There was a bit of extra weight to Jack's last words, an emphasis that Courtney caught immediately. She smiled and rolled her eyes.
"Bill is staying here while you're gone, but he's sleeping in your room, Jack."
"You're a big girl," Jack replied nonchalantly. "You run your life the way you want to. None of my business. All I ask is that you stay alive."
Courtney grew suddenly serious again. Her gaze caught his, and they locked eyes. "Same here," she said.
A moment later Molly appeared inside the open door with a canvas suitcase that had once belonged to Jack and Courtney's mother. There was a melancholy air about her that would have been impossible for Jack to miss. Courtney apparently noticed it as well, for neither of the Dwyer siblings asked Molly how her conversation with her mother had gone.
"All set?" Jack asked.
"Yeah. Let's go. The weather shows no sign of letting up, so we should just get on the road and take our time."
As the three of them turned toward the vehicles again, they saw Bill slide a large black chest - like an old sea trunk - into the back of Jack's Jeep. It had a thick padlock on the front. Though it was heavy enough to make the back of the Jeep sag a bit after he lowered it, Bill moved the trunk effortlessly. His strength was incredible, and it reminded Jack just how badly outmatched he and Molly would be if they ran up against any Prowlers unprepared.
Bill strode toward them, seemingly unaware of the rain sluicing off his head. "When you're parked, I want you to throw some blankets over that trunk so it will draw a little less attention," he told Jack. "But the things in that trunk are only a precaution. If you see any Prowlers up there, I want you to call me and we'll figure out the next move then. Check in with us regularly."
Jack's eyes widened. "Yeah, of course. But if you're playing cavalry, why do we need weapons now?"
All traces of a smile disappeared from Bill's features. "Just in case, Jack. I'm not taking any chances. There's a goddamn arsenal in that trunk, and that should tell you how seriously I'm taking this. You know how I feel about weapons. I know you feel the same." He glanced at each of them in turn, lingering a moment on Courtney's face before looking at Jack and Molly again. "None of these are traceable, unless you leave prints on them. Don't get caught with them. Don't shoot at anyone human unless it's to save your own life. Hell, don't ever shoot at anything you don't intend to kill."
"Bill," Courtney said hesitantly, "I don't know if - "
"We have to have them," Molly interrupted. Her face was pale, but her voice was clear and strong. "We've got to be prepared."
Bill nodded and handed Jack a small key that would open the padlock on the trunk. When Jack took it, Bill clasped his hand tightly and pulled him close.
"Be careful. Don't take any chances. Call for me and I'll come," Bill said, his voice a low rasp.
In the huge man's powerful embrace, Jack found reserves of strength he would sorely need if he and Molly found what they were looking for.
"You'll protect her, if anything happens?" Jack asked.
"With my life," Bill promised.
A sudden rush of guilt filled Jack for the doubts he'd had. Bill might be a different species, but he was part of their life and family. These people were just about all that mattered to Jack.
"Let's get on the road," he said as he turned away from Bill.
Molly carried her suitcase to the back of the Jeep. Jack took it from her, put it on top of the trunk, and closed up the back.
"Wait, I'll get a couple of blankets," Courtney said quickly.
Jack and Molly climbed into the Jeep, he slipped the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Anxious, Jack stared at the rain pelting the windshield.
Molly reached over suddenly to take his hand and his fingers twined with hers as he turned to face her.
"It'll be all right," she said, an uncommon tenderness in her voice. "If nothing else, it'll be an adventure."
With a laugh, Jack shook his head. "Let's hope it's nothing else."
Pine Hill provided an idyllic backdrop for the town of Buckton. Almost anywhere else in New England, it would have been striped with ski slopes and chairlifts, but this part of Vermont had far less tourism than some other areas. The name of the "hill" was misleading, however. It was not quite a mountain, but certainly far more than a hill, and there were far more than pines along its span.
Though there were numerous small streets off it, Pine Hill Road, in addition to being the main street of Buckton, was mainly a throughway to other areas of the state. Very few Buckton residents chose to make their homes in the deep forest of the hill. Given the realities of snow removal, garbage collection, and postal service, what little new home construction there was in Buckton tended to be in the areas already populated.
As such, only hikers, hunters, and amorous or adventursome teens made their way into the densest parts of Pine Hill. Among those, only a small percentage stumbled upon Bartleby Road, a densely overgrown dirt path that had once accommodated wagons and carts laden with building materials. For, once upon a time, there had been an enormous estate built atop Pine Hill, more than a mile from the nearest road.
Before there was a Buckton, there had been the old Bartleby place. And yet only the eldest members of the community were certain it had existed. Others knew of it only as a legend, a whispered story to frighten young children, a house full of bogeymen, perhaps. The ghost of
