Blood Brothers

“Your nose is bleeding.” Scurrying over on her hands and knees, Qui

“Yeah, well.” In a defiant move, he swiped at the blood. “It pissed me off. If that was its best shot, it fell way short.”

“It didn’t dish out anything a really big drink and a long hot bath won’t cure,” Cybil decided. “Layla? Okay?”

“Okay.” Face fierce, Layla brushed at her stinging cheeks. “Okay.” She took Fox’s outstretched hand and got to her feet. “We scared it. We scared it, and it ran away.”

“Even better. We hurt it.” Qui

As she laughed and wept, he took her mouth. He held her close, understanding that of all the answers they needed, for him she was the first.

They weren’t going down this time, he realized.

“We’re going to win this.” He drew her away so he could look into her eyes. His were calm, steady, and clear. “I never believed it before, not really. But I do now. I know it now. Qui

“Damn straight.”

When she wrapped around him again, it was victory enough for now. It was enough to stand on until the next time. And the next time, he determined, they’d be better armed.

“Let’s go home. It’s a long walk back, and we’ve got a hell of a lot to do.”

She held on another moment, held tight while he looked over her head into the eyes of his brothers. Gage nodded, then shoved the gun back in his pack. Swinging it on, he crossed the clearing to the path beyond.

The sun bloomed overhead, and the wind died. They walked out of the clearing, through the winter woods, three men, three women, and a dog.

On its ground the Pagan Stone stood silent, waiting for their return.

Hawkins Hollow

June 1994

ON A BRIGHT SUMMER MORNING, A TEACUP poodle drowned in the Bestlers’ backyard swimming pool. At first, Ly

Squirrels generally didn’t wear rhinestone collars.

Her shouts, and the splash as Ly

So Bestler came out of his pool with a dead dog, and no boxers.

The bright summer morning in the little town of Hawkins Hollow began with shock, grief, farce, and drama.

Fox learned of Marcell’s untimely death minutes after he stepped into Ma’s Pantry to pick up a sixteen-ounce bottle of Coke and a couple of Slim Jims.

He’d copped a quick break from working with his father on a kitchen remodel down Main Street. Mrs. Larson wanted new countertops, cabinet doors, new floors, new paint. She called it freshening things up, and Fox called it a way to earn enough money to take Allyson Brendon out for pizza and the movies on Saturday night. He hoped to use that gateway to talk her into the backseat of his ancient VW Bug.

He didn’t mind working with his dad. He hoped to hell he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life swinging a hammer or ru

His mother ruled there.

So he heard about the dog from Susan Keefaffer, who rang up his purchases while a few people with nothing better to do on a June afternoon sat at the counter over coffee and gossip.

He didn’t know Marcell, but Fox had a soft spot for animals, so he suffered a twist of grief for the unfortunate poodle. That was leavened somewhat by the idea of Mr. Bestler, whom he did know, standing “naked as a jaybird,” in Susan Keefaffer’s words, beside his backyard pool.

While it made Fox sad to imagine some poor dog drowning in a swimming pool, he didn’t co

He’d had a dream the night before, a dream of blood and fire, of voices chanting in a language he didn’t understand. But then he’d watched a double feature of videos-The Night of the Living Dead and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre-with his friends Cal and Gage.

He didn’t co

In a few weeks he and Cal and Gage would all turn seventeen-and that was on his mind. Baltimore had a damn good chance at a pe

What occupied a sixteen-year-old boy was considerably different than what occupied a ten-year-old. Including rounding third and heading for home with Allyson Brendon.

So when he walked back down the street, a lean boy not quite beyond the gangly stage of adolescence, his dense brown hair tied back in a stubby tail, golden brown eyes shaded with Oakleys, it was, for him, just another ordinary day.

The town looked as it always did. Tidy, a little old-timey, with the old stone townhouses or shops, the painted porches, the high curbs. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the Bowl-a-Rama on the square. It was the biggest building in town, and where Cal and Gage were both working.

When he and his father knocked off for the day, he thought, he’d head on up, see what was happening.

He crossed over to the Larson place, walked into the unlocked house where Bo

His father worked in old Levi’s and his Give Peace a Chance T-shirt. His hair was six inches longer than Fox’s, worn in a tail under a blue banda

“A dog drowned in the Bestlers’ swimming pool over on Laurel Lane,” Fox told him, and Brian stopped working to turn.

“That’s a damn shame. Anybody know how it happened?”

“Not really. It was one of those little poodles, so think it must’ve fallen in, then it couldn’t get out again.”

“You’d think somebody would’ve heard it barking. That’s a lousy way to go.” Brian set down his tools, smiled at his boy. “Gimme one of those Slim Jims.”

“What Slim Jims?”

“The ones you’ve got in your back pocket. You’re not carrying a bag, and you weren’t gone long enough to scarf down Hostess Pies or Twinkies. I’m betting you’re packing the Jims. I get one, and your mom never has to know we ate chemicals and meat by-products. It’s called blackmail, kid of mine.”