Darkfall

a pretty darned good word,” Rebecca assured her. “You couldn’t have thought of anything better, so far as I’m concerned. And, you know, if you think back to all the fairytales you ever heard, goblins were always more bark than bite. About all they ever really did to anyone was scare them. So if we’re patient and careful, really careful, then everything will be all right.”
    Jack admired and appreciated the way Rebecca was handling the children, alleviating their anxiety. Her voice had a soothing quality. She touched them continually as she spoke to them, squeezed and stroked them, gentled them down.
    Jack pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch.
    Ten-fourteen.
    They huddled together in the shadows under the stairs, waiting. Waiting.

Chapter Six

    I
    For a while Lavelle lay on the floor of the dark bedroom, stunned, breathing only with difficulty, numb with pain. When Rebecca Chandler shot a few of those small assassins in the Jamisons’ apartment, Lavelle had been in psychic contact with them, and he’d felt the impact of the bullets on their golem bodies. He hadn’t been injured, not any more than the demonic entities themselves had been injured. His skin wasn’t broken. He wasn’t bleeding. In the morning, there would be no bruises, no tenderness of flesh. But the impact of those slugs had been agonizingly real and had rendered him briefly unconscious.
    He wasn’t unconscious now. Just disoriented. When the pain began to subside a little, he crawled around the room on his belly, not certain what he was searching for, not even certain where he was. Gradually he regained his senses. He crept back to the bed, levered himself onto the mattress, and flopped on his back, groaning.
    Darkness touched him.
    Darkness healed him.
    Snow tapped the windows.
    Darkness breathed over him.
    Roof rafters creaked in the wind.
    Darkness whispered to him.
    Darkness.
    Eventually, the pain was gone.
    But the darkness remained. It embraced and caressed him. He suckled on it. Nothing else soothed as completely and as deeply as the darkness.
    In spite of his unsettling and painful experience, he was eager to reestablish the psychic link with the creatures that were in pursuit of the Dawsons. The ribbons were still tied to his ankles, wrists, chest, and head. The spots of cat’s blood were still on his cheeks. His lips were still anointed with blood. And the blood včvč was still on his chest. All he had to do was repeat the proper chants, which he did, staring at the tenebrous ceiling. Slowly, the bedroom faded around him, and he was once again with the silver-eyed horde, relentlessly stalking the Dawson children.
    II
    Ten-fifteen.
    Ten-sixteen.
    While they huddled under the stairs, Jack looked at the bite on Rebecca’s left hand. Three puncture marks were distributed over an area as large as a nickel, on the meatiest part of her palm, and there was a small tear in the skin, as well, but the lizard-thing hadn’t bitten deeply. The flesh was only slightly puffy. The wound no longer wept; there was only dried blood.
    “How does it feel?”
    “Burns a bit,” she said.
    “That’s all?”
    “It’ll be fine. I’ll put my glove on; that ought to help prevent it from breaking open and bleeding again.”
    “Keep a watch on it, okay? If there’s any discoloration, any more swelling, anything at all odd about it, maybe we ought to get you to a hospital.”
    “And when I talk to the doctor, what’ll I say happened to me?”
    “Tell him you were bitten by a goblin. What else?”
    “Might be worth it just to see his expression.”
    Ten-seventeen.
    Jack examined Davey’s coat, at which the lizard had clawed in a murderous frenzy. The garment was heavy and well-made; the fabric was sturdy. Nevertheless, the creature’s claws had sliced all the way through in at least three places-and through the quilted lining, too.
    It was a miracle that Davey was unharmed. Although the claws had pierced the coat as if it were so much cheesecloth, they hadn’t torn the boy’s sweater or his shirt; they hadn’t left even one shallow scratch on his skin.
    Jack thought about how close he had come to losing both Davey and Penny, and he was acutely aware that he might still lose them before this case was closed. He put one hand to his son’s fragile face. An icy premonition of dreadful loss began to blossom within him, spreading frozen petals of terror and despair. His throat clenched. He struggled to hold back tears. He must not