Bart’s chin finally tipped forward onto his chest and stayed there, snoozing fitfully. She came up behind his lounge chair and tilted it slowly back. The boy conceded to the change in body position without opening an eye or breaking rhythm in his snoring. Only then did Billie notice what he’d been doing: a grocery sack full of wood shavings sat between his legs, as did the broken head from her best broom. The shaft of it lay across his lap, one end whittled to a threatening point. She took his pocketknife away and laid it on the coffee table, then eased the makeshift stake from his grasp and looked it over. A glance toward the couch told her Del had a weapon too, of sorts. The “toy” he’d been cuddling was the remainder of the garlic bread from supper a few nights back. Vampires, she sighed wearily. They just wouldn’t give it up. They were so adamant about it earlier, almost frantic, insisting that she believe them. Was it so much to ask, she wondered now. They are your children—don’t you owe them that much?

No, she reminded herself emphatically. Humoring them wouldn’t do any good, not for them, not for anyone. Not even for Chris. Because that was who this all boiled down to, wasn’t it, whether she wanted to admit it or not. The stranger had some kind of hold on the boys; just what it was she couldn’t say and was afraid to even guess. But they would never uncover it if they hid their heads in the sand and blamed it all on imaginary monsters. Maybe they should get out of town after all, she considered, just for a little while. But not because of Stiles’s warnings. They would go because the boys needed help, either medical or psychological or maybe both, and they wouldn’t get it in Isherwood. Maybe they’d go to Mom and Dad’s in Ellettsville, and stay there for a few days. There were plenty of doctors in nearby Bloomington, and Indiana University had a whole department of psychology if they needed it.

Billie kneeled down beside Delbert and brushed the hair from his brow, finding his skin cold to the touch. No sense getting him up, she thought, so she went out into the hall to get a blanket from his room. She picked her way through the mess of adolescence like an experienced adventurer, stripped the top blanket from the bed, bundled it under her arm, and went looking for one for Bart. There was bound to be another around there somewhere.