Darkfall

does have a psychotic killer to track down, but voodoo has nothing to do with it. He doesn’t sound rational. Honestly, I just can’t understand him; no matter how hard I try, I just can’t.”
    They had reached the door to the Dorset apartment. Keith rang the bell.
    Faye said, “Remember, not a word!”
    Anson Dorset must have been waiting with his hand on the doorknob ever since they phoned up from downstairs, for he opened up at once, just as Faye issued that warning to Keith. He said, “Not a word about what?”
    “Rats,” Keith said. “All of a sudden, it seems as if our building is infested with rats.”
    Faye cast a murderous look at him.
    He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to spin an elaborate story about a gas leak. They could be caught too easily in a lie like that, and then they’d look like fools. So he told Anson and Francine about a plague of vermin, but he didn’t mention voodoo or say anything about the weird creatures that had come out of the guest room vent. He conceded that much to Faye because she was absolutely right on that score: A stockbroker had to maintain a conservative, stable, level-headed image at all times-or risk ruin.
    But he wondered how long it would be before he could forget what he had seen.
    A long time.
    A long, long time.
    Maybe never.
    XI
    Sliding a little, then stomping through a drift that put snow inside his boots, Jack turned the corner, onto the avenue. He didn’t look back because he was afraid he’d discover the goblins-as Penny called them-close at his heels.
    Rebecca and the kids were only a hundred feet ahead.
    He hurried after them.
    Much to his dismay, he saw that they were the only people on the broad avenue. There were only a few cars, all deserted and abandoned after becoming stuck in the snow. Nobody out walking. And who, in his right mind, would be out walking in gale-force winds, in the middle of a blinding snowstorm? Nearly two blocks away, red taillights and revolving red emergency beacons gleamed and winked, barely visible in the sheeting snow. It was a train of plows, but they were headed the other way.
    He caught up with Rebecca and the kids. It wasn’t difficult to close the gap. They were no longer moving very fast. Already, Davey and Penny were flagging. Running in deep snow was like running with lead weights on the feet; the constant resistance was quickly wearing them down.
    Jack glanced back the way they had come. No sign of the goblins. But those lantern-eyed creatures would show up, and soon. He couldn’t believe they had given up this easily.
    When they did come, they would find easy prey. The kids would have slowed to a weary, shambling walk in another minute.
    Jack didn’t feel particularly spry himself. His heart was pounding so hard and fast that it seemed as if it would tear loose of its moorings. His face hurt from the cold, biting wind, which also stung his eyes and brought tears to them. His hands hurt and were somewhat numb, too, because he hadn’t had time to put on his gloves again. He was breathing hard, and the arctic air cracked his throat, made his chest ache. His feet were freezing because of all the snow that had gotten into his boots. He wasn’t in any condition to provide much protection to the kids, and that realization made him angry and fearful, for he and Rebecca were the only people standing between the kids and death.
    As if excited by the prospect of their slaughter, the wind howled louder, almost gleefully.
    The winter-bare trees, rising from cut-out planting beds in the wide sidewalk, rattled their stripped limbs in the wind. It was the sound of animated skeletons.
    Jack looked around for a place to hide. Just ahead, five brownstone apartment houses, each four stories tall, were sandwiched between somewhat higher and more modern (though less attractive) structures. To Rebecca, he said, “We’ve got to get out of sight,” and he hurried all of them off the sidewalk, up the snow-covered steps, through the glass-paneled front doors, into the security foyer of the first brownstone.
    The foyer wasn’t well-heated; however, by comparison with the night outside, it seemed wonderfully tropical. It was also clean and rather elegant, with brass mailboxes and a vaulted wooden ceiling, although there was no doorman. The complex mosaic-tile floor- which depicted a twining vine, green leaves, and faded yellow flowers against an ivory background-was highly polished, and not one piece of tile was missing.
    But,