to turn in early tonight," she had said, voice catching in her throat. Butterflies had swarmed in her stomach as she laughed a small, nervous laugh.

"Want to come along?"

Now she laid her cheek on his chest, and sighed with amazement at her forwardness, at this recklessness that had arisen in her without warning. It felt good, but it was also terrifying.

"What are we doing?" she whispered to him.

Bill stroked her face, pushed her hair back over her ear, and bent to kiss the top of her head.

"If you don't know, then I sure don't, either," he confessed. "But I hope, when you figure it out, you don't decide it was wrong."

Unsure how to respond to that, Courtney gazed up at him. His eyes were wide and bright in the darkness and the heat of the bedroom. She burrowed closer to Bill, enjoying the heat of his body despite the temperature in the room. The air from the fans blew across their skin, and she shivered, though she doubted the breeze had anything to do with it.

In the years since the accident that had crippled her and killed her mother, Courtney Dwyer had never felt safer.

Bill tensed suddenly.

In the same instant a loud crash came from the room she used as an office.

With blinding speed, he was out of the bed, crouched on the floor of her bedroom, nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. Courtney's heart hammered in her chest and she sat up, sheet pulled up to cover her body.

"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.