Laws of Nature -2 by Christopher Golden (i can read books txt) 📕

to herself and half to reassure him. She searched his eyes. They were the part of him that never changed, no matter how he appeared outwardly. "Anyway, I'm glad you told me that. It makes me feel good, especially when I've got that early-morning glamour thing going.

Let's just not get ahead of ourselves, okay?"

With a deeply sincere expression, Bill nodded. "Agreed. Do me one favor, though?"

Squeezing his hand once, pleased by his response, she leaned closer to him. "Name it."

Bill grinned. "Sit up straight. I can see right down your shirt, and it's really distracting trying not to look."

"You're awful!" With an expression of mock horror on her face, Courtney clenched a fist around the top of her robe and nightshirt and clasped it tight to her chest as she sat back and fixed him with a stern gaze.

"Why awful?" Bill protested. "I told you, didn't I? I could have just snuck a few peeks and never mentioned it. But that wouldn't have been very respectful, now, would it?"

Courtney narrowed her eyes and studied him, trying to hold back the smile that played at the edges of her mouth. The hot summer wind blew through the kitchen and the moon-and-stars clock on the wall ticked off a few seconds, until finally she just shook her head and laughed.

"What am I gonna do with you, Bill Cantwell?" she asked, a trace of her mother's brogue slipping into her voice.

"I wish I knew," Bill replied, no trace of flirtation in his voice, gaze locked upon hers. "The suspense is killing me."

"Why don't we start with breakfast? You can cook, can't you?"

"Are bacon and eggs all right?" Bill asked.

"It'll do," Courtney told him.

Bill stood up, went to the refrigerator, and began to putter around as he prepared to cook them breakfast. It was nice. Very nice. Courtney tapped the length of her cane against her knee, watched him, and was filled with wonder at the peculiar turns her life had taken.

Abruptly, as he put a pan on the stove, Bill stiffened. His eyebrows knitted together as he turned toward the window and sniffed the air. Then his expression went completely blank and he turned his attention back to the carton of eggs on the counter.

"What?" Courtney prodded. "What was that? What did you smell?"

The question broke down a wall between them. In the time since she had discovered he was a Prowler, they had never discussed it, either directly or indirectly.

Now this seemingly innocent question put all the cards on the table. She was recognizing what he was, that he had senses far more acute than her own. Bill blinked in surprise, then shrugged.

"Nothing," he said. "Just smelled something nasty, that's all. Garbage truck going by, maybe."

He went back to cooking, and for a while, Courtney just stared at his back. Garbage pickup was on Wednesday. Bill knew that. Whatever it was he had scented on the wind, he didn't want to tell her about it.

As far as Courtney was concerned, that could mean only one thing.

Jack and Molly weren't the only ones in dangerous territory.

It was after eight o'clock when Jack came slowly awake. There was no air-conditioning in the room, and the morning was warm, the air close and moist. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

On the bed opposite his, Molly lay curled into a ball, wild red hair splayed around her head, falling over her face. Her green eyes were wide and watching him.

Jack felt a rush of heat to his face as he wondered how long she had been doing so.

"Morning," he said.

"Hi," Molly replied, her voice a cracked, early-morning whisper.

"Been up long?"

"Not really."

"Was I drooling?" he asked. Molly smiled. "Not much. I was just sort of lying here, thinking. You snore, by the way."

"No, I do not," he said, head still on the pillow, no desire to move. "What are you thinking about?"

"Pretending."

Jack frowned. "How do you mean?"

Molly's body unfurled beneath her covers as she stretched, catlike, eyes still on him.

"People pretend all the time, don't they?" she asked. "I mean, we pretend we're not afraid to die, or that we're not hurt when we are. We pretend we know so much; that we know everything, really. But we don't. We live in a world where things like Prowlers exist, and who knows what else, and we pretend not to be afraid of the dark."

After a moment's pause, Molly sat up in bed, hair tumbling over her shoulders, the covers falling away to reveal the soft sheath she had slept in. There was a sadness about her that belied the intensity with which she spoke. Apparently, she had been doing a lot of thinking this morning while she waited for him to wake up.

"God, Jack, we live in a world where what people pretend to know - so they can hide their fear - is so huge that we can't even tell anybody what's real. Nobody will believe us because they're terrified what it would mean not to pretend anymore."

He was not at all sure what she was getting at, but Jack could see how grave Molly felt these thoughts were. Concerned, he slipped out of bed in the T-shirt and gym shorts he'd slept in to avoid any embarrassment, and went to sit by her.

"I can't argue with any of that," he confessed. "But we can't change the world, Molly. At least you and me aren't pretendin' not to know all that stuff."

Her smile was bittersweet. "Yeah. I guess."

What are you pretending not to know? he wanted to ask her. But he did not dare, for fear of what she might answer.

"You know what frightens me?" she went on. "When I think about it all, the ghosts and the Prowlers, and then I wonder - if those things exist, what else is out there? What if we've just scratched the surface of what's really there?"

Jack laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The contact was electric, and he could