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.
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, Daveyand 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 snowcovered 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, even as pleasant as it was, they couldn’t stay here. The foyer was